The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (26 page)

So Rory
humored him, explaining the concept of costume jewelry and glass diamonds,
hosiery that was nothing like the hosiery he knew, and cash registers that
beeped and printed out marvelous slips of paper. And the light bulbs, too; all
of the wonderful light bulbs had him fascinated like a kid at Christmas.

She
somehow managed to maneuver him away from the hanging light fixtures and toward
the exit when they passed through the junior miss department. Alternately
appalled and intrigued by the collection of short summer dresses on clearance,
he scowled at Rory when she showed interest in a particular garment. But he
quickly changed his mind when he thought of her in it.

So she
bought the dress and a few other things she didn't need, but Kieran had shown
interest in them so she somehow found the will to spend the money. Besides, he
looked so unbelievably great in his new clothes that she felt it necessary to
keep up with him. The fact that she wanted to please him was a contributing
factor as well, whether or not she was willing to admit it.

Rory was
carrying all of the packages herself by the time they reached the exit, nearly
out the door when she realized she was alone. Searching frantically for Kieran,
her gaze came to rest on him as he wandered among the racks of fine lingerie
several feet away. With a blustery sigh, she went in pursuit.

"Now
what are you doing?" she demanded quietly.

He was
examining a see-through nightie closely. "What are these things,
Libby?"

"It's
called lingerie," she said with limited patience. "It's for women to
sleep in, to have sex in, or whatever. Now, can we go?"

He moved
to the next rack in response, coming across a beautiful white nightgown with a
matching robe. It was sheer, sexy, and cost eight-five American dollars.

"Hmm.
This is lovely," he commented softly, holding it up to gain a better look.

"Yes,"
she said shortly. "Lovely and expensive. Can we please go now?"

He
continued to examine the finery. "Do you have such a garment?"

There
was something in his tone that cooled her irritation. As much as the man
fascinated her and as much as she had professed her love for him, the thought
of intimacy frightened her. Her love for him had nothing to do with sex, but
more to do with emotion. Still, as the reality of Kieran's living presence
deepened, it was difficult not to ponder the eventuality of physical contact.

"No,"
she said, turning away. "I don't have any use for something like
that."

He
followed her. "You will buy this."

She
froze. Turning slowly, she fixed him in the eye. "I told you, I don't have
any use for it. Now come on; it's close to lunchtime. You wanted to eat, didn't
you?"

"I
would rather see you in this," his reply was soft.

Rory's
limbs went weak. Clutching her packages with a death-grip, her breathing began
to come in short pants. Good Lord, she simply couldn't... could she?

"I
don't have any more money," she said finally.

He
didn't argue the point, but she could sense his disappointment. Putting the
nightgown back, he followed her from the store and out into the brilliant
sunlight.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

The
London street was alive with people going about their business and Kieran
decided, now that he had the proper shoes, that walking back to the hotel was a
good idea. Moreover, it would give him a closer look at the city he had once
known and the England he had risked his life for. Rory agreed, but not before
she handed him the packages he had considered beneath his station to carry.

While
Kieran stared and pointed and asked questions, Rory was on the look-out for a
tea house. Lunch wasn't a big meal in England, as she had been told, and
suspected their best bet for getting something to eat would be in either a pub
or a tea shop. Finding a quaint little business down the street from the
department store, she sat Kieran down at a table on the fragrant patio and went
inside to order tea and scones.

Knowing
the appetite he had displayed earlier, Rory ordered six fruit scones, clotted
cream and fruit, and a large pot of tea. Carrying it to the table on a tray,
she set it down and took a seat opposite the knight. He watched her closely as
she broke open the scone and spread it with cream, pouring his own tea and
imitating the milk and sugar as she had done at breakfast.

Once he
had a taste of the scones, however, Rory was only able to eat half of her own
before he ate everything on the tray. Ordering more tea and more scones, she
returned to the table only to find him staring at her.

"What's
wrong?" she asked, somewhat sarcastically. "Didn't I get
enough?"

He took
a scone and broke it open, nearly crumbling it until Rory came to the rescue.
As she salvaged the biscuit, he continued to stare at her.

"I
was merely thinking," he said softly as she passed him his broken scone.

"About
what?"

He took
a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "About the future and what is to become of
me after I have completed my mission."

Rory
looked up from preparing her own scone. Not an entirely odd question
considering she had been pondering that very same problem only minutes earlier.
"What do you mean?"

He
shrugged, still eating. "Exactly that. I find myself in a world that is
nothing as I ever dreamed it would be, a complete stranger in the land of my
birth. Tell me, Libby; is there a knighthood today?"

She
shook her head. "Not as you knew it. There are knights, but it is mostly a
symbolic title. Modern-day knights are soldiers in the military, or cops on the
street, but it's nothing like you knew it to be."

He
pondered her statement, moving for another scone. "What are 'cops on the
street'?"

"Police
officers. Men and women who enforce the law of the country."

That
concept wasn't entire foreign. "I see. And this military; you speak of the
king's troops?"

She
smiled faintly. "The queen's troops, Sir Kieran. A woman has ruled England
for forty years."

He
raised an eyebrow, a look she equated with the arrogant male ego inside every
man. "A woman? And what is this woman's name?"

"Elizabeth,"
Rory replied. "She's an extremely capable and prestigious monarch. But her
children...."

She
shook her head and Kieran nodded in understanding. "I see nothing changes
from century to century. Do they plot against her?"

She laughed.
"Not as far as I know."

"Do
they vie for her power? Seek to turn the country against her rule?"

