The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (23 page)

He was
jogging slowly by the time he reached the curb, entering a small street as Rory
raced behind him, calling his name. Turning the corner, he ended up in a
dead-end alley and Rory came to a stop several feet behind him, panting with
anxiety and effort.

"I'm
sorry," she said, gasping for air. "Please, I didn't mean anything.
It's just that...."

He
whirled around, upon her in two strides and Rory found herself in a grip more
powerful than anything she had ever experienced.

"Did
Simon send you?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Eyes
wide with fright, Rory shook her head. "No, he... ouch!" He had
squeezed too hard. "Let go of me!"

His
brown eyes, soft and liquid only moments earlier, were like blazing coals of
fury."Not until we establish something here and now," he growled.
"If Simon has sent you, confess this instant and I shall be merciful. But
if you intend to play me for a fool, know my punishment shall be severe. Make
your choice."

Rory
realized that her intention to probe him for information had backfired
miserably. She should have known that a man willing to die for his cause would
be more than willing to kill for it, too. If he viewed her as a threat, she was
in serious trouble.

"How
could Simon have sent me if he died eight hundred years ago?" she asked,
her voice husky with fear. "I read of him in your journal, but I don't
know him nor do I care to.  He sounds like a jerk."

Kieran's
expression was as hard as stone but his grip relaxed somewhat."He is the
one who tried to kill me." His voice was equally raspy, far softer than
the snarling he had been doing moments prior. "Were it not for Simon, I
would have lived a long life and died within the peace of my own time."

"I
realize that," she said, noticing his grip had slackened further and
iron-like fingers were suddenly caressing the very spot they had bruised.
"Look, Sir Kieran, I'm not a threat to your holy mission. In fact, I want
to help you, but you've got to help me understand the situation. Did you really
have the crown of thorns in your possession?"

He
continued to stare at her, hesitance in his eyes. It was obvious that he was
having difficulty with the concept of confessing his knowledge when it was
still instinct to protect his mission. Still, he was not unreasonable. And he
had no reason not to trust the oddly-speaking woman who had loved him enough to
rouse him from centuries of sleep.

"I
did," he whispered.

Rory could
hardly believe the confirmation of what she had known all along. "Where is
it?" she whispered.

He gazed
to her, wondering why she was asking questions if she had read his journal as
she had said. To a woman with her education, surely it would have been a simple
thing to have deciphered the crown's location and he wondered why she had not
done so. 

Confusion
deepening, he released her and ran his fingers through his hair as if debating
whether to answer her question. Was there a reason why she had not decoded his
script? Even if she was his only link to his resurrection, mayhap he was being
foolish in trusting her. Trust that, at one time, had led to a sword in his gut.

"Far
away," he said after a moment. "In the land of my burial."

"Nahariya?"

He
nodded faintly. "Providing it is still where I left it, I fully intend to
retrieve it myself." He turned to look at her then. "That is why God
has permitted me to awaken from my eternal sleep; my task is not yet complete
and the time has finally come for me to finish what I had started. Have no
doubt that I shall retrieve the diadem, as I was always meant to do. And I
shall do it alone."

Her
first reaction was to argue with him, bitterly, but she bit her tongue. He was
showing signs of exhaustion, the energy surge following his awakening rapidly
fading. Putting their conversation aside for the moment, it was apparent that
he needed to recover from his experience. Rory was exhausted, too, in more ways
than one.

"Whatever,"
she said quietly, turning her back on him and glancing the way they had come.
She was too tired to fight about it now. "Maybe the bartender knows where
we can find a room for the night. I'll go back and ask him if you want to wait
here."

Behind
her, Kieran sighed heavily and began to walk. Silently, they retraced their
steps back to the pub.

***

At
precisely five-thirty in the morning, there was a knock on Bud's door. Thinking
it was Rory, he flew from his chair and opened the panel. But his hopes were
dashed when he found himself staring into piercing blue eyes.

Steven
Corbin was less than friendly. "Where is your colleague, Dr.
Dietrich?"

Bud's
jaw clenched. "This is your fault," he seethed. "You took Sir
Kieran away and now she's running all over this city doing God only knows what.
I haven't seen her in hours."

Corbin
cocked an eyebrow. "I did nothing but claim the Hage Family's rightful
possession. Which, in fact, now happens to be missing."

Bud
scowled, punchy and exhausted from worry and the lack of sleep. "I don't
know what in the hell you're talking about."

"Don't
you?"

It took
all of Bud's control not to slug Corbin in the mouth. "I said I didn't. So
what in the hell do you want?"

"I
want to talk to Dr. Osgrove," Corbin said evenly. Bud noticed two other
men hanging in the hallway; the door to Rory's room was slightly ajar, but he
controlled his outrage as the lawyer continued. "You see, Dr. Dietrich,
the morgue at Middlesex Hospital was burglarized last night and Sir Kieran's
corpse was taken. Do you sincerely mean to tell me that you know nothing about
this?"

Bud
forgot his fury. He stared at Corbin, the color draining from his face. After a
moment, he turned away and wandered toward the window. Corbin followed him into
the room.

"Then
you did know something," he stated.

Bud
shook his head. "No, nothing about... oh, hell, she threatened to do it,
but I never thought she was capable." He sat on the edge of his bed, his
ice-blue eyes glazed with disbelief. "You took the corpse away so quickly
that she never had a chance to say good-bye, and she was obsessed with saying
good-bye. I let her go to the hospital thinking she would simply forget about
the idea when she saw it was impossible to gain access to the morgue. But now
you're telling me the morgue was actually broken into?"

