Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  George rubbed the back of his neck and paced in front of him. “Our plan is for you and Rebeka to return as soon as possible but to do that you’ll need her strength as a sorceress. We must clear her mind. Do you agree?”

  Arik nodded.

  “Together,” George said, “we can work to find the solution but to do that you need a battle plan.” Arik started to respond. George raised his hand. “Hear me out. It may appear calm and peaceful on the outside but don’t be misled. You’re at war, with Bran. Rebeka is safe here. Other than on the manor property, she’s never alone. I’ve made certain of that. Besides, the wards you set are still active and protect the manor against Bran.”

  He listened to what George had to say but it was his responsibility to see to Rebeka’s safety.

  “You need to learn about the past six months as well as the last four hundred years. Then we can plan your strategy to get her memory back and for you both to return home.” Arik glanced at the library then the tower. George was right. He did need her strength to return. But leaving Rebeka now wasn’t an option.

  “Bring whatever I must see here. I’ll not leave her.”

  “You can’t be with her every minute.” George leaned against the edge of the desk, his arms folded. “She has classes the rest of the day. Besides, the major is in her afternoon classes.”

  Arik peered into the library and saw the major sitting at the end of the table. The major may be a military man but he and his men had no purpose other than playing a part. He still doubted they could protect the manor and he was sure they weren’t prepared to deal with Bran. No one here was.

  “We can’t tell people you’re from the seventeenth century. They’ll think you’re insane. People don’t travel through time. While Cora and I were trying to reach you we’ve given this a lot of thought. There are too many people here and if they ask you questions you…well, it will be easier if you had the answers. We need a few hours. We’ll be back by nightfall. Arik, I’ve kept her safe for six months.” The man sounded like his solicitor pleading his case.

  “By nightfall. In one of your coaches without horses?”

  George pushed away from the desk. “You won’t regret this.”

  Arik returned his focus to the library. Rebeka waved to them. George held his fist to his ear. She nodded and returned her attention to her students.

  “Does the gesture have some secret meaning?” he asked in an uncertain tone.

  “What? Oh, this?” George mimicked the gesture. “It means I’ll call her later. We have a lot of work to do. Come, Charles should have the car waiting.”

  He glanced at Rebeka. She was deep in conversation. He reluctantly followed George out of the room.

  Charles stood in the drive next to an open black coach. He peeked inside. It didn’t appear to be big enough for him, let alone him and George.

  The touch of a familiar presence danced across his back and made him glance over his shoulder but all he saw was the light in the library window. He turned to the car. With more confidence than he felt, he slipped into the leather seats. Charles pulled on a long strap, gave it to him and closed the door.

  George took the strap out of his hand and snapped it into place.

  “Harnesses are for horses, Hughes.” A wary tone crept into his voice.

  George laughed. “This coach is driven by 350 horses.”

  “They must be very small indeed.” His eyebrows arched at the notion. The idea of the machine had intrigued him when Rebeka told him about it. He couldn’t comprehend how fast the machine traveled yet from what Rebeka said, people traveled this way all the time. Even she knew how to control it.

  George burst out laughing. “This is only the beginning. There is so much more to show you.”

  He forced himself into a prebattle calm. Every druid bone in his body screamed George could be trusted. But some of the things he said made him wonder.

  The coach began to roll forward, carrying them toward the gate. The ride was smoother than his best carriage. He had imagined the machine more a moving chair from Rebeka’s description and was surprised to find it quite comfortable. He found himself relaxing.

  George continued on and took his time driving through the abandoned village maneuvering around deep holes on the grassy roadway.

  The village, even in difficult times, had been a lively, thriving place. It was difficult to see that only the stones survived.

  Gathering speed, they climbed the road that led to the tree-lined drive. With the wind in his hair and the dappled sunlight in his face, he could easily be back in the seventeenth century. George stopped when they cleared the top of the rise. Arik peered over his shoulder at the valley and manor below. He scanned his domain and knew he would protect Fayne Manor and Rebeka with his last breath.

  George turned to him. “Lord Arik. Your family welcomes you home.”

  “Ninoor nin ah ray. To hearth and home,” he replied.

  George pulled a lever and the coach sprang forward. They wound their way through the drive lined with ancient oak trees. Their branches swayed as if they danced and bowed for the Grand Master.

  He kept his eyes straight ahead. “You’ve taken good care of them—both of them.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rebeka stood in the shadows of the library window and watched Arik and George get ready to leave. Her heart pounded when she looked at Arik. She agreed with Helen. He did look like the man in the painting. But there was something else about him.

  She hooked her hair behind her ear. How could she explain it? She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind all day. She saw him in the estate office behind the desk and she imagined he belonged there. That made no sense. And when the major saluted him, she knew it was right. Was it the aura of command and control that seemed to hug him like a second skin? She could predict the way he moved, the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head.

  And his smile. It was familiar.

  She pressed herself against the wall to avoid Arik seeing her when he turned toward the window. At the sound of the car door shutting she stretched her neck and watched them drive off. The wake of dust was easy to follow through the village gate. Lost behind the trees, she caught sight of the small sports car again when it climbed the rise and entered the drive. She stayed rooted to the spot until the two red taillights faded out of sight but she still couldn’t get the mysterious stranger out of her mind.

