CHAPTER EIGHT
Kieran held Rory’s hand, kissing it as they made their way down the muddy, urine-smelling avenue.
It was a temperate day along the Mediterranean coast, a gentle breeze blowing off the sea and seagulls crying overhead. There were virtually no clouds, creating a bright and lovely atmosphere. After being scolded about taking interest in the brothels, Rory lifted her head at some point to look around again, seeing more houses of ill repute and quickly looking away when she realized what they were. When they passed by the main part of the waterfront, they came to an area tucked back from the ports, full of merchants. The inn that the boat captain had recommended was nestled among the merchants and they caught up to the wagon with all of their possessions, now being offloaded into the two-story inn.
There was a stable tucked to the side of the structure and, after leaving Liberator with a groom, Kieran took Rory inside. It was a fairly large structure, built of stone with great, wooden beams against the wooden ceiling and at least four main rooms on the first floor that were packed with people.
Rory followed Kieran, wide-eyed, into the main room, noting that other than the fact that the people had lighter skin, it looked much like the hostels in Nahariya. It smelled to high heaven of smoke and body odor. The room itself was odd-shaped with an uneven floor. Barrels served as tables and people sat on the floor, stools, a few chairs and each other. A minstrel sat in the corner and played on a crude mandolin.
It looked like something out of the movies with the variety of characters that were strewn across the room. A massive hearth burned brightly against one wall, spitting smoke and sparks into the air. Although Rory was holding tightly to Kieran as he navigated his way through the room, a very drunken man made a swipe at her and she yelped, smacking the guy in the forehead with an open palm. He toppled over backwards and his friends laughed uproariously, but Kieran swung around with his fists balled. Rory put her hands on his gigantic fists to still them.
“No, no, no,” she murmured softly, quickly, trying to turn him around. “He was just drunk. No harm done.”
He gently but firmly pushed her aside, moving towards the man whose friends were now helping him off the floor.
“He shall be dealt with,” he said in a tone that suggested she needed to stay out of it.
But Rory put herself in between Kieran and the drunk. “Kieran, no,” she hissed. “There’s no need for you to upend this room. I don’t feel good and I want to go lie down. I don’t want to deal with a battle the first time we’re on land in three weeks. So would you please think of me for once in this situation and not your manly honor?”
She was verging on angry tears by the time she finished the sentence and he folded immediately, but not before casting the drunk and his friends a threatening glare. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he took her over to the wide, wooden stairs where men with their possessions waited. A tall, thin man in a tunic, some kind of vest, dirty pants and dirty shoes awaited them. He bowed to Kieran nervously.
“Votre plaisir, mon seigneur?” he asked.
Kieran flicked a wrist at him, glancing back at the room as if to make sure he wasn’t about to be attacked from behind.
“La meilleure pièce pour ma femme et I,” he said in perfect French. “No us avons besoin de la nourriture et un bain aussi.”
Rory watched the thin man shout to a couple of women while simultaneously directing the porters up the stairs. He ran ahead of them, babbling in a language that Rory didn’t understand. She gathered her wet skirts as Kieran led her carefully up the stairs that didn’t seem too steady.
“I never learned French,” she told him. “Where I come from in California, it was essential to learn Spanish.”
He pulled the hem of her cloak aside when she almost stepped on it. “If we go to Spain, your knowledge shall be invaluable.”
She smiled weakly as they reached the top of the steps and continued down a narrow, uneven corridor. The tall innkeeper had opened a door near the end, ushering the porters in and babbling crazily in French. Rory entered the room just as the porters were exiting and the innkeeper screamed at them to vacate. As Rory looked around the small but surprisingly clean room, Kieran muttered a few orders to the man and shut the door in his face.
Kieran stood there a moment, watching Rory wearily remove her cloak. Their trunks and bags were stacked against one wall, filling nearly half the room, while a bed was pushed up against the other wall. Rory noticed the bed, larger than a twin but smaller than a double. As Kieran watched, she walked up to it and peered closely at it. After a moment, she sighed heavily and sank to the floor in a new round of tears.
“It’s got bugs,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Kieran, I really am. I’m trying to be brave and not complain and accept everything the way it is, but I’m just not doing a very good job. I’m so tired I could just die and all I want to do is lay down, but I’m not lying on a bed with bugs. I’m sorry, but I’m just not.”
Weeping, she lay right down on the floor. Kieran went straight to the bed and ripped everything off it; throwing open the door, he tossed everything into the hall. He happened to catch the eye of a startled serving wench who was bringing them food. He took a few steps down the hall, grabbed the tray and pitcher from her, and pointed to the bundle of crawling linen in the hall.
“My wife wants clean linen,” he ordered. “You will find fresh straw and boiled linen, clean and without dirt or vermin, or I shall tear this place apart. Is that clear?”
The girl looked at him with complete, utter fear and fled. Kieran went back into the room and set the food on the table. He went to Rory, still lying on the floor, and put his great hand on her head.
“I shall find clean linen for you, I swear it,” he was on his knees, kissing her cheek. “I know you are exhausted. I have asked for a bath to be brought to our room. Let us eat something now; it will make you feel better.”
She lay there and cried, completely spent and ill. “I don’t want to eat,” she sobbed.
He gently pulled her into his arms. “Aye, you do,” he murmured, kissing her head and holding her close. “Please, sweetheart. Eat something and feel better.”
“No!” she squeaked.
He picked her up and carried her over to the table. She was still damp and trembling with chill. He set her down in the only chair in the room and poured her a cup of wine.
“Drink,” he commanded. “It will make you feel better.”
She was sobbing pitifully. “I don’t want to.”
She was actually rather comical with her dramatic misery but he fought of the grin that threatened, knowing it would not be well met. He kissed her forehead again and went over to the trunks piled against the wall.
“Drink some wine, sweetheart,” he urged, pulling a large satchel off the stack of three trunks and putting it aside. “I shall find you dry clothing.”
She shook her head, unhappy, eyeing him as he opened the top trunk and began rummaging around. He eventually came across a feather-soft lamb’s wool sleeping shift that he had purchased for her back in Tyre. As he shook it out, Rory calmed down sufficiently to where she took a sip of the tart and sweet wine. He brought the shift over to her.
“Here,” he held it out. “You must change out of those wet clothes.”
She shook her head. “I want to take a bath before I change,” she said, sniffling and wiping her nose. “I’ve got sand all over me and the salt water is drying out my skin. Where are those skin oils we bought in Tyre?”
He set the shift aside, turning back to the trunks. “They are in here, somewhere.”
“Can you find them, please?”
“I am looking.”
“And you may as well get out all of the other toiletries we bought. I forget what I have. I didn’t even touch it on the boat.”
“I will.”
