Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  “Yes, she planned to harvest herbs. We found hints of the portal in both places.” Logan closed the book. “Along with traces of Dark Magick.”

  He recognized the dread in Logan’s eyes. “He knew I was going to close the portal. He got her inside then barricaded the opening. Rebeka broke the enchantment.”

  “Broke the enchantment?” Logan moved to the edge of the chair. “So Doward was right? He told me he managed to get to you and heard her cry out, that her scream broke the enchantment.” The creases on his face moved from worry to alarm. Logan’s expression deepened Arik’s devastation. So, Logan believed all was lost as well. A dull ache ran through him. What if he couldn’t… He left the idea unfinished. So far he hadn’t found anything to help him travel through time.

  “Yes, but I’d wager she didn’t know I was moments away from freeing her. She was fine until I marked the enchantment—”

  “With your blood.” Logan winced. On his ride home Arik realized how it must have appeared to Rebeka.

  “She must have believed you were in danger,” Logan said more to himself. “He took advantage of the portal and used an enchantment to trick Rebeka to use a primal scream. It was a clever ruse.”

  “I’ve been reading through the old books. The stones are cold. I sealed them tight. That magick can’t be undone. I’ll have to find another way.” He grabbed a fistful of pages and shook them at Logan. “The answer must be here, but where?” He tossed the papers back onto the table and ran his hand around his neck. He had no idea if he was even searching in the right place. “Bran has gone too far.”

  “How long are you going to make excuses for him, try to cure him?” Logan’s words sent something straight through him. “It’s the one thing that stands between us.” Logan turned away from Arik. “You should’ve killed him four months ago. Now look where it’s got you.”

  Guilt swept through Arik. Why did he think he could protect Rebeka from Bran here? Maximillian had taken her to the future to protect her. But kill Bran? Only as a last resort.

  “Things have been peaceful since August and all along brother Bran has been watching and waiting.” Logan glanced at the scattered papers. He read one then another before he returned them to the table. “You know the danger of Dark Magick.” Logan pointed to the parchment. Something in Logan’s tone stopped Arik’s building anger that threatened to erupt. Logan was worried, and he should be.

  “I’m aware of the dangers and I’m just as certain Rebeka wasn’t. I was so close to getting her out. If she had waited a heartbeat or two longer.” He rose, unable to keep still, and stood by the window. He needed a battle plan and he needed it now. Her face flashed in front of him. “I wasn’t able to touch her mind, to tell her. I’ll never forget the look on her face before she screamed.” He stared at the rain. “I’m certain she didn’t know the consequences.” He slammed his fist on the sill. “I must find her.”

  Logan stood beside him. “She has some knowledge of Dark Magick. She’s been reading the old books.”

  Arik spun Logan around. His heart raced. “What? How?”

  “She asked you but you put her off. That’s when she asked me.” Logan held up his hand to stop Arik’s interruption. “She knows the consequences of using Dark Magick and how it can corrupt the mind. She doesn’t know how to summon it. So set your mind at ease. Together we’ll find her. Bran must know you won’t sit idle.” Logan was either naive or trying to console him. Rebeka would figure out how she broke the enchantment.

  Arik let out a lifeless laugh. “I see Bran’s scheme too late.” He had been so willing to enjoy the quiet, to play the bridegroom with Rebeka. “The summer silence was to make us think we’re secure while he plotted and planned.”

  “Yes, and I think he’ll try to keep us occupied so you won’t have time to find the answer.”

  For a moment Arik saw the past, a day when he, Bran and Logan were boys, filching cakes from Jeannie and racing their horses across the fields. They had been close. He had played the great knight to Bran’s lord of the manor. Now those memories were so far in the past that he questioned if they ever existed.

  “To make her like him,” Logan said, breaking his musing.

  Like Bran? He wasn’t going to let that happen. “She’s made of stronger stuff. You said so yourself.”

