The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (19 page)

"I
don't have much time, Sir Kieran, so I'll make this brief," she whispered.
"When I found you nearly six days ago, I hadn't been looking for you in
particular. I was looking for something else, something I believe we both have
an interest in. At first, I was obsessed with finding Christ's crown of thorns
and when I read references in your journal that I thought eluded to it, I
didn't know what to think. It... it was like fate had led me to you somehow. Or
God, or Ottis the monk, or whatever you believe in. It was as if I was supposed
to find you."

The room
was still and cold, filled with aura of eternal sleep. Rory listened to the
echo of her own voice, the tick of the clock on the wall, realizing that what
she had told Bud was true. She did love the crusader as she could never love
anyone else, and whether or not it was due to a strange obsession was no longer
the issue.

He was
somehow a part of her, not merely because he was her first official find, but
the bond she felt with him was like nothing she had ever experienced.  The fact
that he apparently knew the location of her crown strengthened the bond into an
unbreakable tie.

Unbreakable
by the Hage Family or the University of San Marcos. Somehow, he would always be
a part of her and she wondered if he would recognize her on the fields of
Paradise, knowing the woman who had spent her entire life loving a man who had
lived centuries before she had ever been born. Rory wondered if he would know
her, and if he would call her by name.

"I'm
sorry for what has become of you," she murmured, feeling the sting of the
ever-present tears. "Had I known your family would do this to you, I would
have left you buried in Nahariya. Please don't hate me for allowing this. I...
I thought I was doing the right thing by returning you to your descendents. I
thought they would love you as much as I do."

The
clock continued to tick. Rory's lids grew heavier, the emotional exhaustion and
physical drain of the past several days catching up. She was with her knight,
finally, and nothing in her life had ever felt so right. Even if the police
were to come this moment and take her to jail, still, she had accomplished what
she had set out to do. To find her knight and and tell him how much she loved
him.

Soft,
rosy lips found his cheek, kissing him tenderly. "Keep your secret of the
crown, Sir Kieran," she whispered, brushing her lips over his stilled
mouth. "I'll leave you the last of your secrets now that everything else
has been taken from you. I wouldn't dream of taking that, too."

She laid
her head on his chest, tears trickling onto the cold flesh. An alcohol-induced
sleep claimed her before she could hear the first few beats of his long-dormant
heart.

CHAPTER
NINE

The
silence.
It was
too loud.
And the light;
it was far too bright. The mere action of
breathing was agony, as if a massive weight was sitting atop his chest. And
movement... well, at the moment, that was simply out of the question. He had
not the strength to move, considering all of his energy was centralized in his
brain, trying to make sense out of what was happening.

His
tongue was as thick as cowhide. He tried to lick his lips, but they were
completely dry. No moisture whatsoever. After several minutes of unsteady
breathing, he licked his lips again and noted there was a slight amount of
wetness. Not much, but some.

Kieran
had no idea how long he lay in limbo, hearing the strange silence around him
and struggling to clear the cobwebs from his mind. He tried to recall his last
thoughts and events, remembering that Simon had sent assassins to kill him and
that he had sought the healing powers of a physic... no, not a physic, an
alchemist. Aye, he remembered now - a shriveled old man who had forced bitter
potions down his throat in an attempt to save his life.

Save,
was it? Or had the man said...
suspend
? It was all becoming a bit
clearer now. The alchemist had to suspend his life in order to save it. That
much he could recall. And if indeed his life had been spared by the mysterious
potions... then where, in fact, was he?

He tried
to open one eye. Slowly, painfully, the lid peeled back to reveal stark white
light. Quickly, Kieran squeezed his eye shut, more out of agony than out of
fear for the unfamiliar surroundings. After a moment, he tried again, this time
opening both eyes. Blinking rapidly in the brilliant light, he struggled to
determine his whereabouts.

It was
all so bright, so alien. Like nothing he had ever seen before. Walls covered
with shiny green bricks and strange sconces holding equally strange tapers. He
could feel his life force growing stronger, the warmth of his newly-flowing
blood coursing through his veins. He wriggled is fingers successfully, feeling
brave enough to move his arms. The left one moved quite nicely. But the right
one refused to budge.

The
clear brown eyes blinked again, turning to focus on his right side. He seemed
to be lying on the floor, or at least in a bed that was very close to the
ground. When his stiff neck and muddled vision fell on his right arm, he was
startled to note a body lying across it. The first thing he saw was a goodly
amount of cleavage.

Kieran
swallowed hard, his confusion mounting. The swelling breasts were framed by
peculiar black garments. He couldn't tell what the woman was wearing below the
waist but... aye, it was a woman. He may have been unconscious for an unknown
amount of time, but Kieran still knew a woman's body when he saw it. Half-dead
didn't mean that he was also robbed of his senses.

His gaze
trailed up the woman's torso, noting her slender neck. As his vision cleared,
it looked to him like she was wearing a tunic of some kind, but women didn’t
wear tunics, did they?  He didn't know what it was. His gaze traveled upward,
drinking in a thick mane of chestnut hair and he began to wonder if he had died
and gone to Heaven. For certain, the face beneath the tossled hair was nothing
short of angelic.

A
beautiful, sleeping angel. Kieran could hear her snoring and he watched her for
a moment, summoning both the courage and strength to rouse her. His left hand
came up very slowly as massive fingers touched the arm slung across his belly.

"My
lady," he whispered, the pain of speaking almost unbearable. "My
lady, awaken if you would."

She
ignored him, snorting in her sleep and scratching at her face. He tried again.

"My
lady," he shook her arm gently. "Can you hear me? You will awaken,
please. I require your... assistance."