“And the mirror we bought. Please get that, too.”
He nodded wearily, as a man usually does with a bossy wife. But the truth was that, in spite of everything, he was happier than he had ever been in his life. As long as Rory was with him, nothing else mattered. He could move mountains.
“Did you find them?” she asked a couple of seconds later.
He was still rummaging around, nodding impatiently. “I am looking,” he assured her with irritation. “Give me a moment, if you would.”
Rory turned back to the wine as Kieran finally came across the phials of oils and salts that they had purchased. There were three bars of soap in leather pouches that he pulled forth along with an earthenware jug that contained what Rory had understood to be shampoo. There were also four phials of oils in different fragrances; jasmine, sandalwood, myrrh and lily along with mineral salts that she was told came all the way from the salt sea in Judah, which she assumed to mean the Dead Sea. Additionally, there were all sorts of other things that he pulled out, mysterious cosmetics he had purchased for her because she liked the smell or color, including a very precious mirror made from Venetian glass. It was little but the reflection was true. In truth, he’d invested a small fortune in the items but it was a small price to pay to keep Rory happy. He enjoyed it.
He set everything on the table so she could look through her assortment. Then he pulled the cloth off the tray to inspect what manner of food had been provided, hoping the food would entice her and perk up her mood. There was a large hunk of beef, well cooked and juicy, as well as a half a loaf of brown bread and boiled carrots. There was also some butter and a big knife. He pulled a piece of beef off the bone and tasted it; it was quite good. He pulled another piece off, making sure it was free of gristle, before extending it to Rory.
She waved him off. “God, no,” she turned away. “I don’t want any.”
He sighed heavily. “Lib, you hardly ate on the boat. You have lost enough weight that your bones are sticking through. I know you are unused to the food of this time, but I assure you, this beef is well cooked and delicious. I believe you will like it and you need to eat something. I do not want to see you waste away from starvation.”
She looked at him, realizing he was probably right. She hadn’t eaten much since the day they had arrived over three weeks ago. But she was absolutely terrified to touch food that hadn’t known any regulations or inspection process. She looked at the meat and how well it was cooked, figuring that the cooking process would have killed any worms or bacteria that might have existed. And the wine was okay; the alcohol would kill any germs. Taking a deep breath, she took the beef from his fingers and forced it into her mouth, chewing slowly.
She quickly realized it was good meat and quite delicious. Kieran saw that she ate it quickly so he cut more off the bone and gave it to her. The more he would cut, the more she would eat. She went after the carrots and ate all of them; they were boiled in brine and very salty, but good nonetheless and she was starving. When the carrots were gone, she went back to the beef. Kieran stood back and let her eat everything she had a mind to. He was just glad to see that her appetite had returned. When she moved for the bread, however, she slowed down considerably and picked off a piece, inspecting it. He knew just by her expression that she didn’t want to eat it.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She looked at him guiltily. “Well,” she began reluctantly, setting the bread down. “It’s brown bread. It’s full of grit and dirt, and God knows what else.”
“Do you want me to find suitable bread?”
She slumped in the chair, refusing to look at him. “No,” she said. “I’ve already been too much of a pain. You haven’t even eaten; you need to sit down and finish this up.”
He suddenly quit the room. Rory jumped up and ran to the open door, watching him stalk down the hall and disappear down the stairs. Calls to him went unanswered. Uncertain where he was going but unwilling to follow, she went back into the room and shut the door. Going back to the table, she slowly sat, wondering what she had said to make him run from the room. She felt ill again, too; the food was making her sleepy and upsetting her stomach at the same time. So she sat, uncomfortable and exhausted, until Kieran appeared a short time later.
He was carrying another tray in his big hands. Behind him, two men were carrying a massive copper pot and following the pot were a few serving women with crude wooden buckets of steaming water. The men set the pot down at Kieran’s direction and the women began to pour the water in. Kieran went to the table and set the tray down in front of Rory.
“There you are, m’lady,” he smiled, his gem-clear brown eyes glimmering at her. “I scavenged the kitchens for everything they had. When their supplies were not sufficient, I went next door to the baker and scavenged his goods as well.”
Rory gazed up at him, smiling gratefully. The man was trying so hard to take good care of her. She reached up, patting his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You are so sweet. I love you.”
He winked at her, kissing her hand and turning to face those who were in their room filling up the tub. There were many possessions and he didn’t want an unscrupulous servant to abscond with something when his back was turned.
As Kieran watched the servants like a hawk, Rory investigated the contents of the tray; there were two golden buns that, when pulled apart, revealed creamy white bread inside. It wasn’t like modern white bread; it was denser and heavier. There was also another loaf of bread that was white but for bits of currants in it. She picked a piece of it off and popped it in her mouth; it was sweet with what she assumed to be honey.
But there was more. A small cup covered with a cloth contained something green and briny. Upon further inspection, she realized it was cucumber and quite delicious. There were also pickled lemons, which were crazy-sour, and some kind of pancake-like thing. She could see the oats in it and smelled what she thought was cinnamon. After a little taste of everything, she ate most of the tray. Even the lemons that made her glands hurt and her eyes water.
By the time the tub was full, Rory was wallowing in gluttonous misery. Kieran shut the door when the last servant left, turning to see his wife ill with too much food. He put his hands on his slender hips, lifting an eyebrow at her.
“You refuse to eat for weeks,” he pointed out. “Then when you do it, you stuff yourself ill.”
She looked at him, made a face, and groaned. “I was so hungry,” she said. “God, I’m so full now I’m going to explode.”
He grunted, grinning, as he went to the table. There wasn’t much left. “May I have your scraps, madam?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“I am not sure why I would want to.”
“I meant go ahead.”
As Rory rose from the chair to prepare for her bath, he sat down and proceeded to devour what was left on the table. There was still plenty of food left for him, mostly the meat and brown bread, and he finished it off. Rory, meanwhile, was peeling the damp surcoat off her body and laid it across the bed frame to dry. The shift was next and as Kieran chewed on the bread, he noticed that she was still wearing her bra and panties. She clung to the twenty-first century clothing, unwilling to relinquish everything she knew and was comfortable with. He swallowed the bread in his mouth.
“Lib,” he began gently, casually. “We purchased suitable undergarments for you in Tyre. Is there a reason why you do not wear them but continue wearing your old undergarments?”
She looked down at her white bra and boy-short panties that looked fantastic on her round buttocks. “I’m just more comfortable with these,” she insisted, reaching around to unhook the bra. “I need to wash them before we go. They’re so disgusting right now that I can’t even begin to describe it.”
