Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  “This is the original Royal Charter granting our title. George needs both these documents for the National Trust. I don’t want to risk them being carried through the portal. When you get back, tell George to dig up the large stone in front of the garden house. Underneath it is a vault. They’ll be inside.”

  “I’ll tell Mr. Hughes as soon as I return.”

  Everyone marched with the men to Oak Meadow and said their good-byes.

  Both groups of soldiers mingled and wished each other well. The major and his men were going back with gifts and tokens and the gratitude of everyone. Arik and Rebeka spoke with each man, thanked them and wished them well.

  Marcus and his soldiers stood on the trail. Arik stood with the Sword of Rapture on one side of the signpost, Rebeka with her staff on the other.

  She raised her staff over their heads. “Clear your mind and think of home. Now repeat after me. Guardians of the earth, hear my plea. Come now and help me. Protect my spirits as I return and tell the others of the freedom we have earned.”

  The men repeated the words.

  “Thank you, Guardians. Keep them all safe. I send them back for their work is done. So mote it be.”

  Arik raised the Sword of Rapture.

  “As above, so below. As within, so without. Four points in this place be, to open the door of the future to me. So mote it be.”

  The air between the staff and sword shimmered. Rebeka and Arik walked on either side of the men. When all the men had passed through, the shimmer was gone. So were the major and his men.

  Epilogue

  Present Day

  “We’ve found the vault. It’s right where the major said it would be,” Jaxon said.

  A large group gathered in front of the garden house and the deep hole in the lawn. Angus joined them from Oxford. Rebeka’s students, Helen and Charles, and of course George and Cora, all watched.

  “Can you pry it open?” George asked.

  There was a bit of banging and lot of groaning. “It’s open,” someone shouted.

  Jaxon gave George an oil cloth bundle and a heavy wooden box. The major helped him up. Everyone crowded around the small table they’d placed next to the hole.

  Cora unrolled the oil cloth and took out a note in Arik’s hand. It was dated May 2, 1606.

  George, we trust the major and the men returned safely. We can’t thank them enough for what they risked to help us. We are forever in their debt. Enclosed is the original proclamation granting the Fayne Manor land to the family. The second document is the original Royal Charter granting the family title. Angus should be able to authenticate them for the National Trust.

  Arik and Rebeka

  “Here’s another note. It’s dated May first, 1607.” Cora opened the note carefully.

  It is hard to believe a year has gone by. Life here has gotten back to a routine. There are no more wars to fight, only crops to harvest and affairs to manage. Logan and I set a goal and I’m happy to say we have met it sooner than expected. In the box you will find James I Unite coins. Use them to keep the manor self-sufficient and to protect our descendants. I write also to tell our good news. Rebeka is expecting a child in the fall. To hearth and home, my friends. Until we meet again.

  Arik

  *****

  If you enjoyedKnight of Rapture, please spread the word by leaving a review on the site where you purchased your copy, or a reader site such as Goodreads or Shelfari! I love to hear from readers, too, so drop me a line at Ruth@RuthACasie.com or visit me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/RuthACasie. I’m also on Twitter: @RuthACasie. If you’d like to receive my occasional newsletter, please sign up at www.RuthACasie.com.

  Thanks so much!

  Turn the page to see how Rebeka fell out of the twenty-first century and into Arik’s seventeenth-century arms the first time in an excerpt fromKnight of Runes by Ruth A. Casie—available now.

  Druid Knights Stories

  She was his witch, his warrior and his wife.

  He was her greatest love.

  Four hundred years couldn’t keep them apart.

  Now Available from Carina Press and Ruth A. Casie

  Read on for an excerpt from

  KNIGHT OF RUNES

  Prologue

  England

  May, 1605

  I should not have stayed away from the Manor so long. Something stirs. Lord Arik’s eyes swept the surrounding area as he and his three riders escorted the wagon with the old tinker and the woman. They sped through the forest as fast as the rain-slicked trail would allow. Unable to shake the ominous feeling of being watched, Arik remained alert. At length, the horses winded, he slowed the pace as they neared the Stone River.

