Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  An illusion?

  The shadow turned toward her. She watched as the wind washed over his face and it changed. “Bran,” she whispered in disbelief. Her head swiveled while she searched for something, anything to grab on to. The portal had one use and she had no intention of leaving.

  Get out, her brain shouted.

  His lips twisted into a cynical sneer. He tilted his head in jaunty satisfaction, snapped his fingers and vanished.

  “No,” she yelled. “Arik,” she closed her eyes and screamed in her head, trying to mind-touch him while the wind tore at her.

  “Beka,” he boomed.

  Her eyes snapped open. She shielded them from the dust and debris and stared at Arik on the other side of the opening. He stood at the high plateau, miles away. His hands were braced on the opening’s edges, which were nothing more than solid streams of whirling wind. He struggled to keep the portal from closing.

  “Come.” His voice didn’t allow for any argument.

  The wind whipped at her, pushed her back. She tried again. “I can’t. The wind. Keeps. Pushing. Me. Away.” She shoved her staff in front of her and anchored it in the ground. Against the gusting wind, pulled herself toward him.

  “A little more, Beka.” He gripped the edge of the portal with one hand and stretched the other out to her. She shoved her hand toward him as far as she could. The tips of their fingers brushed. In a burst of effort he caught the top of her hand, a precarious hold. With a tight grasp she wrapped her fingers around his thumb.

  Safe. She wasn’t far now.

  She concentrated on his face. The corners of his mouth turned up as he pulled her toward safety. The wind grew stronger, buffeting around them, then changed its path.

  Before she could brace herself for the new direction, the gust blasted them. Without a firm grip, her hand began to slip. She pushed through the building panic. His smile slipped. The expression on his face turned to determination. Again her hand slipped until he held her by her fingertips.

  He held them fast—crushing them, but that didn’t matter. He had to hold on to her. Every muscle strained. Inch by inch he brought her closer to him. She tried to help him the best way she could. Anchored to the edge of the portal, Arik encouraged her on. But his alternatives were limited. The closer she got to him, the stronger the gale blew. Just a little closer, that’s all she needed for Arik to grab her and get her out of the portal.

  The wind exploded from another direction.

  The blasting gale pushed her staff away from the opening, across the dirt, cutting an ugly scar in the ground and dragging her away with her staff.

  Away from Arik.

  Their bond snapped, Arik fell backward, out of the portal. The wind kept them pinned where they were as cold air swooped around the entrance. When at last the wind eased, they stared in horror at the thick sheet of ice that sealed the portal between them.

  They fought their way to the frozen sheet. Rebeka’s hands on one side, Arik’s on the other. In desperation they searched for a weakness.

  Time was slipping away.

  Arik took out his sword and slashed at the ice but he didn’t make any progress. He sheathed his sword and pounded on the ice with his fists.

  Rebeka pummeled the ice with her staff. Chunks flew off but nothing weakened it.

  Desperate, they hammered away at the icy barrier.

  She took notice as Arik moved his hands over the ice. She did the same. His lips moved but she was unable to hear him. He raised his hands in demand. What was he doing?

  Lightning struck the ice and turned it fiery hot.

  In horror, she stared at the agony etched on his face. She stood by and watched, unable to help him. He pummeled the icy surface with his fists, his knuckles raw and bleeding. She fixed her stare on the runes on his chest. They pulsated in rhythm with his fists.

  Small cracks in the ice appeared and his fists flew faster. He flashed her an encouraging glance but all she saw were the deep cuts in his flesh. His blood was everywhere.

  Tears slipped down Rebeka’s cheeks. Helpless, his runes kept flashing faster and his heartbeat raced to keep time. She was certain his heart would burst.

  She leaned closer to the barrier, her eyes begging him. Stop, she called to him in her mind. He kept on going. She spread her hands on the shield. “Stop,” she screamed, her voice raw with her effort. The vibration and low-pitch moan of the surface made her flinch. She pulled her hands away.

