Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture (2 page)

Elfrida, the oldest person in the village, lived alone in a large house on the path to the lake. She had been Skylar and Aubrey’s nurse, and even Rebeka’s nurse. Some said the woman was so ancient that she had been the nurse for the Ancients who lived in the Otherworld.

Her nurse. She hadn’t remembered Elfrida when she returned. She hadn’t remembered anyone. When her father took her to the twenty-first century to protect her from Bran and his Dark Magick he clouded her memory with an enchantment.

Skylar’s head rose. “It’s not that I don’t want to go with you.” The bread in Skylar’s fingers was poised in midair. The pleading expression on her face melted Rebeka. It was obvious to her that Skylar wanted to do both but who could compete with the handsome Robert? The boy searched for any opportunity to spend time at the manor house.

Young love.

Rebeka laughed. “Go ahead to the practice field but don’t stay too long. Jeannie and the other women will need help with the tables and food.” Skylar popped the last of the toast into her mouth then got to her feet. “How do I look?” She brushed imaginary crumbs and wrinkles from her skirt.

“Don’t shine too much or you’ll blind Robert.” Rebeka shook her head then realized that being older and in love wasn’t much different.

“I’ll be back in plenty of time.” Skylar rushed from the room.

Rebeka’s gaze slid to Aubrey. “What wouldn’t Elfrida mind?”

“We’re making sachets for the festival. I can tell her I’m coming later.” A frown settled on Aubrey’s face. “I do like helping her. She always tells old stories about the family.” Aubrey licked the jam from her fingers. “Skylar likes to listen to them, too. She pretends she’s grown up but you should see her when Elfrida starts. Her face gets all dreamy.” She wiped her hands on her napkin.

Elfrida, a born storyteller, held everyone’s attention with her tales of the different families. She’d been a source for Rebeka, helping her fill in some of the spaces to recall the past once the enchantment was broken. “I’m helping in the village when I’m finished in the meadow. You make your sachets with Elfrida. When you’re finished meet me by the baker. We can volunteer to sample the meat pies.”

Aubrey’s face broke into a broad smile. Rebeka was glad to see the young girl happy and animated. It had been a few months ago that cousin Katherine had bullied and harassed her. A distant cousin of Arik’s, Katherine arrived for a visit and stayed on after Arik’s sister Leticia’s death. Without a woman in the house, Katherine had taken on more and more household control until she ran Fayne Manor.

But Katherine was gone.

Now Aubrey’s face was bright and she chatted almost as much as her sister, if that was possible. The change had been startling. She had been withdrawn and almost never spoke. Everyone in the manor and the village had been concerned. Katherine had found Aubrey’s vulnerable spot, Leticia. The more Aubrey tried to hold on to her mother’s memory, the more Katherine bullied her.

Katherine, the witch. The very idea of the woman made her blood boil. Katherine had tried to keep Arik under her power and isolate him from everyone.

It wasn’t all Katherine’s fault—it was Bran’s. It had taken little for him to manipulate the woman’s already jealous and spiteful mind—giving her the tools to plot against her family. When she realized Arik would never be a part of her twisted dream, to be the true mistress of Fayne Manor, she used the tools Bran gave her for her own purposes. With murder in her heart she was determined to see her dreams fulfilled.

Memories of what happened at the standing stones and portal filled her mind. She had been caught in the magick gateway. Arik had been intent to get her out. He didn’t see Katherine attacking him from behind. But she did.

She threw her dirk and hit her mark. Arik got her out of the portal. But while Katherine lay wounded, she taunted them. She admitted she had killed Leticia. The pain that had crossed Arik’s face had broken her heart. The woman had kept on laughing until Arik swung his sword and silenced her forever.

Rebeka glanced at Aubrey finishing her meal. No regrets. She’d do it again to save those she loved. But when would Arik understand the man behind everything, Bran, was beyond saving?

There was no way he could turn back.

She understood the devastation that Bran suffered when his wife, Cay, died but that was a long-overused excuse. Bran knew the consequences of using Dark Magick before he began. Everything had consequences and some couldn’t be avoided. Arik knew that better than most in his capacity as Grand Master and lord of Fayne Manor.

“Rebeka, is something wrong?” Aubrey asked.

“Nothing’s wrong. Reminiscing.” She pushed Bran out of her mind and concentrated on her breakfast.

