She glared straight into his eyes. Rebeka was used to men scrutinizing her but she felt this man was not only judging her looks but also her character. She was surprised when she read the smirk on his face and realized he found her lacking. Perhaps he was unaccustomed to a woman not swooning over him. Two could play this game and she would not back down.
He was tall, probably over six feet. He couldn’t hide his muscular body under his close-fitting woolen britches, loose white shirt and leather vest. Every part of him, legs, arms and chest looked powerful. His voice was deep and melodic. It almost hypnotized her.
Everything about him spoke of command and control. She felt him more savage than civilized, tinged with a sense of danger. She suspected in a crowd, people were compelled to move out of his way. This was a man with whom you could not reason.
But there was something outside her reach. Something she could not grasp made her feel this man was important to her. She felt bound to him in some way, which made no sense at all.
Something—the tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, or maybe the angle of the light, she wasn’t certain—jolted her. Her heart pounded as she realized she had seen him before. In the Grand Gallery at Fayne Manor, staring at her from the wall. The painting. She recalled a light touch she had felt that had reminded her of a kiss. Her fingers lightly touched the spot. This is impossible. He must be a descendent, a throwback to the ancient gene pool. It would explain his “lord of the Manor” attitude. She looked at him again. But if I’m the last survivor who is he? Maybe he’s an actor look-alike, overbearing personality and all. I need time to put these pieces together. Perhaps George knows this Arik.
“Doward, you and the woman will come back to the Manor with us. We’ll sort this out there. You’ll not travel without an escort. These are hard times. We’ll meet you in the meadow beyond the willow.” It was not a request or even an invitation, but an order. She liked him less every minute.
“Yes, Arik, and many thanks for your help. Come, m’lady.” Doward and Rebeka walked to the wagon. “Arik must not be kept waiting.”
“Arik must not be kept waiting!” Eyes wide and mouth agape, she stared at Doward in disbelief. “Doward, who is he to tell us what to do? If you’re concerned I can’t take care of myself, please be assured I’m more than capable of standing my own ground.”
“He is the lord here whether you like it or not.” Doward stopped and turned to her. “Trust me. Do not fight me on this. He’s in control here and you may need his help to get back where you belong. If I were you, I would temper my speech before I spoke.”
She looked at Arik as he inspected the field with his men. “Doward.” She hesitated. “Surely you don’t mean to humor him. Are we going to actually let them escort us?” She turned to Doward. His expression implored her to trust him. “You’re right.” She held her hand up in surrender. “He is the authority here and I may need his help but I certainly don’t have to like him or his attitudes.”
“I am glad you see the right of things.”
They got in the wagon and began to move down the trail into the next meadow. They would wait for the men there. Rebeka was distracted and deep in thought. Trying to make sense of things, she made a mental list: inheritance, Fayne Manor, the portrait, Avebury, the tumble, Doward and now Arik, correction, “Lord” Arik. She saw no pattern. She couldn’t begin to understand why Arik affected her. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Doward said Arik was a friend of King James. Did he mean James I of England? He was King about 1604. She added the facts to her mental list. They couldn’t all be part of a reenactment and staying in character. Although it is Beltane, and maybe this Arik character thinks he can go around the countryside making demands. Some women would actually welcome his macho kind of dominance. Me man, you woman.
She moved to the back of the wagon and tried her phone again. Still no signal. She threw the phone back into her pouch and looked out the back of the wagon. They passed the willow, entering into a larger meadow dominated in the middle by an old oak that appeared to be dying. They passed the once majestic tree and stopped in front of the stone signpost to wait for the men. Rebeka stared at the clearly etched words. Fayne Manor.
A surge of bewilderment rushed through her. Wait a minute. She pulled out her digital camera, checked the pictures she took the day before and clicked off several new ones. She set pairs of pictures side by side on the display and compared them. The placement of trees and the dimensions of the meadow were identical. But there could be many meadows that looked similar. She changed the pictures to the stone signpost. They were the same. There was no denying it. This is Oak Meadow, but it’s so different from yesterday. Yesterday’s green and vibrant meadow was brown and withered. The leaves on the oak, even its mighty branches, had drastically deteriorated since yesterday.
