Kingdom Come (30 page)

“You’re the most important thing in the world to me,” she sobbed. “Why do you think I was trying to help you?”

He knew that but he didn’t have anything to say about it. “Calm yourself, sweetheart,” his lips were by her ear, his voice low and soothing. “Everything is all right now. Just calm yourself.”

Rory was exhausted. She put her hands up to her face, covering it, wiped out from the day’s events, the pregnancy, the weeping.  She quieted quickly as Kieran held her and drifted off into a fitful doze. Kieran thought wryly that she must have been thoroughly exhausted because she didn’t even inspect the bed for bugs.  He held her, both arms wrapped around her body and a massive hand on her forehead, stroking her gently.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he kissed her gently.  “All will be well on the morrow.”

She snored in response.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Belvoir Castle, Lincolnshire

England

John Lackland, Prince of England and remaining surviving brother of Richard the Lion Heart, was in truth a man of few words. Being the youngest in a family of aggressive loudmouths had left him a rather edgy and quiet man, not given to fine speeches or big demands. He simply gave orders to those around him, who moved heaven and earth to ensure that his wishes were met. Not because they loved the man; they did it because they were aggressive and full of ambition, and John had the power and wealth to ensure their dreams were achieved. 

Simon de Corlet sat across the table from the prince. It was a gloomy day, the rain coming down in silver sheets and thunder clapping steadily.  The solar of Belvoir Castle was moderately warm and well lit, considering John wasn’t fond of darkness.  There was danger in darkness. The prince eyed de Corlet across the taper-lit table.

“Your tale is an amazing one, I must say,” John said slowly. “You have told me, in essence, that Saladin presented the Christian armies with the crown of thorns worn by Jesus Christ as he was being put to death by the Romans? I am most eager to see this holy relic.”

Simon was nervous.  Sometimes John heard only what he wanted to hear, not what had actually been said.

“It was a gift, Your Grace, to prove that he was sincere in his desire to seek peace with the Christian armies,” Simon replied evenly. “As I told you, the gift never made it to Richard.  It is with Sir Kieran Hage and I do not know his whereabouts.”

John’s dark, droopy eyes gazed steadily at Simon. “You told my brother that Hage was a traitor. But one of your men told Richard that you had lied and that Hage was not a traitor at all.”

Simon could not hold the man’s gaze. “Aye, Your Grace.”

“So you fled home. Quickly, I might add.”

“I traveled as swiftly as I could in order that I might tell you what has transpired,” Simon’s head came up. “Kieran Hage has the relic. If he is able to present it to the King, then hostilities between the Muslims and Christians will cease. Victory will not be ours.”

“And my brother will be known as the king who brought peace to the Holy Land.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Simon said honestly. “But more than that, he shall return home as a saint, acclaimed as the greatest king to have ever ruled England.  Peace shall be known in The Levant but not victory.”

John’s expression darkened and he turned to his wine, drinking moodily. “I do not expect that all of the Christian kings will side with him,” he muttered. “Philip Augustus, Guy de Lusignan… they do not want peace. They want conquest and glory.”

Simon nodded. “Indeed they do, Your Grace,” he replied. “But your brother is persuasive. Even if he agrees to Saladin’s peace and pulls his armies out, there will still be those who will continue the fight. But Richard will be seen as the Peacemaker and the people will love him.”

John’s pale featured tightened. “If Richard returns home a saint, then my struggles against him will be more difficult.”

“The people will side with a saint and will look at you as evil for opposing him, Your Grace. Your cause will ended.”

John’s jaw ticked and he pushed his bejeweled cup aside.  He clawed at the table top a moment, his mind torn with thoughts of victory and defeat. He had been battling his brother for so long that he knew of no other way.  He looked up at Simon.

“It is possible that Kieran Hage has already presented my brother with this gift,” he ventured.

Simon nodded. “It is possible, Your Grace,” he replied. “The last time I saw him was in Nahariya.  I told him that he could not return to Richard, but when I was betrayed to the king, it is possible that Hage was able to present the gift. It is possible that Richard holds the crown of thorns already.”

John sat back in his chair, his dark eyes dull with uncertainty and anger. “The House of Hage is seated at Southwell Castle,” he muttered. “I know the family well. Jeffrey Hage served my father.”

Simon wasn’t sure what to say to that so he said nothing. He watched John rise from his cushioned chair, his skinny legs supporting a short and skinny body.  The prince made his way to the lancet window that overlooked the bailey of Belvoir, watching the rain pound in the courtyard below.  He clasped his hands behind his back, fidgeting with his spindly fingers.

“Perhaps I should pay a visit to Sir Jeffrey Hage,” John said slowly. “Perhaps he should know that his son is a traitor, having met with the Saracen armies in private in order to betray Richard.”

Simon wasn’t following the prince’s train of thought. “For what purpose, Your Grace?”

