Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture (16 page)

“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.

There were three other couples on the dance floor but as the music progressed they all gave way to Arik and Rebeka. He had danced the Volta with her at the harvest festival only a few months ago. The feel of her in his arms and the fragrance of lavender and rose that surrounded her were intoxicating.

With the next spin and lift, Rebeka broke the pattern and put her hands on both his shoulders. He took full advantage and easily lifted her higher into the air to everyone’s gasp. He held her and slowly turned. Her head tilted toward him made her hair cascade around them like a dark veil.

It was only the two of them.

Slowly he lowered her to her feet, sliding her against his body, shivering from sweet torture. He brought her to the next position and continued the dance, keeping time with the music.
Faith
. He ached to put his arms around her, to crush her lips with his. His step almost faltered when he looked into her eyes and saw something vaguely sensuous.

With the dance finally over, they bowed to each other and left the dance floor. He led her directly to the terrace for some fresh air and closed the doors behind him to stop anyone from following them. The cool night was refreshing after the closeness of the room and exertion of the dance.

“Sometimes I feel I don’t belong here. It’s a strange but strong feeling.” Her voice was a low whisper. His heart thundered. Did she remember?

Another crack in the enchantment. Soon, she would be back to him. Soon.

He took her to the far side of the terrace and would have gone father if the railing wasn’t there, all the way to the seventeenth century.

Instead, he took her in his arms. Through his shirt her hands were warm on his chest. He tilted her face toward him. The passion in her eyes drove him on.

He covered her lips with his. His blood pounded and his body hardened. He brushed her hair away from her face and crushed its soft silkiness in his hand before he caressed her head. Her lips parted and he took full advantage, tenderly sweeping in and tasting the wine still on her breath.

You are mine
, echoed in his head.
Do you hear me? You are mine as much as I am yours
. He knew she couldn’t hear him but he needed to tell her.

Her hands snaked around him, holding him around his waist. She pulled her head away and looked at him.

“Arik?” she whispered. “Please don’t be a dream. Please be real.” Her haunted voice tore at him.

“Beka?” He searched her face, the spark of recognition bright in her eyes. “I’m here. I’ve come to take you home.”

The terrace doors opened, startling them. She stepped out of his arms and shuddered.

Marle and John spilled out onto the terrace searching for a private spot. He wheeled around ready to pummel the intruders but was hit with a sweet, pungent metallic odor, a roll of thunder in the distance. He looked in her eyes and knew her memory was already retreating. A raw grief washed over him. She was gone before he could tell her he loved her.

In the distance he watched the lightning dance. Bran. He put his arm around her and drew her close. She shivered and snuggled closer.

“We better go back inside. You’re cold.” He took her hand and once again made soft circles on her wrist as they headed back into the room. Little by little he watched the confusion return and his heart ached for her and for him.

She entered the room by his side, light-headed and fuzzy. The loud music and the pungent aroma of food were familiar. Arik held her tenderly but close. The feel of him next to her—that, too, was familiar. She wondered if he knew that his strong arms were all that was holding her together as they circled the room greeting everyone.

The fuzziness faded and voices cleared. Her step faltered but he was there to steady her. He held her gently and she was content being with him.

She saw a different side of the man. He wasn’t the righteous, commanding man she’d believed he was. Here he was charming and playful. There was a magnetism about him that excited her. His witty comments made her laugh, his smile was inviting and his kisses made her heart stop.

But his touch, his taste, his voice were familiar, even dear to her, which made no sense. No sense at all.

“The plan is good. It’s authentic to the seventeenth-century approach. We can use it as—what would Dr. Tyler call it?—an educational experience. Bill, can you, Frank and the men from the Corps of Engineers, manage the repairs?” Arik was wide awake last night. It took him hours to get to sleep. He kept reliving the brief moment she remembered him. He was certain it was because she was surrounded with the past.

Arik took a seat with the men at the gatehouse table. They were good men and had rallied to his request. They would be a strong team once they bonded. He was aware that would take time. They needed a common cause. The mill repair would serve multiple purposes.

“I’m pleased with the mill renovation work plan Bill and Frank presented. I’d like to get started.”

“Yes, sir. But why do you want to fix the mill?” Bill asked.

“To grind grain; that’s what the building is for.” Arik leaned forward, making himself part of their circle. “Now visitors see the shell of a building and are lectured
to
about its use. Seeing the building in action will give them a finer understanding of the millworks and the manpower needed to run it, to say nothing of the quality of the flour it creates.” Four hundred years ago, his miller’s flour was highly sought after. People came from Avebury and beyond to buy it. Alfred’s flour was one of the manor’s best revenue sources. Merchandising the flour had been Bran’s idea. It would work here, too.

Bill and Frank nodded to the major. “Instead of a lecture about the building, they’ll experience it. Am I right?” the major asked.

“Yes, Major.” Arik folded the papers and stacked them. “I’ll let you know as soon as the materials arrive.” He stood, a signal the meeting was over.

