Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  Arik pushed off the bookcase and stood staring out at the terrace. He sensed Rebeka’s eyes on his back. He was still thinking about her comment. They had thirty-two days to find the proclamation. While they waited for it all to work out, he had searched all the places where he would’ve kept the proclamation. He hadn’t found it.

  Thirty-two days wasn’t a long time. Maybe, if she had her memories back and they worked together… No, he couldn’t take the chance of using the precious time they had without any guarantee that she would remember. He took a deep breath. He was concerned about her despair. It hung heavy in the air. This wasn’t like her. He’d seen her face great odds and her determination never wavered—it grew stronger.

  “Rethink things? When do we have time to do that?” Rebeka rose from her chair. “Here are our choices. We either spend time rethinking and reworking the reenactment to keep the manor running. If we fail, we lose the manor. Or we find the proclamation to keep the manor running. If we fail, we lose the manor. We can’t do both, so we lose either way. But I’ll think about it. Right now I’m too tired. I’ll see you later at the party.” She didn’t bother to take her things. She passed Arik and continued out the terrace door. He watched as she trudged to her cottage.

  Cora got up to follow her. He touched her shoulder and she stopped. “You needn’t worry about her. She needs time to think. She’ll decide on a solution.” At least that’s what he told them.

  Cora gave him a weak smile. “I have to go back to Autumn Chase to get everything ready for tonight’s party. I’ll stop by and see her. Make certain she’s alright. A little girl talk before I leave. George, I’ll meet you by the car.” George nodded and she hurried out of the room.

  “I’m also worried about the National Trust,” George said. “I didn’t want to say anything before but I spoke with Louise today. She hinted that if the Trust has any notion Rebeka can’t manage the reenactment they may take action. They’d close the manor. That would compromise her program with Oxford.” So much for it will all work out. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing any longer.

  “I won’t let that happen,” he said, more to himself, and turned to the man. “I’ve watched and been quiet long enough.” He tugged on the bell pull and rang for Charles.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Tell the major I’d like to see him.” Charles nodded and left the room.

  “With the loss of her memory I also see confusion, which I can understand. But I don’t see her determination. I’ve tried it your way, letting it work its way out, but it’s not been successful.” He returned to the library table and read Cora’s notes. He opened his tablet and started typing. “I think it’s time she found out how Lord Arik runs his estate, whether she approves or not.” He checked his tablet display. “I’ll take care of the reenactment.” He lifted his head and glanced at George. “You see to the National Trust.”

  “You may have been right. God knows I hope you are. See you tonight.” George left to meet Cora at the car.

  “Excuse me, sir.” The major entered the room and saluted. “Charles said you wanted to see me.”

  “Stand easy, Major.” The glow of the tablet vanished as he clicked off the device. He closed the folder with Cora’s notes and came around the desk. The major let out a bit of the starch and struck a more casual stance.

  “I saw you surveying the village buildings last week. What did you find interesting?”

  “Not too long ago one of Dr. Tyler’s staff gave a talk on old buildings. As a carpenter, before I served in Afghanistan, I renovated old buildings but never had an opportunity to see them in their original condition. While I was deployed I drew pictures of the old buildings and planned different ways to renovate them. It kept me occupied and gave me something normal to think about.” Arik noted a momentary haunted look in the major’s eyes. “It kept me sane in very insane circumstances.” Arik could identify with that. He and his men had fought for the king in some insane situations.

  “Come with me.” Arik put his tablet and notes in the small bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’re going to inspect our old mill. I want to evaluate the structure.” He led the way. “I examined it last week. I think we can get it running. The grinding stone is intact, the cog wheels need replacing and the water paddles need mending.” The major had taken out a pad and pencil and was making notes. He liked the man’s initiative. He wondered what skills the other men had.

  “I have that, sir. We had a guest lecturer from the university who gave a talk about the construction of medieval mills. He called them water engines. Perhaps he can provide some guidance.”

  “Excellent suggestion.” Some expert advice would be welcome. It would add to the educational experience. Arik led them through the forest on an almost impassable trail. It was the miller’s son’s shortcut.

  The trees thickened the deeper they trekked into the forest. Dried twigs snapped and fallen leaves rustled as they traipsed on. The idea of restoring the mill appealed to him.

  Building a business around it would be even better. He took a deep breath. The fragrance of an early spring renewed him. He tasted the sweetness of the fresh water on the air before he detected the rush of water off in the distance. They continued on further and came to the old stone wall, which had been there for centuries. As children he, Logan, Bran, Rebeka and Leticia had defended the manor from imaginary invaders. His hand dragged along the stone. He held onto the vision of his childhood a bit longer before he and the Major climbed to the other side.

  They came along the path into the mill yard and conducted their preliminary review.

  “Sir, the building appears to be sound.” The two men stood outside the mill’s boarded-up door.

  Arik’s black T-shirt clung to him. The dark stain that spread across his back was his badge of recognition for scaling the boarded-up mill’s stone walls to see its condition inside. His knotted muscles ached pleasantly from the exertion.

