The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (20 page)

Rory
stared at him, her mind still refusing to believe but her heart strangely
willing to accept it. In lieu of more full-blown panic, at the moment she
settled for complete bewilderment.

"But...
I don't understand," her soft voice trembled. "What alchemist?"

His eyes
were remarkably lucid. "An alchemist who promised to heal my wound and
preserve my life. Although I will admit I did not believe in his powers, the
evidence is obvious. The man and his potions have wrought a miracle."

Slowly, Rory
shook her head. "I dug you up myself. You've been dead and buried for
eight hundred years."

She
could see the shock in his expression as he absorbed her statement. "Eight
hundred years?" he repeated softly. "Do...do you mean to tell me that
the alchemist's potion kept me suspended for eight hundred years?"

"Something
sure did."

He
continued to stare at her, his ashen face glazed with disbelief. "What
year is this?"

"2012."

"And...
and where am I?"

"London."

Kieran
tore his gaze away, closing his eyes to the impact of her information. Feeling
strangely empowered by his astonishment, Rory stood on quaking legs.

"Shocking,
isn't it?"

He
opened his eyes, dulled with fatigue and distress. "Nay, lady, not
shocking. Unbelievable."

Her gaze
continued to linger on him, her composure making a slow return. "Now you
know how I feel," she muttered. "I just can't believe... Good Lord,
this has to be a dream. Corpses just don't get up and walk away."

He
sighed again, making another attempt to right himself. "I am not a corpse.
I am Sir Kieran Hage of Nottingham, Viscount of Dykemoor and Sewall, and I was
put to sleep by an alchemist who promised to heal my mortal wound with his
magical potions."

He was
really struggling. Sweat was beading on his brow as he pushed himself up, his
entire body shaking with effort. Even if Rory remained terrified and confused,
she simply couldn't stand by while another human being suffered so obviously.
Corpse or not, Sir Kieran needed help.

He was
about to teeter over again when she moved forward, grasping his left arm to
prevent him from falling. He was incredibly solid, heavy, and she pulled hard
to help him recover his balance. But he could not maintain his equilibrium
without help, panting and gray, and she clutched his shoulders to steady him.
Somewhere in the process, Rory wound up lodged between his tree-sized legs and
before she could move to a less intimate position, Sir Kieran fell forward
against her chest.

Her arms
went around him automatically. Considering she was embracing a living corpse, Rory's
first reaction should have been one of repulsion and she did indeed experience
a strong surge. But she fought it, torn between the wonder of what was
happening and the sensation of his living, breathing body in her arms.

"Oh,
God," she moaned, feeling the stiffness of his hair scratching her chin.
"I'm holding a dead man."

Kieran's
swimming head was pressed to her chest, hearing her heartbeat loud in his ear.
"Trust me, lady, I am not dead. But at this moment, I surely wish that I
was."

Rory
closed her eyes, feeling him hard and warm in her arms. The clock on the wall
was ticking loudly and she glanced up; it was nearly two o'clock in the
morning. She knew she couldn't stay in the morgue all night with a living
corpse, but the question of what to do with him wasn't easily answered.

In fact,
she was just beginning to ponder that question when she thought she heard
voices. Her heart skipped a beat; senses peaked, she thought she heard more
noise and her mind went into overdrive as she realized her grace period was
over. If there was ever a time to leave, it was now.

"Damn,"
she hissed, trying to move away from Kieran to see what was happening. He clung
to her with one arm, trying to keep himself steady with the other against the
sterile drawer.

"What
is the matter?" he asked, looking at her with great brown eyes that seemed
to worsen her shaky nerves.

Seeing
that he wasn't in imminent danger of toppling, Rory remained silent as she
slipped to the door leading into the hall. The receptionist's desk was several
doors to her right and she swore she heard the voices again. Muttering another
curse, she hastily collected her purse.

"I've
got to go."

He
managed to cast her a long, suspicious glance. "Go? Go where?"

"Out
of here," she hissed. "Before I'm discovered. If they find
me...."

She
suddenly looked at him, realizing what she was saying. Kieran's brown eyes were
on her, great pools of amber set in his pasty face. After a moment, she sighed.
"Oh... damn. What am I going to do with you?"

He
raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Torn, Rory
simply shook her head. "I can't just leave you."

He
apparently agreed. "If you go... surely I must go with you. You seem to be
the only one who can help me discover why I have finally awakened."

Her
indecision was momentary and she quickly retraced her steps. "Come
on," she whispered, intending that he should stand.

He
looked at her doubtfully. "As you can see, lady, I am having difficulty
sitting much less standing. I am not going anywhere at this moment."

Rory
fixed him in the eye; whether or not he was the result of too much alcohol or
blooming insanity, she simply couldn't leave him behind. If he was discovered,
he could look forward to spending time in jail for breaking into the morgue he
had once been a customer of. Until this situation was settled, Rory could not,
in good conscience, let him out of her sight.

"You're
going to have to stand unless you want to explain your presence to the
cops," she said, realizing that but for the towel, he was stark naked.
"But first, I've got to find you something to wear."

As if
the thought hadn't occurred to him amidst all of his other concerns, Kieran
glanced down at himself to note that only a small square of cloth separated him
from complete nudity.

"Where
are my clothes?"

She
looked at him, an expression of disgust crossing her delicate features.
"Your loving family took them, I suppose. Wait here until I see what I can
find."