  Unsure, she touched the shield again. It was still. The scream, she was certain it caused the tremor. She searched Arik’s face. He wasn’t aware of it. The beat echoing in her head was almost a steady tone. Fear twisted around her heart. His blood stained the barrier. She was certain he would die if he kept this pace. She couldn’t wait.

  She gathered her strength and with lightning speed built the chant inside her. When she couldn’t hold it back any longer she let it loose in a grief-stricken scream.

  Everything stopped. The wind. His pounding.

  They stood facing each other.

  “No, Beka. No,” he screamed, his arms spread out across the barrier. She watched the glazed look of despair spread across his face.

  A small portion of the shield fractured, then another, and another. The tiny explosions gathered momentum until they built into a frenzy and every inch of the shield was cracked.

  Then silence.

  She hesitated but at last placed her hand on the shield. Arik did the same. Their hands separated by the splintered magick. The fractured shield trembled, small pieces tumbled around them. For a brief moment their hands touched and she felt his warmth and love.

  A great force pulled them apart as if they were puppets at the will of a puppeteer. They struggled to their feet and ran to each other but before they could get to the opening the portal snapped closed and vanished.

  His roar echoed through the mountains. “I will find you.”

  “I love you,” she sobbed as the portal took her away.

  Away from him.

  Chapter Three

  Present Day

  Breath by breath, she pulled herself out of the haze, Arik’s pained expression fixed in her mind. The warmth of his hand lingered on hers. She flexed her fingers but her hand was held tight.

  Arik? Her eyes flew open. She yanked her hand out of someone’s grasp. Blood—his blood stained her hand. The nightmare was real. Arik, I love you, she screamed silently to him. Nothing.

  “Arik,” she whispered, unable to smother the sob that escaped. She didn’t try.

  “Dr. Tyler?” A calm female voice broke through the fog. “Dr. Tyler. I’m trying to find where you’re bleeding.” She stared at the woman. Standing in the middle of the small circle of stones, she still grasped her staff. Her hand slipped along the smooth hawthorn pole as she sank to the ground. Slumped against the cool damp stone, she stared into a familiar face but couldn’t place the woman. Her knees raised, she lowered her pounding head between them.

  “Where am I?” Did she even care? Deep inside, she knew that wherever she was, he wasn’t with her.

  The woman slipped an arm around her and anchored her to the spot. “You’re in Avebury. By the stones. Take a deep breath.”

  She didn’t want to breathe ever again.

  “Would you like some water?” Rebeka studied the woman’s face, struggling to put it in its proper place, and took the offered bottle. Where had she met this woman? She drank as if she hadn’t had water for days and so fast that the water trickled down her chin.

  Her rescuer patted down her pockets then glanced at the blood-stained cloth she held. “This is all I have,” the woman apologized and dabbed at Rebeka’s chin. “I’ve called Mr. Hughes. He’s on his way and should be here any minute.” The woman glanced over her shoulder. When she turned back, Rebeka glimpsed her rescuer’s growing concern.

  Like an engine catching after several miss-starts, recognition hit her. “I know who you are.” She straightened her back against the stone. More of th
e fog cleared from her mind. “The tour guide.” That got a smile from the woman—or was it relief that brightened her face? She tilted her head back against the stone and closed her eyes. “Is this part of your tour?”

  Pictures of Bran and Arik flashed in her mind. Panic left her breathing hard, threatening to crush her chest. Bran. She was useless to Arik here.

  A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Yes, I’m Agnes from the tour group and no, this isn’t part of the service but I’d rather you stay awake right now.”

  She opened her eyes. The woman was familiar with first aid. “What happened?”

  “There was a clap of thunder. We were concerned there’d be an electric storm, which didn’t seem at all feasible with the clear sky. We had everyone leave the area as a precaution. Well, there weren’t any additional thunderclaps so we allowed the visitors back into the site again. One of them found you a bit despondent chanting by the Cove Stone. He came and got me. By the time I got here you were wiping your hand—”

  “Rebeka!”