John wasn’t quite sure, either. But it seemed like a good plan. “The House of Hage is a very old, very proud family. To have a traitor in their midst… a son betraying a father… perhaps Sir Jeffrey will understand my resistance to my father. Perhaps he will understand my cause if he believes his son has become loyal to me.”

   Simon’s eyebrows flew up. “Kieran loyal to you?” he scoffed. “Never would that man swear fealty to you. He hates you.” When John turned sharply to him, he added nervously. “Your Grace.”

John’s dark eyes glittered wickedly; he had been playing these games since he had been five years old. Thanks to his mother and father, he understood the games well.

“We shall see,” he said quietly.

***

Kieran and his party were a day out of Southwell. Traveling had been wet and wild, rain pounding one day and then windy and cold the next. Before leaving London, he had sent a messenger ahead to Southwell to announce his arrival and he had also purchased a larger wagon to accommodate Rory’s increasing collection of trunks.  He gave the pony cart over to Bud and David completely and purchased an enclosed cab for Rory to travel in.  It was a well-made carriage that came with a big white horse to pull it.  He hired a driver at the livery where he purchased it and in little time, they were heading north to Nottinghamshire.

One more purchase they made before leaving was a horse for Yusef. He wasn’t fond of the big chargers, or even the Spanish Jennets, so Kieran had to go to three or four liveries before they found a horse that Yusef found acceptable. He was looking for an agile Arabian but settled for a long legged Spanish Jennet, a lovely carmel color with a black mane and tale.  Kieran assured Yusef that once they reached Southwell, the man could have his pick of the Arabians that Kieran had shipped home during the course of his three years in the Holy Land. He had something of a collection of the beautiful animals. Southwell stables had at least twelve of the horses and probably twice as many offspring of crossbreeds between Arabians and hearty English warmbloods.  Kieran’s instructions to his father was to breed the beasts and sell them for a hefty profit which, Kieran was sure, his father had gleefully done.

On this cloudy, misty morning, Rory sat in her cab, wrapped up in heavy cloaks against the chill, teaching English to little David. He had learned many words and was starting to string them together in sentences.  Kieran rode at the front of the group while Kaleef rode just behind him, driving the little pony cart. Rory’s cab came next with the hired driver followed by Bud driving the big wagon.  Yusef rode alongside Bud, making sure the boy didn’t get into any trouble.  It was an odd caravan but one that Kieran was extremely proud of; he was returning to Southwell with a wife, friends, servants, and a multitude of possessions. He always thought he would return at the head of his army, but that was not to be. Not that he was disappointed; quite the contrary. It was just not as he had expected.

Kaleef was behind him, singing softly as the ponies trudged over the muddy road.  Kieran turned to look at the old man, who seemed truly happy in spite of the fact that he had been burned out of his home and forced to trek thousands of miles to a far away enemy country.  Kieran thought back to that time before, when history had taken another turn, the day when Simon’s assassins had wounded him and he had made his way to Kaleef, looking for help.  They’d had a conversation while Kieran lay dying, something that Kieran remembered even now; I sense your work on this earth is not yet complete.  Even then, the old man had been intuitive.  Odd how he found the old man with him now and Kieran had to wonder if it wasn’t for some greater purpose. Kaleef was a great healer. Perhaps he would be needed again to heal Kieran again in the future.  Or even Rory.

Thinking of his wife made him rein his horse around to the cab she was riding in.  He directed Liberator next to the cab, peering in to see her sitting huddled up with young David, both of them under heavy blankets.  When Rory caught sight of Kieran, she smiled at him.

“Hello there,” she said brightly. “How’s it going?”

He flipped up his visor, returning her smile. “All is well,” he replied to her modern-day greeting. He had learned to figure them out. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” she said. “Just tired. How are you?”

His smiled broadened. “I am always well as long as I am with you.”

She smiled coyly, batting her eyelashes at him dramatically. “You always know the right thing to say, you smooth-tongued devil.”

He laughed softly. “I would sing to you as well if I knew how.  But it would seem that you are the entertainer in our family.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but a split second later, she remembered her floor show at The Black Swan.  Since they day, they’d not spoken of it and she figured it was better to let some things lie. That particular moment in time was a sore point for them both. But he had brought it up so she wriggled her eyebrows at him.

“Oh, yeah,” she sigh. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“I have not. But given the emotions of that night, I did not want to bring it up too soon and risk upsetting you.”

“Me upset?” she looked at him, surprised. “You’re the one that was yelling at me, not the other way around.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “This is a line of conversation that neither one of us can win, so I suggest that we not pursue it.”  He pushed his helm back and scratched his forehead. “I did want to tell you how impressed I was with your singing ability, Libby. You are a woman of many talents.”

Her smile was back.  “Thank you, but I really wouldn’t call that singing. I was just trying to create a distraction so you wouldn’t get gored.”

He wasn’t going to get in to that subject with her again so he continued to focus on her singing skill. “Sing something for me now.”