  “The forest is flooded. I suspect the Stone will be as well. Willem, ride on ahead and let me know what we face at the crossing.”

  Willem did his lord’s bidding and quickly returned with his report. “The river ahead runs fast, m’lord. The bridge is in disrepair and cannot be crossed.”

  Arik raised his hand and brought the group to a halt. “Doward,” he said to the old tinker. “We must make repairs. There’s no room for the wagon at the river’s edge. You and the woman stay here and set up camp. Be ready to join us at the bridge when I send word.”

  Logan, Arik’s brother, spoke up. “I’ll keep watch here and help Doward and Rebeka.”

  Arik nodded and, with the others, continued the half mile to the bridge.

  “I am not pleased with this new delay.”

  “It can’t be helped, m’lord. We would make better time without the wagon,” said Simon.

  “I’ll not leave Doward and the woman unescorted through the forest, not with what we’ve heard lately. We’ll have to drive hard to make up the lost time.”

  The frame of the bridge stood solid, the planks scattered everywhere, clogging the banks and shallows. Arik leaped from his horse onto the frame to begin the repairs.

  “Hand me that planking.” Arik pointed to the nearest board.

  Simon grabbed the plank and examined it. “Sir, these boards have been deliberately removed.”

  Arik took the board and lifted it before him. An arrow whooshed out of the trees, and slammed into the plank’s edge. Willem pulled his axe from his belt as Arik and Simon drew their swords. In a fluid, practiced movement, Willem spun and found his mark. He sent his axe flying. The archer fell into the river and was swept downstream, Willem’s axe still lodged in his forehead. A dozen or more attackers broke through the stand of trees.

  Arik tossed the board into the river and readied his sword. The enemy was poorly dressed carrying clubs and knives. There was only one sword among them. The leader. Arik’s target.

  “They plan to pin us here at the river’s edge. Come, we’ll take the offensive before they form up.” They moved forward, driving a wedge through the enemy’s ragged line, forcing what little formation they had to scatter and fight, each man for himself.

  A man, club in hand, rushed at Arik. Before the attacker could bring his weapon into play, Arik pivoted around him. He raised his sword high, and slammed the hilt’s steel pommel squarely on the man’s head. Arik moved on before the man’s lifeless body dropped to the ground.

  Willem and Simon, on either side of Arik, advanced through the melee. Their swift continuous swordplay moved smoothly from one stroke to the next, whipping through the air. They slashed on the downswing and again on the backswing, sweeping their weapons back into position to repeat the killing sequence. The knight and his soldiers steadily advanced, punishing any man who dared to come near them.

  “For Honor!” Logan’s war cry carried from the small camp to Arik’s ears.

  Arik stiffened. Both camps were now under attack. He pulled his blade from an attacker’s chest. The body crumpled to the blood-soaked ground. Arik breathed deeply, the coppery taste of blood in the air. “For Honor!” he bellowed in answer. His men echoed his call, arms thrown wide, muscles quivering, the berserker’s rage overtaking them.

  The
remaining attackers paled and fled headlong into the forest.

  Motioning to his men to follow, Arik raced toward the camp. He could hear the shouts, and cursed himself for not seeing the danger. He crested the hill and came to an abrupt halt.

  Logan’s sword ripped through the air as he protected Doward. The tinker drew his short blade and did as much damage as he could. But it was the woman Arik noticed. Her skirt hiked up, she twirled her walking stick like a weapon with an expertise that left him slack-jawed. She dispatched the attackers, one by one, in a deadly well-practiced dance. A man rushed toward her, knife in hand. The sneer on his face didn’t match the fear in his eyes. She stepped out of his line of attack, extended her stick to her side, and holding it with both hands swept the weapon forward, striking the attacker across the bridge of his nose. Blood exploded from his face in an arc of fine spray as his head snapped back. Droplets dusted her face creating an illusion of bright red freckles. As he fell, she reversed her swing and caught him hard behind his knees. He went down on his back, spread-eagled. She swung her stick over her head and landed a precise and disabling blow to his forehead that knocked him unconscious.