“You’d better hurry and get over to Elfrida,” Jeannie told Aubrey when she came in from the kitchen, carrying an empty tray. “I left some scraps of material in a basket by the garden door. You can take those with you to make your sachets. And don’t forget the flower petals you gathered.”

“I won’t.” Aubrey dusted the toast crumbs off her hands and rose. She leaned over to Rebeka. “I’ll meet you in the baker’s as soon as I’m done.” She hurried off through the kitchen.

Jeannie set the tray on the table and collected the dishes. “And you’d better hurry, too. I’ll need those herbs. I’m making the herb goat cheese you’re fond of.” Jeannie gave her a sideways glance.

Rebeka licked her lips thinking about the creamy cheese. It was a recipe she’d made for Jeannie, one she learned in the twenty-first century. “Yes, ma’am,” she said as she, too, left the room.

The day was bright and mild, a good day for a festival. Not a cloud in the sky. A breeze carried the hint of cooler days to come. After the hot summer, it was a perfect relief.

The aroma of fresh-baked bread wafted up to the manor and drew Rebeka into the village. Happy and content, she leaned against a table in the market square, eating the last bite of the warm, crusty bread slathered with sweet, creamy butter.

“You approve?” Mary’s voice grabbed her attention. “You told me you were eager to see everyone.” Rebeka had a special place in her heart for Mary.

“This is perfect. The aroma of the hot bread,” she lifted hers in salute, “is better than any alarm bell. My mouth watered as soon as I stepped outside the gate.” She leaned her head toward Mary. “And I’d already eaten.”

Rebeka glanced past Mary at the crowd milling around the table and the clutches of chattering neighbors who had been hard at work with the harvesting and preparing for winter. It reminded her of the twenty-first-century coffee wagon.

“The loaves were set out to cool when Lord Arik rode through the village with Doward. I gave them a large slab for their ride.” Mary pulled Rebeka around to face her. “Is it true he goes to seal the last portal? You’re not going back?”

“Yes. This is where I belong and where I want to be.” All those early concerns about how she had arrived at the manor. The irony was laughable. The Lord Knight of Fayne Manor was the druid Grand Master—the ultimate magician. And she’d worried his people wouldn’t be able to accept that she’d traveled through time. Yet when he’d tried to explain his magick she considered him to be primitive. How absurd and narrow-minded.

“Mary.” One of the other women waved her over to another table.

“I’ll be right there,” she called out. She turned back to Rebeka. “Wait until you see what we’ve planned. I know I shouldn’t say anything but it’s your first fall festival as lady of the manor and we have a surprise for you.” The woman was so excited she couldn’t stand still, but hopped from one foot to the other.

Rebeka laughed. “You don’t have to do anything special. Not because I’m lady of the house.”

Mary took Rebeka’s hands. “You’re right, but being lady of the house isn’t why everyone wanted to do something special for you. You are an inspiration. You lead by example. You’re smart, fair-minded and, yes, maybe a bit strong-willed. To me, you’re my valued friend.”

Rebeka paused. “You know you mean as much to me.” Mary was the first in the village to befriend her, an outsider. All her life she shied away from attachments with a sense of not belonging. But she didn’t retreat from Mary.

“Mary.” The woman’s call grew more insistent.

“Coming,” Mary shouted. She squeezed Rebeka’s hands. “Of course I do. And understand I am not the only one who recognizes the good and caring person you are. Everyone does.” One final squeeze and she hurried off. Rebeka stared after her.

In the twenty-first century she and her father, an authority on Celtic history, lived near a rural college campus. It was only the two of them. She surmised that her parents must have been very much in love. He never spoke about her mother nor did he have any pictures of her. She asked questions but got short, unsatisfying answers. Over time, she stopped asking. They kept to themselves most of the time. He died when she was a freshman in college and she believed she had no family and belonged nowhere until she discovered her place and her people. She only had to travel back in time four centuries to find them.

“They need more bread.” Marcus, Arik’s captain, stood next to her. “Skylar and the older girls set a table by the practice field to serve the men. She mentioned the villagers were gathering here. I came to see. Was this,” he motioned to the people in the square, “your idea?” He nodded his thanks to the young boy who handed him a tankard.