  “What do you think, Dr. Tyler?”

  Startled from her musings, she moved back from the window.

  “Here’s the last of them.” Joan set a stack of black-and-white pictures on the table. “You were right. I needed to change the setting on the camera to get a clearer picture.” Rebeka pulled herself away from the window and scanned the pictures, searching for pieces of the love song. She got to the last picture and was confused. Nothing was familiar.

  “Were you able to photograph all the runes on the walls?” Rebeka asked. There must be more or some that Joan overlooked.

  “No, that is everything. The major and I made sure we cataloged every glyph. I was amazed they went all the way to the ceiling. We had to get a ladder to get a good picture. Dr. Tyler, how old is this writing?”

  “I’m not certain. Mr. Hughes seems to think about four hundred years.” The others peered over Joan’s shoulder to see the panoramic display. Rebeka started to go through the photos again. This was annoying. She was able to read them with Arik but now nothing made any sense. It must be the stress of the reopening. Yes, that’s what it was.

  But she worried. For the past six months pieces of her mind were vanishing—words, memories, things that had been important to her. One minute she knew them like the back of her hand, then they were fuzzy and then they were gone. Was this another “incident”? She put the pictures on the table, afraid of the answer. She’d look at them later.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Tyler, I wanted to work on my concept paper. It’s due to the master’s committee in a week and I need to get t
o bed at a decent time. I have an early start tomorrow. The Celtic Stone Inscriptions class at Oxford is tomorrow morning. Thank you for making arrangements for me at the last minute. I would’ve hated to miss it. It may help us translate this,” Joan said, pointing to the pictures.

  “You’ll enjoy Dr. Hamilton’s lecture. He’s an authority on Celtic history.” She gathered her books and papers. “Everyone, that’s all for today. Let’s keep these runes between us until we have a better idea of what they are and can authenticate them. For all we know they say ‘Kilroy was here.’” The students laughed, gathered their things and filed out of the room.

  Cora had called and suggested a girls’ night out but she had begged off. The scripts for the reenactment needed their finishing touches. The final rehearsal was tomorrow. A quick glance out the window confirmed that there was still enough daylight to meditate by the old house near the lake.

  She stacked the books, a bit precariously, on the table to gather all the papers and folders. She wanted to neaten things for Helen. The woman liked to dust and clean early in the morning. A tug on a folder wobbled the stack. She saved them but lost the battle with the photos. They cascaded onto the floor.

  Without looking at them she gathered the pictures into a pile but one group of symbols caught her eye. She pulled the picture off the floor. She was certain she knew this grouping. It was a small victory, but she’d take it.

  Putting them all together, she bound them with a rubber band and set them in her backpack.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the painting above the hearth. The expression on Arik’s face when she told him the picture was hung for convenience made her smile. But that wasn’t the truth—well, not the whole truth. Yes, it fit the space but it was more than that. How could she tell him she talked to the picture? Would he think she was crazy? At those times when she was lost, when she was alone, this picture soothed her. She had the same feeling about him, perhaps because there was a close resemblance. A soft chuckle escaped her lips. Her blatant ogling, that was an embarrassment, but he fit the picture so well. She shook her head. How strange the mind. Perhaps she was going mad.

  With her backpack over her shoulder, her staff stowed in the leather strapping, she shut the light. “Good night, m’lord,” she called over her shoulder as she did every night before she closed the door.

  It was a quick walk to the old house. According to the grounds plan she read, this was Elfrida’s cottage. Off-limits to the staff, between the manor house and the nearby lake, she tried to come here every evening to meditate. Today she was under the oak in the front yard. Once she was centered she began her exercises.

  The drills were a part of her daily routine ever since she took a mandatory gym class in high school. Rebeka chose karate. She thrived on the mind-body connection and excelled in kata. An ancient discipline, the strict choreographed routines were made of prescribed movements. The goal was to perfect each technique, focusing on the central principles of maximum efficiency and minimum effort. While the training was directed at overcoming brute force by applying technique, balance, speed and timing, Rebeka found comfort in the strict discipline and repetitive movements. It trained her mind as well as her body and like everything else she tackled, she excelled at the sport.

  She put on the headset to her MP3 player and selected strong, fast rock music that unlocked that place inside her where movement and sound fused. She took her staff and began. Her movements were fast and crisp. When the music played out and her routine was over, she left Elfrida’s and took her time walking to her cottage in order to enjoy the sunset.

  Ahead, she saw that lights were already on in her cottage and smoke spiraled from the chimney. Helen must have set a fire in the grate. The scene made an inviting picture.

  Inside, all cozy and warm, she was more content than she’d been in months. Even the burden of the manor reopening seemed manageable. The aroma of baked chicken and grilled vegetables made her mouth water. She put her things down and washed for dinner.