  She lifted her head to see who’d called her. Not far away, behind a rope, curiosity seekers stretched their necks to get a glimpse at what was happening. Pain washed over her as reality hit her again. She was back in the twenty-first century.

  Alone.

  Out of the corner of her eye she watched a couple duck under the makeshift barricade and rush toward her. “Rebeka.” The man knelt in front of her. “Thank you, Agnes.” He gave the woman a relieved smile. “We’ll take her back to the manor.”

  The familiar voice caught her attention. “George?” Her shoulders relaxed. He squeezed her hand. The small gesture relieved her.

  “Yes, Rebeka.” He gave her his full attention. “We’re here.”

  “We?” She tried to get her feet under her but couldn’t get them to work. That didn’t matter; somehow Arik had found her. She shaded her eyes, expecting her husband to be standing over her. Instead, a woman stood next to George. Frantic, Rebeka scanned the area.

  “Rebeka.” She focused on George. “This is Cora, my sister.” A stabbing ache in her chest caught her breath.

  Arik wasn’t there. The swell of hope plummeted to despair that made her ache even deeper. Of course he wasn’t. It was too much to think that this nightmare would be over so fast.

  “Let’s get her back to the manor.” Cora bent toward her and extended her hand. “Can you walk? The car’s not far.”

  Once on her feet, she stuffed the blood-stained cloth into her pocket and took her staff. She turned back to the stones but knew the portal was gone.

  “That way is closed.” Rebeka faced George’s sister. Her anxiety level ratcheted up. What did they know? And who were they?

  Agnes hurried off and disbursed the small crowd while George and Cora got Rebeka into their car. With everyone settled and strapped in, George pulled out onto the road for the ride to Fayne Manor.

  Rebeka slumped in the back and stared out the window. She replayed things in her head. Why didn’t she recognize that it was Bran and that it was a ruse? She was certain Arik had been standing at the signpost. She should’ve known that there was no way he could’ve closed the portal and gotten to Oak Meadow before she arrived.

  They made their way from Avebury to the M4. The green countryside that flashed by hadn’t changed much in four hundred years. This was not the time for withdrawing and feeling sorry for herself. No, she had to use her wits and figure out how to get back. But she had no idea what to do next.

  “Rebeka.” She turned away from the landscape at George’s gentle tone. “Where do I start?” He kept his eyes on the road.

  “Perhaps at the beginning with who you are.” He hadn’t told her everything when she’d met him four months ago. She’d believed he was a barrister out to complete his client, Lady Emily’s, last request, to find her heir. His law firm had the highest credentials.

  He pulled onto the M4 and glanced at Cora next to him. “Our family has a long history. The family business has been active for hundreds of years.”

  “Yes. Your law office has quite a long history.” She knew that. She wanted to know the rest.

  “Our family goes back almost as far as yours.” She was a historian. There were a great many people in England who could trace their families back for centuries. This was not a revelation.

  She stared at the back of his head. Who could she trust in this century? George? Cora? She’d have to figure that out fast. Every instinct told her she was safe—but she’d believed she’d been safe at the meadow…

  “I should’ve told you when we first met but I believed you needed to learn about Arik’s family. I assumed we had more time. When the National Trust suggested making Fayne Manor a reenactment site we jumped at the chance to re-create the seventeenth-century manor.” His expression shifted to one of sadness. “We believed we had more time.”

  “Time?” She let out a deep breath and returned her gaze to the window. Bran must be up to something to get her out of the way. But what?

  “There’s no need to evade the issue now.” Cora turned in her seat to face her. Rebeka appreciated the woman’s directness. “Our family is from a long line of druids. George and I were going to explain everything to you the first night you were here but you disappeared.” Had they expected her to reappear? She wasn’t as naive now. Whose side of the family were they on? Arik’s or Bran’s?

  “Go on, tell her the rest,” he urged her.

  “No, let me,” Rebeka said. “My father brought me here from the seventeenth century because of a threat, a threat from Bran. I was supposed to return and marry Arik. But that was prevented, by Bran. How am I doing so far?”