  As she spun to face the next threat her eyes captured Arik’s and held. In the space of an instant, time slowed to a crawl. Her hair slowly loosened from its pins and swirled out around her. His breath caught and his heartbeat quickened as a rapturous surge raced through his body. Something eternal and familiar, with a sense of longing, unsettled him. In the next heartbeat, she tore her eyes away, leaving him empty. Time resumed its normal pace. Another attacker lay at her feet.

  Arik joined the fight.

  England

  2008

  “Lady Emily, time for your tea.” Ninety-year-old Lady Emily Parsons sat in the old solar at Fayne Manor, now a grand and comfortable drawing room, resting in the wingback chair that faced the large window. She removed her glasses and looked up. Lord Arik’s Journal Chronicled by Doward lay open in her lap.

  Helen, Lady Emily’s housekeeper and companion, brought in the steaming Earl Grey tea with warm scones and clotted cream. The tangy citrus aroma of the tea and sweet fresh baked fragrance of the cakes filled the room. She set the tea service on the table.

  “Tea already?” Emily closed the journal and put the book on the table. Her hand lingered. She stroked the old leather binding, her finger tracing the strange embossed letters on the cover. “He must have been a driven man.” She straightened up and accepted the offered cup, enjoying the mild orange aroma.

  “Who, m’lady?”

  “Lord Arik. From everything I’ve read, someone was out to ruin him.” Emily stirred her tea with a shaky hand and let out a heavy sigh. “If only we knew where to find his sister Leticia’s journal I’m certain we would have the complete story.”

  “You’ve been working too hard these last few months. First, organizing your family papers and now finding this,” said Helen, gesturing to the book by Emily’s side. “Perhaps Mr. George can take your mind off things. He arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “Are those Helen’s scones I smell?” George Hughes entered the room, his bold strides making fast work of the distance from the door to Emily’s chair.

  Emily watched as he took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet buttery aroma.

  “Ah, there they are. Emily, you’re not keeping those scones all for yourself. What need I do to get one?” He took her hand, kissed it, winking at Helen as she left the room.

  “You, young man, can have one just for the asking,” Emily said as she poured his tea.

  He sat across from Emily, politely spooning cream onto the small cake. She smiled, remembering a younger George sitting in the same chair scooping all the cream out of the saucer and onto his scone leaving the dish empty, his resulting mustache the only sign there had been any cream at all. She looked now at a fine young man in his late thirties, tall with a muscular build and dark loosely waved rich brown hair with a slight touch of grey at the temples.

  There was mischief in his blue eyes as he wiped the last of the crumbs from his mouth using the large damask napkin. “I’ve brought you a birthday present.”

  “A birthday present? Is it my birthday already?” Emily teased him innocently.

  He put the napkin down, went to her and took her hand. “Come. Let me give you your present before dinner.” He helped her up from the chair, tucked her arm in the crook of his and led her downstairs.

  “What’ve you been up to?”

  “You’ll see.” He opened the door to the library. An easel holding a large wrapped frame stood next to the fireplace flanked by Helen and Charles, the butler. Charles stood at attention holding a tray of glasses filled with her favorite champagne.

  “What is this? I stopped counting birthdays years ago.” She was girlishly excited that her closest confidants had not let the day go by unnoticed.

  “I think you’ll be pleased. I took the old painting you found in the attic and had it cleaned and repaired. The restoration proved challenging for the art historian. He couldn’t identify the picture’s subject, it was mucked up so badly.”

  He gently sat her in a chair. With a brisk step, he walked to the easel. Standing in front of the painting, he removed the wrapping and stepped to the side for Emily to see the full picture all at once.

  She gasped and brought her trembling hand to her throat. “George, the picture is exactly like the description in the journal.”