  Holding the towel, she came into the main room headed for the small kitchenette but her eyes were drawn to her staff. The group of symbols in Joan’s photo nagged at her. She put the towel on the sink and pulled out the photos. She laid the photo on the table then put her staff next to it. Slowly she rotated the staff and searched for the matching set of runes. As the symbol rolled into view she pulled her hand away.

  Okay, slow down. Her dad had carved each rune on the staff. She was certain this was a coincidence. The grouping must be significant but she couldn’t translate it. She scanned more of Joan’s pictures and tried to match them to her staff but she was overwhelmed.

  These must be the runes that George matched to the tower wall earlier today. Her curiosity was piqued. There was one place she could look. The one place she had avoided for fifteen years—her father’s journals and books.

  She glanced at the old chest with the picture of her and her dad sitting on top. They had taken the picture the day she moved into the freshman dorm. Her chest tightened. It had been the two of them. They hiked, camped, did everything together. She held the picture, the last picture of them together. He died soon after in a car accident here in England. That year she spent her spring vacation emptying the house and packing away his books, papers and some small trinkets. She didn’t look at anything. That would have been too painful. There were times when she had the notion to go through the chest but she just couldn’t face it.

  She set the photo aside, sprang the hasp on the chest’s latch then pulled back the lid. The aroma of sage and mint, the scent she associated with her father, wafted up at her. She waited for the fragrance to fade before she peeked inside. Old parchments were the first layer.

  This is where the old herbal had gone. A small snicker escaped as she remembered how frantic she had searched for it when she was working on her thesis. Well, found at last. She pulled out the bundled document and put it on the table. She’d take it to the library in the morning. Beneath the document was a cache of her dad’s personal things. She took out his scarf, the one he liked to wear in the winter with his sports jacket. Her chest squeezed so tight that all she could take were small breaths. No, perhaps this was not the right time. She put the scarf back into the chest and closed the lid, the finality of the hasps closing locking away her grief. Not tonight. Tonight she didn’t want to stir old pains. Tonight she wanted to enjoy her newfound peace.

  Arik noted the familiar landmarks as they drove on. Other than their conveyance, he could imagine being with Logan and the others. “I know how Rebeka came to me, but how did she return?”

  “We knew she disappeared at Avebury,” George said as he maneuvered their way onto the road.

  “Yes, she told me she had been standing by the stones when the portal opened,” he confirmed, “visiting the stones with a group of travelers. Doward found her by the trail on the other side of Oak Meadow.” Arik let out a snort. He had closed that portal, too. No, the best way back was the way he came, through the scrying mirror.

  “When the coach returned here, the guide, Agnes, told us Rebeka was missing. I headed to Avebury at once. There were enough remnants of the portal to piece together what had happened. Four months later, Agnes called again. This time she said she found a disoriented Rebeka by the stones. When I brought her back to Fayne Manor she was distraught. You do know that she thinks she saved you.”

  “Saved me.” He grumbled. He suspected as much. If she had been patient, let him finish, he was certain she would have seen what he was doing.

  “She said she heard your heartbeat. It was so fast she was afraid your heart would burst.”

  “She couldn’t hear my heartbeat.” He waved his hand, pushing the idea away. “Bran. He put that idea in her head. The enchantment was weakening and ready to fall. I was at the end of the chant but she…screamed.” He wanted this nightmare over and his wife home. Instead he had delays and a woman who didn’t even know his face. “There’s no sense dwelling on that now. I’
ve been doing that for six months. I’m here. We need to build a plan but not before we know what other traps Bran has set for us.” George nodded his agreement.

  They drove up Autumn Chase’s drive. Arik got a good view of the estate. A new building stood where the large carriage house had been.

  “That’s our Autumn Retreat. It’s a restaurant with a cellar that has an exclusive tavern. Cora manages it and does well.” George stopped the motorcar by the front entrance and they got out.

  “You haven’t told me why she doesn’t remember me. She seems to remember everything else,” he said and glanced around as George brought him into the front foyer.

  He searched the entrance hall for something familiar but found nothing he recognized. He might as well have been in a stranger’s house. The idea caught him short. It was a stranger’s house.

  “George, when did you get home?” Arik turned at the sound of a woman’s voice.

  “Cora, come meet our guest.” A pleasant-looking woman welcomed George with a kiss on the cheek. The two had a similar look in the shape of their faces, the set of their eyes and even the shape of their mouths. They were twins. Yes, now that he looked closely he was certain.

  “Arik, this is my sister, Cora.” George snaked his arm around her in a brotherly squeeze.

  “An honor, m’lady.” He gave her a formal bow.

  She stared at him. Her mouth, without a sound coming out, flapped like a beached fish. “George,” she looked at her brother and back to Arik, “you’ve done it. You’ve really done it.”

  “Yes, we have.” The smile of accomplishment on George’s face was catching. Arik smiled, too. “Cora and I have worked together. Locating and bringing you here was a family effort.” George led them into a comfortable salon. To Arik the room appeared to be more a salon in the king’s palace than Stuart’s informal hall.

  “Logan and I worked without rest, as well. I know the effort you put in on our behalf. I’m grateful.” Grateful. That didn’t say enough. They, too, took chances. He owed them a great deal.