  “Just fine.” She noted George’s approving nod. “How did you leave us four months ago?” There was a note of concern in his voice that eased her.

  She made a quick decision to confide in them on some level. Getting back to Arik was her goal. If Cora was right and she couldn’t go back using the portal she’d arrived in, she’d need help. She had no idea where to start except with them. And they were druids. She’d have to be cautious but she needed to start somewhere.

  “Figuring that out took me a while but I put the pieces together. I joined the Avebury tour, where I met Agnes. I listened to the chant on the audio tour, sang along word for word.” The rhythmic beat of the chant echoed in her head. “When I got to the Cove Stone the portal opened and I was caught inside.” Her heart pounded as the beat built quickly to a crescendo, then as quickly as is began, it stopped.

  “I had no memory of my previous time in that century when I was here and still none when I met Arik. It took…a lot to remember.” Painful would be a better description. “But I did. Arik and I married.” Her chin quivered. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I’ve never been happier.” Her voice was a choked whisper.

  Cora turned and looked into the backseat to face her. “Then why did you come back?” She searched the woman’s face. Did she think she wanted to return? No, she had no idea.

  “I didn’t have an option.” Her voice was lifeless. “I hadn’t planned to come back.” The bitterness rose in her throat. “Bran, on the other hand, had a different idea.” She fisted her hands, her nails biting into her palms. She blew out a breath and the acrid taste of fury rose. “But is he in for a surprise.” She tried to keep her voice controlled but even she detected its hateful tone.

  September 22, 1605 — Midday

  Arik slouched in his saddle. Doward rode at his side. The two men plodded their way back to the manor in silence. Their horses’ heads hung low, mirroring their own.

  Dark Magick. That’s what had held Rebeka in the portal.

  He needed time to think but the image of her pained expression filled his mind.

  The cadence of the horse’s hoofs beat out his chant, I will find you, I will find you.

  He sent the message, but she was beyond his reach. How did Bran time it so well? He was at the end of the chant, a few words away from completing it, when
Rebeka screamed. He let out a bitter grunt. He had done an excellent job of destroying the portal. His own words doomed her and he couldn’t reverse them. The portal was gone forever and so was she.

  Rain was pelting them by the time they arrived at the manor valley. The storm must have moved in fast. Most of the tables in the square were covered. Some wares lay soaked and forgotten. The streets couldn’t handle the quick torrent and had become rivers with small rapids flowing over the cobbles. The village was battened down for a storm. For him, the tempest would last until Rebeka was safe at home.

  Arik, his head bowed against the rain, moved on to the manor. At the barn he threw the reins to the groom and left Doward without a word. He hurried to the library, gathered a few select books then went to his tower room, leaving instructions he wasn’t to be disturbed. He needed time to read and think.

  From time to time soft footfalls stopped outside his door. He ignored them. He kept reading and working well into the evening.

  “Arik.” Logan pounded on the door.

  “Come.” Arik’s quill scratched on the parchment. He glanced at the door as it opened and tried to disguise his annoyance. He believed he made it clear he didn’t want to be disturbed.

  “You’ve been here for hours.” Logan glanced at the books and scrolls scattered on the table. “Doward told us what happened. Everyone’s troubled.” Arik glared at Logan as he took a seat across from him. The laugh lines that marked his brother’s face were replaced with deep creases of worry. He didn’t have time to see to Logan’s concerns, nor explain his actions.

  Arik put down his quill. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to relieve the stress. “There is a way to find her. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I’ll not accept anything else.”

  “Doward and I rode back to the stones as well as to the meadow.” Logan leafed through a book as if he had all the time in the world. Arik watched to see which books he reviewed. There were several he’d rather Logan didn’t notice.

  Why hadn’t Logan and Doward told him where they were going? His temper rose but he doused it before it boiled over. He told them not to disturb him. “The meadow? I hadn’t considered where she was, only that she was gone.” He took the quill and made a note on one of the parchments.