He wasn’t really sure what she meant but he let it go. It wasn’t his business, anyway. Besides, he loved to watch her half-naked body parade around in the peculiar undergarments. She looked magnificent. When she unhooked the bra and let her beautiful breasts go free, he could feel himself growing hard. When she slipped the strange, white panties off and climbed into the tub, he felt himself growing hot all over. The woman had that effect on him.
But he knew any advance would not be well met so he continued to sit and drink the tart, sweet wine, his lust building as more alcohol filled his veins. He watched Rory bathe, soaping her luscious body with the white soap that smelled of jasmine, filling the air of the small room with its sweet fragrance. She washed her hair at least three times, rinsing it over and over in the water.
“Baby?” she called to him as she was washing her feet.
He was extremely relaxed, half-lidded, watching her bathe. “Aye?”
“Do you have a razor?”
He nodded, rising to weary feet and digging through his enormous saddlebags. He eventually pulled forth a leather sheath, about a foot long. Inside the sheath was a steel razor he used for shaving his face. He went over to her, handing her the butt end of the razor.
“What are you going to shave?” he asked. “Your beard does not look as if it is growing in.”
She giggled at him, her lovely face rosy and pinched from the warm water. “It isn’t,” she rubbed at her chin with one hand, took the razor with the other. “I want to shave my legs. In fact, do you think you can buy me a razor? I hate to use yours.”
He shrugged, watching her lather up her legs and carefully drag the razor over her flesh. “If that is your wish.” He watched her make careful rows in the suds. “Do not cut yourself; the razor is very sharp.”
“I know,” she said steadily, biting her tongue as she proceeded to shave her right shin without a snag. She moved to the left one. “So what’s going to happen tomorrow? Are we leaving first thing in the morning?”
He just stood there, watching her hard nipples just beneath the water line and thinking very carnal thoughts. “When you are ready,” he said. “You and I and Liberator will travel to Paris and from Paris, we will go to Calais and take a boat to England. If all goes as planned, we should reach Paris in a little more than a week.”
“A week?” she looked at him, shocked. “It’s going to be that long?”
He nodded. “There are no airplanes or trains here. Only Liberator.”
She made a face, knowing he was correct. “I know, but a whole week?” she shook her head. “I’ve never really ridden a horse. My butt is going to be killing me after a week on a horse.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “It will be more like eight or nine days, depending on how fast we move.”
She closed her eyes. “Oh, my God,” she hung her head a moment before lifting it. “Is there any way we can get a wagon? Something I can sit in? I’m not sure if I can ride on the back of that horse for nine days.”
He scratched his head. “I suppose we could find a cart,” he said thoughtfully. “Can you drive a wagon?”
“I can drive a car.”
“That is different. I would hate to see you run amok in a donkey cart.”
She snorted, her mood lightening. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she offered as she splashed in the tub. “I’ll live.”
He grinned, moving back to the table and drinking the last of the wine as she finished shaving her armpits. He kept glancing back at her, watching her wet, supple body. The sun was starting to set outside and he went to the small, battered, bronze furnace in the corner of the room near the window. It was basically an open bucket that, when filled with coal or other substance, gave off a significant amount of heat. Since there was no hearth in the room, it was a way to produce heat. There was a small bucket of charcoal next to it mixed with chunks of peat. Kieran positioned the peat and coal, then lit it with a flint that was mixed up in the coal. As Rory finished her bath, a warm fire began to burn.
Rory continued to sit in the bath even when the water went from very hot to moderately warm. It simply felt wonderful to be warm and clean again. She knew that Medieval people didn’t bathe often but that was one cultural condition she refused to succumb to. She planned to bathe every day if she could. But eventually, the water grew too cool for her taste and she knew it was time to get out. Besides, her fingers and toes were all wrinkled.
“Baby?” she called sweetly.
He was draining the pitcher of wine. “Aye?” he smacked his lips.
She leaned over the side of the tub, smiling brightly. “Can you please bring me my towel?”
He put down the pitcher and dutifully went over to the pile of trunks again, rummaging around in the top trunk until he pulled out a big, folded piece of white linen. Rory had purchased it when she had bought the oils, after she realized that anywhere they stayed would not be like the hotels she knew and would therefore not provide towels or bathrooms, for that matter. Kieran approached her as he unfolded the linen, holding it up to her as she stood up in the tub. She stepped into the linen and he wrapped her in it, picking her up in his arms and giving her a good squeeze. She squealed as he bear-hugged her, nuzzling her wet neck.
“Kieran, I’m all wet,” she protested weakly. “Put me down so I can dry off.”
He was feeling his alcohol, hot and lustful. “Shall I put you down near the fire?”
She looked over at the wide-open bucket that was now glowing with flame. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning,” she muttered. “Make sure you put that thing near the window where the fumes can escape.”
“Aye, madam,” he murmured into her skin.
He took her over to the furnace and gently set her down. Rory teetered when he put her on her feet because the floor was cold, so she danced around as she dried off. The linen wasn’t particularly absorbent so it took some time, but she was able to dry off sufficiently. Then she hopped over to the table where her oils were.
“I think I want to use the one that smells like jasmine.” She hunted around, smelling, until she came to it. “Ooo, here it is.”
She popped open the stopper, which was a lovely glass cork. It wasn’t perfectly made, like it would have been in her time with modern machinery, but it was gorgeously crafted with a tint of yellow to it. She poured some of the precious oil onto her palm and began rubbing it on her legs. Kieran watched her intently.
“What is in that potion?” he asked.
She rubbed it into her thighs, dropping the towel completely to rub it into her torso. “The merchant said he bought it from an old woman who pressed the flowers and poured sesame oil over them. Then she would let it all sit and steep for a while.” She held up the phial and shook it, watching the liquid swirl. “You can see bits of flower petals in it.”
Kieran smelled her shoulder where she was rubbing the oil in; it was too much. Having a naked woman standing in front of him overwhelmed him and, with a growl, he wrapped his big arms around her and bit softly into her neck. Rory gasped.
“Kieran,” she protested weakly.
“No more talk,” he ordered gently. “You have been flaunting yourself in front of me all day and I have reached my limit. I can no longer stand not having my fill of you.”
She giggled as he suckled her neck, the giggles quickly turning into soft grunts of pleasure. One big hand found a breast, fondling her from behind as she purred like a kitten. As he was preparing to delve further into his tender assault, there was a knock on the door.
Rory moved away from him quickly, running to collect the linen towel on the floor. When she was properly and completely covered up by it, Kieran answered the door. The tall tavern keeper and two serving wenches stood there, their arms laden with huge bundles of material. Kieran lifted an eyebrow.
“What is this?” he demanded in French, his voice cold.
The innkeeper pointed his chin at the bundle in his arms. “I was told you wanted a clean bed, m’lord.”