  Logan nodded. At least they both agreed on that point.

  “Doward has gone to gather what information he can from the other villages. He’ll try to reach the druid Council. I’ll check the documents in the sanctuary,” Logan said, “and bring you what we find.” He turned to leave but hesitated. “I’ll do anything you need. No questions asked. I’ll support you in any way I can. Against anything. We’re in this together.”

  His squire from when they played knight. Logan had sworn his allegiance to him and had never faltered. He grasped Logan’s shoulder, grateful for his help. “I know.”

  A gentle knock on the door drew their attention. “Uncle Arik?”

  Logan opened the door. Skylar stood there tall and silent. Overwrought, her hands twisted her handkerchief. Aubrey stood next to her and stabbed away her tears with the back of her hand.

  Arik smoothed his face. “Girls?” They rushed at him. Startled, he raised his arms as they grabbed him around his waist. He turned to Logan for support. His brother shrugged his shoulders and appeared to be as uncomfortable as he was.

  “It’s my fault, Uncle Arik, all my fault.” One look at them and his heart fell.

  “Hush now.” He stroked Skylar’s hair. She cuddled closer and her sobs eased. “What’s your fault?”

  “She asked me to go with her and instead…” Her chin quivered too much for her to speak. “I didn’t want to go to the meadow. If I had gone…” Her voice trailed off in a whisper.

  Aubrey held her sister’s hand. “I should have gone with her, too,” she said between sobs.

  He held them both close. “Neither of you did anything wrong. This is not your fault.” Faith. They hurt as much as he did. “If anyone is at fault it’s me for not seeing the danger.”

  “Bring her back,” Aubrey pleaded. Skylar agreed. The girls had such faith in him.

  “I will,” he said with all his heart.

  Chapter Four

  Present Day

  Curled up in the large chair in the solar, Rebeka stared at the blood-stained cloth. Her silent tears had turned to mutterings cursing Bran. But that was all a waste of time and energy. She had no doubt Arik had recovered. She was certain she would know if he hadn’t.

  Over the past four days she’d barricaded herself in her room and became reacquainted with her computer. She spent every minute documenting her time with Arik and what she remembered about the portal. She’d worked without a break and kept the room dark and the coffee strong. After a long discussion with George and Cora she understood that no one had any idea how to reach Arik.

  Reach Arik.

  It wasn’t as if she could search for him on the computer or in some medieval directory. Sarcasm wouldn’t help, but the fear that his magick, any magick, wouldn’t work here was very real. She needed to study the problem from a different perspective, from every angle. It would take a lot of work and research. Dammit, she was a historical researcher, for God’s sake. She bolted out of the chair and threw the small pillow that had been on her lap across the room. Breathe. She could do this. He’d be working the problem from his perspective.

  With all her heart she believed Arik would find her. She had to believe.

  She glanced out the open window and got a whiff of the fragrant garden filled with fall flowers and cut grass. Breathe. She turned to sit at the desk but she couldn’t type another word. Instead she headed for the stairs.

  “Good day, Miss Rebeka.” Charles, the steward, stood in the downstairs entryway.

  “Good day, Charles.” She rubbed her temple to ease the pain. The sides of her head ached from extracting every fact she could remember.

  Faith. What do I do next?

/>   She stopped mid-step on the staircase; her heart skipped a beat. The corners of her mouth pulled back at the bittersweet memory of Arik raking his hand through his hair and muttering his favorite epithet. He was so much a part of her. She continued down the stairs and onto the terrace. The sun was high over the east hill. With her eyes closed the sun warmed her face and her mind quieted.

  “Hail and welcome.” She stood at the railing and scanned the estate. Instead of a thriving village and lush farms she saw abandoned buildings and barren parkland. Her friends, her family, her husband… She missed them all. Her chest tightened at the idea of never seeing them again. “Great Mother,” she vowed, “I’ll do anything to go back. Anything.”