She
didn't move. Then, slowly, she yawned and an eye popped open. But she wasn't
looking at him; the angle of her head had her staring at his trapped right arm
and lethargically, a pretty hand with painted nails came up to scratch her
head.

"Damn,”
she breathed.

 It was
an ugly word from such luscious lips. Kieran watched as she pushed herself to
her knees, the beautiful hair mussed and odd black shadows beneath her eyes.
Even so, she was incredibly lovely and he continued to watch as she studied his
torso, her gaze coming to rest on his left side. After a moment, she glanced at
a silver bangle around her wrist.

"Great,"
she muttered, pushing the hair from her eyes. "One-thirty. Bud must think
I've dropped off the face of the earth."

Kieran
remained still, watching the woman as she moved to straighten some piece of
cloth covering his privates. He could feel the material, of course, though he
had yet to see it. But it was soft and warm. Like her.

"Well,
Sir Kieran, I've stayed longer than I should have." She was speaking to
him as she smoothed the cloth over his thighs. "I didn't mean to fall
asleep on you, but... well, it's been a difficult few days. I suppose now I
should go, though. I've got a lot of explaining to...."

Rory's
gaze came to rest on his face.
His eyes
. Her brow furrowed when she
realized the lids were partially open. But she wasn't frightened, thinking that
perhaps the change in climate had caused the flesh to contract. On her knees,
she moved in for a closer look, peering curiously at the half-lidded orbs. She
was about to touch them when they blinked.

Poised
over the corpse, Rory thought her alcohol-saturated mind was playing tricks on
her. Not one to easily scare, she was attempting to clinically evaluate the
phenomenon when the eyes blinked again.  More puzzled than shocked, she reached
out to touch the knight's face only to realize his skin was warm.

"Oh...
God," she murmured, staring into eyes that seemed to be focused on her.
"What's happening?"

The lips
moved. "I... I was hoping you could tell me, my lady."

Rory
hadn't been terrified until the dry lips issued words she could barely
understand and then, it was as if her entire body became a lightning rod of
horror. With a shout of panic, she bolted to her feet faster than she had ever
moved in her life.

Stumbling
away, she smacked into the stainless steel table in the center of the room. But
the set-back didn't stop her; still moving, she ended up banging her head
against the wall in her haste. Vision clouded by a burst of stars, her
horrified gaze reverted to the squirming corpse only to discover an arm
pointing in her direction.

Rory
screamed. She didn't know how else to react. Kieran made a feeble attempt to
calm her, struggling to sit up.

"My
lady," he rasped. "Please do not...."

Rory
screamed again, huddled against the wal. Kieran managed to roll to his side,
grunting and shaken, his clear brown eyes focusing on the terrified woman.

"Please,"
he murmured, swallowing hard. "I... I mean you no harm, I swear it.
Only... only I know not where I am nor...."

Rory
screamed in reply, covering her eyes. This time, Kieran frowned.

"Your
screaming grows tiresome, lady," he rumbled, coughing as he struggled to
steady his breathing. "Moreover, the sound threatens to pierce my brain. I
would kindly ask that you stop."

Rory
took her hands away from her eyes, hands that were quivering violently. Hazel
eyes stared at the man wriggling on the coroner's drawer, the disbelief echoed
in the pale depths bordering on madness.

"
You
...,"
she gasped, then covered her face again. "Oh, God, I must be dreaming. I
know I am. Please, Lord, if you let me wake up from this I swear I'll never mix
Long Island Iced Tea and chocolate mousse ever again. Please!"

"I
can assure you that you are not dreaming," Kieran said softly, trying to
prop an elbow underneath his enormous body.  "Unless we are dreaming
together. And you, lady, are beyond my wildest dreams."

"Stop
it!" she yelled, trying to cover her ears with the same hands that were
covering her eyes. "Stop talking to me!"

"How
else am I to discover what has become of me?"

Rory
digested his words, trying to determine if she had completely lost her mind.
She could hear him breathing, grunting, as he moved about on the sterile
drawer. After several moments of terror, she forced herself to uncover an eye
to see if her prayers had been answered.

They
hadn’t. Sir Kieran was still animated, propped up on one elbow and his face
gray with exhaustion. Rory continued to stare at him, recognizing the face, the
body, as that of the knight. Everything was in the right place and she
identified him completely. But the fact that he was alive just didn't make any
sense and her terror threatened to explode in all directions.

"I
don't believe this," she muttered. "I just don't believe this. This
can't be happening!"

"It
is happening."

"But
it can't!"

"Mayhap
not. But it has."

“I’m
arguing with a corpse,” she hissed, covering her eyes again. "I’ve gone
completely insane and now I’m arguing with a corpse. Oh, please, God. I swear,
no more drinking. Just make him dead again!"

 Kieran
licked his dry lips. "Lady, I refuse to die simply to quell your panic. If
you would only cease your prattle and come to realize that a miracle has
occurred, I am sure your fright will ease considerably."

The
hands came away from her face. "Miracle? What are you...?" Her
conversation with the dead man was continuing. But if she was going to lose
what was left of her mind, then she might as well go all the way. "What
damn miracle? You're suppose to be dead!"

"I
realize that. But, as you can see, I am very much alive." Failing to push
himself into a sitting position, he fixed her with his weary gaze. "But we
shall discuss my awakening when I am feeling well enough. Unless you plan to
huddle against the wall like a weakling for the rest of your life, I believe I
could use your help to rise."

The mere
idea was ludicrous. "Rise? You can't rise!"

He sighed,
ill and disoriented. "I can and I will. It is apparent that the
alchemist's potions have completed their task and I shall live to see another
day."