Kingdom Come (12 page)

She could only nod and he continued. “Then trust me now. I will not let any harm befall you, I swear it. I am trying to help you.”

Rory gazed up into his clear brown eyes, knowing he was right; he would never intentionally or knowingly let any harm befall her. But she was injured and disoriented and the thought of drinking a Medieval potion did not sit well.  She just needed a couple of naproxen and sleep and she would feel much better. But that wasn’t available; she struggled to clear her muddled mind and remember what she knew about Medieval medicine and the properties of those ingredients from her pre-med days. Think, girl, she told herself. This is your Time. You know about this period!

“If I recall, Marigold was used for stomach ailments,” she muttered, taking a deep breath to relax her jangled nerves. “Willow is aspirin, basically.  And Arnica is an anti-inflammatory.”

Kieran watched her reason her way through the potion. “Will you drink it?”

Rory regarded him for a moment before turning to Kaleef.  It was then she began to notice their surroundings; the hut was small, smoky, and rats skittered along the base of the walls; she could hear them. It was also hugely cluttered, like a hoarder, with things she couldn’t even begin to identify. Bowls of stuff littered the three tables that were scattered throughout the hut and there were shelves of more bowls, plates, sacks and vials.  It was a crazy place, like a mad scientist’s lab from a cartoon. It stank of feces and other things she didn’t recognize. In spite of her throbbing head and rolling stomach, she found a great deal of interest in the wild and foreign room.

“You said you’re not a healer,” she said to the tiny old man. “What are you?”

The old man peered strangely at her. “What are your words?”

She cocked her head. “Can’t you understand me?”

“I understand you. But you speak strangely.”

Kieran spoke before she could respond. “My wife asked you a question,” he said in his firm, deep voice. “You will answer her.”

Rory cast him an odd look. “Wife?” she mouthed.

He lifted an eyebrow at her and she shrugged, turning back to the little brown man.  She was startled to realize that he had moved close to her, eyeing her most strangely. Although Rory wasn’t tall, about five feet four inches, she felt like a giant next to the old man who was now standing very close and inspecting her carefully.  He didn’t seem as agitated or angry as he had earlier; in fact, he seemed genuinely curious.

“You have a wound on your face,” he observed.

Rory’s hand flew to her face, feeling the scrape on her right cheek. “Oh, my God,” she gasped with horror, looking at Kieran with panic. “Is it bad?”

He shook his head. “Nay,” he murmured. “You are as beautiful as ever.”

But Rory was distressed. “I’d give my eye teeth for a mirror right now,” she muttered, fingers still fluttering over the scrape as she looked to the old man. “Do… do you have something that can heal this?”

The old man’s black eyes twinkled. “Tell me from whence you come. You are not English.”

It was clear that he was more interested in her personally than in her physical state.  She lifted an eyebrow at him. “I’ll tell you where I’m from if you tell me why you said that you’re not a healer,” she replied.

“I am an alchemist.”

“Alchemists don’t use things like Marigold and willow.”

“My knowledge is not limited. I have what I have and I use what I use.”

He had a slight smile on his face, as if waiting for her great secret. She couldn’t help but smile at the nosy old man; she suddenly didn’t feel so hostile or upset any more. The old man had transformed from something odd and scary to something odd and strangely interesting.

“I’m from a country you have never heard of, very far away. I’m not English, or German, or French. It’s called America.”

“Where is this place?”

She lifted an arm, pointing towards the door although she had no idea which direction she was really pointing in.

“Across the sea,” she told him. “Very far away.”

At this point, Kieran intervened; his Saracen comrades were listening and they tended to be superstitious and suspicious. He didn’t want them thinking she was a product of black magic, or worse.  Rory spoke with an odd enough accent without that additional worry.

“Will you give her your potion now?” he said rather authoritatively.

The old man’s gaze lingered on Rory a moment longer before he turned away and went back to his mysterious medicaments.  Rory, to Kieran’s surprise, followed.  As the old man began to mix things in a rough wooden cup, she stood next to him and inspected the oddities of the table.

“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to a dusty bag with white powder seeping from it.

He didn’t look at her as he continued to mix. “Sulpher.”

She lifted an eyebrow at it for one final inspection and moved on to a bowl with dark liquid in it. “And this?”

“Ram’s blood.”

She made a face and moved on, smelling and touching.  Surprisingly, Kaleef let her; he never uttered a word while she rummaged through his possessions.  But Rory was starting to come alive, deeply interested in everything in front of her. Archaeological digs were one thing, touching items that were hundreds and thousands of years old, inspecting and studying them. She’d spent years of her life studying how others interpreted history. But to see medieval items in their original state as they were meant to be was absolutely fascinating.  Her archaeologist’s mind was kicking in.

“If I recall,” she said, peering into another bowl of something smelly and coagulated. “Alchemists use sulpher because they believed it emulates the sun. What do you use it for?”

Kaleef remained silent as he stirred the contents of the cup. Then he turned to her and extended it. “It is the sun,” he told her flatly. “Drink this.”