He
opened his mouth but she was gone, disappearing down the hall. Kieran sat on
the metal slab, his balance returning and his strength making a weak
resurgence. Slowly, with great effort, he braced his feet against the floor.

It took
him three tries before he propelled himself up from the drawer. Once he was on
his feet, however, the room rocked dangerously and he stumbled into the
green-brick wall. The small towel protecting his privates came off in the
interim and when Rory came rushing back into the room a short time later,
Kieran found amusement in her startled expression.

"Oh...
here." She held out an odd green garment, keeping her face turned away.
"Put this on."

Kieran
staggered toward her, weaving as he took the peculiar hose from her
outstretched hand. "What is this?"

"Pants,"
she said, noting from the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved to put them
on. Daring to turn her face slightly, she met his perplexed expression.
"They're pants, for heaven's sake. Put them on!"

He was
still frowning when a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Hose," she
clarified and she could see his features relax in understanding.

She
turned her back as he pulled on the green scrub pants.  When he began fumbling
with the ties, Rory turned around and roughly cinched them up. Kieran grunted.

"God's
Blood, lady, your touch is most genteel." He tugged at the pants where
were a bit too constricting as Rory held up the green scrub shirt.

"Put
this on," she demanded.

He
complied, hardly able to fit into the roomy scrubs for all of his enormous
size. The only shoes she had been able to find were the protective green scrubs
that covered the doctor's shoes but she had him put those on as well,
unconcerned with his appearance so much as she was simply eager to get him
dressed. The voices were gone for the moment but she was certain they would
return, and her sense of urgency was gaining speed.

"Let's
go."

"Go
where?"

She
didn't answer, merely grabbed him by the hand. Kieran could only move very slowly
and even then it was with a good deal of effort. He moved like a man who hadn't
used his muscles in eight hundred years. Rory felt as if she was towing a
barge, lethargic and awkward. They made it up the hall and to the security door
leading into the waiting room. She was about to unlock the door when she saw
that it had a combination release. Sighing with frustration, she directed
Kieran into the receptionist's destroyed office.

"We've
got to climb out," she said, pulling him toward the window. "Watch the
glass; it'll slice your feet. Can you make it?"

Kieran
glanced at the window, the desk, running clumsy fingers through his cropped
hair. "Go first, my lady. I shall follow."

Passing
him a look suggesting that she had little faith in his ability, she climbed
onto the windowsill and jumped through. Just as she turned to encourage Kieran,
he was already in the window, leaping to the floor with enough power to rattle
the walls. Startled, not to mention strangely impressed, Rory cocked an eyebrow
at him for lack of a better response.

"You
move very well. For a dead man."

He
sighed, his massive body sagging. But the gleam in his eye as he focused on her
was anything but weak. "I shall be far more impressive when my strength
has returned fully."

Rory
didn't doubt him. In fact, as the minutes passed, she found herself able to
think on Kieran's resurrection without succumbing to bone-numbing shock. He had
explained, briefly, and perhaps his logic had been enough support against her
doubt. Even if none of it made any sense, she realized that nothing about Sir
Kieran Hage had made sense from the beginning. Perhaps that was the greatest
mystery of all.

The
corridor was silent as Rory took Kieran's hand again. But he seemed
particularly slow, even for him, and she paused with frustration.

"What's
wrong?" she hissed.

He
looked very serious, a bit of color returning to his cheeks. "Where is my
sword, my armor? I will not leave without my possessions."

Her face
softened somewhat. Where to begin?  "They're not here," she whispered.
"Your family took them, just like they took your clothes."

His eyes
narrowed suspiciously. "My family?" he repeated. "But you
said... it has been eight hundred years since...."

She
nodded, glancing around nervously. "Your descendents,” she clarified. Then
she pulled on him, pleading for him to follow. "There will be time enough
for explanation later for both our sakes. But right now, we've got to get out
of here."

She
started to turn away but he stopped her. "I will not go anywhere without
my weapon.  Where did my family take it?"

"To
the University of Sussex. But unless you want to fight four Israeli guards with
submachine guns to get it, you're going to have to forget about your
sword."

His face
hardened. "I cannot. I must have...."

She
squeezed his hand to silence him, shaking her head. "Please trust me, Sir
Kieran. You can't have your sword back. It's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because
it's locked away in a vault. It would take an army to break into the
university. Now, please, we've got go!"

She took
a step forward, realizing yet again he was refusing to follow. When her anxious
gaze returned to him, struggling to keep her annoyance at bay, she was struck
by his puzzled, if not disappointed, expression.

"I
will... trust you if you say my weapon is unreachable," he said quietly.
"I have no other choice at the moment. But there is something else I must
know; you mentioned something earlier, a phrase I found most strange. You said
that you 'dug me up'. Why would you do this?"

"Because
that's what I do. I'm an archaeo... oh, please, can't I explain this later? We
don't have time for this."

Rory
started to lead on but once again he stopped her. She was verging on an
irritated response when a flicker in his brown eyes cooled her rising storm.
"You have called me by name, twice," he said softly. "Do we have
the time that I might know your name?"

"Rory,"
she said, feeling her cheeks flush under his close scrutiny. "Rory
Osgrove."

"Rory?"
he repeated with distain. "'Tis a man's name. Far too unsuitable for your
beauty."

She was
insulted and flattered at the same time. "It was my great-grandmother’s
name."

He
snorted. "The fashion of names has always eluded me. I once knew a woman
named Jamie. Named for her father, James. Most strange."