Kingdom Come (10 page)

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I will sell you to a passing caravan as a slave and they can deal with your insolence.”

“Seriously? Those are my choices?”

“Make your decision. If you do not want to marry me, then there are a host of other women who will gladly accept the honor.”

“Other women?” she grabbed him by both arms and shook him playfully, although she wasn’t able to do much considering how big he was. “What other women?”

Now he was the one fighting off a grin. “Many, many others,” he said vaguely. “Too many to count. What is your decision?”

“I’ve decided to punch you right in the nose, buster.”

His laughter broke through and he slapped his visor down. “You cannot reach it,” he said. “Will you not at least consider my proposal?”

“Is that the best you can do? Really, Kieran? Your best effort at proposing to the woman you love?”

“Considering you come with no property, wealth or titles, you should feel fortunate that I have proposed at all.”

“You conceited ape,” she snorted, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. But then she wrapped her arms around his waist again and squeezed. “But I love you anyway.”

He laughed low, lifting one of her hands and kissing it. “Then you have decided to marry me?”

“I have.”

He kissed her hand again and put it back around his waist.  “I am glad.”

He had slowed the horse to a trot by this time, feeling comfortable enough to ease their pace. They were out of the city and heading southeast to Richard’s massive encampment and his mind began to whirl with what was to come.  Richard would undoubtedly believe him when he told him of Simon’s treachery; of that he was positive.  More than that, he had within his possession the Muslim offering of peace; the crown of thorns that Jesus Christ wore when he was crucified. In spite of Simon’s attempts to murder him, and one attempt that very nearly succeeded, he had it with him and was preparing to deliver it to the king. The mission, as he saw it, was near completion and the thought was somewhat overwhelming. 

Rory’s thoughts were also somewhat overwhelming and had been since she had awakened on the beach.  Only now, she was growing accustomed to the miracle she found herself a part of. Off in the distance, dogs howled and Rory gazed off towards the dark and lonely desert as if to see the night creatures. There wasn’t any Department of Land Management out here to keep the wolves at bay. They were wild and they were deadly. She would be glad when the reached the English encampment.

She lay her cheek against his back again, her mind wandering as the big, mean horse trotted along the road. It was rather rolling trot, not uncomfortable in the least, and eventually she drifted off to sleep.

Kieran felt her go limp against him and held her hands together at his waist, firmly, so she wouldn’t slide off.  There was something inherently fulfilling having her sleeping against him; in fact, her quiet, warm presence centered and strengthened him. He took a deep breath, smelling the air, reacquainting himself with the smell and feel of his time. He’d gotten used to the exhaust fumes and chaos of Rory’s time.  Now, he was back.

And he had a job to do.

CHAPTER FOUR

Kieran’s first sign of trouble was when a projectile sailed past his head, very nearly clipping him on the helm. Startled, he yanked the charger to a halt as he tried to determine where the arrow came from. It would do no good to tear off in a panic and run right into the enemy. It was a very dark night and it took him some time to see a dark tide of figures cresting a sandy plateau in the distance. They didn’t emit a sound as they roared in his direction; the only sound in the air was that of more arrows sailing towards him through the still desert air.

They were coming from the southwest, spreading out as they reached the base of the plateau. Kieran spurred his charger east, thundering out into the desolate land at top speed.  He was at a distinct disadvantage; Rory was behind him and he was terrified that she would catch a stray arrow in the back but he could not spare the time to stop the horse and remount her in front of him. His only hope was to maintain distance between him and the onslaught until he could lose them. He was familiar with the surrounding territory and he knew he was heading into increasingly open desert.

Behind him, Rory awoke with a start as the horse sped off at a gallop. She yelped, almost losing her seat but for Kieran still gripping her hands around his waist. He held her fast.

“What’s wrong?” she cried. “What are you…?”

Another arrow sailed past them; this time, Rory heard it and she yelped again, burying her head against Kieran’s back.

“Oh, my God,” she squealed. “What’s going on? Who’s attacking us?”

Kieran didn’t answer; he just kept running. There were a few settlements to the southeast, further out into the oases that dotted the deserts of this land, and he knew that Danun Castle about a morning’s ride from Nahariya.  At the moment, Danun Castle was occupied by Christian forces as it perched like a lioness on a rocky hill overlooking the arid countryside. Kieran had even spent some time there when he had first arrived in The Levant, another name for the Holy Land. He knew the castle well and he knew it would provide ample protection if they could only reach it. He pushed the horse faster.

More arrows sailed past, one of them glancing off of the armor on Kieran’s right arm. Terrified, Rory tucked herself into a ball and huddled against Kieran’s back, praying they would live through this. She just couldn’t imagine that God, or whatever deity existed, had allowed them both to return to Kieran’s time only to be murdered by bandits.The wind was whistling past her and the horse’s fast gallop had her teeth rattling, but she held on tight and continued to pray. Panic or a lot of frenzied questions would not help Kieran get them out of this bind.

