The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (39 page)

His big
shoulders lifted lazily, a warm expression on his face. "Who can say? But
it was as if... as if, indeed, I wrote it specifically for you. Knowing you
would come along eight centuries later to help me complete my task."

"Then
you never truly believed you were dead?"

"I
did indeed. But there was always hope for a miracle."

Bud
continued to observe as Rory and Kieran gave into sweet, delicious kisses and
he was forced to turn away as his stomach twisted with anguish. But as he did
so, something beyond the short garden walls of the bed and breakfast suddenly
caught his attention and the receiver clattered to the bed beside him.

"Damn!"
he hissed, racing to the cracked French doors and peering outside.

Kieran
was immediately by his side, the clear brown eyes alert. Rory joined them,
wedging herself between the two men and unable to hold off a small cry of
fright as her eyes drank in a vision she had never expected to see again. At
least, not this soon.

"Corbin!"
she gasped.

Kieran
whirled away from the doors, already on the move. Bud, startled and struggling
to keep his own fear at bay, watched as the lawyer and two men he didn't
recognize disappear from view. Undoubtedly heading for the entrance to the
hostel, as indicated by the direction they were walking, and Bud threw open the
French doors.

"Come
on," he noted Kieran was shoving his journal into his duffle bag as Rory
groping for her purse. "They're coming in the front; you can slip out
through the garden while I hold them off."

Rory
froze, purse in her shaking hands. "But... Bud! You've got to come, too."

He shook
his head, grasping her by the arms and trying to direct her to the open doors.
"I can't, honey. Someone has got to stall for time while you two make an
escape," he gestured toward her suitcase sitting against the wall.
"Look; leave your suitcase here. I'll tell him that you've just gone out
and I'm expecting you to return soon. That should keep him here for an hour or
two, enough time for you and Kieran to make it to safety somewhere."

Rory was
beside herself. "But I just can't leave you here."

"You've
got to," Bud insisted softly. "Those men with Corbin are probably inspectors
from Scotland Yard. The man's coming for us and he's not going to take any
chances the second time around. If I run with you, they'll be on our tail in no
time."

Rory
swallowed hard, torn and frightened and confused. "Oh, God... how did they
find us? No one knew we were here."

"Except
Becker," Bud said quietly, zipping her purse when she seemed unable to
finish the task and completely disturbed by the implications of Becker's
involvement. When he looked up and saw tears in her eyes, he shook his head
briskly and kissed her on the cheek. "No tears, honey. Go on; get the hell
out of here. I'll stall as best I can."

As Rory
struggled to come to grips with the sharp turn of events, Kieran understood the
circumstance well; aye, he was quite used to fleeing like a criminal, when
one's life depended upon the ability to think and react quickly. He'd spent
months of his life doing just that as he evaded Simon and his cutthroats. And
it would seem he was destined to continue the tradition in the wake of Bud's
selfless sacrifice.

"Thank
you, Dr. Dietrich," he said quietly, grabbing Rory's hand and moving for
the ajar panels. "Your sacrifice is appreciated and we shall delay no
further."

Bud met
the gem-clear gaze, a thousand words demanding to be expressed. But he hardly
had the time. "Look, I know we've had our differences. Just... take good
care of her. All I've ever wanted is for her to be happy."

Kieran
met his expression strongly. In spite of everything they'd been through, the
bitterness and tension, he was willing to pretend none of it had ever existed.
Everything that had been said or done had been in Rory's best interests and
Kieran could hardly fault the man his loyalties. "Have no doubt, my lord.
I swear on my oath that I shall make you proud."

Rory
found herself being pulled along, out into the garden. But not before she gave
Bud one last try. "Please, Bud… Please come with us!"

His gaze
was soft, her pleas weakening him. The thought of separation, perhaps never to
see her again, tore at him and he reached out his hand, brushing her
outstretched fingers one last time.

"I
can't," he said hoarsely. "Go on, honey. Do what you have to
do."

Bud
slammed the French doors and locked them before she could argue further. Kieran
was tugging her gently and she followed him dumbly, wishing there was time to
tell Bud how much he had meant to her in spite of the fact that she wasn't in
love with him. But the look in his eyes as he gazed at her through the glass,
the final expression on his face before Kieran whisked her through the sweet
English foliage, spoke volumes.

You're
really not such a bad guy, after all.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

The
Piccadilly line from Cockfosters ran all the way to Heathrow. Having no where
else to go, Rory decided to head directly to the airport and make plans once
they arrived. Kieran was more comfortable with the underground the second time
around and showed little of the fear he had displayed previously. As he
observed the people, the passing sights, and even tried to comprehend a
modern-day newspaper, Rory wrestled with the guilt of having left Bud behind.

All
thoughts of Bud's jeopardy aside, a very real problem remained; getting Kieran
to Israel. The man obviously had no birth certificate and no identification
whatsoever, which made applying for a passport rather difficult. Short of
smuggling him on the plane, she was at a loss as to what to do and her distress
increased the closer they drew to the airport.

Kieran,
of course, had no idea what a passport was. And the first time he saw an
airplane take off, Rory thought he was going to burst a vein; his eyes widened
as the roar of engines shook the terminal and he grabbed hold of her, refusing
to let go. Not for his own protection, as he pointed out, but for hers. Rory
thought there might be a little bit of falsehood to his statement, but she
didn't let on. If he wanted to protect her from the overwhelming concept of an
airplane, then she would go along.

As
Kieran continued to marvel at the jets, Rory was determined to organize their
priorities. Providing Bud could hold off Corbin and Scotland Yard for any
amount of time, the need to leave England was nonetheless pressing. Moving to
the big display screens that announced arriving and departing flights, it took Rory
nearly forty minutes to locate a flight leaving for Middle East.

