Kingdom Come (11 page)

Kieran puffed out his cheeks, feeling an indistinct measure of relief roll through his body. “I was returning to camp when you and your men found me,” he explained. “Why did you chase me?”

Yusef shrugged. “Because you are a Christian knight, alone; that is reason enough,” he said. “You know better than to travel alone out in this land. But I did not know it was you until we drew close.”

“So what do you intend to do now that you know it is me?” Kieran looked down at Rory in his arms and the tendrils of panic he had been struggling to stave off began to grab at him. “My… my wife was badly hurt when my charger fell. I must return her to camp immediately.”

Yusef swung himself off his elaborately decorated horse, peering closely at Rory.  Kieran wasn’t a physic; he had no real knowledge of healing other than battlefield wounds. That wasn’t really healing, anyway; it was either stemming a blood flow, cramming intestines back into a sliced belly, or tying off a severed limb. When Yusef lifted Rory’s eyelids and inspected the blood flowing out of her right ear, Kieran let him; Yusef was one of the very few Saracens he trusted. 

The man was one of Salah-ad Din’s cousins, a servant of the great Saracen general El-Hajidd, one of the men who wanted peace between the Muslims and Christians. He had been at the head of the peace delegation from El-Hajidd that had presented Kieran and the other English knights with the crown of thorns reputed to have belonged to Jesus Christ, an offering demonstrating their willingness to cease armaments. So Kieran and Yusef knew and trusted each other, as much as enemies could.

After a careful examination, Yusef looked up at Kieran. “This is your wife?”

Kieran’s gaze was steady. “Aye.”

“You brought her with you from England?”

Kieran wasn’t sure how to answer him. “My lady and I will not be separated.” It was the truth.

Yusef grunted, looking at Rory one last time, noting the chestnut hair and exquisite features.  She was quite lovely. “It was foolish, Hage.”

“I had no choice.”

Yuself thought on that moment before finally waving his hand at him. “Your camp is too far away,” he said. “She needs help immediately. Come; let us return to Nahariya. I know a man there who can help.”

Kieran watched him as he mounted his fine-featured Arabian horse. “But my charger is more than likely half way back to Richard’s camp by now,” he said. “I do not have a mount.”

Yusef shouted over his shoulder, speaking quickly in Arabic. One of his men dismounted and brought the horse over to Kieran.  Yusef gestured to the animal.

“Ride,” he told him. “We return to Nahariya.”

Kieran wasn’t thrilled with returning to the city he was trying so hard to escape. “That may not be wise,” he said, not wanting to appear ungrateful. “A man is trying to kill me and will make an attempt tonight in Nahariya.   I was attempting to get clear of the city.”

Yusef shook his head, barking orders to his men in Arabic. The men suddenly began to flee, heading northwest at break-neck speed.

“Mount the horse,” he ordered again. “We will protect you from assassins.”

Kieran wanted to protest but he didn’t have much of a choice; it was more important to get Rory to a physic.  Even as he mounted the horse, he reminded himself repeatedly that Fate had returned them to his time for a reason. It was, however, increasingly unclear what that reason was.  As they raced across the star-lit desert towards the distant glowing town of Nahariya, he prayed very hard for two things; that Simon would not find him and be given a second chance to murder him, and that Rory would be all right.

But the situation was already changed. This time, as he entered the outskirts of the town, he had body guards, something he’d not had the first time Simon had tried to kill him. Even as he found himself entering the heart of the city, he realized that he was not particularly fearful. Even if Simon and his cutthroats saw him, they wouldn’t dare make a move with the host of Saracen soldiers surrounding him.

Turning a corner on a dusty, deserted alley, they ended up in front of a ramshackle and leaning structure.  Kieran dismounted with Rory in his arms, still unconscious.  He kissed her forehead, more concern than he had ever known consuming him as he approached the shack that Yusef was indicating.  He didn’t notice the door of the hut until they were upon it and the carving of a flaming candle came into view.  As realization dawned, it was if an unseen fist slammed into his chest; he suddenly couldn’t breathe.   He must have swayed because Yusef reached out to steady him, encouraging him to move forward.  But, for a moment, Kieran couldn’t seem to move.

There before him was the door of the alchemist who had put him into stasis  after Simon’s murder attempt, a stasis that froze his bodily functions until Rory, eight hundred years later, dug him up and awoke him with a kiss.  It was the very same man and the fact that he found himself back at the man’s door was more than odd. It was frighteningly coincidental and he resisted the urge to run. There was a sickening sense of déjà vu.

History was repeating itself in a slightly different fashion.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Kaleef,” Kieran breathed.

Yusef looked at him curiously as he pounded on the door. “You know this man?”

Kieran nodded. Then he shook his head. Truth was, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.  The door opened before he could speak and Yusef was diverted when a tiny old man with skin as brown as leather suddenly yanked open the door.

“
Sharif,
” Yusef gave the man the traditional Muslim greeting; his hand touched his forehead and lips in a flourished gesture. “My English friend has an injured wife. Will you tend her?”

