Kingdom Come (54 page)

Margaret smiled as she walked upon the group, her eyes falling on Tevin’s chubby face.

“Tevin seems in fine form this eve,” she commented. “He appears happy and healthy.”

Rory lifted an eyebrow. “He’s been screaming constantly.”

Margaret held out her hands.  “May I hold him?”

Rory handed over the chubby, squirming bundle. “Be my guest.”

As Margaret hugged and cooed to Tevin, Rory moved back towards the scrubbed table where Jeffrey was now sitting.  Servants had laid out a lovely spread; there was a big ham which tasted a lot like modern ham, plus green peas, beans, several loaves of bread.  Since Rory knew something of cooking, she had spent time in the kitchens when Kieran wasn’t around and couldn’t catch her at it, directing the cook and helping her make dishes that weren’t so darn boiled or spiced. Medieval people went crazy with spices and for good reason; things went bad quickly and they often used the spices to cover up the rotting taste.

 Rory was therefore extremely careful about what she ate.  Mostly, she ate what was fresh and seasonal, and she loved her briny vegetables.  Kieran imported briny peas, cucumbers and onions from London by the barrel. There was also a fishpond on the grounds so she had her choice of fresh fish.

She had also been active in experimenting with what ingredients were available to use them in modern recipes.  About half way through her pregnancy, Rory had developed a terrible sweet tooth and was dying for cake.  Kieran had objected at first to her spending time in the kitchen, but she nearly took his head off one day so he backed off and let his pregnant wife play in the kitchens if it pleased her.  She had white flour, eggs, butter, cream of tartar (a bi-product of wine making, she discovered), shortening made from animal fat, and milk. What she needed was white sugar, which at this period in time was not widely known yet not impossible to get. 

She had Kieran send a missive to the same man that supplied them with briny vegetables from London, asking for him to send as much sugar, or “sweet salt” as it was known, as he could get hands on.  A big bag of the stuff arrived over a month later and Rory was thrilled. With no chocolate and no vanilla, she used lemon juice in her cake and frosting and was able to make a fairly rich and delicious cake.  She’d had a fat slab of it but the rest was devoured by Kieran and his brothers before anyone else could have any.  So she made another one and carefully guarded it no matter how much the brothers begged.  Lemon cake became all the rage at Southwell.

Tonight, the talented Southwell cook had made another cake from the remaining sugar, only this one had apples, raisins, cinnamon and cloves with a kind of white ganache on it. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on the table, but with the Hage boys away, it sat on the table untouched and reminded everyone of their absence. Along with the cake and centerpiece ham was fresh fried fish from the pond, rolled in flour as Rory had shown the cook and fried in fat.  There was no vegetable oil so she had to compromise with the lard. 

Rory sat with Jeffrey and Charlotte, eating ham, fish and peas while Margaret walked the floor with Tevin, Eleanor and David.  Jeffrey ate with his hands but Rory had long since gotten over Medieval table manners.  She found herself eating her hands, too, because spoons and knives were heavy and unwieldy.  It was dirty but she figured it was no big deal since everybody else did it, too.  Still, she kept a little bowl of water nearby to wash her fingers in.  She couldn’t stand sticky fingers.

As the evening wore on, Margaret eventually walked Tevin to sleep so Rory excused herself from the table and took her snoozing son from the hall.  It was cool and dark outside as she crossed the bailey towards the massive keep, thinking to herself that it was at night when she felt the weight of the Medieval world most heavily; men upon the battlements with torches and dogs, soldiers going about their rounds, and an odd sense of being locked away from the world.  It wasn’t like she could take a leisurely walk into town after dinner.  Straying from the castle was unheard of, out into the unprotected world beyond.  Still, there had been a few times when Rory had strayed into town purely for curiosity’s sake.   Kieran had caught her twice; the second time, he took her over his knee and spanked her.  But it wasn’t enough to dampen her spirit.  There was a tavern in town that had spectacular mulled cider and it was her husband’s fault for taking her there in the first place.  She loved that cider.

The keep was dark and quiet as she put Tevin to bed.  Once the baby was down, she turned away from the bassinet only to be faced with a big, lonely, empty bed. No Kieran. Her heart sank a little more; she wasn’t sure she could face that big empty bed tonight.  Not that she had much choice, but she just wasn’t ready to face it yet. She felt the distinct need to get away somehow, to occupy her mind to keep it off her missing husband.  A thought occurred to her as she remembered the mulled cider in town; Kieran wasn’t here to scold her for leaving the castle. Perhaps she could slip into the town, have her delicious warm drink, and return before anyone missed her.  It was a not-so brilliant idea that she talked herself in to.

Putting on one of the heavy cloaks with the fur lining that Kieran had given her, she called down the dumbwaiter for the old cook.  The woman sometimes sat with Tevin when Kieran or Rory couldn’t be with him and, having nine children of her own, she knew something of babies. Rory trusted her.  Once the woman showed up, Rory told her she would return shortly but didn’t tell her where she was going. She didn’t want the woman to alert anyone. But the cook wasn’t curious and happily sat beside the sleeping baby as Rory slipped from the room.

The compound of Southwell was cold and dark but for the intermittent torches upon the walls.  Rory felt like she was escaping her parents to go clubbing as she dodged a couple of soldiers and slipped from the postern gate near the kitchen. There was something wicked, disobedient, dangerous and exciting about what she was doing and she knew that Kieran would kill her if he ever found out.  She was on the north side of the wall, slipping on the muddy slope as she made her way back around to the south side of the structure where the town lay nestled against the old stone walls.  Once she reached the edge of the berg, she lost herself in the dark and narrow streets.