  “I’ve put your morning tea and scones in here next to some papers from Mr. George.”

  “Thank you, Helen.” For days the housekeeper had kept the house quiet and her coffee cup filled while she worked.

  “My mother swore by this blend. She believed hot tea was good for what ails you.” There was a question in Helen’s expression that she seemed hesitant to put into words. Rebeka wasn’t ready to encourage questions. But she’d have to think of some explanation for her abrupt disappearance and return.

  A noise in the distance made her glance beyond the gatehouse. She imagined she heard the men gathering… No, she had to stop. She was torturing herself. Maybe the terrace wasn’t such a good place to be right now. “Tea sounds good.” She turned her back on the estate grounds and entered the Great Hall.

  “Cream and sugar?” Helen asked, standing at the large table.

  “No, thank you.” The scent of lavender and mint wafted up from the cup and cleansed her senses. Enticed, she took a seat then a small sip of tea. “It’s delicious.” Another sip. The anxiety of the past few moments eased. She relaxed in the large chair and glanced around the room. It was much the same now as when she’d breakfasted with Skylar and Aubrey four days ago.

  The dais, with its trestle table and chairs, was the same. She spotted the familiar sideboard, although she had never seen the silver plate that gleamed on top. Her historian eye appreciated an old tapestry that hung over the hearth. Four days ago she would have told you swords graced the mantel. The embroidery was faded, making it difficult to see the detail, but she did make out the piece was a good likeness of the manor’s facade.

  Helen checked the pot and scones. “Charles had the Trust move their boxes out of your cottage to the garden house. If you need anything else I’m close by.”

  She couldn’t stay here in the main house—it was empty without Arik. Besides, the cottage was a few steps across the drive. “Thank you, Helen.” The housekeeper slipped out of the room. Another sip. Maybe it was the warm liquid or the combination of tea leaves but the knots in her stomach eased and the chaos that used her as a lightning rod quieted.

  She glanced through the pile of papers Helen left for her and opened the large envelope from George’s office. She pulled out Fayne Manor’s acceptance into the National Trust. Lady Emily Parsons had been researching the family line, determined to find the surviving heir. After Lady Emily passed, George continued the search. It seemed a lifetime ago that George had contacted her with news that she was the last of the line. She had inherited it all—a family and an estate she knew nothing about.

  As a top medieval professor and researcher, the National Trust had asked Rebeka to complete Lady Emily’s research regarding the family. She would at least be productive while she waited for Arik. One more sip of tea and she headed to the library, the papers in her hand.

  The library was a few steps up the hall. It was a comfortable room. She opened the door and froze.

  Her heart plummeted to her feet and slammed back up to her chest. She couldn’t pull her eyes away.

  Arik stared at her from his portrait over the mantel.

  “Arik,” she whispered and clutched the papers to her chest. The artist had captured his penetrating blue-green eyes—they burned right through her. She closed her eyes and was bombarded by his pained expression right before the portal closed.

  “Rebeka.”

  Her eyes snapped open and she focused on the face in the picture. Had he called her name? Someone touched her shoulder. Bewildered, she spun and stared at the man behind her.

  “Rebeka, it’s me, George.” His voice was soft. She had to stop thinking Arik was around every corner. A halting breath escaped around the knot in her throat. Would she ever get used to the pain?

  “Yes, I know,” she muttered. Thank goodness he didn’t speak. She had time to collect what wits she still had.

  “I’m afraid I’m losing my mind.” She gazed at George and realized Cora stood next to him. “Sometimes I have things all together. Then I see his face when the shield broke.” She examined the back of her hand and then her palm. “I feel the warmth of his hand, and then nothing.” She stepped away from George and stood close to the mantel, staring at Arik’s picture. “Then I lose him all over again. Each time the pain is worse until I don’t think I can stand it one more second.” She struggled to take a breath and keep her composure. “Then I hate him for not being with me. And hate myself more for thinking it.”