Kieran nodded, standing back so they could come into the room. Rory stood over by the open furnace, watching them lay what looked like a large sack on the bed. The serving wenches deposited the material in their arms and then went back into the hall, reentering the room towing great bushels of hay. There was hay all over the floor, floating in the air, but it told Rory that the hay was dry and, more than likely, relatively clean. She moved closer to the group as they worked to stuff the sack on the bed, which was quickly assuming the shape of a mattress.
She peered closely at the sack they were filling with straw. A cursory examination showed no bugs that she could see but that wasn’t good enough.
“Ask them where they got this from and how they cleaned it,” she told Kieran.
He proceeded to relay her request in French. The innkeeper replied that it had just been boiled because a man had been murdered on it and they needed to clean off the blood. Kieran didn’t tell her that last part, however, only that it had just been boiled. Satisfied, Rory stood back as they finished her new mattress. Kieran came to stand next to her, his massive fists resting on his slender hips as he supervised the work.
“You are fortunate, madam,” he told her. “Beds such as this are not commonplace.”
Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I have slept on rope beds or on the ground for most of my life.”
She understood what he meant. “This is a mattress,” she pointed at the straw-stuffed sack. “Or at least the beginning of one. You may as well know that I intend to sleep on beds like this for the rest of my life.”
He grunted. “I assumed as much,” he muttered. “Do you mean to tell me you did not like the hammock of the boat?”
She made a face, putting her hand on her belly. “Don’t remind me,” she groaned. “That was the worst experience of my life.”
He grinned. “I suspect it is just the beginning of many such experiences you will have in the future.”
She slapped at him playfully and he laughed low in his throat, putting his arms around her as the tavern keeper and the two wenches finished stuffing the big bag with straw. It was enormous and lumpy. The tavern keeper then tossed the two coverlets they brought with them onto the bed, bowing swiftly as they quit the chamber. Kieran went to the door and bolted it when they were finished. By the time he turned around, Rory was changing into the soft lamb’s wool sleeping shift. He watched her as she sighed contentedly and ran her hands over the garment, the first really clean clothes she’d had on her body in weeks.
“I feel so much better now,” she sighed, moving to the bed and picking up the mound of coverlets left behind. She sniffed at them and looked surprised. “They smell like they’ve just been washed. They’re kind of stiff, too. Did they boil these also?”
Kieran looked at the linens, wondering if those were the same that the man was murdered on as well. When Rory shook them out over the mattress, there was a massive faded reddish-orange stain in the middle. She let the coverlet fall on the bed, peering at the stain in the middle.
“Hmm,” she smoothed her hand over the stain curiously. “What’s that?”
Kieran didn’t want to tell her what he knew so he tried to sound very casual about it. “It looks like rust,” he said.
Rory bought it. There was no reason for her not to. She smoothed the coverlet down onto the lumpy mattress and put the other one on top of it.
“Hey,” she looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you think they’ll let us take this mattress with us?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s washed and I know the only bodies sleeping on it will be ours.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I suppose so.”
That seemed to satisfy her. “Help me smooth out the lumps in this thing,” she told him, jumping on the bed. “The hay is lumpy.”
Kieran watched her roll around on the bed, trying to roll out the lumps of hay. He didn’t move to help her; he did, however, begin to remove his clothing. He’d long since packed away Richard’s three lion tunic and now wore his father’s tunic; the Hage colors of blue, black and white with the bird of prey emblem. The tunic came off, followed by the chain coat, the hauberk hood, the leather undervest and finally the heavily-padded, linen tunic. He stood there in all of his muscular glory, an amazingly built man with massively wide shoulders. He was positively enormous.
Rory continued to roll around, pounding out the lumps, as he went over to the chair and sat, removing his massive boots. The breeches were next. Now totally nude, he went over to the bed where Rory was squirming about and fell right on top of her.
She yelped as his weight came down on top of her, giggling uncontrollably as he wrapped her up in his big arms and nuzzled her neck. She was sweet, soft and clean smelling, and her damp hair licked at him as his nuzzling turned to gentle kisses. Rory wanted to get the bed made but his heated body and manly musk overwhelmed her. So she gave up trying to smooth out the bed and wrapped her legs around his narrow hips. Arms around his neck, she met his passionate kisses with passion of her own.
Kieran usually took his time with her but, at the moment, his want for her was consuming him. He slid his hands underneath the lamb’s wool shift, his hands finding her soft breasts and kneading them tenderly. Rory pulled the shift over her head and met his lustful kisses once more, opening her mouth to his probing tongue, suckling on it and driving him wild. When he could stand it no longer, he took hold of her hips and wedged himself in between her legs. Firmly, but with great care, he drove his rock-hard shaft into her wet and swollen folds.
Rory groaned as he buried himself deep inside her body. It had been a long time since they had tasted one another and she felt every thrust, every movement, with the greatest of pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his buttocks, pulling him in deeper and deeper, feeling his massive member hit her G-spot again and again. In no time, she was climaxing, biting off her cries against his mouth as he continued to thrust.
Soon enough, he erupted deep inside her body, groaning as he murmured his love for her against her lips. Their passion cooled, satisfied, but only for the moment; Kieran took her twice more on the lumpy straw mattress as the night outside deepened.
Rory fell into an exhausted sleep, buried beneath Kieran’s warm and enormous body. They slept, wrapped up in each other, until sunrise the next morning. Kieran awoke as the sky began to lighten; it was habit. Birds were chirping and he could hear the water lapping in the inlet. But Rory was still sleeping the sleep of the dead and he carefully disengaged himself from her, rising slowly so he would not disturb her. The fire had gone out in the furnace so he put her lamb’s wool shift over her beautiful, naked body, plus the second coverlet, and went to light the fire for her.
The seagulls were already screaming outside as the morning began to dawn. Kieran could see bright blue sky beyond the window as he pulled on his breeches and boots. He then proceeded to put on the rest of his clothing, adding a couple of well-concealed daggers for protection. With Rory still sleeping heavily, he quit the room to go about some necessary business.
Rory slept well into the morning. When she finally awoke, it was because a seagull had perched on the windowsill and squawked loudly. Somewhat startled out of a deep sleep, Rory lay in bed a moment, staring at the uneven ceiling and trying to remember where she was. It took her a moment to remember she was in Marseille with Kieran and she stretched and yawned, smiling faintly as she thought about the night before. She lifted her hands, smelling Kieran on her flesh. It was a manly, musky scent, exclusive to him. It was the most wonderful scent in the world.
She sat up in the lumpy bed, immediately feeling nauseous. An upset stomach had been her constant companion since waking up on that rocky beach almost a month ago so she didn’t give it much notice. Everything about this time and place in history upset her stomach. She looked around for a chamber pot but didn’t see one. Thoughts of an outhouse or privy disgusted her but she had to go to the bathroom so she hurried up and got dressed.