Rory
continued to laugh. "No, no. They're just... colorful, that's all. They're
not a vicious band of petty royals like you've come to know."

He
finished his seventh scone. "All royals are petty, greedy and
unscrupulous. Except for Richard, of course."

"What?"
Rory scoffed in outrage. "He plotted against his father, for God's
sake."

"That
was different. Henry was an incompetent ruler. Unscrupulous himself."

She
shook her head. "Oh, brother. I can see where this conversation is going
to wind up."

He was
munching on another scone. "What do you mean?"

She
smirked, downing the last of her scone before he could steal it. "It means
that Richard can do no wrong in your eyes no matter what history proves. You'll
defend him until the end."

"He
is my king," Kieran's voice was considerably softer. "'Tis right that
I defend him. 'Til the death, if necessary."

The mood
suddenly took a down-turn. Sensing the dampened ambience, Rory watched the man
as he set his half-eaten scone to the plate, drinking what was left in his cup.
When he settled back against the chair and allowed his gaze to rove the small
garden against the shop wall, Rory set her own cup down.

"Before
we got off the subject, you asked what was going to become of you," she
said softly, her chin resting on her palm. "All I can tell you is that I
don't know. But considering I dug you up and somehow roused you from your
eternal sleep, I feel responsible for you. So until the situation changes,
you'll stay with me."

He
looked away from the garden, his gaze drinking in the beautiful chestnut-haired
woman with the wide hazel eyes. Not strangely, the prospect of staying with her
was not an unpleasant one. Nor was it a surprising suggestion, considering it
was her kiss that had roused him. A kiss from the one who loved him best.

"You
are most gracious, my lady," he said, his gem-clear eyes glittering in the
soft sunlight. "I look forward to our time together."

She cocked
an eyebrow, ever-prepared to take advantage of any situation to further her
cause - first her mother, then with Bud, now with Kieran. She simply couldn't
let the opportunity pass. "Enough to let me help you find the crown?"

He
didn't grow defensive as he had done previously when the crown was mentioned.
After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders. "It is the one task I must
complete now that I have been awakened, my sole reason for existing on this
earth. You will forgive me if I again decline."

Rory's
face darkened. "Why?"

"Because
it is my burden alone."

The mood
that had been soft and gentle, warm and interesting was abruptly shaded with
fury. Rory smacked the table with an open palm as she faced off against him.
"No, it's not. I thought we discussed this earlier."

He
refused to give in to her anger. "Nay, lady,
you
discussed it
earlier. My conviction has always been the same; I will retrieve it alone and
return it to England as I had intended eight hundred years ago."

She
gasped in disbelief, her cheeks mottle with resentment. "Not a moment ago
you were lamenting what was to become of you, thanking me when I offered to
take care of you. So you think that you'll be able to travel to Israel alone to
claim your crown? Think again, buster. You can't go anywhere without me."

An
eyebrow slowly lifted at her angry tone, her unbridled words. "I can and I
will."

She was
on her feet, agitated and completely ignorant of the other customers in the
shop. "Why? Because you don't want me sharing in your glory?"

"I
thought you weren't after glory."

In an
indignant huff, Rory clumsily grabbed their bags and stormed from the shop.
Kieran calmly finished his tea before following. He found her about a block
down the street, marching determinedly through the crowds of London shoppers.
Catching up to her, he reached out to grab her arm and ended up spilling
several packages to the ground.

"Let
go of me," she snarled, struggling to collect the goods as he calmly
assisted her. "Just... go away and leave me alone. Go and find your damn
crown and I hope the next assassin who catches up to you is successful."

She
tried to move away from him but he held her firm. "Enough of your
impudence, lady. I have my reasons for what I must do and I am sorry if you
feel excluded."

She
succeeded in yanking her arm away. "And I have my reasons, too, but you
seem to only care for yourself," she swallowed hard as she met his steady
brown eyes, horrified to realize that tears were close to the surface.
"Your motives are no more important than mine. Don't you see? If I find
the crown, I'll bring the profession of Biblical Archaeology to the forefront.
The university will be the recipient of grants and funding, I will have proven
that I'm not just a silly young doctor with outlandish theories, and my mother
will finally be proud of me."

He
stared at her. "Your mother?"

Rory
tried to maintain her gaze, but her features crumbled and she turned away.
Kieran grabbed her arm as she struggled weakly, her hands too full to wipe her
tears.

"My...
mother is a doctor of Ministry," she said, her voice trembling. "I
was her only child. Ever since I was young enough to understand, I knew my
mother wanted me to make something great of myself. She's such a demanding
person, Kieran, never satisfied. The more I achieved, the more she wanted. So I
thought... I hoped that finding the crown of thorns, one of the most powerful
Biblical relics in history, would finally make her proud of me."

He took
the packages from her, holding the bags in one hand and her in the other.
"So this is the void you are trying to fill with the reclamation of the
diadem?" he asked softly. "You seek to give your mother a reason to
love you?"

She
shrugged, wiping at her damp eyes. "I just never lived up to her
standards. I always felt like such a failure no matter what I did."

His
features were soft with compassion. "Then I know your feelings well. My
father was much the same," he watched her as she struggled for a tissue in
her purse, realizing more similarities between them. A mother who was looking
for reasons to be proud of her daughter, and a father who had been looking for
reasons to be proud of his son - a son who had risked his life in the name of
peace, pride, and glory. "Do you truly believe that the recovery of the
diadem will mend all wounds between you and your mother?"