Kingdom Come (55 page)

“Bud?” she whispered.

The knight’s icy eyes gazed at her a long moment before reaching out to grab her by the wrist.  He hauled Rory to her feet.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “And no lies, ‘else my justice shall be swift.”

Rory rationally knew that he wasn’t Bud, but he sure looked like him.  She was torn and bewildered by the sight, confused as hell.  Everything she’d ever heard about reincarnation or past lives suddenly popped into her head, a screaming mass of information that she struggled to shove aside. It’s not Bud, she told herself. It’s not him!

“My name is the Lady Rory Hage,” she told him as evenly as she could. “My husband is Kieran Hage.  I know you’ve heard of him.”

The knight’s eyes glimmered strangely and he looked oddly torn himself.  He looked the woman up and down, noting her fine clothing, her exquisite face. She was a fine beauty indeed, more than a fitting bride for the mighty Hage family. But the fact that she had been running around alone, in the town, had him puzzled. Suddenly, his anger wasn’t so great. He simply looked stunned and suspicious.

“Hage?” he repeated. “You are Kieran Hage’s wife?”

Rory nodded, trying to yank her hand out of the man’s grasp. “Yes,” she grunted as she futilely yanked again. It never occurred to her that she should not have told him who she was; she thought that Kieran’s name would strike fear into the man’s heart and he would instantly release her. “Let me go and I won’t tell him that you tried to abduct me.”

The knight’s grip wasn’t lessening; if anything, it tightened.  He suddenly yanked her towards him, twisting her wrist.  Rory yelped in pain as she ended up pressed rather closely against him.

“No lies, woman,” he growled. “I told you I would….”

“I’m not lying,” she insisted hotly. “My name is Rory Hage and if you don’t let me go, I’ll make sure my husband breaks every bone in your body before he cuts your head off. Let me go!”

The knight didn’t obey. He held her tightly, a thousand thoughts rolling through his head. If what the lady said was true, he had the key to the siege of Southwell within his grasp. It was a huge stroke of good fortune. And he was sure the prince would be very interested to know of the woman.

Very interested indeed.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

“Lady Hage,” the prince’s voice was soft, seductive. “I had heard you were an exquisite beauty. I can see that the rumors were true.”

Rory could hardly believe the situation she found herself in. It was dark in the wide and elaborate tent, with small viziers of glowing peat set intermittently in the area warm up the space. The entire tent was as lavish as anything she had ever seen, with heavy hide-covered chairs and a carved oak table that must have taken a dozen men to move.  As she sat on a very soft chair somewhere in the middle of the tent, a man who had been introduced as John Lackland stood near the door, his dark eyes appraising her. 

As Rory gazed back, she could see that every bad thing ever said about the man was true. He reeked of filth and evilness; she could just feel it.  All of the carvings or paintings she had ever seen of the man didn’t do him justice. He was nothing like the homogenized artist’s portraits.  He looked like a serial killer.

She tried to stay clinical about meeting him. She tried to stay calm as he moved closer.  She inspected his long, thin fingers, his surprisingly rotund body, and the oddly smooth skin on his cheeks and neck.  No stubble, no scars.  The man had a lovely complexion.  He had dark, stringy hair that framed his rather thin face and one droopy eyelid that gave him a rather dimwitted appearance.  But she knew he wasn’t dimwitted; the man was legendary in his cunning and she was truly in awe.  But she was also scared to death.  It was well documented what the man was capable of.

John entered the room silently, almost as if he floated over the fine carpets that covered the grass beneath the tent, before coming to rest in front of Rory.  The weight of the moment wasn’t lost on her and she fought to keep her panic down.  She may as well be facing off against Genghis Khan for all of the terror she felt.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Hage,” John said pleasantly, his gaze devouring her. “I understand that you returned with your husband from the Crusades. Odd that you were in the Levant; what were you doing there?”

Rory realized she was trembling. She also realized he was looking for an answer. “I, uh, accompanied my brother there,” she replied, quivering, and then added almost as an afterthought: “My lord… uh, Your Grace.”

John smiled faintly, revealing yellowed teeth. “Your brother took you on a military quest?”

Rory tried to stick to the story that she and Kieran had told everyone. “My parents are dead. I had no one else, so I went with my brother.”

John digested her statement, scrutinizing her closely. “Where are you from, Lady Hage?”

She sighed faintly, miserable, not wanting to divulge too much.”From… from Ireland, Your Grace.”

John nodded as if he understood completely. “That explains much,” he muttered, to perhaps the half-dozen advisors that were standing in the shadows behind him. “She has the beauty of the Irish and the foolishness of them as well.”