She washed her bra and panties in the cold bathwater, scrubbing them out and putting them near the furnace to dry in the warmth. Meanwhile, she had pulled on the soft, lamb’s wool sleeping shift and the only pair of socks she had, the ones she had been wearing the day they appeared on the beach, and she padded around in the room getting her clothes and toiletries together.
The oil from the previous night had made her skin luscious and soft, and she smoothed more on, loving the scent of it. She even rubbed a little on her face. As her undergarments dried out, she pulled out the cosmetics she had purchased – a color palette that had been imported all the way from Egypt that contained ocher rouge and lip color that was applied with a little paintbrush, beautiful bluish-green eye shadow that was made from crushed seashells and copper ore, and black-as-night kohl that was also applied with a tiny brush. There were also a few other colors on the palette, one a pale skin color and another that was kind of brownish. She wasn’t sure what it was made of but she liked the shade. There was also a big pot of a lip ointment made of mint and very fine, strained tallow that made it very creamy.
Rory had to shake her head at the raw and rough Medieval cosmetics. She could only imagine what they might do to her skin and hoped she wasn’t allergic to any of the ingredients. She also knew that the only women who wore color on their faces were whores, so she would have to be careful about how much color she applied. Taking her precious little mirror, she mixed the ocher lip color in the lip balm until it was a very faint peach shade and applied it to her luscious lips. Then she rubbed a slight amount of the rouge on her cheeks so it was barely visible. Her eyes were more of a challenge; they were big and hazel, and she didn’t want it to look like she had put obvious eye makeup on, so she rubbed a little of the brown color on her lids and outlined her top lashes with an extremely thin line of the black kohl. Using her index finger, she rubbed it into the kohl and stroked it onto her lashes to see if it would stick like mascara. Once dry, it made her lashes look long and dark but not thick like mascara would. Still, she liked the results a great deal. Standing back to take a look at herself, she thought she looked rather good. A modern-day girl trying to work with Medieval cosmetics. Estee Lauder would be proud.
Her long chestnut-colored hair was a little unruly this morning; she’d slept on it wet and it was sticking up in places. Looking at herself, she had terrible bed-head. Her hair was generally straight and fairly thick but here she was with no flat iron, curling iron or blow dryer and she had no idea how she was going to handle her hair.
After a moment’s indecision, her gaze fell on the warm furnace, burning hunks of peat, and an idea occurred to her. Using the cold bathwater, she wet her hair, pulled out the horsehair brush that she had purchased with the rest of the toiletries, and went over to the furnace. Then she began the laborious process of holding her head next to the furnace and brushing her hair, over and over, drying it out and hopefully drying it marginally straight.
Whatever she did worked; her hair dried straight and extremely soft. No chemicals in the water did wonders for her hair even if it was a bit fly-away. She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking it very strange not to have any modern-day products on it. Pleased with the results nonetheless, she pulled the front of her hair back off her face, tying it behind her head with one of the ribbons she had borrowed at Hut’s hostel.
Testing her underwear, it was dry but semi-stiff, so she removed the lamb’s wool shift and put her bra and panties on. Then she pulled the shift back on. The trunk on top of the stack of trunks was open and she began pulling stuff out, coming across all of the garments that were made for her before they sailed from Tyre. Being sick the entire time on the boat hadn’t given her any time to inspect her new acquisitions, so she began laying them out on the bed.
By the time she pulled out the fourth surcoat, she decided that was the one she would wear; it was an iridescent orange color with hints of yellow and red in the fabric. The seamstress had even stitched gold thread around the plunging neckline that looked like a rick-rack accent. It had long, belled sleeves and the hem was too long. But she put it on anyway, pulling it over the shift and was truly pleased with the results. She tied off the tassel belt and went in search of her boots.
Then came the all-powerful question of finding the privy. She had to go badly but was torn. Kieran had warned her against straying from the room without him, especially in a public place. Still, she just couldn’t sit around and wait for him. She had to find the privy or a chamber pot.
Bending over to pull the long hem of her dress from underneath her boot, she happened to catch sight of the chamber pot shoved far underneath the bed. Getting down on her knees, she pulled out what was quite possibly the most disgusting thing she had ever seen in her life. With a groan, she looked around for anything resembling toilet paper but there was nothing available except for the cloth that had covered their food tray from the night before. She took it, relieved herself quickly, cleaned up and threw the cloth back into the chamber pot and shoved it all back under the bed. The whole process had been revolting, but she felt a thousand times better.
Kieran returned to the room mid-morning to find Rory packed, dressed and ready to leave. He entered the chamber, removing his leather gloves and surveying the scene like the lord and master. His gaze was especially warm on his wife, who was absolutely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She looked rested, refreshed and radiant in the gorgeous, orange surcoat. He was a man in love all over again.
“Greetings, Wife,” he smiled at her. “You look lovely this morning.”
She smiled brightly in return, dipping into a rather unpracticed curtsy. She ended up tipping over and laughing at her lack of coordination.
“I’m going to have to get better at that,” she chuckled.
He laughed heartily at her, moving to take her in his arms. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Kieran held her against him, picking her up off the ground. There was a fourteen-inch difference in their heights and her feet dangled off the floor as he cradled her.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured into the side of her head. “I am an extremely fortunate man.”
She squeezed him. “I bet you don’t think that when I’m sick and complaining.”
“Untrue. I think it all of the time.” He kissed her cheek, pulling back to look at her. “You look as if you feel better this morning.”
She nodded and he set her gently to her feet. “Much better,” she said. “It did me good to sleep about ten hours last night.”
He wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. “No doubt.” He looked at the packed and secured trunks. “I see that you are ready to leave. Did you do all this yourself?”
“Of course,” she replied, somewhat incensed that he didn’t think she could pack all by herself. “I didn’t know when you’d be back so I just packed everything up. Are we leaving?”
He nodded. “In time. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
He smiled at her. “Come along. I have a surprise for you.”
She took his offered hand and, together, they left the chamber. At this hour of the morning, the tavern was fairly quiet but Kieran had the tavern keeper send a wench upstairs to stand outside the door and guard their possessions. Kieran then took Rory outside into the clear and balmy day, escorting her next door. It was a little shack of a shop but the most wonderful smells were coming forth. When they entered the leaning structure, Rory was hit in the face by the smell and warmth of baking bread. It was wonderful.
“Come.” Kieran took her over near a hearth with a small but warm fire blazing. There were a table and two chairs, and he called for the shopkeeper as he sat her down. After a few exchanged words, the man and his wife scrambled around, bringing forth trays of food. Soon, Rory had a feast set in front of her and she was both thrilled and awed.