Her blood ran cold. Beads of sweat ran down her temple and gathered on her lip. Was this all a vision? The throbbing of her thigh told her it wasn’t. Physically shaken, she took advantage of the delay and got out of the wagon. She stood at the edge of the meadow, then walked over to the signpost and ran her hand over the cold hard stone. The wind picked up. She watched and waited, focusing all her attention on the oak. From somewhere she heard Arik.
“Woman, get in the wagon.” She hesitated, and looked at the oak one last time. She strained to see under the oak’s branches. She could feel someone there. Where was he?
Needing time to think, she got into the wagon and brought her attention back to the people around her. There were two riders in front of her, Arik and his brother. What was his name? Logan, yes, that was it. They had an easy relationship. Arik was definitely the leader, and while the two men behind the wagon were subordinates, Logan held a different position. Both men had a commanding presence and exuded masculinity, but Arik had a rugged, more vital power that attracted her. She watched their backs and noticed that without seeing their faces it would be difficult to tell them apart. No, I’d know Arik anywhere.
The wind shifted, allowing her to hear their voices clearly.
“Will we continue at this pace? You have been pushing to return to the Manor as soon as possible.”
“We cannot leave Doward and the woman to travel without escort. We’ll bring them back with us.”
“I’m glad we’re taking her with us. Skylar and Aubrey will like her company. Cousin Katherine is another story.”
“Logan, we bring her back to keep an eye on her. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. We don’t know who she is. My senses tell me something’s not right. Look carefully at what you see and know. She appeared out of nowhere. She speaks strangely and acts even stranger. We must make certain if she plays a role here, we know where she stands. We must be cautious.”
Rebeka moved to the back of the wagon. Could this be real? She looked at the two photos of the signposts. It was her most concrete evidence. Could this field be the same meadow I walked yesterday? And Arik, he looks like the man in the portrait in the gallery. She began to get more certain with every turn of the wagon wheel. The conclusion she was coming to was overwhelming. Could it be possible? Have I gone back in time?
Chapter Seven
They traveled down the trail, each in their own thoughts. Arik kept pressing them to move faster, little by little picking up the pace.
The trail would take them across the Stone River, crossing it at the log bridge. It lay on the shortest route to the Manor. The land, flooded and bare, showed signs of suffering and the wagon was having difficulty keeping the pace on the rough ground. Arik pushed them to keep up. With what he had heard he couldn’t leave them to travel the forest alone. Willem had been sent ahead and returned with word that the bridge was out. Leaving Logan with Doward and the woman, Arik wheeled away and followed Willem to the river, calling to Simon over his shoulder. Dismounting at the bridge, he leaped onto the frame and picked up a plank.
“Sir, these planks have been deliberately removed,” said Simon.
“Why would
anyone—”
Arik’s thought was interrupted when an arrow whistled out of the trees and slammed into the plank he was holding. His sword was out of its scabbard before the plank hit the ground, Simon’s too. Willem pulled his axe from his belt, found his mark and sent it flying. The leaves shifted and, in eerie silence, men emerged out of the undergrowth. They watched their comrade fall into the rushing river. His body swept away downstream, Willem’s axe still lodged in his head. Marauders.
Rebeka eyed Logan. He couldn’t be more different from his brother, she thought, noting his open, friendly face. Still he had the hard look of a warrior. She watched him stand and turn in the direction of the trees—almost as if he were looking for something.
“Get up,” he called out suddenly. “Get up now.” She was on her feet in a moment, but even as she wondered what was happening, a band of men attacked from the forest. It wasn’t an act, she realized in shock as she caught sight of their sharp knives. Fantasy blended with reality, and she instinctively threw off her cloak and reached for her staff.