They flew across the rocky, sandy terrain. The wind whistled around them, whipping Rory’s braids into a frenzy.  The land was relatively flat but there were small rocky outcroppings jutting intermittently out of the ground, like little hills. Kieran directed the horse around these outcroppings, creating some measure of barrier between them and their pursuers.The silver moon was a sliver against the night sky but it was enough light for Kieran to see where he was going and navigate in the direction of Danun Castle.  He still didn’t see any familiar landmarks as he concentrated on heading in the right direction, making sure Rory didn’t slide off behind him, and ensuring that the bandits trying to catch them didn’t get the chance.  He was cool, collected and professional. He’d dealt with ambushes before and was relatively confident he could elude them.

But his calm demeanor shattered when Liberator suddenly went down. The horse stepped in a hole in the darkened desert landscape and went head over heels, pitching Kieran and Rory off. Kieran did nothing more than hit heavily in all of his weighty armor, which protected him from the fall, but Rory sailed through the air and landed on her head and right shoulder. Knocked unconscious, she lay lifeless as Kieran rolled to his feet.

Liberator was unharmed except for a big scrape on the side of his neck.  He remained next to Kieran as the knight bolted into a standing position.  He raced to Rory, lying motionless on the sand, and gathered her into his arms.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured urgently. “Can you hear me? Wake up, Lib. Wake up and look at me.”

Rory remained still; her right ear and the side of her face were scraped from having come into contact with the rocky soil.Kieran tried to get a look at her ear, which he thought was trickling blood also. Sickened at the sight to the point of being almost physically ill, he nonetheless retained sense enough to make his way back to the horse.  

His panicked gaze surveyed the landscape, seeing a couple of phantom riders in the distance against the black night but little else. He had time to continue on, now with the added terror of Rory’s injury.Just as he reached Liberator, an elaborate dagger with a curved, beveled blade sailed through the air and landed between him and the horse.Although startled by the weapon, Kieran appeared outwardly calm as several Saracen riders emerged like vengeful wraiths from behind a rocky outcropping.

Kieran sized up the situation in an instant; he was at an extreme disadvantage with Rory in his arms and his broadsword on his saddle. He further knew that they were in a good deal of trouble; he was an experienced warrior. He knew that all the posturing in the world would not get him out of this bind. Had it only been him, he would not have known any fear. But with Rory injured and vulnerable, he fought down the panic that threatened.  Eyes on the enemy, he spoke to the horse.

“
Courir à la maison
,” he hissed. “
Hâte
!”

Liberator snorted, reared up, and bolted off.  Even if he and Rory were about to be captured, he didn’t want the horse, or the contents of his saddle bags, to fall into enemy hands. Liberator was smart; he knew the way back to Richard’s camp. It was only a few miles away. Kieran could only pray that Richard found the horse and grew nosy enough to dig into the saddle bags; he didn’t even care if the man sent out a search party. All he wanted was for the king to find the Muslim gift of peace that was waiting for him buried in the weathered leather.

“I do not have a weapon,” Kieran announced in a steady, booming voice. “My lady is injured. I ask for your mercy.”

One man broke off from the rest and pursued Liberator as the horse raced off into the night.  The other riders, eight in all, lingered in the darkness in a semi-circle around Kieran and Rory, like vultures waiting for the kill.  Kieran stood there, clutching Rory against his chest, waiting for someone to make a move.  Knowing the Saracens as he did, he knew that if they were going to kill him, they would have done it right away and was puzzled with the apparent hesitance. It put him more on his guard and beneath his heavy armor, he was beginning to sweat.  Having Rory in his arms changed everything dramatically.

A horse finally separated from the group and moved towards him. Kieran had daggers on his body but he couldn’t get to them with Rory in his arms.And he couldn’t move her behind him to protect her, so he stood his ground with Rory clutched against his chest like a shield.He showed no outward fear as the horse and rider came upon him, but sweat was running in rivers down his neck.

The man braced a hand against his thigh and leaned down. His face was wrapped in a scarf of many colors that formed a turban around his head and neck.  He was dressed in fairly luxurious robes made from linen more than likely imported from Egypt, as that was a major fabric port, and the fantastic scimitar sword hung off his saddle. It was a deadly, arched weapon that had been the scourge of the Christian armies. The only things visible on the man’s face were his dark eyes, glittering back at Kieran in the weak moonlight.

“
Que faites-vous hors ici
, Hage ?” the man asked with quiet irony.

Kieran was startled by not only the question, but by the man apparently knowing his name.  He struggled to keep his calm.

“Do I know you?” he asked steadily.

The man paused, just long enough to feed Kieran’s unrest, before unwinding the scarf, partially exposing his rugged features. 

“Do you know this face, my friend?” he asked quietly.

Kieran’s eyes widened. “Yusef?”

Yusef Ibn Ahmed Ibn ad-Din smiled faintly, shaking his head as he did so. “You did not answer my question. What are you doing so far from Richard’s camp?”