“No, the morning gathering was Mary’s idea.” Her eyes moved from one group of people to the next. The villagers greeted the arriving tenants and their families with shouts and laughter. The small children ran about while the older ones chatted, the boys on one side and the girls on the other. More bread came out of the ovens and barrels of ale from the brewer.

Marcus’s gaze scanned the crowd. His satisfaction and approval was apparent from the broad grin on his face. “Most of the men have arrived. The practice field is filled to capacity.” He brought his tankard to his lips but before he took a sip he gave her a teasing smile. “Lord Arik will be wrestling later. You may want to watch.” He drained his tankard.

How did Marcus know she enjoyed watching Arik?

“Don’t look surprised. Your secret is safe with me.” He had a pleased expression on his face. Marcus, too, was a good friend. He was the second, after Logan, to pledge himself to her after she married Arik. “My soldiers have found their ale and are taking a few kegs for the field.” He nodded toward a knot of men hefting barrels on their shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back. This was a fine idea. Everyone’s looking forward to the banquet tonight. I hope you and Arik will sing for us. You were the highlight of the summer celebration. What was the song you sang?”

She reflected for a moment. “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” She had taught Arik, Logan and the girls to sing the song in a round one evening after dinner. They taught the song to the villagers at the summer bonfire. She saw a different side of him at the festival. Not the warrior, but the man. That was when she realized she loved him. “I’m certain if you ask him he won’t say no.” Marcus titled his head in salute then followed his men. She observed him exchange his empty tankard for a piece of bread when he passed the last table.

She glanced around and absorbed the warmth and closeness of family and friends and her love for Arik. How could he think she would ever want to leave? She slipped on her empty backpack and took her staff. If she hurried, she could harvest the herbs then watch Arik on the field. That would still leave her time to meet Aubrey by the baker.

Arik and Doward rode along to the rhythmic clinking of the horses’ metal tack and the clop of their hooves across the stone-strewn path at a gentle pace. The magick thickened as they neared the stones. Unable to ride any closer to the sacred spot, they dismounted and left their horses at the outer edge of the glen. They crossed the last hundred yards to the megaliths. This was a special place—a magical place.

Arik knew how impressive the stones were to the outsider but to the initiated, the standing stones hummed a soft tone with magick in the late-morning mist. The faint iridescent glow added to their mystical appearance. Ringed by a lush forest, the tall trees stood like silent sentinels that protected the perimeter.

It was good to be here and to be traveling with Doward. He couldn’t remember a time without him. His good friend and druid mentor was at his side when he became Grand Master until Logan was ready and assumed the responsibility. Now Doward crisscrossed the countryside with his tinker wagon selling old wares and carrying news.

It was Doward who found a disoriented Rebeka on the trail after she came through the portal and brought her to him. Neither one of them was prepared for her return. Faith, neither one of them knew who she was. He saw her every day but recognized nothing. He shook his head in disbelief. Maximillian had considered everything when he took her into the future. She had no memory of home and, when she returned, no one recognized her. He had protected her well. It wasn’t until Arik found his mark on her neck, the one he gave her at their betrothal, that he was able to see past the enchantment. But she still didn’t have her memories. It was after the battle with Katherine, when he and Rebeka touched her staff together, that she remembered her past and him.

“You’re preoccupied this morning,” Doward said. “Not very good company.”

Arik filled his lungs with the sweet air. “Reminiscing. What would you like to speak about?” They continued on at a casual pace.

“The last portal to seal. I’m glad.” Doward glanced at Arik. “You told me you didn’t want to seal it. Why the change?” The calm air stirred, the breeze ruffled Doward’s long white hair and tugged at his clothes.

“The portal has served its purpose. It brought Rebeka back. It has no other use.” The undercurrent of searching for something outside his grasp that had driven him for years was gone. He was content. It was a new feeling for him. “She wants to stay and not to return to her time—”

“Her time? This is her place, her home. You must recognize that.” Doward’s vigorous outburst startled him. Hadn’t the old druid learned anything about Rebeka? About him? She had to want to stay, to be his wife. He would never force her.

Of course this was her time. This was her home. Lost to them for fifteen years, four months ago she, in fact, fell out of the twenty-first century into his seventeenth-century arms. The very idea made him grin.

