Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  Her head popped up. “This is how the Order of the Rapture began.” She returned her attention to the document. “What else does it say?”

  “‘The oath taken and fealty given, Alfred the Great and Mannis signed the oath and order of proclamation, giving Mannis the land between the valley and the Stone River. He affixed a blue wax seal on the document, using the insignia on the sword hilt, a sigil combining Alfred’s golden dragon with Mannis’s sacred spiral. Thus they sealed the oath for all to see.’ The entry is dated spring 879.” He tapped the book with his finger. “It’s all here.”

  “Why is it so secret? There is no other document about this event. Alfred documented everything. Why not this?” she asked, still looking at the scroll.

  “It’s an ancient order devised by Alfred and Mannis, the Grand Master of the druid Council and leader of your family. The royal order was a secret because Mannis was a druid. Politically, Alfred denounced the druids and outwardly sought to remove them.” It was an old strategy. Remove those that are smarter than you then take their place.

  She turned back to the table and scribbled notes. “You mean kill them. He feared their power.”

  “I know it’s difficult to translate these ancient documents unless you know the writer’s intent. Words have a variety of meanings and it can be confusing.”

  She raised her head in deep concentration. “Ian must not have read the entire document,” she said, more to herself. She looked back at Arik. “But this is still circumstantial evidence. The National Trust wants the proclamation mentioned here.”

  “This may be enough to delay them from taking action and give us more time,” he said.

  “George can take care of that.” She bent over her books. “I’ll start the research. There are hundreds of older documents we have yet to review.” She pointed to the ancient journal. She gave him a questioning stare. “I’ve learned more in the past few hours than I have in several months.”

  “It’s part of the history of the area. I’ve made it my duty to know. How else can their knowledge and legacy be kept alive and passed on to others? If we don’t, their story will die as if the people never existed.”

  “You know more than some of the world’s top scholars.” He caught the challenge in her voice.

  “The family had been persecuted since the time of the Romans for their deep druid beliefs. No one was to be trusted. That’s why some documents are protected from being read. What you see as odd strokes and lines have meanings for others. To them these are private papers.”

  “Yes, well, I’m still learning. Until last April, I didn’t know I had a connection to the family. But I won’t let the family die.” With care, her hand touched the journal. “I’ve found them. I’d fight the devil himself to preserve Fayne Manor. This is my family, my home.”

  “As it should be, m’lady.” A soft sigh escaped his lips. The shine of determination that lit her face excited him. This was the woman he remembered and searched for. “Well, I must practice with the others. I’ll leave you to your research. The proclamation must still exist.”

  The fire in her eyes and determination to save their family made his chest swell with pride. And he fell in love with his warrior wife all over again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Arik entered the Great Hall. “Join me in an ale.” He took the offered tankard from George. He needed something after the morning he had with “his” villagers. “Rebeka mentioned you were studying with the others.” He glanced at George and knew the man was trying hard not to smile.

  “I would have considered it amusing, too, if it wasn’t so frustrating. I attended confident I knew the seventeenth-century lifestyle. It is obvious, I do not.” He took a fortifying gulp. “The others were diligent and cordial.” In truth, they were intimidated by him but he was used to that. He watched rather than interacted, although there were some things he just couldn’t abide with and had to correct. “Some of the ideas about Lord Arik were absurd. I don’t swagger.” He sipped the ale then looked at the tankard. The brew was tart but smooth. He took a bigger swallow.

  George laughed and choked on his beer. Arik was quick to pound him on his back. “Sorry,” George said when he caught his breath. “You do swagger.” Arik flashed him a stern glare then finished his ale.

  “Rebeka showed me the document and journal entry you found yesterday. I agree, they may be enough to settle the issue. The Trust has taken lesser documents as proof. We gave them everything they requested three years ago when Fayne Manor was accepted into the Trust. The documents were all authenticated then. I can’t imagine why they’re now in question. Cora and I talked last night. Do you think Bran has anything to do with this?”

  “I’ve had the same idea. No, I don’t see how he could’ve managed it. Has anyone threatened the manor?”

  “You mean buy it out? No, never. There was some discussion when Lady Emily died without an heir. But her will was quite clear. She made financial arrangements. With her endowment and the planned income from the estate, Fayne Manor was solvent. The National Trust manages it.” Arik nodded his understanding. Lady Emily’s plan was a good one. So where did the threat come from?

  “We should stay alert and try to piece this puzzle together. Someone has to benefit, or will, if we can’t prove the family claim,” Arik said.

  “Yes, I agree. Emily had copies of all the papers we gave the Trust. I’ll see if I can locate them. In the meantime, I’ll be in Avebury today. I’ll drop off the document and journal entry at Louise’s office.” George took a long pull on his ale.

  “Other than telling you that you swagger, what else happened at your class?” Arik glanced at George. The man was enjoying his discomfort.

  “I seem to have passed my seventeenth-century test.” He raised one eyebrow and brought the ale to his lips. Assimilating into this new community was a challenge but well within his ability. As lord, well, he didn’t have to worry about those duties here, although there were ways to enhance the reenactment.