She’d allowed herself to get too self-absorbed. She should have heard their approach. At once, she saw her mistake, but quickly got back into the moment. She was not in optimum condition but she could hold her own. The others wouldn’t need to concern themselves about her.
She hiked up what was left of her skirt and stood next to Doward, not for protection, but as a partner. Logan stood several yards away wielding his sword, fighting off attackers as he tried to reach her and the tinker. Logan’s face was in a snarl, his lips drawn back, his teeth clenched. His body was tight yet flexible as he gripped his sword firmly, executing each swing with precision.
Rebeka took a deep breath and the music played inside her head. The strong rapid beat of the rock music unlocked that secret place inside her. She heard and saw nothing. She perceived and felt everything. She was focused, ready and totally committed.
Three men attacked her and Doward. They must have expected them to be easy prey. Rebeka took full advantage to rid herself of her pent-up frustrations where it would do the most damage. She showed no mercy.
An attacker came at her with a staff. She stepped to the side and his strike hit empty air. She brought the end of her staff up, jabbing him under his rib cage. He tried to regain his breath, and she turned her back toward him, stepped back and wound up like a spring while she tucked her staff under her arm. As she uncoiled, she leveled her staff and swung in a full arc, smashing her attacker in the face. He went down. She swiftly spun around, raised her staff and caught another intruder in the temple, rendering him helpless.
Logan dispatched his last attacker and turned to Doward and Rebeka just as she smashed another man in the temple. He smiled, let out a war cry and joined her in the battle. He didn’t want to miss any of the fun.
“For Honor!” She heard Arik’s answer to Logan’s war cry ring through the forest and sensed more than saw him arrive. She didn’t have time to look.
She and Logan, with Doward between them, stood back to back staving off the attackers. Five surrounded them now. Holding her staff in two hands across her body, she moved in a quick succession of strikes. She spun into position and caught the attacker in the throat. Windmilling her staff to put it in position, she turned to the other side and, with a low level swing, brought him down at his knees. She flipped over the next man who tried to skewer her with a knife and smashed him in the groin. Another took his place. She parried and quickly found her opening, cleanly leveling her weapon across his neck. He fell gasping for breath. She spun to meet the next threat and came face to face with Arik.
Briefly, the music in her head skipped a beat. An eerie silence blanketed the battle. She heard her own breathing and the echo of her heartbeat in her ears. Everything stopped as she registered the desire in his eyes. Not now, she told herself. His penetrating desire burned her to a cinder. Not now. Fighting for control, she tore her eyes away from him before she lost all concentration, feeling a sense of loss. Not now. She willed the thought of him away, and pulled her eyes from his. Time resumed its normal pace.
In the heat of the fight, she winced in pain, blood trickling down her leg from her makeshift bandage. Holding her staff with both hands, she brought the end up and smashed the attacker in the eye, sending him to the ground. She twisted the staff behind her and put it in position for the next assault. Arik stood perfectly still. The attacker behind him moved closer.
She didn’t think he saw the man behind him ready to strike and didn’t wait to find out. She planted her staff solidly on the ground and vaulted high, tucking her left leg under her for balance. Arik reversed his grip on the sword and jabbed it behind him pinning the man on the spot as she threw her right leg out, kicking the enemy squarely in the temple with her heel. Arik pulled his sword out of the attacker’s chest, the man twice dead. There was no time to stop as the remaining maurders advanced. Arik fought as a man possessed, Rebeka alongside him.
Finally, the attackers lay dead at their feet.
Rebeka closed her eyes and waited for the last of the music to fade. The adrenaline spent, her thigh throbbing, she limped over to Doward.
“Who is this woman?” Arik’s voice drifted over to her. Rebeka looked up. He spoke to Logan who was cleaning a blade.
“I’d be careful taking a walk with her. She does have a way with her walking staff.” Logan laughed. He turned serious. “These men weren’t from our area,” he said, his voice casual. Arik nodded.