“Wow,” she breathed as tray after tray crowded the little table. “What is all of this?”
Kieran asked the man in French what kind of food had been presented. The man answered and Kieran translated.
“Scrambled eggs with cream and cheese, three different types of breads with spices and honey, eggs boiled in wine and fried pig’s skin.”
She immediately spied the pig’s skin; in any century, it looked the same – big, crispy, dark pieces of crackling skin. She picked one up, inspecting it.
“This is the first time I’ve ever heard of pork rinds being eaten in Medieval Europe,” she commented, smelling them. Then she took a timid, crunchy bite and chewed. “It’s really good. It tastes like they’ve soaked it in brine or something really salty. Can you ask him?”
Kieran lifted an eyebrow at her as he asked the man how he prepared the rinds. The man spoke eagerly in answer, smiling at Rory as he did so. Kieran sighed with annoyance as he translated.
“They are soaked in sea water to soften them and then boiled in fat,” he said. “May I eat now?”
She smiled happily. “Of course. Thank you, baby.”
Kieran grunted in response, plowing into the eggs and Rory knew she would have to eat quickly in order to stay ahead of him; the man had an enormous appetite. She went for the eggs with cream and cheese, and they were wonderful. But she quickly discovered that they weren’t like modern eggs; they had a stronger flavor and a heavier texture. The cheese was very tart and strong but delicious. She had about a quarter of the plate before Kieran finished them off, but she beat him to the bread. She tore off a big hunk of the bread with cinnamon in it. With her bread in one hand and a pork rind in the other, she ate until she was stuffed.
Kieran had apparently told the shopkeeper that they were traveling so the man packed them an enormous amount of food, mostly breads and those wonderfully salty pork rinds all wrapped up in some kind of sea grass. Rory wasn’t sure what it was but she kept smelling it, finally licking it to see what it tasted like. It was very salty. Kieran paid the man and with wrapped food in both hands, Rory quit the bread shop with Kieran behind her. The day outside was mild and sunny, and she inhaled deeply. She felt good and for the first time since arriving in this place in time, she was actually eager and excited to be here.
“So now what?” she asked as she turned to him. “Are we leaving?”
He nodded, taking the wrapped food from her because it took both of her arms to hold it. With the food in one enormous arm, he took her with his other hand.
“Come with me,” he said softly.
She held on to him as they crossed behind the bakery to the livery that was part of the inn’s complex. When they entered the structure that smelled very strongly of animal dung and hay, Liberator saw Kieran and nickered. Kieran clucked to the horse but when Rory walked near the beast, he began bobbing his head up and down wildly, finally sticking his big, thick neck out and pushing her with his nose. Rory teetered off balance but caught herself. Scowling, she let go of Kieran and faced the horse with her hands on her hips.
“All right, buddy,” she scolded. “You and I are going to come to an agreement or there’s going to be bloodshed and it isn’t going to be mine. I want you to stop pushing me around. Got it?”
She was wagging a finger at the horse by the time she was finished. Liberator responded by barring his teeth and bobbing his head up and down. He tried to stick his neck out and push her again, but she moved back, thumping him on his big, soft nose when he tried. The horse didn’t take kindly to that and began to snort and shake his head again.
“Stop it,” Rory demanded, “or there will be more where that came from.”
Kieran was standing next to her, watching the exchange. “He does not want to stop,” he said as if she were fighting a losing game. “He apparently finds it great fun to push you about.”
She turned her nose up at the horse and at Kieran. “Then he’s going to get shoved back.”
“At least he is not attempting to bite you.”
“He’s trying to stomp me.”
Kieran laughed, taking her arm again and pulling her away from her nemesis. He took her back into a corner of the stable. When they neared the last stall, two good-sized ponies suddenly came into view. They were tethered to the wall, munching on hay, and their big, black eyes blinked at the humans who intruded into their space. Kieran pointed at them.
“Here,” he said, suddenly moving away from her as he spoke. “You said that you would be more comfortable if you were not on the back of a horse, so I purchased these for you.”
She was about to ask what when he suddenly lifted a cart out of the stall opposite the ponies. It was a fairly large cart but with Kieran’s size and strength, it looked like he was handling a child’s toy. He set the cart down and Rory gasped with both surprise and pleasure. The cart had a bench seat that would fit two women or one larger man, and a flatbed in the back for baggage. It was made out of some kind of dark wood, although Rory wasn’t sure what kind, and the wheels were of sturdy iron and wood. With the two ponies to drive, it would make a delightful little ride. She was thrilled.
“It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, inspecting it closely. “You bought this for me?”
He smiled, pleased with her excitement. “Do you like it?”
She nodded eagerly. “I love it!” She moved back to the two ponies; a big, white one and a big, orange one. She scratched their heads as they ate like pigs. “They’re adorable. I love them.”
“I am glad you are pleased.”
She suddenly whirled around and threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. “You’re so wonderful.” She kissed him. “You’re the best husband in the world and I love you madly.”
He returned her kisses and set her to her feet. “Which reminds me,” he said. “We have an appointment to keep.”
“Appointment?” She looked puzzled as he took her hand and began to lead her out of the livery. “What appointment?
“Come along,” he said steadily.
She looked back at her ponies and the cart. “But what about my pony cart? Don’t I get to drive it?”
“In good time. Come along.”
“But I want to drive it.”
“You sound like a petulant child. You can drive it later.”
“I don’t want to drive it later; I want to drive it now.”
“Shut up.”
She pinched him.
*
Marriage in the Abbey of St. Victor was all Rory imagined it would be. The place was massive, smelling of ghosts, with a vast sanctuary and no pews. It was like a giant auditorium with uneven dirt floors and one could hear whispers from every corner. It acted like a giant megaphone, magnifying sounds. She was awed from the moment she walked in until the dirty priest appeared.
It was her first good look at a Medieval Catholic priest and she wasn’t surprised to see just how raw and dirty the man was. There were stains all over his robes, which were not the beautiful ritual gowns she had grown accustomed to but plain brown wool, layers upon layers of it. He had sores on his face and hands. He looked like a leper and she looked at Kieran with disgust when the man appeared to perform their mass. Kieran stoically pulled her to her knees and crossed himself as the priest began the ceremony.
It was performed in Latin, as Rory knew it would be. She was very familiar with Latin on paper and was able to understand most of what was being said. The priest was helped during the mass by three very young boys, basically dressed in rags. Rory found herself watching the boys more than listening to the mass, noticing that two of them had pretty serious bruises on what flesh she could see.