  “Did Rebeka give you the script we prepared for that actor?” George smirked. “It was somewhat overdramatic.”

  “They kept correcting me about what to say and how to act. They were not correct.” Several times he had to stop himself from roaring at them. Absurd was an understatement. The lord, at least this one, didn’t go around ordering his tenants and villagers.

  “It will all work out in the end.” Work out? Without taking action? The reenactment, Rebeka’s memories, ownership of the manor. Things didn’t simply work out. Didn’t the man understand time was slipping by? May 1 wasn’t that far away. Even if a wait-and-see attitude would work, they didn’t have time.

  “You can’t leave it to fate. It takes more than a script for the reenactment to be successful. It takes a plan.” He hammered each word against the table with the point of his finger.

  “Once everyone knows their roles, how to act and what to say, it will be fine. Right now they’re trying to live in two worlds.” Arik studied George for a moment while he gathered his temper. He took in the growing flush on George’s neck.

  “Yes, I think I understand that all too well,” he said half out loud with a distinct mocking tone as he rose from the chair. That was what happened at Orkney. Wait and see. Hadn’t the man learned anything? He let George stew a bit longer.

  “Arik.”

  Arik laid his hand on the druid’s shoulder and relented. “There is no need to say anything. Everyone feels the stress.”

  “How are you getting along with Rebeka?” Ah, now there was a subject that was even more stressful for him.

  “I believed she remembered. She mentioned something we spoke about often. I was certain. But it came to nothing.” Will that work itself out, too? The spark was there—he just needed to find a way to burst it into a flame.

  “You can’t expect things to happen quickly. This is going to take time.” He appreciated the genuine concern in George’s voice but it didn’t help. Going to take time? Everything was
going to take time.

  “Excuse me.” Rebeka peeked into the estate room. “I thought you were in here.” She looked from George to Arik. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all; a family conundrum. I was getting ready to leave.” George set the tankard on the table and rose to his feet. “Arik, I’ll see you tonight.” He passed Rebeka as she entered the room.

  “Arik, Charles has your clothes for the reenactment.” She placed her staff next to the table. “Please be dressed and at the village on time. But before you go there is something I wanted to discuss with you.” She rummaged through her backpack and pulled out several papers.

  “I see you changed the script. Why? I was very careful when I worked it out.” She flashed the script in his face. Her voice reminded him of his boyhood tutor when the man was particularly annoyed. He silenced a biting response and continued his relaxed attitude. A swipe of his hand brushed aside the offending documents.

  “When a dispute comes before me it’s not settled with a sword fight. It’s negotiated to the agreement of both parties. If everything was settled by the sword there would be no one left to carry on business.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. It was humiliating what she was turning Fayne Manor into with overdone scripts and sword fights.

  “Listen, I’m well aware of how people conducted themselves in the seventeenth century. However, we need to attract more people to Fayne Manor. They love the drama. Every reenactment has a duel of some sort.”

  “If every reenactment has a duel what would drive them here to see another?” he roared and noted her startled expression. The men didn’t even know how to manage the swords. Any one of the young boys at his manor could do better.

  “Well, because…” she sputtered. It was obvious to him that she couldn’t think of an answer.

  “No one talks like that.” He pointed to her papers that were still in her hand. “You of all people should know that the spoken language of the time wasn’t stiff and formal. That was left to the legal documents and student manuscripts.” He picked up his script.

  “‘As you like it, madam, that is much ado about nothing.’” He tossed the papers onto the table.

  Her chin jutted out. “You’re so smart, you come up with a better idea. Until you do,” she got to her feet, “and I agree to it, it’s my way. It’s my ass on the line here.”

  She took her things and left the room.

  He looked after her with a raised eyebrow. His eyes followed her out the door. “And a very pretty little ass indeed,” he whispered.

  By noon he was changed and ready for opening day.

  He left the garrison and headed to the village. On his way he skimmed the script Rebeka had waved in his face. In the morning he was to be in the estate office carrying on business. Rebeka’s note in the margin said to make himself look busy.

  Midmorning he was to go into the Great Hall where he was to hear disputes from the vassals. Vassals. He let out a long breath. Here her note instructed him to appear attentive.

  Late morning was weapons practice with the men—he found no note here—and the afternoon he was to inspect the estate. An additional note said if time permitted he could go hunting. Well, she’d gotten it right, more or less.

  However, he preferred practicing with his troops in the early morning before going over the house accounts. As for disputes, he settled those when he and his men visited his farms, which was not on the list.

  He kept on toward the village and reminded himself there were no farms. He tucked away the papers and continued on.

  “Lord Arik.” The group of costumed women walked beside him.

  “Ladies.” He nodded his greeting. He was surprised at how accurate their costumes were. Their enthusiasm was catching.

  “Opening day. It’s so exciting.” He had to admit, there was a festival atmosphere in the air.

  “Yes, it is. And what will you be doing today?” The women stared at him, a bit miffed. They searched their script. Didn’t they understand him?

  “Did she change the script?” one asked the other.

  “No, I didn’t get a new one.” They fussed with the papers.

  “Faith.” He raised his eyes to the heavens. “I was being social. You won’t find that in your script.”