  She lowered herself into a nearby chair. Cora took the papers from her and put them on the desk. “He’s my heart.” Rebeka searched George’s face. How could she expect them to understand? Sometimes she wanted to jump out of her skin from wanting Arik. She inched to the edge of the chair. “You’re both druids. Send me back.”

  “I wish I had that power but I don’t.” He put his briefcase next to the chair and stood in front of her.

  She understood George and Cora wouldn’t be able to open the portal but that didn’t make the reality any easier to bear. “You must have other magick.” She leaned back into the chair. “Do you have a crystal ball?” She let out a choked cackle at her joke.

  George took the chair next to her. “No, not a crystal ball. Any magick druids once had has been…” he searched for a word, “dulled in this century. Magick was never meant as an end but only to assist.” It must have been the hundredth time he gave that lecture. He’d been drumming that into her head for the past four days.

  The bottom fell out of her stomach. She had hoped all they had to do was find the right chant, algorithm or herbs. This was a setback, that’s all. Gather your strength, girl. She wasn’t going to give up.

  “But we do have an idea. We’ve been searching for information about Bran’s history. We’ve found very little. He was orphaned when he was young. Fendrel and Dimia, Arik’s parents, took him in and raised him as their own. There’s every indication that he was treated and loved by everyone as their natural son.”

  “Yes, some of my childhood memories have come back.” She gaped at the brother and sister. She hadn’t tried to look for information about Bran. “Why is there so little information?”

  Cora took the chair to the other side of her. “We don’t know. George had Lady Emily’s family records stored in a vault. He called them out of storage and had them delivered here.”

  That sounded familiar. She dug a little deeper. “When I signed the inheritance papers, George mentioned he had family documents he wanted me to see. He…” What had he said? At the time it had struck her as odd. “Yes,” she said with a burst of memory. “You said they held secrets.”

  “Right. When they arrived, the documents from 1570 to 1670 were missing.” George paced in front of her. “We’ve been trying to locate them. All we have is Doward’s journal—it had been lost among some papers in the library—and Arik’s picture.” He looked at the portrait over the mantel.

  “You have Doward’s journal?” She jumped out of the chair. At last, something positive. “What does it say after I left?”

  George took the journal out of his briefcase and handed her a battered leather book. “This is what started Emily’s quest. It was the single piece of information we had about you. This journal ends about four years after you left with your father. We couldn’t fi
nd the next one. Everywhere Emily turned led to another dead end.” Rebeka sank back into the chair.

  “We’ve been searching for the missing journals. We’re afraid they may have been lost among the items that were put up for auction about fifty years ago,” Cora said.

  “Most often, journals that old are given to a library. I’ll make some inquiries and see if I can locate them.” She knew of several researchers and libraries that she could contact that dealt with private papers. She went to the desk and jotted down some notes. “I should look into information dealing with auctions. Maybe the Fayne Manor papers were listed in an auction catalogue. That would be nice.” She made another notation. She hoped this would put them on the right track.

  “I see you found the Trust papers.” Cora nodded to the papers she had put on the table.

  “I wanted a diversion and had the notion I’d get up to speed on what’s been done with the Trust. Do you think my sudden reappearance will pose any issues?”

  “No, not at all. I think the Trust will be quite happy. We told them you were on a personal project and they understood.” That was a relief. At least she didn’t have to explain anything to them.

  “I read your notes about your…experience. They’re very comprehensive.” Of course they were; she was a researcher and knew the value of documentation. She brought her attention back to George. There was a question in George’s voice that he seemed hesitant to put into words.

  “Is there something you’d like to ask me?” She spent hours documenting every detail. What could she have left out?

  “There is one thing.” Cora turned to George, who was already closing his briefcase. Rebeka noticed Cora run her trembling hands over her skirt, ridding it of nonexistent creases. George was still warring with himself. She watched and waited. Sooner or later one of them would ask their question.