Corbin
nodded, his goons coming to stand just inside the door. "The glass was
smashed and we found traces of blood. But we can't figure out how she removed
the corpse. She must have had help."

Bud shut
his mouth then, thinking of the phone conversation they had shared earlier.
I
ran into an old friend, Bud.
Something wonderful has happened this evening.
He closed his eyes against the shock, the pain, wondering if she had allowed
her obsession to get the better of her by delving into something too bizarre to
comprehend. He cursed himself for having allowed her to go to the hospital
alone. This was his fault.

He
looked at his hands. "I wouldn't know anything about that. It wasn't me if
that's what you're thinking."

"I
wasn't thinking that at all. The landlady said you returned to your room about
nine-thirty and haven't left since. The police estimate the morgue was broken
into after the basement floor security guard went off-duty, sometime after ten
o'clock."

Bud cast
the man a long glance. "So now you're checking up on me, too?"

Corbin's
arrogant manner didn't waver. "A very valuable piece of property has been
stolen, Dr. Dietrich. It is my duty to help the police follow up any and all
leads." His piercing blue eyes roved the room, coming to rest on the phone
by the bed. "Have you spoken with Dr. Osgrove tonight?"

Bud
looked him straight in the eye. "No."

Corbin
met his gaze, knowing he was lying. The landlady had already told him that Dr.
Dietrich had received a call a few hours earlier. But he would not press the
point; even if Dietrich wasn't directly involved, it was obvious that he was
protecting his beautiful associate. Corbin suspected, at some point, the good
doctor would go looking for her, and Corbin would be waiting.

"If
you speak to her, will you let me know?" He tossed his business card on
the bed. "I promise, Dr. Dietrich, I simply want to talk to her."

Bud
didn't answer, turning away as Corbin left the room with the stealth of a stalking
cat. When the door closed, he went to the window facing the street, waiting a
minute or so as Corbin and his henchmen climbed into a black Mercedes 500 SEL
and drove off. Immediately, Bud went to the phone and placed an overseas call to
Nahariya, Israel.

Hello,
Dave? Brace yourself, pal; you'll never guess what's happened....

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

The
hotel recommended by the bartender was close to the British Museum. The
landlord had eyed Rory and Kieran strangely at first, a very tired-looking
American and a massive man in green scrubs, but Rory hastily explained that
their luggage had been lost by the airline and her... uh, husband was a surgeon
visiting from abroad. The story sounded weird even to her, but the landlord
didn't seem overly suspicious. Having little cash, Rory charged the room on her
American Express card.

It was a
small room with a small window and a very large bed. As Kieran poked around,
examining everything from the doorknob to the rugs, someone rapped on the door.
The landlord's wife, a round woman with well-lacquered hair, held two bathrobes
and a variety of personal products and Rory thanked the woman graciously.

Locking
the door, she realized Kieran had discovered the tiny bathroom and the light
switch all at the same time. Between the running water and the annoying
on-and-off of the lights, her irritation was pushed to the limit as she
snappishly pulled him from the water closet and shut the door. He appeared
displeased with her behavior, but more disappointed that she had spoiled his
fun.

Rory had
little concern for his discovery of the modern world. She was still lingering
on the fact that he was determined to retrieve the crown alone. Embittered and
exhausted, she ignored him as he opened the bathroom door again, flipping the
light off and on but a good deal more discreetly. Kicking off her shoes, she
fell asleep on the comforter.

When
morning finally came, she awoke to Kieran's beautiful face. But he wasn't
looking at her; he was peering at the hurricane lamp beside the bed. Rory
stared at him a moment, viewing him in the bright morning light and realizing
that she could get used to awakening to him every morning - the very real sight
of her living, breathing crusader.

Her
thoughts were warm as she gazed at him, but just as quickly her manner turned
hard and defensive. Still angry from the previous night, she rolled away and
climbed from the bed. Moving to the bathroom, he crowded in behind her before
she could close the door.

"What
is this room, Libby?"

His
sensual voice startled her more than the presence of his massive body. He was
without the scrub shirt, clad only in the green pants, and his magnificent
torso was distracting her from her anger. Refusing to look him in eye, she
fumbled with the faucet.

"It's
called a bathroom." Her tone was decidedly unfriendly.

He was
still wedged behind her, his hand coming over her shoulder to turn on the
shower. Rory shrieked when the cold water sprayed her arm.

"Quit
that!" she demanded, turning the knob off. "Now, go.  Shoo. I need a
moment of privacy."

He
didn't budge. Still, she refused to look at him, gazing at the mirror only to
discover that she looked terrible. Her mascara was under her eyes and her
cheeks and lips were devoid of any color. Groaning, she pushed past him and
went to find her purse. Returning to the bathroom, she set it on the sink.

"I
asked you to leave," she said, looking at the mirror once more. His
massive reflection nearly filled the glass and she tried hard not to make
eye-contact with him. "Will you please go?"

Instead
of leaving, he crossed his arms and Rory had to close her eyes against biceps
as big in circumference as her waist.

"Why
are you so angry with me?"

She
remained stubbornly silent, grabbing some tissue from the roll. Wetting it and
using a little soap, she began to rub at the black smears under her eyes. When
she didn't reply, he simply moved closer.

"You
will answer me. Why are you angry?"

She
could feel his heat against her buttocks, the back of her legs. Swallowing
hard, she struggled to form a reply before he took her over his knee for her
refusal. From what she had witnessed at the emergency room, she had little
doubt that he could, and would, do it.

"What
would you have me say?" she said after a moment, wiping at the blotched
makeup.