The men behind the king tittered and Rory lowered her gaze at the insult. Unsure as to what the prince’s intentions were, she thought perhaps her best option would be to try and take control of the situation and hope that she could negotiate her way out of this. She could hear Kieran in her mind, over and over, you will stay with me for your own safety. The man was always insisted she say with him, or his brothers, never straying alone.  For a modern, independent woman, she had resented what she saw as a controlling measure even though she knew deep down that it was for her own good. But she realized now, too late, that he’d truly meant to protect her. This was a perfect example. She should have never strayed from the castle. God help her, she knew it. And now she was in deep, horrific trouble.

“Your Grace,” she spoke boldly, hoping she could assert herself and convince the prince of her wishes. “As pleased and honored as I am to meet you, I really must ask that you allow me to return to the castle. I have a baby who needs me and I really must get back to him.”

John just looked at her. Then, his thin eyebrows lifted. “Ah, yes,” he nodded as if suddenly remembering. “The child. I had heard that you bore your husband a son.”

She nodded. “May I please return? The baby will be awake for his midnight feeding soon.”

John looked as if he was actually considering her request. Could it really be that easy? she thought anxiously. But she never for a moment truly believed that.

“I would be happy to consider your request, Lady Hage, if you will do something for me,” the prince countered.

Rory was torn between fear and agreement. “What would that be?”

John’s warm expression faded as he gazed into her eyes; Rory had difficulty looking into his droopy-eyed faced. He was a genuinely unhandsome man.

“All of this can be avoided, you see,” he waved his hands around at the tent, the people behind him,” if you will simply help me gain something that your husband holds. That is why I am here, you know. Your husband has something that belongs to me and I want it.”

“What is that?”

John’s joviality faded entirely. “When he returned from The Levant, he brought back with him something that was meant for the English crown. I want it.”

She was genuinely puzzled; she had no idea of John’s demands to Kieran the night he had come to Southwell those months ago, the night when Simon had died. She had no idea he had become obsessed with the crown of thorns. It was something that Kieran had never discussed with her, as he didn’t consider it of particular concern to her. She was understandably confused.

 “What did he bring home?” she asked.

John watched her face as she spoke, watching the soft pout of her lips. He had already decided the moment he laid eyes on her that he was going to have this woman.  The more she spoke, the more he wanted her.

“I believe your husband calls it Christ’s Diadem,” he said. “Do you know of this object?”

Rory didn’t know why, but at that moment she felt as if everything was lost. Any hope she had of being released was just torpedoed.  Her first reaction was to deny any knowledge of it, but on second thought, it might work better if she told him the truth.  It might get the prince off of Southwell’s front door and back to London to where Kieran was with a thousand man army.  It was a calculated risk and she decided to go with it; she couldn’t truly be in any worst trouble than she was. At least, she hoped not.

“I know of it,” she replied. “It’s not here. Kieran took it with him when he left for London to see Longchamps.”

She watched the prince’s expression as he stared at her, pondering her reply. “Are you sure of this, my lady?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. He never let the thing out of his sight. When he left for London, it went with him. It’s not here.”

John smiled, a gesture that Rory found frightening.  The smile grew and Rory’s trepidation exploded.  Suddenly, the king was turning to the men behind him, his arms out wide as if to embrace the whole lot of them.  He began laughing a weird snort-type of laugh. Rory had never heard anything like it and it was horrifying.

“He has it with him,” he announced to the group. “Did you hear?”

The men nodded in various degrees of excitement, including the knight who looked exactly like Bud; Rory could see him back in the group, unemotional, watching her carefully. The prince began doing some odd dance across his carpets, turning to Rory after the first few crazy steps. He acted like a mental patient.

“A perfect situation, truly, my lady,” he said happily. “Your husband has something that belongs to me. I have something that belongs to him. I think he will easily give me my crown in exchange for his wife; do you not agree?”

Rory’s jaw dropped open; she couldn’t help it. But she honestly wasn’t surprised. She felt about a thousand times stupider than she had when she had first entered the tent; the prince didn’t miss the golden opportunity presented.

No fanfare, no beating around the bush – he saw the value of holding Rory to gain Kieran’s compliance and Rory just hung her head.  The tears were there but she fought them off, feeling sick and hollow and deeply sorrowful. She couldn’t believe she had gotten herself into such a horrific mess.

She wondered if Kieran would ever forgive her.

***

Tower of London

Two weeks later

“Kieran!” Andrew was taking the stairs two at a time as he moved to the fourth floor of the White Tower at the Tower of London.  In his hand, he held a long, yellowed scroll and he extended it to his brother as he entered the small, well-lit room in a corner turret.

“This just arrived by messenger for you,” he told him.

Kieran was standing over a table with a large vellum map on it, pocked by years of commanders and kings pouring over it, marking their positions throughout England, France and the rest of the continent with great iron pins. Richard had used it and Henry before him.  William Longchamps sat next to the table, an old man who had seen much in life, as he and Kieran debated Richard’s current status. It was all they had spoken of for nearly a month, the whereabouts of the monarch and the general theories related thereto.