  The spiral of the major’s pad peeked over the edge of his shirt’s breast pocket. His pencil was tucked behind his ear. “The stones were well positioned.” The major slapped the flat of his hand against the stone wall, as if to prove his point. “There are a few cracks but they’re easy to repair.”

  Arik and the major pried the boards off the door. They dusted off their hands and entered the empty granary. The flagstone floor was covered with decades of neglect.

  Arik peered into the room that housed the mechanism. The gears smiled back at him like an old man with missing teeth. The large running stone stood idle, propped against the wall. They climbed the ladder to the second floor. The damaged grain hopper, which would have to be replaced, hung poised over the bed stone waiting for the next bag of grain. Arik scanned the first floor of the mill and breathed in the familiar smell of earth and fallen leaves.

  “The mill was in use until the 1940s,” the major said, “when an unexploded bomb came through the roof.” Both men looked overhead. “They repaired it and kept going for a while but over time the mill was closed.”

  “That explains the roof repair. It was fortunate the beams weren’t damaged.” Arik tested one, satisfied it was solid and sound.

  “The local civil patrol and the fire warden removed the device. No one knows why the bomb didn’t explode. They had no problem detonating it once it was removed. The people in the area think the tree branches somehow slowed the decent and caused a softer landing. It’s in all the books about the area.”

  They climbed down the ladder. Thank you, Great Mother, he thought silently.

  “The wheel needs repair but it appears sound.” Arik agreed. Perhaps there was enough to work with to restart the mill? “The sluice doors are firmly boarded and will need some work, but the water level is good.” The major continued his report. The men moved outside and put the boards back on the door.

  “The forest has taken back the millrace but that should be easy to fix. We’ll need to dig out the channel and reline it with stones.” Arik glanced back at
the building. Yes. This might work. “We can get it back in operation.”

  Encouraged by what he saw, he decided to move his plan forward, but he needed an ally. Rebeka wanted to manage every aspect of the manor. It was obvious to him that she didn’t have time to add another project to her list. He didn’t think she would support his plan. George was the more likely person. He’d see the plan’s merit from a business perspective.

  “I believe one of the men, Bill, has some experience with mills, sir.”

  There were more craftsmen among the men. “Major, arrange a meeting with the three of us. I read in the employment records that one of the men, Frank, was in the Corps of Royal Engineers. Ask him to attend also.” The idea was encouraging. He was certain these men would make good captains for the project.

  “Yes, sir. May I ask what you intend to do?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to restart the mill and grind our own grain.” In his time he knew exactly what to do. He’d gather the miller, the mason and his men, and start the work. He suspected it didn’t work that way here—or would it? The major put the pencil behind his ear and returned the small notebook to his pocket.

  “Will you be attending the party at Autumn Chase this evening?” Arik asked as they started back to the manor.

  “Yes, sir. We’re all looking forward to the party. The Retreat is an exclusive tavern for an elite crowd. Mr. Hughes opens it to us from time to time. Will you be there?”

  “Yes.” Rebeka would be at the party and he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to be with her. He started humming “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” as they continued back to the manor.

  Arik stood against the wall by the bar holding an empty bottle of ale and stared across the room. Autumn Chase sported a five-star restaurant with a cellar that held one of the top nightspots in the area, The Autumn Retreat. Tonight the room was crowded, the music was loud, and there was plenty of food and drink—compliments of George and Cora Hughes.

  “You look…pensive.” George took Arik’s empty bottle and replaced it with a fresh one he grabbed from a passing waiter and took one for himself.

  “Your retreat isn’t very different than the king’s court or a country house party. Music, people talking, drinking and trysts arranged for later in the evening. No, it’s not very different at all. Scantily clothed women in a closed space with very hungry men. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination. While the clothes are different, the intent is not.” He took a long swallow of ale while he watched Rebeka on the other side of the room.

  He’d avoided court and house parties. He had never liked the gossip or the backroom politics. As a single man with a title, every mother in England with an unwed daughter had tried to broker a marriage with him. Although being married didn’t stop some women from pursuing him.

  “Some things never change.” George toasted with his bottle. “Have you seen Rebeka?”

  “She’s over on the other side of the room.” He nodded in her direction. She was surrounded by her students. He waited for a better time to approach her.

  A group of musicians entered and set up their equipment on the small stage.

  “I have a surprise for everyone. I hope you enjoy it. Be right back.” George stepped onto the platform and grabbed the microphone. “Good evening, everyone.”

  The room quieted quickly.

  “I hope you’re all having a good time. Cora and I would like to welcome you to The Autumn Retreat. We’re pleased to celebrate the reopening of the Fayne Manor Experience. Dr. Tyler, Cora and I want to thank you for your hard work.” Whistles and hollers, along with clapping and table pounding, filled the room like a bawdy London tavern.

  George waited for quiet. “To get you in the seventeenth-century mood, I’ve asked Alf Lacey of the Midland Minstrels to play for us this evening. As you may know, Alf and his mates are renowned for their interpretation of Renaissance music. This evening we’ve arranged to simulate the entertainment of the period. That includes singing, dancing, drinking and eating, not so different than today. Anything else, you’re on your own.” A muffled laugh rolled through the crowd.