Another
few minutes and she succeeded in finding a flight that departed for Israel, but
it was scheduled to leave in less than two hours. Checking with the representative,
she discovered that the next flight from Heathrow to Tel Aviv wasn't until the
next day. Not wanting to wait that long, it was essential that she figure out
how to get Kieran a passport, and she had an hour and forty-seven minutes in
which to do it.

The
terminals at Heathrow were spotted with bars and restaurants designed for the
weary and nervous traveler. With Kieran clinging to her like an over-sized
coat, his eyes glued to the windows as the planes took off, she directed him
into a dimly-lit bar. Seating him along the windows where he could continue to
watch the great flying vehicles, she ordered two very stiff drinks.

Kieran
downed his in one swallow, smacking his lips with satisfaction. In fact, the
quality of the alcohol was enough to distract him from the airplanes.
"What is this liquor, Libby?"

She
toyed with the rim of her glass, lost in thought. "Bacardi One-Fifty-One.
It's rum."

He
raised an eyebrow. "Pleasing."

She
looked up at him and couldn't help but laugh. "Kieran, this stuff is
designed to burn a hole in your stomach."

He
smiled as she laughed, motioning the bartender for another. "'Tis the only
drink I've had since my awakening that hasn't possessed the taste and
consistency of water. I rather like this... this... what did you call it?"

"Gasoline."

He
scowled weakly as she continued to giggle. "Insolent wench," he
growled, taking her hand and playing with her fingers. "But at least you
are smiling. I have not seen you smile all day."

The
bartender brought Kieran's drink. Kieran told the man to bring the bottle,
which wasn't a particularly strange request in an airport. Rory watched as the
swarthy-skinned bartender returned to his cabinet of alcohol.

"Good
Lord," she sighed, her humor fading. "I just can't figure how to get
you to Israel."

He
downed his drink. "Because I do not have a pass-a-port?"

"Passport,"
she said softly, hardly looking up when three loud men entered the bar and sat
at the counter. She had explained the concept of passports while they were on the
subway and he thought the whole idea ridiculous. "Without a birth
certificate, you can't get one, and I wouldn't know where to go to get an
illegal passport. Besides, even if I did, we don't have time. We need one
now."

Kieran
cocked an eyebrow in thought as the bartender put the bottle of Bacardi on the
table. Presenting Rory with the check, she begrudgingly paid.

"And
that's another thing," she muttered. "I'm almost out of money and my
credit card is maxed out."

He
watched her as she struggled to sort out their problems, wishing he could do
more to help. "I used to have a good deal of money at my disposal,"
he said softly, caressing her hand. "But you took it from me when you
uncovered my grave."

She
looked up from her glass, smiling ironically. "I know. Now I'm sorry I
didn't keep your coinage like I kept your journal."

He met
her smile, kissing her fingers as the rowdy group at the bar began toasting one
other. Rory looked up as Kieran downed another shot of rum, watching the three
men and deducing from their broken accents that they were returning to their
native country. One man was particularly large with light brown hair and a
flashing smile. His English was broken as he spoke to his friends and as Rory
watched, the origins of an idea suddenly took hold.

"Kieran,"
she squeezed his hand. "Do you see that guy over there? The one in the
blue shirt?"

He
glanced over with the customarily haughty expression that men use when
inspecting one another. "What of him?"

She
squeezed his hand again as her plan began to take shape. "I said I didn't
have time to get you an illegal passport, which is the only way you'll be able
to get one," she looked at him, her hazel eyes glittering. "But we've
got time to steal one."

He
raised an eyebrow. "Steal one?"

She nodded
firmly. "Look at that guy," she whispered, leaning closer to him.
"He's about your size and coloring, and he looks a little bit like you,
too. Not enough of a difference on a passport photo, I'd guess. Especially if
we scuff up the print quality a little bit, just enough to muddle it."

Kieran
appeared very interested. "Indeed," he mumbled, stroking his chin.
"And just how do we steal his pass-a-port?"

Rory's
mind was working furiously. After a moment, she dug into her purse and withdrew
her compact. Freshening her makeup, she took out a little bottle of expensive
designer perfume and sprayed it on her neck. Kieran continued to watch her,
curiously, until he began to suspect what she was up to.

"Nay,
lady," he suddenly said firmly, grabbing her hand when she tried to stand
up. "I will not allow this."

She made
sure her back was turned to the counter as she faced him. "We don't have
much of a choice. I'll get him drunk and try to get his identification off him.
You just sit here in the shadows and keep quiet."

She
tried to move away but he had a firm hold on her. "I told you that I will
not permit you to... to prostitute yourself in this manner," he said, his
tone deadly serious. "I will not permit my wife to display herself as a
common whore, no matter what the motive."

"I'm
not your wife yet," she yanked her hand away and he stood up, towering
over her. In lieu of becoming upswept in a physical confrontation, since her
plan was the only solid scheme she had managed to come up with, she put her
hands on his chest to soothe him. "Please, baby, please. Just sit down and
let me do this. I promise I won't let it get out of hand. Please?"

He
cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly resistant. "There must be another way,
Libby. Mayhap we can purchase his pass-a-port from him?"

"With
what?" she shot back quietly. "I've got about thirty pounds on me,
Kieran. After we steal his passport, we're going to have to rob a bank to pay
for our airline tickets."

His face
was molded in a permanent frown. She had sacrificed so much for him and he was
only being difficult; certainly, he had trusted her since the moment of his
awakening. He would simply have to keep trusting her, no matter how ridiculous
the scheme and no matter how badly he wished he could take the man into a
darkened alley and steal his passport the proper way.