Rory’s first reaction was to resist; she pursed her lips to retort but caught a glimpse of Kieran from the corner of her eye; his expression was pleading, calming. He had asked her to cooperate and since they had arrived in this distant place and time, she hadn’t done a very good job. She was bucking and resisting at every turn and she realized that she didn’t want to do that any longer; for Kieran’s sake, she would behave. The man had enough stress on his hands at the moment.

Reluctantly, she took the cup and took a sip; it was bitter. Taking a deep breath, she drank it quickly like a shot of tequila.Handing the cup back to Kaleef, she looked over at Kieran and he smiled his approval. She smiled weakly in return, coming to notice the host of Saracens standing around and behind him. Now that her wits were returning, she was beginning to grow curious and fearful of their presence. She fixed on the man standing next to Kieran with the fine features and neatly trimmed beard.

“Kieran?” she spoke to him even though she was looking at the good-looking man.“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your, uh, friend?”

Before Kieran could reply, Kaleef walked up next to her, grabbed her chin, and began smearing something gooey on her scraped cheek. Rory danced around like a kid who just had a cut sprayed with antiseptic, but she didn’t pull away. She let him smear.

“Hey,” she protested. “What in the heck is that?”

Kaleef gave her face one last stroke with the salve. “Calendula and boiled cow’s urine,” he told her. “It will heal your face and prevent poison.”

She let out a strangled yelp, holding her hands up but stopping short of putting them on her face; she knew that boiled cow’s urine had certain medicinal qualities to prevent infection. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “Cow’s urine on my face. I think I’m going to hurl.”

Kieran fought off a grin, bent over and kissed her on the opposite cheek.  “You smell strangely,” he rubbed it in.

She scowled. “You’re not funny.”

“Aye, I am.” He took her by the arm, presenting her to the man standing next to him. “This is my friend, Yusef al-Din. He is the one who brought us here for help.”

Rory smiled faintly at the richly brown Saracen, still puzzled as to how, and why, the man was here. She noted the heavy, dusty robes, layers of them, in faded reds and yellows that were elaborately tasseled.  He had a neatly wrapped turban around his head and neck.

“Thank you for your help,” she said after a moment. “It’s very nice to meet you.”          

Yusef’s dark eyes glittered. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Hage. Are you feeling better?”

“A little,” she admitted.

Yusef looked between Kieran and his absolutely gorgeous, though strangely speaking, wife. “Praise to Allah” he said. “It was our fault that you were injured. I hope that you will forgive.”

Rory wasn’t sure what to say; she looked at Kieran uncertainly and he put his massive arm around her shoulders.

“It ‘twas Yusef and his warriors pursuing us,” he explained. “They did not know it was me and, consequently, are very sorry to have caused your injury. That is why they brought us here.”

Rory lifted an eyebrow, half-shrugging as her gaze returned to Yusef and his frightening warriors; she could see them lingering in the shadows, tattooed and swarthy, with assortments of daggers about their bodies.  The realization that she was gazing upon true Saracen warriors did not escape her; as she had done with Kieran when the man had first donned his mail and armor, she began to visually inspect Yusef and his men closely.

“May I ask you a few questions?” she asked Yusef.

He bowed gallantly. “I am at your service, Lady Hage.”

She took a step towards him, the hazel eyes glittering. “The writing you have on your bodies,” she indicated the men behind Yusef. “Is it true that it’s passages from the Koran? Is it put on specific places on your body to represent specific wishes or blessings?”

Yusef’s expression took on an odd look; he looked at Kieran with some surprise as the big knight suddenly put his hands on Rory’s shoulders and pulled her back against him.  His lips went to her good ear.

“Watch what you ask, Lib,” he hissed. “Men of this time do not appreciate nor respect bold women. You must learn to keep your mouth shut. If you have specific questions, you will ask me. Is that clear?”

She nodded, looking at Yusef with a wide-eyed expression. “I’m sorry,” she said to Yusef. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that the writing is so beautiful and I was curious.”

Yusef scratched beneath his turban in an indecisive gesture, eyeing Kieran again before breaking down into snorts.

“You did not offend me, lady,” he replied. “You are not native to this land. You do not understand our ways.”

“No, I don’t,” she insisted strongly, putting up her hands as if to beg an apology. “I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Or course you did not.”

Kieran let that be the end of it, pulling Rory away from Yusef and turning her back towards the Kaleef.  The old man now had a rag in his hand and was carrying a bowl with an unidentifiable liquid in it. He set it down on the rickety old table, grabbed Rory by the chin again, and began cleaning out her bloodied ear. 

She shrieked softly as he put the rag to her ear, terrified that it was filthy and unsanitary. But she said nothing as he cleaned the blood away and peered in her ear.Seemingly satisfied, he took both of her arms and pushed the sleeves back, inspecting the limbs. When he seemed content with his inspection, he turned back to his bowl and rag, carrying them back over to an uneven table against the wall of the hut where his medicaments were stored.