Nineteen, he had been nineteen when he returned from his druid training and Maximillian announced he would be the next Grand Master. He saw the excitement and pride in his father’s eyes and felt the love in his mother’s touch. Bran and Cay were married at the end of the year and he and Rebeka were betrothed. They exchanged runes. He wore her mark over his heart and she wore his on the nape of her neck. They were happy then and looked forward to the future.

But the following year when Cay caught the fever, Bran was distraught. Ellyn, Rebeka’s mother, was a great sorceress and healer. She tried everything to help Cay but she got worse. That’s when Bran experimented with Dark Magick. But nothing saved Cay. Bran struck out at everyone and threatened Rebeka. Fearing for her life, Maximillian took her away.

Maximillian told him they would be back in four years. But four years had come and gone. No Maximillian. No Rebeka. He waited. Six more years and still no word, all the time his memories of her fading until she became a shadow to him. Five more years would pass until she returned.

“Still reminiscing?” Doward questioned.

She was here now and wanted to stay. No need to go over the past. He took a deep breath. The scent of lavender and roses floated on the air. Yes, his wife’s home was here with him. “A little.”

The specter of the Shade moved beside him and warnings flashed in his head. He was on high alert. Something was out of place. Doward must’ve sensed it, too. They stopped and turned in all directions, scrutinizing the area, searching for the oddity.

“There,” shouted Doward. Off in the distance a small whirlwind spun among the stones. How was that possible? Dark clouds rushed toward them until they enveloped the two druids. Arik shielded his eyes against the swirling debris kicked about by the wind. A sweet, pungent metallic odor swirled around him but it was the whirling wind that held him transfixed.

“The portal’s open,” Doward yelled over the din. “I. Can’t. Move.”

“Don’t struggle.” Arik bent into the wind.

“But how?” Doward’s surprised expression matched his own.

Arik turned to him. “Bran.” Bile rose in his throat. He wanted to kick himself for not having seen the danger.

The scent of lavender and rose assaulted him again and cold sweat trickled down his back. Rebeka was near.

He opened his mind but found no trace of her. The wind tore at him. He bowed his head against its force. He pushed forward. He had to find her.

Rebeka, her staff in hand, trekked the worn forest path toward the meadow. Patches of sunlight filtered through the trees, creating small pools of warmth in the cool woodland. She slowed her pace and took a deep breath, enjoying the rich, earthy fragrance of the damp ground and delighting in the bright leaves that littered the forest floor. She continued on to where the trees thinned and the trail widened.

A loud boom shook the trees and sent the birds squawking and fluttering away. Startled, she searched the sky for the threat but saw nothing.
Oh please, not a thunder storm. Let the rain hold off.

Everyone would be disappointed. They had been planning the celebration for weeks. If it rained, Jeannie and the women would need everyone’s help to move things indoors. Perhaps she should gather the herbs another time. She glanced ahead. She was already here and if she made quick work of it she could still get back in time to help the others.

She rushed up the trail into the meadow then skidded to a stop. Her heart skipped a beat.

Arik leaned against the stone signpost. He straightened when he spotted her, a sensual smile spreading across his face beckoning her toward him.

“Love, come quickly,” he called in his deep, melodic voice that both chilled and heated her. He must have finished with the portal sooner than he expected.

“I’m coming.” Eager for his touch, his kiss, she rushed toward him. Perhaps she’d teased too much this morning. Should she admit she had been disappointed when Logan appeared? She rushed toward her husband, the man she loved and trusted beyond all others.

A hint of wind brushed across her face. “Hurry, there isn’t much time,” he shouted over his shoulder while he moved deeper into the meadow toward the oak tree. He was a few steps ahead. Why didn’t he wait for her? She took another step and past the stone marker.

The air chilled and the sky turned an array of colors. Everything around her began to swirl. She realized her mistake too late. The portal—she was in the portal.

Arik.
Close to him now, she reached for him but her hand passed through the form. She examined her hand, turning it over, then spotted the shadow of the man.

An illusion?

The shadow turned toward her. She watched as the wind washed over his face and it changed. “Bran,” she whispered in disbelief. Her head swiveled while she searched for something, anything to grab on to. The portal had one use and she had no intention of leaving.

Get out
, her brain shouted.

His lips twisted into a cynical sneer. He tilted his head in jaunty satisfaction, snapped his fingers and vanished.

“No,” she yelled. “
Arik
,” she closed her eyes and screamed in her head, trying to mind-touch him while the wind tore at her.

“Beka,” he boomed.