“Yes, sir.” The men rose.

George entered the gatehouse and acknowledged the men as they left. “What will the visitors experience?”

“The major and I surveyed the old mill. Bill and Frank assure me with our backs to it we can repair it and have it functioning.” George didn’t flatly reject the idea. Arik was encouraged. The men had crafted a sturdy plan; all he had to do was convince George.

“The materials will be costly.” George took a seat. Arik typed into his tablet.

“Here’s what I propose. In order for the manor to make a profit, the reenactment needs to be authentic and exciting. Only the staff can drive that. I think we’re in a unique position. I researched old mills—there are several in the area but none are functioning, or if they are, it’s only minimally. We can mill the grain we grow and sell the food we make with it.” He pointed to his tablet’s screen and gave George the major’s report.

“What?” On the screen was a map of the area that indicated the location of various mills. All had a red
x
through them. “None of these are functioning?” George asked.

“No. You can’t enter most of the buildings, only look at them from behind a barrier.” Arik laid out his strategy like a battle plan. “The parkland is rich soil for grain and produces a good yield. We plow the parkland and return it to farmland. We grow grain.”

“For the mill.” George’s voice rose in surprise.

“Exactly. We bring the manor back to the way it functioned in the seventeenth century.” He leaned back in his seat and watched the idea take hold in George’s mind.

“Go on, I’m listening.” With George’s support he was certain Rebeka would agree to the plan.

“I want to make it a total experience for Rebeka…and the visitors.”

“So, the mill plan is secondary to this primary objective.” He was losing George.

“I hope immersing her in the seventeenth century will help break the enchantment, yes, but that’s not the only reason. At my manor, the income came from the flour we milled and the herbs and vegetables we gathered.”

“We have large stores that provide a wide variety of flour and baked goods. We can’t compete with that,” George said. Arik took a breath. The men had considered that and put it into their plan.

“No, but we tie the flour and herbs to an educational experience. The men have a list of items they think people would purchase, all related to the mill and herb garden instead of the meaningless items we’re selling now.”

“I see your reasoning but we’ve investigated restoring the mill. The cost is prohibitive.”

He took coins from pocket. “Will this help?” He gave George three gold James I Unite coins. The coins were valuable in his time and if history was any indication, their value had only increased. He’d made a smart move bringing the coins with him. To think he was going to leave the pouch behind.

George took the gold pieces. “I should say so. More than enough. Although I’m not a coin collector I do know the value of James I Unite coins and these are in excellent condition.” George hefted the coins. “Have you mentioned restoring the mill to Rebeka?”

“No.”

“I’m going to see her now. Let me mention this to her. We’ve spoken about the mill before and decided against it for cost reasons.”

Arik leaned back, satisfied. Taking away the financial concerns, he hoped she’d see the merit to his plan.

“George, we came to the conclusion some time ago that restoring the mill was beyond our budget. You were the one who told me it would cost too much.” She dug in her heels. What was Arik thinking? Had he any idea how much repairs would cost? “I can’t talk about this now. Louise is due here any minute.” The sound of laughter in the hall caught their attention.

“Thank you for the invitation, Louise. Perhaps another time,” Arik said as he held the library door open for her, a long case in his hand.

“I think you can hold an audience’s attention.” She put her hand on his chest. “You can put the case anywhere.” Louise reluctantly removed her hand. He gave her a dazzling smile and put the case on the table.

Puh-lease. Don’t swell his head any more than it already is.

Rebeka did a slow burn watching the two. The man was already much too arrogant. She fixed what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. “Hello, Louise.”

“Hello, Rebeka. George, you must convince Arik to attend the Trust’s annual meeting. It would be wonderful for Lord Arik to give the Fayne Manor report. I’m certain he’d be a sensation.” What was Louise thinking? She was the lead contact for this project with the Trust, not the bulky brute playing Lord Arik. Louise hadn’t asked her to do a presentation to the Trust.

Louise joined the others at the table and took a seat. “The documents George gave me are in the process of being authenticated. Even if we validate their legitimacy, without substantiating evidence there is a possibility that the Trust still may consider the story a legend. You know how tedious they can be. Cross every
t
and dot every
i
.” Actually, she had worked with the Trust on other occasions and they had accepted much less in the line of substantiating evidence. They were quite aware that old documents can be lost over time.

“Yes, we’re aware. We’ve put more resources to finding the proclamation.” Rebeka knew what needed to be done. Louise didn’t say that the documents weren’t accepted but she’d best go on the assumption they weren’t. That meant she had thirty days and counting.

She had her students help her organize the library and had gone through almost every document prior to the year 1200. So far there was no proclamation or any references to one. She’d have all the target documents done in another week and a half, two at the most. That would leave her about fifteen days. At least she didn’t mention the reenactment—yet.

“I had planned this to be so much more exciting.”