One little boy, no more than five years old, had a black eye. In fact, that particular child had welts on his lower legs and a few bloodied toes. He looked as if he had been severely thrashed. More than that, he was terribly skinny. She watched the child throughout the mass, growing increasingly concerned. When the priest finished the ceremony, Kieran chastely kissed Rory on the forehead and smiled at her.
“Lady Hage,” his brown eyes twinkled. “Now we are official in the eyes of God.”
She smiled back at him, watching as he negotiated the mass donation with the priest and paid the man. Meanwhile, her attention was back on the boys, the smallest one in particular with the black eye. He was an adorable child with brown hair and big, blue eyes. She watched him carefully collect the items that the priest used during the mass, only to receive a sharp shove by the older altar boy, causing him to drop a cup. The priest turned around and cuffed the kid on the side of the head. He teetered but didn’t fall down. Rory was livid.
“Did you see that?” She turned to Kieran angrily. “The priest hit that little boy for no reason.”
Kieran was pulling his big, leather gloves on. He glanced around, trying to see what she was so outraged about. “I did not see,” he said, rather carelessly. “Come along, sweetheart. We should be along our way.”
She couldn’t believe he was so cold. On the other hand, abused children during this time period were not unusual. Still, she couldn’t stand by while a child was obviously abused. She knew she couldn’t save every child. But she just couldn’t seem to walk away from this one.
“Not yet,” she told him, more calmly, knowing it would do no good to go crazy about it. “I want you to do something for me.”
His mind was already on their travels ahead and he was preoccupied. “What is that?”
“I want you to go and get that little altar boy and bring him with us.”
He stopped fiddling with his gloves and looked at her. “What?” his brow flickered with confusion. “What are you saying?”
She was firm and controlled. “Look,” she lowered her voice. “That little boy is obviously abused. I know that’s no big deal in this time, but in my time it’s a huge deal. We don’t allow children to be abused and I just can’t walk away from that little boy without trying to help him. I want to take him out of this place. He’s all covered with bruises.”
Kieran just stared at her, processing what she was staying. It was obvious that he was fighting down his irritation as he put his enormous hands on her shoulders. “Sweetheart,” he tried to stay patient. “What happens to that child is not our business. He belongs to the Church.”
She pulled away from him. “That doesn’t give them the right to abuse him,” she said, increasingly hot. “Do you approve of beating a child?”
He hissed, looking for an answer that wouldn’t throw her over the edge. “I would not beat my own child if that is what you mean.”
“It’s not what I mean,” she said, exasperated. “Look, Kieran. I listened to you when you told me never to stray from you for my own safety. I listened to you when you wouldn’t let me take a closer look at the brothels along the waterfront. I’ve been listening to you since we arrived. But this time, I really want you to listen to me for once. Abuse is not right, on any level, and I just can’t walk away from that poor little kid who’s so obviously beat up.”
He stared at her before exhaling sharply like a man who knows when he has already lost the battle. “What do you want me to do?” he asked irritably.
She pointed in the direction that the priest and the boys had just disappeared. “I want you to go and see if that boy is an orphan. If he is, I want you to bring him with us.”
His eyebrows flew up in outrage at her ridiculous statement. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. If he doesn’t have any family, then he’s coming with us.”
He was trying to keep his mouth from hanging open in shock. “And if he is not an orphan?”
“Then there’s not much we can do other than to tell the priest to stop hitting him. Threaten to punch the priest if he hits the boy again.”
“I am not threatening a priest.”
She knew he wouldn’t but she was passionate about her feelings. “Whatever,” she waved her hand at him as if to erase the threat request. “But if he has no parents, I want him.”
Kieran regarded her. “For what purpose?”
She threw up her arms. “So we can take him out of this abusive environment. He can be a little servant for us or something. Anything to get him out of here. I just can’t leave that child behind knowing that they’re beating him. Can’t you understand?”
Kieran’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he walked away, disappearing into the shadows of St. Victor’s. Rory waited for him patiently, finding interest in her surroundings as she waited. There was a massive supporting pillar a few feet away and she went to it, inspecting it, running her fingers along the stone. All the while, however, her mind was with Kieran wherever he was. She was extremely fortunate and she knew it. The man would do anything for her. But, then again, she would do anything for him as well. The more time she spent with him, the luckier and more blessed she felt.
It was some time before Kieran reappeared. Rory was leaning against the pillar when he entered the church again and she immediately straightened at the sight of him. As he emerged from the shadows, a small boy emerged with him. It was the beaten little boy.
Rory smiled when she saw the little figure, her smile fading when she saw tears all over his face. She looked at Kieran.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why is he crying?”
Kieran lifted an eyebrow at her. “Because this is his home and he does not want to leave his brother. But you wanted him to come with us so here he is. Satisfied?”
He said it so coldly. Rory’s heart sank as she gazed up at him. He obviously didn’t see what she was trying to do. She was trying to help a child. Kieran thought she was just being demanding and unreasonable. He could have done less damage had he struck her, so harsh was his expression. He just didn’t understand her motives and she probably couldn’t make him. There was so much about each other that they still didn’t understand. Her smile vanished and the tears began to come.
“No,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry if he’s unhappy. I thought I was helping him by taking him out of a place where he was beaten and starved. But I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry I put you through all the trouble, Kieran, I really am. Take him back to his brother and let’s get out of here.”
She turned on her heel and marched off towards the door. Kieran caught up to her within a few steps and grabbed her but she resisted violently.
“Let me go.” She didn’t want to raise her voice in the church, struggling to yank herself from his grip. “Just… let me go and take him back where he belongs. I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you. I’m sorry all I do is make unreasonable demands. I’m sorry I…!”
Kieran had heard enough. He threw his arms around her and pulled her face against his chest, effectively muffling her. She continued to fight him and he continued to hold tight.
“Calm yourself, Lib,” he said in that sweet, low voice that was so effective at soothing her nerves. “You are not an embarrassment and you are not unreasonable. But I do not understand you at times and I apologize if my confusion shows.”
She would not be soothed and the tears were going full force. She began to pound on his chest, trying to separate herself from him.
“Let me go,” she demanded, weeping. “I don’t want you to hold me right now. I want you to let me go.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he did. She pulled away from him, her hair mussed and her hands on her face. She walked a few feet away, pressed herself against another stone pillar, and wept. Kieran stood there and watched her, his arms aching to hold her and his heart saddened by her tears.
“I hate it here,” she sobbed. “I hate this place. I hate everything about it except you. I don’t get it. I thought I did, but I really don’t. I have a Doctorate in Archaeology but I still don’t get anything about this time and you just don’t understand me.”
He continued to stand there patiently, watching her vent. He felt sorry for her; he really did. He knew very well what it was to be misplaced in time, the disorientation and frustration. She was doing her best but, still, it was a struggle. He wished he could do more to help her adjust but it was something only time could heal.