Her eyes snapped open. She shielded them from the dust and debris and stared at Arik on the other side of the opening. He stood at the high plateau, miles away. His hands were braced on the opening’s edges, which were nothing more than solid streams of whirling wind. He struggled to keep the portal from closing.

“Come.” His voice didn’t allow for any argument.

The wind whipped at her, pushed her back. She tried again. “I can’t. The wind. Keeps. Pushing. Me. Away.” She shoved her staff in front of her and anchored it in the ground. Against the gusting wind, pulled herself toward him.

“A little more, Beka.” He gripped the edge of the portal with one hand and stretched the other out to her. She shoved her hand toward him as far as she could. The tips of their fingers brushed. In a burst of effort he caught the top of her hand, a precarious hold. With a tight grasp she wrapped her fingers around his thumb.

Safe. She wasn’t far now.

She concentrated on his face. The corners of his mouth turned up as he pulled her toward safety. The wind grew stronger, buffeting around them, then changed its path.

Before she could brace herself for the new direction, the gust blasted them. Without a firm grip, her hand began to slip. She pushed through the building panic. His smile slipped. The expression on his face turned to determination. Again her hand slipped until he held her by her fingertips.

He held them fast—crushing them, but that didn’t matter. He had to hold on to her. Every muscle strained. Inch by inch he brought her closer to him. She tried to help him the best way she could. Anchored to the edge of the portal, Arik encouraged her on. But his alternatives were limited. The closer she got to him, the stronger the gale blew. Just a little closer, that’s all she needed for Arik to grab her and get her out of the portal.

The wind exploded from another direction.

The blasting gale pushed her staff away from the opening, across the dirt, cutting an ugly scar in the ground and dragging her away with her staff.

Away from Arik.

Their bond snapped, Arik fell backward, out of the portal. The wind kept them pinned where they were as cold air swooped around the entrance. When at last the wind eased, they stared in horror at the thick sheet of ice that sealed the portal between them.

They fought their way to the frozen sheet. Rebeka’s hands on one side, Arik’s on the other. In desperation they searched for a weakness.

Time was slipping away.

Arik took out his sword and slashed at the ice but he didn’t make any progress. He sheathed his sword and pounded on the ice with his fists.

Rebeka pummeled the ice with her staff. Chunks flew off but nothing weakened it.

Desperate, they hammered away at the icy barrier.

She took notice as Arik moved his hands over the ice. She did the same. His lips moved but she was unable to hear him. He raised his hands in demand. What was he doing?

Lightning struck the ice and turned it fiery hot.

In horror, she stared at the agony etched on his face. She stood by and watched, unable to help him. He pummeled the icy surface with his fists, his knuckles raw and bleeding. She fixed her stare on the runes on his chest. They pulsated in rhythm with his fists.

Small cracks in the ice appeared and his fists flew faster. He flashed her an encouraging glance but all she saw were the deep cuts in his flesh. His blood was everywhere.

Tears slipped down Rebeka’s cheeks. Helpless, his runes kept flashing faster and his heartbeat raced to keep time. She was certain his heart would burst.

She leaned closer to the barrier, her eyes begging him.
Stop
, she called to him in her mind. He kept on going. She spread her hands on the shield. “Stop,” she screamed, her voice raw with her effort. The vibration and low-pitch moan of the surface made her flinch. She pulled her hands away.

Unsure, she touched the shield again. It was still. The scream, she was certain it caused the tremor. She searched Arik’s face. He wasn’t aware of it. The beat echoing in her head was almost a steady tone. Fear twisted around her heart. His blood stained the barrier. She was certain he would die if he kept this pace. She couldn’t wait.

She gathered her strength and with lightning speed built the chant inside her. When she couldn’t hold it back any longer she let it loose in a grief-stricken scream.

Everything stopped. The wind. His pounding.

They stood facing each other.

“No, Beka. No,” he screamed, his arms spread out across the barrier. She watched the glazed look of despair spread across his face.

A small portion of the shield fractured, then another, and another. The tiny explosions gathered momentum until they built into a frenzy and every inch of the shield was cracked.

Then silence.

She hesitated but at last placed her hand on the shield. Arik did the same. Their hands separated by the splintered magick. The fractured shield trembled, small pieces tumbled around them. For a brief moment their hands touched and she felt his warmth and love.