The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (24 page)

"I
would have you tell me the truth."

She
paused, feeling her anger rise. So he wanted the truth, did he? She turned
around, looking him in the eye for the first time that morning.

"Fine.
If you want the truth, here it is. You see, Sir Kieran, I was searching for the
crown of thorns Jesus Christ wore on Mount Calvary when I came across your
grave. Ancient manuscripts I have been studying for the better part of five
years pinpointed Nahariya as the location of the crown. But instead, I found a
crusader with a journal indicating that he had been in possession of the exact
relic I was looking for." She watched as his gaze grew guarded and it only
served to fuel her fury. "I didn't want you, just that damn crown, and
last night you have the audacity to tell me that you will retrieve it alone.
After I risked everything to raise you from the grave, you show your thanks by
shutting me out like a disinterested bystander."

His
nostrils flared and she angrily tossed the tissue into the toilet, the dam of
emotion bursting forth. After all, he had asked why she was angry and she would
do him the courtesy of answering. Tearing off more tissue, she whirled to the
mirror once more and began cleaning her eyes with a vengeance.

"Don't
look so perturbed." Her tone was laced with sarcasm. "You asked why I
was angry and demanded the truth. So now you have it. You're acting as if you
have sole claim to the crown, like it's your private possession, and it's
not."

He
simply stood by the door, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Rory cleaned what she
could from her eyes, going to work on her cheeks.

"Who
hired you to find the diadem?" he finally asked, quietly.

Rory
splashed water on her face. "No one. I'm a Biblical Archaeologist and
exposing ancient relics is my job. I told you last night that I go where angels
fear to tread. Even more than conventional bone-diggers, Biblical
Archaeologists are considered dream-hunters, trying to prove correlation
between the Bible and known historic periods and events." She grabbed a
towel. "I took on the greatest hunt of all when I came across cryptic
references to Christ's crown of thorns, buried somewhere along the pilgrim
trail. Eventually I was able to pinpoint Nahariya, which is where you came into
the picture."

He
didn't reply. Rory finished drying her face and dug in her purse for her
makeup. She tried not to look at him as she put on a bit of concealer to cover
her dark circles, or when she applied warm brown shadow and dark liner. He
continued to remain silent as she brushed mascara onto her long lashes and when
the silence grew particularly uncomfortable, she dared to steal a glance at him
from the corner of her eye. He was watching her.

"What
is an archaeologist?"

His
voice was soft, without tension or strain. She sighed, wondering if he had
understood even half of what she had said.

"A
person who goes to school for year studying history, the knowledge of which is
eventually applied to field sciences. Although my degree is in Biblical
Sciences, my special area of expertise happens to be the Crusades." When
he looked puzzled, she sighed again and picked up her blush compact. "In
order to decipher the annals of man's history, archaeologists go out and dig up
ancient cities and bodies and other stuff. We can discover how people lived and
worked, and we come to understand ourselves better."

He
watched her as she brushed on a pair of rosy cheeks. "And would locating
Christ's diadem help you understand yourself better?"

She
paused, turning to look at him with a lip pencil poised in front of her mouth.
"What do you mean by that?"

He
raised an eyebrow, his eyes roving her wonderful face flattered by the strange
cosmetics she was applying. "What is it you seek, my lady? The crown to
enhance God's glory, or do you seek it to fill a void in your own life?"

She
stared at him, her anger all but vanished. Just as in the pages of his journal,
the wisdom of Sir Kieran Hage was a remarkable thing. As if the gem-clear brown
eyes could look deep into her soul and know everything about her. But as
beautiful as the eyes were, they were unnerving as well and she returned her
focus to her mirror. Lining her lips, she applied rose-tinted lipstick.

"I
want to find the crown simply to lend support to Biblical legends," she
said quietly. "It's a marvelous piece of history revered by millions of
Christians. Just like Noah's Ark, or the Holy Grail. People these days are
looking for a little bit of extra faith in this crazy world."

"But
faith is having belief in something you cannot see or hear or touch. It is a
feeling, a matter of conviction that fulfills the soul." Kieran uncrossed
his arms, leaning against the door jamb. "If you locate the crown, you are
in essence forcing mankind to believe in the reality of God with the
tangibility of your proof. Isn't faith something that should be freely given
rather than be forced upon?"

Rory put
her makeup back in her purse. "I'm not forcing anyone to believe anything.
And what's wrong with hard evidence to support the greatest story in the
Bible?"

He gazed
into her eyes, his guarded expression faded. "Look deep inside yourself,
Libby. You do not seek to support the glory of Christ. You seek to fill
something within yourself that you have always lacked. You seek to become whole
under the pretense of doing God's work."

"I
never said I was doing God's work."

"Then
whose work are you doing?"

Rory
lowered her gaze, bewildered by his gentle question. After a moment, she sat on
the toilet lid, gazing up at his marvelous face.

"Let
me ask you the same question. Whose work were you doing when you came into
possession of the crown?"

"I
shall answer your question if you will answer mine."

She
looked thoughtful for a moment. Since there was no use in lying, she decided to
be truthful. "I guess you could say I'm doing my own work for my own
reasons. So why are my motives any worse than yours? Can you honestly tell me
that the crown was in your possession because you sought to glorify His name
like some sort of holy envoy?"

He drew
in a deep breath, looking away from her and out into the small bedroom. Rory
drank in his profile, thinking how completely gorgeous he was. Even dead he had
been beautiful, but it was nothing compared to his living aura.

 "What
I did, I did for the good of thousands. My reasons were not selfish, nor were
they to support God's Word. They are entirely different from your
motives."