“Arik.” Rebeka stood a bare twelve inches from him. “They were cunning. They chose an area where we would have to split up. They must have taken the bridge apart to force us to separate. But they didn’t show the same degree of expertise in their fighting. These were not skilled fighters and they gained nothing. They were clumsy and…well, lazy. They didn’t fight with purpose. And look at their wrists.” She pointed to the outstretched arm of a dead attacker. “Each carries a mark on the inside of their right wrist, a T.” She drew the symbol in the loose dirt with her staff as she spoke.
She stopped. The men were unnaturally quiet and motionless. Their stare chilled her to the bone.
“Woman, had you waited for your proper escort this would have been avoided. Do you know how you risked the lives of my men?” His words were measured and precise.
“What?” Rebeka looked at him, astounded. “I did no such—”
“Silence.” His muscles rippled and tensed, making him look more frightening. Like a fly caught on paper, his cold stare pinned her to the spot. “Know your place, woman, and show respect. I did not give you permission to address me or my men.” He spoke in a controlled tone, but though he never raised his voice, every muscle shouted.
“What do you mean?” She wasn’t intimidated, she wasn’t cowering, and she definitely let him know it. She took a firm step toward him, setting herself scant inches in front of him. She met his stare, her violet eyes on fire. “I just saved your ass!” She saw the flare of his nostril and glint in his eye. She heard someone’s quick intake of breath. She caught them all off guard. A brief smirk lit her face.
“Arik, she has taken a bad fall on her head coming down the mountain. She isn’t herself.” Doward wrapped the cloak around Rebeka as he spoke, forcibly pulling her back.
Arik smeared the symbol she drew in the dirt with his foot, obliterating it. His eyes bore into hers.
Rebeka pulled the cloak tightly around her, spun on her heels and walked away.
“His lordship is angry. He’s almost as angry as I am. It felt good to work out the pent-up tension. It’s the first time I’ve felt in control since I got here,” she told Doward.
“You play a dangerous game addressing the lord’s men with such authority and as an equal. Look at their faces.”
She peered over the horse’s rump. Each face was set with a pinched icy expression.
“No woman speaks to them in such a manner and most especially not to Arik. They’ll not take this insult lightly. Are you a fool, woman
? Don’t you know how to speak to authority? Are you looking to get yourself killed? And profanity! I thought you a smart woman, but you show yourself to be lower than a peasant. A peasant knows better.”
“Doward, I’m not a peasant and I’m not playacting as you and your friends seem to be.” Her arms folded across her chest, her patience at its limit. No more games, no more fights. She wanted to go back.
“Rebeka, you may not fully understand what’s happened but things here are as they seem. You know they are, just as you know you’re not where you belong. Stay here,” ordered Doward. He didn’t ask. “I’ll try to make this right, if I can.”
Her face flushed and her arms crossed in front of her, Rebeka seethed as she paced behind the wagon but she did as Doward told her. Well maybe not told her. Commanded.
Arik and Logan helped the men put down a few planks, enough for the wagon to cross. “Logan,” said Doward. “I appreciated your help.”
“You should be thanking Rebeka,” said Logan as he looked over at the wagon, trying to hide his smile with little success. He clapped Doward on the shoulder. “I find I’m secretly rooting for this woman.” He laughed as he walked to retrieve his gear.
“Arik, about Rebeka.”
“Do not concern yourself, Doward. I’ll attribute her insubordination to distress this time. Do you know anything about her?”
“Only what I’ve told you.”
“Very well, but I suspect there’s something else hidden here. Her fighting style is unique. And, Doward, she is good. I’ll give her that, but all the more reason to be cautious. Do you know the sign she describes, any significance for this T?”
Doward looked at Arik. “No, not for T. But I have my suspicions.”
“From my vantage point, it looked like the druid symbol H. The symbol used by Bran. I wonder if he has a role in this. I thought we were through with him.”
“Yes, Arik, I thought so too. About Rebeka, I’ve reached out to her mind. She isn’t a threat. There is no trace of Bran’s signature, nor anyone else’s.”
Knight of Runes Page 7
