Kingdom Come by Kathryn Le Veque

hand still wrapped up in her hair. By this time, the dead man’s companion had drawn his weapon and charged Kieran from across the room.  As Rory wrapped her arms over her head and tried not to get kicked or, worse, stabbed, a massive swordfight with thirty pound broadswords commenced over her head. She was petrified.
    But Kieran was cool as he charged the man who had come at him.  His enormous broadsword sang through the air with deadly accuracy as he both defended himself and Rory, still struggling on the ground.  He thought of nothing else at the moment but dispatching the man; to think of anything else, including Rory, could divert his focus and quite possibly cost him his life.  So, at the moment, he concentrated on the kill.
    The enemy soldier ended up kicking Rory in the back as he went after Kieran, a sharp kick from a sharp boot that caused her to grunt in pain.  She managed to unwind the dead man’s hand from her hair and crawl away from the fighting, getting kicked in the mouth as she went.  She could taste blood as she threw herself against the wall, trying to stay clear of the blades singing over her head.  She was too scared to even watch; she tucked her face into her knees and covered her head.
    Although it seemed like hours, the fight only lasted a matter of seconds.  Kieran had his kill within eight strokes.  He managed to cut low and slice the sharp edge of his blade across the man’s knee, causing him to double over. When the man folded in half, Kieran brought the sword up and nearly decapitated him.  Before the man even hit the ground, Kieran was at Rory’s side.
    “Lib,” his voice was full of fear. “Are you injured?”
    Rory’s head came up, blood trickling from her split lip. One look at Kieran’s anxious face and she threw her arms around his neck, weeping hysterically.
    “Oh, my God,” she sobbed. “I want to go home. I want to get out of here.”
    He picked her up and held her tightly, allowing himself to feel his terror. “Are you well?” his voice was shaking. “Answer me, sweetheart. Did they hurt you?”
    She shook her head unsteadily and he sighed heavily with relief. “’Tis all right,” his bass-deep voice was soft and soothing. “Everything is all right now. You are safe.”
    “It’s not all right,” she wept, now angry as well as frightened. “Those guys busted in here and… and one of them grabbed me while the other guy … oh, hell, I don’t know but I think he was robbing you. I couldn’t really see.”
    He soothed her gently, rocking her softly as held her. “’Tis all right now. It is over.”
    “I want to go home,” she repeated, begging.
    He sighed faintly as he continued to rock her. He didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t go home. She was home.
    “Your lip is bleeding,” he ventured gently, trying to get her mind off something other than the panicked need to go home. “Are you sure you are all right?”
    “I’m fine,” she pulled her face from the crook of his neck, wiping the trickle of blood from the corner of her lip. “For the most part, anyway.”
    He set her carefully to her feet and tipped her chin up so he could inspect her split lip. “Did they strike you?”
    Her tears were fading and she sniffled, wiping at her lip again. “No,” she replied. “I got kicked while you guys were fighting.”
    He sighed faintly. “I am sorry,” he kissed her cheek gently and helped her stand. “But you are otherwise unharmed?”
    She wiped away the tears from her face. “Yes,” the tears were gone but the panic was still there. “But I really, really want to go home.”
    He sighed, fixing her in the eye. “How?”
    Some of her agitation returned. “Go back to the beach, I guess. Sit there and wait for another storm.”
    He lifted an eyebrow, attempting to force her to think about what she was saying. “Is this so? You will go sit on the beach for the rest of your life hoping another storm will come and send you back to your