Kaleef waved the lot of them off irritably. “I am not a surgeon,” he snapped, trying to shove his ill-fitting door closed. “Take her elsewhere.”

Before Yusef could negotiate, Kieran stepped forward and lashed out a massive boot, shoving the door open. The old man nearly toppled.

“I know you are an alchemist,” he growled, ducking his head low as he bowed in through the doorway. “But I also know you have the power to sustain life. You will help my wife.”

Kaleef almost tripped on himself attempting to move out of the big knight’s way.  He scooted after Kieran as the man entered his small, cluttered hut and looked for some place to lay Rory down.

“I told you I am not a physic,” he waved his arms around like a bird attempting to take flight. “Get out!”

Yusef came in behind Kieran, trying to be more diplomatic; Yusef was a handsome man, young, with fine features and a neatly clipped beard.  His manner was very calming. “She is injured,” he explained again. “Will you at least look at her before determining if you cannot help her?”

“Nay!”

“There is much gold if you will help her.”

That seemed to calm the old man down somewhat. Truth was, he was frightened and agitated; a host of Saracens and one enormous English knight were invading his hut and he was verging on panic. Kaleef lived a rather hermit-like life; he did not get on with other people well.   He eyed Yusef as the man produced a large gold coin, took the old man’s hand, and planted it squarely in his palm. The tangible evidence of money seemed to change the old man’s mind.

“Do not place her there!” he squawked as Kieran moved to put Rory on something that resembled a bed. He swept his arm across the table in the middle of the room, knocking off bowls, cups and a variety of other items.  “Put her here!”

Kieran did as he was told and lay Rory down on a rough-hewn table.  She groaned the moment she hit the table surface and Kieran’s heart lurched.

“Lib?” he whispered urgently. “Libby, can you hear me?”

She sighed painfully, her hand flying to her head. “Kieran?” she asked weakly.

He kissed her hand several times, his enormous palm on her forehead. “I am here, sweetheart.”

She groaned again, both hands on her head now. “My God,” she breathed as her eyes struggled open. “What happened?”

“My horse fell,” his mouth was on her hands, his big body hovering over her. “You were pitched off and hit your head. How do you feel?”

She was breathing rapidly, shallowly.Before she could answer Kieran, Kaleef came up on the other side of her with a potion in his hand.  Rory’s half-open eyes caught motion out of the corner of her eye and she started as the old man appeared.

“Drink this,” he commanded gruffly.

“Oh, my God,” she shrank away, pressing herself against Kieran and away from the extremely wrinkled old man. “Who in the hell are you?”

Kieran tried to comfort her. “This man is a healer.”

“I am not a healer,” the little old man flared, smacking his toothless mouth as he shoved the wooden cup at Rory again. “Drink.”

Rory was becoming more lucid even though her head was swimming and her stomach lurched. She felt as if she was listening to everything through a tube; her ears seemed to be plugged.  Her face hurt, her shoulders and back hurt, and she simply wanted to lay down and sleep. This crazy old man with the crazy looking cap on his head wasn’t helping her state.

“I’m not drinking anything,” she said flatly, looking up at Kieran and squinting her eyes as if there was too much light in the room. “Where are we?”

“Back in Nahariya,” Kieran said steadily.

Her muddled eyes widened. “Back in…?” she suddenly struggled to sit up. “We need to get out of here. Why in the world did you bring us back here?”

Yusef suddenly appeared next to Kieran, smiling pleasantly and greeting her with the traditional Muslim salute; fingers to forehead to lips.  “Lady Hage,” he spoke with an accent so thick that Rory could barely understand him. “You were injured. We brought you to the healer.”

“I am not a healer!” Kaleef spat, grabbing Rory by the shoulder and shoving her back onto the table. “Drink this or I’ll not lift another finger to help you!”

Rory was nauseous, in pain, and didn’t like the old man in the least. He was rude and smelled to high heaven of feces.  She lashed out a fist and shoved him back by the chest, spilling the contents of the cup.

“I’m not drinking anything,” she struggled to get off the table but Kieran held her firm. “Leave me alone. I’m getting out of here.”

Kieran was trying to keep her calm and be gentle with her but she was struggling a great deal. “I would feel better if he could examine you to ensure that you are well enough to travel,” he had her by the upper arms. “Please, Lib. Will you please do this for me?”

She was half-off the table, feeling woozy. Frightened and disoriented, the tears started coming. “I don’t want to drink anything,” she whispered pleadingly. “Please, Kieran. I don’t want to eat or drink anything.”

He held her face between his two enormous hands. “He is not going to poison you, I swear it,” he looked at the old man who was standing on the other side of the table muttering angrily to himself. “Tell her what is in your potion so she will not fear it.”

The old man made a face, shaking the spilt potion from his hands. “Marigold, white willow and crushed arnica petals, you silly girl.”

Kieran looked down at Rory’s pale face; tears were streaming onto his gloves and she was struggling not to sob. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. “Do you trust me?” he whispered.