Kingdom Come (18 page)

“There’s a cloak in one of those trunks,” Rory was dripping wet and wringing out her hair. “Would you please find it for me?”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Cold?”

“Freezing.”

“I warned you.”

She gave him an impatient
‘yes, I know you did’
expression. “Please, just find it,” she asked again. “And just so you know, I’d do it again if given the choice.”

He snorted as he turned for the pile of trunks and other items still being assembled on the shore.  There were several deck hands piling them up and he grabbed one of the men and paid him a gold coin to stand guard over everything. The man was big and burly, and happily agreed. Meanwhile, Kieran secured Liberator to a great iron weight lodged on the shore so the horse wouldn’t get into mischief before going in search of the magical trunk that held Rory’s cloaks.

Fortunately, he found it on the first try and brought forth a heavy linen cloak with a soft lining.  Rory thanked him gratefully and wrapped up against the balmy breeze blowing off the sea.   Eventually, all of their possessions were brought off the ship and Kieran paid a few men who worked along the ports to transport them to the nearest tavern.   Because she’d been cooped up on the ship so long, Rory wanted to walk, so Kieran took Liberator in one hand and Rory in the other and followed the wagon as it moved down the waterfront.

The first thing Rory noticed was that she couldn’t seem to walk a straight line.  She felt like she was still on the ship and the nausea she had been experiencing for weeks returned.   By the time they made it off the beach and onto the uneven, pitted road beyond, she was feeling pretty horrible.   But she kept her mouth shut; she’d done nothing but complain for the past three weeks and she was sure, at some point, Kieran was going to lose patience with her.  So she staggered next to him as they made their way down the waterfront, trying to distract herself by studying the Medieval scenery.  It was truly something to behold.

It was a big city.  There were neatly laid out streets with stone buildings and the land elevation increased as it moved further from the sea. Up on a hill overlooking the city was a church; she could see the steeple and a portion of the building. As she gripped Kieran’s arm with her left hand, she pointed up to the church on the hill.

“Look there,” she said, awe in her voice. “The abbey of St. Victor.”

Kieran’s dark eyes moved to the church on the hill. “A perfect place to receive the wedding sacrament.”

She looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Our marriage is not recognized by the Christian faith.”

Her gaze moved to the church in the distance once again. “So you want to get married there?”

“I do.”

”The Abbey of St. Victor is one of the oldest around. Do you think they’ll do it?”

“For a donation, the priests will do most anything.”

He said it was some irony but she let it go; she knew that it was generally known that Medieval priests could be corrupt.  There were loads of records and testimonies from the time period attesting to it. It was nothing new.  She continued to gaze up at the abbey.

“Did you know it was built by the Romans?” she asked.

He nodded. “I do,” he answered. “I traveled here, once, when I was a squire. My master was an old and wise knight, very pious, and we traveled France for two years to visit all of the prestigious churches so that he could pray. He felt that it would ensure the forgiveness of the men he had killed during his life and ensure his entry into heaven.”

  She continued to study the church. “If I recall correctly, St. Victor’s was destroyed about three hundred years ago and has only been rebuilt in the last hundred years. Didn’t the Saracens destroy it?”

He shrugged. “I do not know.”

“I think they did,” she was trying to recall her knowledge of the place. But her attention was soon diverted when the passed a building that had a series of paintings on a panel facing the street. 

The paintings were crude but unmistakable; they were sexual positions and beneath each position was some kind of writing she couldn’t make out.  Rory came to a halt, peering at the panel, then the building it was on, and back to the panel again.  Kieran saw what she was looking at gently pulled her along.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped, her mouth hanging open as he forced her to walk. “It’s a menu for sex.”

He didn’t say anything as they continued along, but Rory was clearly fascinated by it. “It’s like a fast food menu,” she pointed at it. “A la carte or in a combo. You can just order off the menu.”

He continued walking stoically. “Come along, wife.”

She dug her heels in. “Wait a minute,” she started pulling him back. “I want to see what it says.”

He shook his head and continued walking, dragging her along. “Well bred women do not give notice to such things.”

“But archaeologists do,” she insisted. “Please? I just want to see what it says.”

He came to a stop, so abruptly that she smacked into the back of him. His clear brown eyes were critical.

“I will again say nay,” he told her in a low voice. “It is unseemly. You must understand that there is no room for your scientific mind in these times. If you go back and read that, no matter how innocent your heart and mind is, it will attract unwanted and shameful attention. Is that clear?”

The amazed and somewhat amused expression disappeared off her face and she averted her gaze, looking at her feet. Kieran sighed faintly, kissed her on the forehead, and continued walking.

“I apologize if I was harsh, sweetheart,” his voice turned low and tender. “But you must understand that this is not your time.  The situation is markedly different and I do not want you to do anything that would put you in harm’s way.”

She was pouting, looking at the ground as he gently led her along. But contrary to their usual exchange, she didn’t argue with him.  He felt bad, like he had crushed her spirit, but he didn’t apologize further.  She had to understand. 

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 over head.  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 off loaded 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 wood 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 wait.  A tall, thin man in a tunic, some kind of vest, dirty pants and dirty shoes await 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.