As he watched her weep, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The little orphan boy was approaching timidly, moving to the other side of the pillar that Rory was weeping against and pressing himself against it as if hiding from her. His big blue eyes were wide as he began to creep around the side of the pillar until he came within a foot or so of Rory. As Kieran watched curiously, the little boy reached up and tugged on her sleeve.
“La dame?” the little boy whispered. “Pourquoi pleurez-vous?”
Rory looked down at the child, tears streaming down her face. But the sobbing stopped when she realized the kid was talking to her.
“What did he say?” she asked Kieran, sniffling.
“He wants to know why you weep,” he replied softly.
She looked at the boy, amazed that so young a child could show such an adult emotion as concern. She knelt down in front of him, gazing up at his very handsome little face, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She smiled.
“Tell him that I cry because I am concerned for him,” she said. “I don’t like it when others hurt him.”
Kieran relayed the message in his beautiful, fluent French. The little boy looked at Kieran as if uncomprehending the words. He didn’t know what to say. Kieran broke from his stance a few feet away and went to Rory and the child, taking a knee beside them. He put his big hand on Rory’s back comfortingly.
“Your words have no meaning to him,” he said. “I suspect that he has never had anyone show concern for him. He does not know what to make of it.”
Rory gazed down at the little face and took the child’s hands in hers. They were dirty little appendages but warm and soft.
“Please tell him that I only wanted to help him by taking him away from people that would hurt him,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make him unhappy or take him away from his brother. I just didn’t want him to be beaten anymore.”
Kieran relayed the words and the child stared at him. It was apparent that the boy had no clue what he meant. Kieran kissed Rory on the temple and stood up, towering over Rory and the child. He assumed there was nothing more to say and found himself increasingly eager to be on their way. But he wouldn’t let Rory know that; she was trying to do something compassionate and kind. In spite of what she said, he did understand that.
As he stood there and tightened up his leather gloves, the child looked up at him again.
“Mon frère peut-il venir aussi?” he asked in his sweet, little voice.
Kieran looked at the child with a blank expression as Rory stood up and looked at him curiously.
“What did he say?” she asked.
It would have been easy to lie to her. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. “He wants to know if his brother can come with us,” he said.
Rory looked at the little boy before returning her focus to Kieran. When he looked at her, he could see the joy return to her eyes and, like an idiot, he knew his life was about to change forever. There was no way he could deny her.
“Can his brother come?” she asked Kieran.
Kieran grunted, pursing his lips with resignation. Then he nodded. “If that is your wish,” he grumbled. “As if I have any say in the matter, but thank you for pretending to give me some semblance of control.”
She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered sincerely, kissing his cheeks. “You’re such a sweet man. Thank you for your compassion and generosity.”
He held her tightly, allowing her to demonstrate her thanks with her soft lips on his face. “Aye, I am compassionate and generous,” he muttered. “But you are making me daft.”
She gazed up at him, glowing and smiling. “Admit it. Your life would be boring without me.”
“Boring, unhappy and lonely. But at least I would retain my sanity.”
She giggled and kissed him. He returned her kisses, tasting her sweetness, happy that things were well between them again. They usually were when she got her way in all things, he thought. But he didn’t care in the least.
Setting her to her feet, he disappeared with the little boy for a time and returned with the child plus an older boy, about seven years of age. He had also been one of the altar boys, dirty and bruised. This child was blond but with the same big blue eyes, extremely skinny and dressed in rags. He also had a small sack with him. Kieran indicated the two young lads.
“This is Little Mouse and his older brother, John,” Kieran introduced the boys to Rory. “According to the priest, they have been with St. Victor’s since they were infants. They do not know who their parents are but suspect the mother works in one of the brothel’s in town. The woman who brought the boys claimed she was not their mother but said the boys’ fathers are Christian knights who fight with Richard.”
Rory held Kieran’s elbow as she gazed down at the skinny, dirty boys. “They’re adorable,” she said softly. “But I don’t like their names. We’re going to call them Bud and David.”
Kieran looked at her, sharply, before breaking down into snorts. “Of course,” he slapped his thigh ironically. “After Dr. Dietrich and Dr. Peck. You would name them after your colleagues?”
“They were our friends.”
His smile faded and he patted her hand affectionately, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, not wanting her to sink into depression reflecting upon those she left behind. Then he looked back at the boys and spoke to them in French. “Entendez-vous cela? Votre nom est Bud et votre plus vieux nom du frère est David. Vous répondrez à ces noms à partir de.”
Rory could guess what he said by the way the boys looked at him and each other. She shook her head. “Deseo que hablara francés,” she said to Kieran.
He looked at her strangely. “What language is that?”
“Spanish. Well, Mexican Spanish. It’s native to the Mexicans where I’m from.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her, smiling with some approval. “What did you say?”
“That I wish I spoke French.”
He lifted his eyebrows at her. “I believe I like this Mexican Spanish,” he said. “It sounds rather seductive. You will speak more to me when we are in private.”
She chuckled, refusing to give in to his sexual innuendos in front of the boys. She shook her head at him and focused on the children.
“Operor vos agnosco illa lacuna?” she asked.
The boys’ eyes widened and they nodded their head. Smiling, Rory looked up at Kieran. “Well, at least I can communicate with them somewhat,” she said. “I took five years of Latin in college as it related to my major. It was necessary for translating Medieval documents. I’m not very good at speaking it but I can read it pretty well.”
He was still smiling at her from his earlier comment regarding her Spanish. He reached out and pulled her against him. “I find your ability to converse in Spanish and Latin extremely alluring,” he murmured. “Say more words.”
She giggled, pushing against him until he let her go. “Stop it,” she commanded weakly, a smile on her lips. “Not in front of the children.”
He fought off a smirk. Rory gazed down at the confused, somewhat tired little faces and her smile began to fade as well. She reached up and took Kieran’s fingers within her own.
“Ask them if they really want to come,” she said quietly.
He looked at her as if she were mad. “What?” he cried. “After all this, now you think to ask them?”
“Please?”
He was back to being irritated and asked the boys, somewhat impatiently, if they really wanted to come. The boys nodded without hesitation. Then the little one took the older one’s hand, holding it tightly. Rory was touched by the gesture. It was just the two of them. Perhaps, they supposed that anything was better than what they had, fearful or not. She couldn’t tell if they were afraid, curious or both.
“All right,” she tugged on Kieran’s massive hand. “Let’s go.”
He nodded wearily. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to rescue more boys perhaps? Or even the priest? Perhaps we have it all wrong and the boys are beating the priest and each other. Perhaps we need to save them from themselves.”
She slapped him on the arm. “Oh, shut up.”
He laughed heartily as they walked from the church.