Rebeka had no idea what Louise was talking about and from the blank stares on George’s and Arik’s faces, neither did they.

“I commissioned this before there were any questions about the manor. It arrived yesterday.” Louise turned to Arik. “I’ve brought Lord Arik a gift—to use in the reenactment.” What was going on? She’d have to speak to Louise and remind her who she was to deal with. Arik was the hired help. Rebeka was the lady of the manor.

Louise’s eyes were bright with excitement as she opened the case Arik had carried in. The Trust representative stood possessively close to Arik. He actually stepped closer to Louise. Rebeka was sure it was to see what was in the case but for heaven’s sake, he was encouraging the woman. But from his smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he wasn’t enjoying it. Still, she was annoyed—with both of them.

“We had this made based on the portrait. If you’re playing Lord Arik I felt…I mean
we
felt you should dress the part.” Louise pulled a sword from the case and gave it to Arik.

Rebeka’s irritation subsided once she noted the reverence on his face as he accepted the blade. His large hand easily managed the broad sword with respect, confidence and a gentle lover’s touch.

He turned the weapon over and showed everyone the fine etching and metal work on the caged knuckle guard.

“The sword is the thing legends are made of.” Louise’s eyes moved from Arik to the weapon. “What do you know about it?” Louise asked.

“You’re correct. The sword continues the story. It’s the combination of Alfred the Great and Mannis’s blades.” Rebeka swore he looked at the sword as if it were an old friend.

“Alfred the Great wanted to commemorate the joining of their forces. He owed Mannis a great deal. Without him they wouldn’t have won.” Rebeka didn’t know what to think. Either Arik was a very good actor or he believed that the story was true. It was a wonderful story of loyalty and heroism but there was nothing to corroborate it. She wanted to believe the tale was true, not only because of her family connection but because he believed it so strongly.

“A man’s sword is very sacred to him. It’s a symbol of his authority. He wears it for all to see. Mannis wanted to make certain everyone knew to whom he gave his allegiance.” Arik held the sword high. “He gave his sword to Alfred. Mannis’s intention was not lost on the king, who knew he needed to leave a leader everyone respected, one who had his endorsement. He had his sword smith combine the two swords to honor the joining of their forces and declared Mannis the hero of the battle. Then he gave Mannis the title Knight of Rapture. At the ceremony Alfred presented him with the new blade, the Sword of Rapture, explaining one blade represented strength and the other knowledge. After Mannis’s death, the blade and the title were given to each successive Grand Master as a reminder of the covenant between Alfred and Mannis.

“Now there’s only one blade.” He turned the weapon over, exposing the empty place where the missing blade belonged. “It’s been lost for centuries.”

Louise handed Arik the scabbard and belt.

He slipped them on. “Thank you, Louise. You do me a great honor. I will take good care of them.”

Louise’s obvious excitement annoyed Rebeka. Arik was too enraptured with the sword. It was beautiful but totally out of place. The sword was a gift to Fayne Manor, not him. Rebeka didn’t appreciate it.

She was horrified—no, she was scratch-your-eyes-out angry—when Louise tried to kiss Arik. At least he had the sense to give her his cheek.

But Louise boldly took hold of his face and kissed him on the lips.

“Really, Louise?” She didn’t know what she had in her hand but it flew across the table.

“Oh please, Rebeka, don’t tell me you didn’t want to do the same thing,” Louise whispered to her. “Every woman who comes to the manor leaves speaking of our Lord Arik.” Louise straightened, patted Rebeka’s hand and gave her a knowing smile. “I’ll need to know about the proclamation as soon as possible. Now, where do you want to exercise today? In the ballroom or outside by the lake?”

“The ballroom will be fine.” She and Louise rose to leave.

“Come, I’ve just the place to watch them. They’re both quite good,” George said to Arik.

Arik and George watched from the minstrel gallery. The two women, appearing comfortable in their exercise clothes, stood next to each other in the center of the empty ballroom. They easily flourished their six-foot staffs in front of them, progressed to a figure eight and finished by tucking their weapons under their arms.

They held their staffs in neutral in front of them with their feet comfortably apart. They raised their arms in salute and took their starting position.

Arik watched as they progressed through the set of basic moves, fighting an imaginary opponent in synchronized precision. They stepped forward with each pair of overhead strikes. They repositioned their hands and initiated the set of side moves, progressed from center to lower strikes and finally to lunges. They barely stopped before they repeated the forms from the beginning. The weapons flashed with increasing speed with each set. The room was quiet except for the whisper of their staffs as they whistled through the air.

From his high vantage point, images of her fighting imaginary enemies with him, Logan and Marcus came to mind. Her movements had been smooth then, but now she executed them with beauty and grace.

She was a fierce warrior.
Faith
, she had proven it more than once. At the Stone River, when Doward delivered the unknown woman to him, they had been ambushed. He had been astounded when he watched her fight. She had more than held her own standing with Logan protecting Doward.