From having traveled the town with Kieran several times, she was relatively familiar with the layout.  The tavern she was looking for was near the road the led into the castle, so she jockeyed through the narrow alleys and avenues until she came to a larger road that would take her to the tavern. A dog almost bit her and an escaped goat tried to ram her, but she escaped unharmed and laughed at her luck.  The streets were fairly vacant, which wasn’t unusual at this time of night, by the time she reached the tavern.

The innkeeper knew her on sight as Sir Kieran’s wife.  He greeted her immediately and took her to a warm corner near the kitchen. The man was fat, missing most of his teeth, but he could make a killer cider and if he thought it was odd that the Lady of Southwell was alone, he never said so. He presented Rory with a big mug of the mulled cider and a type of bun with cinnamon, nuts and honey.  It was very good and Rory spent the next couple of hours drinking the cider and chatting with the innkeeper.  After the austere conditions of Southwell where her only companions were Jeffrey and Margaret, she found the earthy personalities of the innkeeper and his wife refreshing.

Rory was enjoying herself so much, in fact, that she never heard the cries go up from the sentries on the wall of Southwell or the thunder of an approaching army.  She sat tucked back in the inn, warm, dumb and happy, oblivious to what was going on outside.  It only began to occur to her that something was wrong when the strong smell of smoke began to waft in through the windows and people in the inn began to chatter and run.  By that time, it was too late; Southwell was sealed up tightly and Rory was caught outside the walls. 

She wasn’t truly panicked until she stepped outside and saw a massive army infiltrating the town. She knew what enemy soldiers did to hapless peasants and townsfolk caught in their path, and this army didn’t look like the merciful type. They were beginning to light some of the homes near the walls of the fortress on fire, mostly so they could burn down the structures and move their siege engines or ladders up to the walls.  Rory had been well educated on the tactics of a siege; as an archaeologist and history major, she was more knowledgeable than most.  And she knew she had to get out of the danger zone.

Racing back in to the tavern, she didn’t see the innkeeper or his wife; it looked as if everyone had fled.  Rory dashed out the back of the structure and into an alley, only to nearly be run over by the townspeople fleeing the attack.  She bolted to her left, hoping to make it back to the postern gate, which would undoubtedly be locked and manned. The Southwell soldiers would recognize her and let her in; that is, providing she survived.  She was terrified.

Racing down the alley, she had to intersect with a major avenue before she would be able to lose herself in the maze of small streets and alleys nearer to the fortress.  That meant she would be exposed to the incoming army for a time, as the avenue led directly off the main road to the castle.  But she had to take the chance; as she prepared to bolt across the avenue, she was almost run over by a knight on a massive black charger. 

The horse snapped and kicked out at her, and Rory screamed in fright as she tried to turn around and go back in the direction she had come.  But the knight on horseback was fast; he noticed her fine cloak instantly and, being a trained observer, immediately followed.  He knew she was no ordinary peasant and curiosity, more than anything, demanded he follow.

Rory soon had what she had feared; a pursuer. So much for trying to stay out of sight.  But she would not give in so easily and ducked into a narrow walkway between two buildings.  The knight could not pursue on his steed but he did not give up; he paused a moment to determine in which direction she was heading and moved to cut her off.

He almost succeeded, too, but Rory heard the horse coming and she shifted back on her path, racing in the other direction. When the knight realized he’d been fooled, he spurred his charger down the road and parallel to Rory’s path.  Rory thought she was being clever by back tracking again and ending up back near the tavern.  But the knight was clever, too; just as she emerged from a small pathway, he was there to grab her.

He had her by the neck with a big leather glove and Rory fought viciously.

 “Let me go!” she swung her fists at the hand holding her. “Let me go!”

The knight didn’t reply nor comply.  He shifted his grip on Rory and got her by the arm, yanking her up over his lap.  Rory yelped in pain as her arm was practically wrenched from its socket, grunting when she was thrown over his thighs.  She twisted and fought, but he managed to hold her fast with one hand while directing the charger with the other.

Terrified nearly out of her mind, her struggles turned violent.  Even as he directed the horse out of the town, Rory swung her legs around, trying to kick the horse, anything to distract the knight so she could break free. He ended up winding his hand in her hair to hold her fast, yanking on it when she grew particularly severe in her struggles.  At one point, she whacked the horse in the hindquarters with a foot and the horse reared up and danced around.  Bracing herself against the saddle, she shoved hard in the hopes of breaking free.  The horse bucked, she pushed, and she and the knight went flying off onto the soft, damp grass.

The knight landed on top of her, knocking the wind out of her. Rory lay in the grass, gasping for air, as the man pushed himself up.   The first thing he did was throw up his visor and glare at her.

“Foolish wench,” he snarled. “You will pay for that.”

Stunned and gasping, Rory tried to get to her hands and knees. She flopped backwards, away from the knight, trying to crawl away.

“Leave me alone,” she hissed. “Leave me alone or my husband will kill you.”

The knight made a swipe for her and missed. “You will not escape me, wench.”

Rory kicked at him and he grabbed her foot, tripping when she struggled and ending up on top of her again.  Rory shoved at him, getting a good look at his features for the first time, and stopped shoving.  Looking back at her were very familiar eyes.

It was Bud Dietrich.

Or, at least, the man looked like Bud.  There was no one else in existence who had such ice-blue eyes and such a square-jawed, strong face. There was joy and comfort in the realization, but there was also astonishment.  Rory’s eyes widened and her mouth popped open in surprise.