Kingdom Come (36 page)

Sean sighed heavily, turning to look at his father with his wine in hand. “If I were you,” he said evenly, “I would not call the woman rubbish in front of Kieran. He is likely to take your head off.”

“I shall disown him!”

Sean drank his wine, snorting into the cup. “As if he needs you,” he said. “The man has more wealth that you do. He just doesn’t flaunt it so lavishly.”

Near the door, Christian nodded. “Peveril Castle and the fiefdom of Dykemore and Sewall, and the heir apparent to the earldom of Newark and Sherwood,” he reminded his father as if the man did not already know. “He also inherited all of the lands from Warrington to Liverpool, the Hawkesbury baronetcy, through mother’s Jenkinson relations.  He is far wealthier than you, father, and far more influential.”

Jeffrey knew that; he also didn’t like to be reminded. “He’ll not get the earldom if I disown him,” he snapped. “It will go to Sean.”

Sean shook his head and took another drink. “Do not think to hand me that mess of titles so easily,” he said. “I have the baronet of Walcot. I am quite content.”

It was unfortunate that the sons had to treat their father with such callousness but not too unfortunate considering all the man had ever done was pit one against the other;  but Eleanor Britton Jenkinson-Hage’s common sense and good graces had been inherited by her boys.They knew their father for what he was; an over-emotional, brilliant, deeply family oriented bully. It was a strange paradox.

Jeffrey watched Sean pace the room with a cup in hand while Christian simply stood his ground near the door.  Realizing that he was not supported in his reaction to Kieran’s marriage, Jeffrey slowly sat behind the massive oak desk that had once belonged to his grandfather. It was a heavy, carved thing, massive in size.  It was the desk of a powerful earl

“Still,” Jeffrey muttered. “I expected more from Kieran.”

The calm expression on Sean’s face faded as he turned to his father. He watched the man a moment, unable to control the anger that was building within him.

“You expected more?” he muttered bitterly. He moved towards his father. “Let me tell you something about Kieran and let us pray that you can understand my words; the man is returning home a hero.  He fought with Richard for three years in the God-forsaken lands of the Levant to make you and his family proud.  He was so great that whilst he was there, he earned a reputation for himself that Saladin himself had heard of.  It was so great, in fact, that when the Muslims were prepared to extend an offering of peace to the Christian armies, they contacted the only Christian they felt they could trust by reputation alone, Sir Kieran Hage. My brother was asked by the Muslim commanders to relay their peace offering.  And you expect more from the man? He is greater than you could ever hope to be and I, for one, and extremely proud of him. I love and respect my brother even if you do not.”

By the time Sean was finished, Jeffrey was gazing at the man without his usual belligerence.  It was rare when Sean became upset and Jeffrey took notice, even if it was difficult for him to rein in his pride.  Meeting Sean’s intense gaze, he was the first to lower his eyes.

“Kieran is my son,” he said hoarsely. “Of course I love and respect him.”

But Sean wasn’t finished yet. “You had better,” he growled. “And let me tell you something else; Kieran has returned home because his men, friends he trusted, turned on him out of jealousy and tried to kill him.  He came home to seek counsel and protection, and all you can do is scream at him like a fishwife for having married a woman he is in love with. You make me ashamed, father; you make me horribly ashamed of the way you have treated him.

Jeffrey’s dark brow furrowed with outrage. “What do you mean there are men attempting to kill him? Who is trying to kill him?”

Sean wondered if his father had even heard the rest of what he had said.  In the long run, he supposed it didn’t matter much. He had his attention now.

He told Jeffrey everything.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 Rory was wildly uncomfortable being in the bailey of Southwell again.When Kieran rode into the bailey, several men ran out to greet him.They took hold of Liberator and Rory looked down to see many hands raised to her, offering to help her from the horse. Kieran didn’t hesitate in lowering her into the waiting sea of arms.

He dismounted behind her and took her by the hand, leading her across the dark bailey.  Rory was somewhat in awe of her surroundings; there were torches everywhere, big burning things that lit up parts of the bailey like street lights. Men in the battlements had torches as well, with the addition of dogs on leashes.  Rory peered at the dogs through the darkness; they were tall, skinny dogs with long snouts. Greyhounds, she thought with amazement.  She pointed up to the battlements.

“You have watchdogs?” she asked, incredulous.

Kieran glanced up to the parapets. “Better than soldiers,” he commented. “They smell changes on the wind and see things that men cannot. I took two dogs with me to the Holy Land for that purpose alone.”

“What happened to them?”

“Richard is fond of dogs as I am. He confiscated them and now they are the property of the king.”

She grinned as his expression slackened in a defeated gesture. They made their way across the vast and dusty bailey which, oddly enough, had two massive oak trees growing in it. One was next to the keep and the other was on the east side of the ward near the stables. They passed under one of the enormous oak trees as he took her to the steps that led into the keep.  As was common at the time, the stairs were wooden and retractable, leading up to a second floor entrance.  There was also a great stone forebuilding around the stairs, like a stone porch, that protected it during times of siege. If worse came to worse and the bailey was breached, they would close off the stone porch to protect the stairs. In a worse case scenario, they would simply burn the stairs to prevent an enemy from gaining access to the keep.