Rory
observed his movements, sensing distress in his manner. She thought a moment on
his journal and the words therein. Suddenly, she cast him a long, curious
glance.

"A
peace offering?"

He
looked at her with a neutral expression she was becoming accustomed with.
"What do you know of this?"

She
shook her head, rising from the toilet seat and facing the mirror once more.
Her hair was a disaster, limp and unruly, and she ran her fingers through as
she considered her reply.

"Nothing,
really," she said softly. "It's just that I read something in your
journal about a Christian offering of peace that I understood to be linked to
the crown of thorns. The ink had been blurred, though, and it was difficult to
read much at all. You mentioned Saladin, though, and a man named El Hadid, I
think."

"El-Hajidd,"
he corrected her softly.

Her gaze
found him in the reflection of the mirror. He sensed her attention, looking up
from the doorjamb he had been studying with distraction. "Why do you look
at me like that?"

She
appeared to be groping for words as she turned from the mirror. "I don't
know...," she murmured, her mouth working as she struggled to explain
herself. "It's just that with everything that's happened over the past few
hours, I'd nearly forgotten the very real fact that you actually fought with
Richard the Lion heart. As I stand here looking at you, I can hardly believe
that you were one of the thousands to have served in the great quest. I mean...
my God, it's a mind-boggling concept."

He
scratched his head, a modest gesture. "I do not know this 'mind-boggling',
but I can guess. And as for simply fighting for our king, I was more than a
soldier. I was a friend."

"That's
what you said in your journal," she said, her anger with the man forgotten
as the glory of his past took hold. "When I read your journal, there were
so many questions I wanted to ask you. So many things I wanted to know. Now I
don't even know where to begin."

He
cocked an eyebrow. "You already have. With the diadem."

She
smiled for the first time all morning. "Apparently, it doesn't mean the
same thing to both of us. But it's no less important to me than it is to you. I
want it to strengthen my profession, but you... I still don't know why you want
it."

"My
interest is far more significant than yours."

"Why?"

He
paused a moment, deliberating just how much to tell her. But if she had read
his journal as she had obviously demonstrated, then she knew a good deal
already. The natural instinct to protect his mission was still a powerful urge,
but he realized that it was foolish to maintain his defense against her. Any
threat to his task had passed into dust eight hundred years ago and the lady
before him was clearly not a hazard.

"Because...,"
he began quietly; still, it was difficult to form the admission. "Because
you were correct when you interpreted it to mean an offering of peace."

"Peace
for what?"

He
snorted softly, pushing himself off the doorjamb and wandering into the
bedroom. Rory followed.

"A
truce to end the siege of Acre, of course," he said, moving to collect his
giant green shirt. "El-Hajidd was an envoy representing several Muslim
generals under Saladin's command. Without Saladin's knowledge, for the man was
reluctant to surrender his fortress, El-Hajidd arranged a secret meeting with
myself and several other knights to propose a truce, extending the crown of
thorns as an proposal of good faith. I accepted the crown by Richard's
authority and gave El-Hajidd my word that our king would do everything in his
power to end the siege peacefully. But I never had a chance to prove my
honor."

"Why
not?"

"Because
several of my fellow knights turned against me, as their leader," he said
quietly, fumbling with the ungainly garment. "They didn't want peace, only
the satisfaction of complete victory over Saladin. Even as I carried the Muslim
offering to Richard, my men were plotting against me."

The
pieces of the journal were falling together and Rory was enthralled. As Kieran
finished with the awkward shirt, she sat on the edge of the mussed bed, her
hazel eyes wide with anticipation.

"The
betrayal you wrote of?"

He
nodded, scratching at his stubbled chin. "Men I trusted turned against me.
Even my best... friend."

"Simon?"

Again,
he nodded. "We fostered together. I thought I knew him as well as I knew
myself, but I was wrong. Men from Henry Augustus' army convinced him that there
would never be a peaceable surrender and persuaded him to take the crown from
me and dispose of it, forever erasing all peaceful intentions the Muslims had
offered."

Rory
could see the heartache in his expression, coming to understand a great deal of
the writings in his journal. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together. Lying on
her stomach, her chin rested in her hands, she watched Kieran pace about, lost
in thought. Lost in an ancient world that had betrayed his altruistic
intentions those centuries ago; still, the pain of betrayal was fresh.

"Why
didn't you just go to Richard with all of this?" she demanded softly.
"He knew about the meeting in the first place, didn't he?"

He
nodded weakly. "Of all of our commanders, he was the only man who had been
contacted by the Muslims. The lesser of the evils, I suppose. He was wary of
the enemy's intentions and sent me to discover the truth of their word. 'Twas
his hope that when I returned with the diadem of Christ, he would be able to
propose a truce to Henry Augustus and Barbarossa and the rest, using the peace
offering as proof of Muslim honor."

Rory was
stunned. "So the Muslims proposed an armistice before Acre actually
fell?"

Kieran
had moved to the window, gazing out over a London he no longer recognized.
"You mentioned that Acre fell in July 1192. My meeting with El-Hajidd was
in December of the previous year. But no one would ever know the results of our
rendezvous; when I did not return, forced to flee from those I had once
trusted, I am sure Richard assumed the Muslims had killed me. He never knew it
was not the enemy who could not be trusted, but his own men driven to destroy the
hated insurgents rather than accept a peaceful surrender."

On the
mattress, Rory pondered his shocking revelation. But in the same breath, she
recalled Bud theorizing nearly the same happening and realized that he had been
right. Then again, Bud was always right.