  “So put your seventeenth-century dancing shoes on and get your voices ready. Our dance master tonight is Sir Kenneth Grayson. Sir Grayson is an Oxford medieval dance laureate. You will be happy to know Sir Grayson will not be grading you tonight.”

  George gave Alf the microphone and left the platform to another round of laughter and applause.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Alf Lacey. Tonight you’re attending a seventeenth-century party. So let’s begin. The first dance will be a slow processional dance, the pavane. It’s a sedate, dignified dance for couples. We’ll then move quickly to the allemande, a more lively line dance. If you will, choose your partners and take your places, please. Ladies, feel free to ask anyone you like.”

  “Will you be joining the dance floor?” George asked Arik.

  “I don’t think so.” He put the beer on the bar and stepped away from the wall. The way was clear to the other side of the room and Rebeka was alone at a table.

  “Lord Arik.” He turned to see Joan standing in front of him.

  “Yes?” He quickly glanced at Rebeka and returned his attention to Joan.

  “Want to dance?” She stood there shifting from one foot to the other. It wasn’t a very eloquent request but there was determination in her eyes. Who was he to deny a determined woman?

  “Oh, don’t let me stop you.” George backed away.

  He believed he saw a twinkle in George’s eye. “Of course, Joan. I’d be delighted,” Arik lied. He accompanied her to the dance floor and they took their place on the line. Arik watched the smirk on George’s face fade as a coed approached him. George and his partner took the floor behind him and Joan.

  Sir and Lady Grayson, dressed in period costume, stood in the middle of the dance floor. They gave a modicum of instructions and a brief demonstration.

  “Very well done. We’re ready to begin. I will call out the steps for you. Lady Grayson and I will be available should you get lost along the way. Mr. Lacey, you can begin.”

  Alf started to play. The ebb and flow of the crescendos created elegant music. He had to steer Joan clear of some near disasters. Some of the students were confused and Arik swore they didn’t know their right foot from their left. Others couldn’t maintain the beat even though Alf and his minstrels played it heavily.

  He easily led Joan through the forms, keeping her in step and in time. She followed his lead well. He caught Rebeka’s eye but made no move. He wouldn’t hurt Joan’s feelings. He had to admit she was a good partner and found he enjoyed the dance.

  “Well, Lord Arik, you seem to be the best on the dance floor,” Lord Grayson said. “You not only look the part of the lord but you dance the part as well. My lady.” Grayson nodded at him and Joan then moved on.

  The music over, he escorted Joan off the dance floor toward the bar. “Thank you, m’lady.” He brushed his lips across her knuckles. “You dance well.”

  Her eyes wide at his gesture, she stammered her response. “Thank you, m’lord.” She bobbed a clumsy curtsy. “You made it very easy. You just put me where I was supposed to be.” She turned at the sound of her name and waved to one of the other women. “I’ve got to go. Thanks again for the dance.” She was gone before he could say another word. He glanced across the room but Rebeka’s table was empty. He quickly scanned the room but didn’t find her. He was annoyed he’d lost sight of her.

  “A beer, please.” Alf stood next to him at the bar. “You were better than the dance master.” Alf lifted the bottle in a toast to Arik.

  Arik nodded his thanks. He took a seat and stared out across the room.

  “I’m Alf Lacey. You must be Lord Arik.”

  He looked at the man and saw more than a musician. “Any relation to Hughes, Swift and Lacey?”

  “Guilty. I’m Alfred Lacey, barrister by day, minstrel leader by night. I’ve been helping George with
the National Trust.”

  “I see you two have met.” George returned from the dance floor and stood next to them. “We’ll be starting the singing soon. It’s great fun.”

  Arik rose from his stool when he saw his opportunity and spotted Rebeka across the room. “You’ll excuse me.” He took two glasses of wine from a passing tray and crossed the floor.

  “Drink with me, m’lady.” It was a command, not a question. He handed Rebeka a glass.

  “Thank you.” She took a sip.

  “To hearth and home.” He watched the shine of her eyes.

  “To hearth and home.” Her lips tipped up in a smile. “You dance well, m’lord.”

  He nodded his thanks. “I didn’t see you on the dance floor.” She seemed in better spirits than when she’d left the library. He speculated if it had anything to do with Cora’s “girl talk” or the other empty wineglass on the table. “Do you dance?”

  “I was watching you dance. I know Joan doesn’t know the steps but she did them well. I have to think it was your leading. And,” she said frankly, “you dance with grace.”

  The music started again. He took her glass and put it on the table with his then held out his hand in a silent request.

  “This is an advanced dance.” Lady Grayson stood in the center of the room. “The Volta. It scandalized Queen Elizabeth when she danced it with her Robert Dudley. It was the first dance where partners were close to each other. The pattern consists of intricate steps and lifts. Scandalous.” A mild laugh rippled through the room.

  “I should go back. We have such little time.” Rebeka stared at his offered hand then at him. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. He held her gaze a bit longer and she took his hand. They made their way through the crowd to the empty dance floor. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist and felt her quickened pulse. The intimate touch soothed her as much as it enflamed him. He waited to see if she would pull her hand away, already determined not to let her go, but her hand didn’t move and his spirits soared.