Kieran took her inside, up the stairs, emerging into the second floor.  Rory, forgetting her apprehension, was completely fascinated with her surroundings; they had entered a tall-ceiling entry hall with thick planked wooden floors. To the right was a doorway leading into a big room and a short corridor stretched out before them; she could see another enormous room at the end of the corridor.  To her left was a wide, squat and steep spiral staircase that disappeared into the floor above.  Great iron sconces were bolted to the stone walls, each one of the blazing with a torch spitting out black smoke.  The entire vision was creepy, fascinating, and totally Medieval.  The place smelled dusty, smoky, with a faint hint of grass.

“Wow,” Rory breathed as she looked around. “This place is amazing.”

Kieran smiled at her as a man approached him from the room down the corridor.  It was a servant, an old man with stringy white hair and a hump in his back, clad in a blue-dyed wool tunic, hose and funky shoes with weird toes.  Rory peered closely at the man as he approached Kieran and bowed deeply; she noticed that the shoes were made from wood and some kind of material, not leather. They were kind of like slip-on canvas tennis shoes.  She was intently inspecting the shoes when the man spoke.

“My lord Kieran,” he said happily. “God be praised for returning you safe from the land of the savages. Welcome home, m’lord.”

Kieran nodded. “My thanks,” he indicated Rory, who was still staring at the servant’s shoes. “This is my wife. You will treat her with all due respect.”

The servant turned his attention to Rory and the first thing she noticed about the man was that he had a big cataract in the left eye; the iris was milky.  He smiled at her, with all of the three teeth in his head, and bowed deeply.

“Lady Hage,” he greeted. “We are honored.”

Rory smiled at the old man. “Thank you.”

Her accent caught the old servant by surprise; Kieran could read it in his face. “She is Irish,” he explained, rather distractedly. He was looking around, peering into the room to their right. “Where are the others I brought with me this afternoon? The Saracens and the boys?”

“The Saracens are in the knight’s quarters, m’lord,” the old man replied. “Sir Sean directed that they be given their own rooms.”

Kieran nodded. “Excellent,” he replied. “You will spread the word that they are my guests and to be given all due honor.”

The old man nodded crisply. “Aye, m’lord.”

Satisfied that Yusef and Kaleef and the youngsters were taken care of for the moment, his thoughts began to turn to his own bed chamber.  Now it was his turn to be taken care of.

“Is my room ready?”

The old man nodded again, indicating the stairs. “It has, m’lord,” he replied eagerly. “Your baggage was brought up this afternoon.”

Kieran began to remove his gloves. “Good,” he said, pulling at the fingers. “Where are my brothers?”

“In the great hall with your father,” he replied. “They asked to be notified when you returned.”

“Then tell them I am returned.  My wife and I will take sup in my room tonight.”

The old servant fled to do his bidding.  Kieran removed his gloves and indicated the stairs to Rory.

“My lady?” he smiled. “Shall we retire?”

Rory looked dubiously at the stairs; they were ridiculously steep, but wide. She wondered how in the heck she was going to make it up the steps in her long dress. With a shrug, she gathered up her skirt and carefully mounted the steps.  Kieran was right behind her. They wound their way up to the third floor and Rory stopped on the landing.

“Now where?” she asked.

He pointed up the stairs. “Keep going.”

She did.  They reached the fourth and top floor and she came to a halt on the landing.

“Well? Don’t tell me to keep going.”

He snorted and pointed to his right. “Nay,” he said. “In here.”

They were in a small landing with two doors; one to the left and one down a small corridor to the right.  Kieran pushed open the massive oak and iron door to the right and suddenly, an entirely new world opened up.

It was like a scene from a fairy tale; a massive fire blazed in a hearth that was taller than she was. Huge amounts of heat and smoke blazed into the room. The room was lavishly appointed; in fact, it looked more like a museum display. The bed was a massive four poster deal with heavy curtains hanging from it.  Next to it, instead of the traditional rushes, were enormous animal skin rugs. There were three of them, all identical cow hide and very beautiful.  There was a magnificent table to her right, underneath the window, that had two equally beautiful chairs. Trinkets, knick knacks, chests, and other treasures were strewn around the room in organized Medieval chaos.  The hearth for that gigantic fireplace had several massive, bejeweled plates lining the mantle.  Rory stood there with her mouth hanging open as Kieran moved around her, throwing his gloves on the table and pulling off his helm.  She heard him sigh heavily.

“God’s Blood, ‘tis good to return home,” he exclaimed softly. “I did not realize how much I missed it until now.”

Rory just stood there, overwhelmed with everything around her. She finally let out a strangled yelp.

“Ahhh!” she half- spoke, half-yelled.

He looked at her. “What is wrong?”

The oddest expression creased her face; her eyes bulged and she grinned humorlessly. “Look at this place!” she cried with feigned dramatics. “It’s… it’s unbelievable. I’ve never seen such lavish Medieval wealth.”