  “Yes. Here we thought all the family portraits were hanging upstairs in the Grand Gallery. I’ve no idea why there were any tossed in the attic. The historian dated this portrait to the late 1500s or early 1600s, making the time correct. Your research appears to substantiate that this portrait is Lord Arik with his brother and two nieces.”

  Emily sat without moving for some time mesmerized by the picture. No, by Lord Arik. “For months I’ve been studying him, trying to imagine what he looked like. George, this is a wonderful gift. Thank you so much.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” George took two glasses of champagne and handed one to Emily. He turned to Helen and Charles. “Please join us.” He faced the painting, lifted his glass in salute. “Lord Arik has returned!” George gave a respectful nod and lifted his glass higher. “M’lord.”

  Emily sat in silence her eyes drinking in the painting.

  “If there is nothing else, Lady Emily, Helen and I will see to dinner.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Finishing her champagne, she turned to George. “Did you bring the papers? I’d like to sign them before dinner.”

  “Yes, I have them here.”

  “You have everything documented. There will be no doubt. You will find her, George.” Lady Emily sat forward, concern fixed on her face. “Promise me, you will find her.”

  George took her hand and patted it gently. “Everything is as we discussed. There will be no doubt. Locating her won’t be easy and may take some time. We’ve so little to go on. But yes, I promise I’ll find her and personally see to your wishes.” He placed her hand on the arm of the chair and took the papers out of his briefcase that stood nearby.

  She noticed how easily he slipped into his business persona. He would do his father proud. She relaxed and for the next hour reviewed her will with her solicitor. They completed their business just as Charles knocked on the library door.

  “Lady Emily, dinner is served.”

  “Very good, Charles. Come, George. I can’t wait to see what Helen has planned for my birthday.” She turned to her butler. “Charles, in the morning please have Lord Arik’s portrait hung in the Grand Gallery.”

  She looked at the picture. Was his lordship looking directly at her, his blue-green eyes twinkling? She smiled, gave a gracious nod and addressed the picture in a quiet tone. “Good eve, m’lord. ’Tis good to have you home.”

  Don’t miss

  KNIGHT OF RUNES by Ruth A. Casie

  Copyright © 2013 by Ruth Seitelman

  There’s more to their story!

 
Now Available from Timeless Scribes Publishing and Ruth A. Casie

  THE DRUID KNIGHT TALES,

  A DRUID KNIGHT short story

  Maximilian, the druid Grand Master, was given a year to find his soul mate. On the final day, the sacred mistletoe has shriveled and died—proclaiming his failure. He must do what no other Grand Master has done before and journey to meet with the Ancestors formally relinquish his title.

  Ellyn of Brodgar has the gift of healing. But each use of her magick, through a kiss, depletes her energy and brings her closer to death. Time is running out as she searches for a way to continue saving lives—especially her own.

  Max and Ellyn are tossed into the Otherworld together—a place filled with magick and wonder, it’s also fraught with danger, traps, and death. They have only until the third sunset to find the Ancestors, or be lost to the world forever. The domineering druid must work with the stubborn healer, not only for survival, but for the promise of the future—a future together.

  Included an epilogue fifteen years later. See how the man destined for Max and Ellyn’s daughter takes the first steps in becoming a druid knight.

  Arik, son of Fendrel and Dimia, prepares for training with his adopted brother, Bran, setting into motion a ripple effect that will carry love, betrayal, and death across the centuries.

  Don’t miss

  THE DRUID KNIGHT TALES

  A Short Story

  by Ruth A. Casie

  Copyright © 2015 by Ruth Seitelman

  Coming the Winter of 2015

  KNIGHT OF REDEMPTION by Ruth A. Casie

  About…

  Ruth writes contemporary and historical fantasy romance for Carina Press, Harlequin and Timeless Scribes Publishing. Formerly from Brooklyn, New York, she lives in New Jersey with her very supportive husband Paul.

  When not writing you can find Ruth reading, cooking, doing Sudoku, or counted cross stitch. Ruth and Paul have three grown children and two grandchildren. They all thrive on spending time together. It’s certainly a lively dinner table and they wouldn’t change it for the world.