  “Oh, of course. I guess I’m taking Rebeka a bit too literally.” The women put away their scripts. “Some of us are scheduled to help the baker and the others to sell ribbons. Come stop by my stand and see what I have to offer.” The ladies exploded into peals of laughter as they moved on ahead of him.

  He gave a bit of a smile at their playfulness and continued on. Everyone was prepared and ready. Rebeka had been anxious about the opening. Perhaps now things would settle into place. She had classes in the morning and worked on the reenactment in the afternoon through the early evening. That left her little time, but she was in the library in the late evening going through the documents, searching for the proclamation. It was a slow, painstaking task. She had refused his help. Had he been too hard on her? He let out a breath. No, she had to hear the truth. He put their discussion out of his mind.

  He entered the village square crowded with tables and merchants but saw a very different scene: the houses appeared worn out, dark and empty.

  He scanned the area knowing what he’d find. There were no women hanging laundry, no children playing in the garden or dogs running around. How he wanted to feel at home and see a familiar face. He didn’t want to stay here longer than necessary. He hardened himself not to look or think about it. He’d be no help to anyone if his mind was elsewhere.

  How had Rebeka managed? At least he had George and Cora to help him. She’d entered his century with no one to guide her.

  “Everything appears to be ready. The first guests will be here soon,” George said, coming alongside him with Rebeka. Despite his misgivings on how the reenactment was organized, he was eager for the reopening. It was one thing off his list.

  “Major,” George called out. Arik scanned the area. It wasn’t like the man not to be at his post. He caught sight of the man hurrying out of one of the houses putting away his notebook and pencil. “Major, they’ve called everyone to order.”

  “Sorry, sir.” The man took his place with his men.

  Rebeka stepped forward. “Can I have everyone’s attention?” The voices hushed. “You’ve all studied hard and I know you’ll make our reopening a wonderful success. Enjoy the day and if you have any questions you can speak to Mr. Hughes or me. Good luck, everyone.”

  George stepped forward. “I know you’ll do a terrific job. You’re all well prepared thanks to Rebeka’s fine research and instructions. To celebrate, there’ll be a private party at The Autumn Retreat the end of the week. You’re all invited. Good luck, everyone.” George stepped aside and everyone took their places.

  Arik took Rebeka’s arm and threaded it through his. “M’lady. You look lovely today.” Her hands shook like a nervous bird.

  She turned to him. “Thank you.” He gave her a dazzling smile, the one he saved only for her. She rewarded him with a tender gaze and was pleased. He’d take the small victory. They walked to the gate and waited to greet their guests.

  A swell of excitement filtered through the group when a cloud of dust announced the arrival of the first coach.

  “It’s a disaster. It’s been a week.” Rebeka was at the library table with George, Cora and Arik. He was worried about Rebeka. Her spirits sank daily along with the attendance. “The receipts are much lower than we expected.”

  George read his notes. “The goods at the market didn’t sell. Feedback indicates they were nothing special. Close to 35 percent of the visitors were family members of the staff and they had deep discounts. Attendance at the demonstrations did not meet expectations.”

  “You mean no one was there. That’s because they were more interested in following Lord Arik.” Rebeka gestured toward him. “There was always a crowd around him, even the students.”

  “He’s buil
t a great rapport with them and the staff.” George kept focused on his notes while Arik bristled at being spoken about as if he wasn’t in the room. He removed himself from the table and busied himself with a book on a shelf near the terrace door.

  “I was hoping to give this project to the staff to manage. I haven’t the time to rewrite the scripts or investigate souvenirs. I haven’t had time to search for the proclamation and we have a little more than thirty days—thirty-two days, to be exact—to produce it. I need to get back to my research.” Arik leaned against the bookcase. He watched and waited while the situation unfolded.

  “Rebeka, it’s the first week. Be patient. Everything looked good on paper.” George was on the sofa going over the numbers. The man could review the numbers a hundred times. They wouldn’t change. But Arik kept quiet and followed George’s plan to wait—it would all work out.

  “Cora did exit surveys with guests and tour guides,” George said. “Do you have the results?” Cora opened a binder and thumbed through the pages. Arik had a good idea what the survey findings would be. But he would wait—it would all work out.

  “Yes, I’ve been organizing them. The survey supports the comments I listened to when I walked the grounds. There was too much historical detail. The discussions were too long. Most people wanted more seating if they had to listen to long lectures.” He watched Rebeka’s frustration rise. She was a teacher and she was going to teach them whether they wanted to learn or not. What they wanted was to be entertained.

  “One person said that for the time she was here she wanted to believe she was in the seventeenth century. When I told her this was the seventeenth century she was very clear. She told me not as she knew it. It seems people have their own ideas what the seventeenth century was like.” Cora placed the report on the table. Faith. He waited—it would all work out.

  George took the report. “Arik and I visited the Stelton estate to see how they’re organized. Their shops and reenactment are more casual and, well, believable to the twenty-first-century imagination. Their market was filled. If I understand what our visitors have voiced and what I’ve seen at the Stelton’s, people want the romance of the era, not necessarily reality. Perhaps we should rethink things a bit.”