Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture (13 page)

“George gave you the information you need to know.” The tone of his voice told her the subject was closed. It served her right for asking.

She checked the time. “The others are waiting for me. I don’t like being late. Let me take you to meet those you’ll be working with.” They went into the manor. “I’m giving out the scripts this morning. I’ll have to give you yours after the meeting. I haven’t got it with me.”

“Scripts?” he asked. She tried to throttle the dizzying current that was racing through her faster than his motorbike. If he looked at her one more time with those blue-green eyes she was going to… He coughed. He was waiting for her answer. What the…was his question? Oh, scripts.

“Yes, I’ve written out all the interactions so everyone will know what to say.”

She led the way to the ballroom. She scanned the room to make certain everyone was there. Rather than taking a seat, Arik stood by the wall as if he were overseeing the meeting. His apparent attitude, along with his smug expression—which was better than a bucket of cold water—had her clenching her teeth. She was furious.

“Okay, everyone. Let’s get started. Here are your scripts. I’ve taken the scripts we’ve been working with and added the notes we’ve discussed. Joan, give these out, please. Study them, know your responses and be prepared to give them if a guest asks you a question. We want their experience to be as accurate as possible.

“Beginning today, we’re in the seventeenth century. Everything we do and say will reflect that time. As we discussed yesterday, from now on we will be using your seventeenth-century names. So get used to them. And no, you cannot invent anything that wasn’t available in the seventeenth century. So no breakthrough inventions, like computers or cell phones.”

A rumble of laughter rolled through the room.

“We have a new addition to our staff.
Lord
Arik has arrived.” She motioned to Arik leaning against the wall. Everyone in the room that wasn’t already examining him turned in his direction. He dipped his head and gave them a pleasant,
lordly
, smile.

“If you have any historical questions or questions about protocol, feel free to ask me,” Rebeka said. No hands went up. “Right. You all have my cell number if you need to reach me. Good. Please be dressed and ready by noon.” The room began to empty.

“Dr. Tyler.” Charles made his way through the exiting crowd. “Louise Richards and the staff from the National Trust have arrived. I’ve put them in the library.”

“Thank you.” She turned and found Arik surrounded by a group of students, all female. She tried to disguise her annoyance in front of the others. “Arik, come with me and I’ll give you your script.”

“If you’d like, join us,” one of the women standing next to Arik said, “at the old garden house. We’ll be rehearsing there.”

“Thank you. Perhaps later. If you’ll excuse me.” Arik broke away from the group and joined Rebeka. She watched the students stare after him, salivating.

“You seemed to have made a good impression.” There was a critical tone to her voice, with a vague hint of disapproval. Arik stood with an ease that made him approachable yet underneath the surface she imagined him a bit…dangerous.
Jeez, every woman will go crazy for him.

“Did I?” He shrugged in mock confusion.

“I know you haven’t had any time to study. I hope you can fit in. These people have been working at this for months, with good results. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to practice with the group.” They crossed the hall to the library.

He held the library door open, giving her just enough room to squeeze past him but before she was through, he lowered his arm and blocked her way.

Startled, she looked into his eyes for an explanation. He didn’t have to trap her—he pinned her with his stare and took her breath away.

He bent close and whispered, “If I have any difficulty I’ll come and see you.” Her cheeks burned and from the gleam in his eyes he enjoyed her befuddled expression. Arik dropped his arm and let her pass. With a toss of her head she entered the room. He followed behind.

“Louise. How good to see you.” She scanned the room. “Where are the others?”

“They’ve gone to the garden house to review the displays and make sure the exhibition labels are correct. By the way, that was a brilliant idea, turning the building into a museum. I was on my way back to London and when I found out they were coming to work on the collection today I took the opportunity to join them. Besides, I have news that is best given in person.”

“It sounds serious.” Rebeka took a seat next to the Trust’s field representative.

When Lady Emily died, she willed Fayne Manor to the National Trust with the exception of the small cottage across from the manor, the contents of the library and a necklace, a family heirloom. Those were destined for Rebeka. George worked with Louise to secure the property with the Trust.

“Rebeka, I don’t know how to soften this,” Louise said. “The papers provided for admission to the National Trust have come into question. They appear to be forged. I’ve spoken with the Trust until I’m pale from exhaustion but the Trust’s attorney is sending a letter requesting that you provide the original proclamation for their evaluation. It should arrive tomorrow. You’ll have until the first of May to provide the document. I told them I’d vouch for Fayne Manor but they wouldn’t hear any of it. They were going to give you thirty days. I at least got you more.”

Arik stepped out of the shadows where he had stationed himself, crossed the room and charged toward the table. “What question?” His voice demanded an answer. Throwing doubt on a family’s legitimacy was an old trick to separate them from their land.

“Arik?” He didn’t miss the stunned expression on Rebeka’s face.

Louise spun to face him. “The establishment of the manor as a gift from the crown is in question. The papers appear to be altered. The Trust has launched an investigation.”

He saw the flicker of interest intensify in Louise’s eyes as he got closer. She did everything but lick her lips. Her appetite didn’t interest him. However, Rebeka’s burning glare directed at Louise did. “When Alfred the Great was routed out of Chippenham by the Danes in the Twelfth Night Attack, he consulted with Mannis, the head of the family. He is in Rebeka’s family line. Together they planned the Battle of Ethandun.” He had Louise’s rapt attention. He wasn’t certain if it was because of his knowledge or his chest. She couldn’t keep her eyes anywhere else.

“Alfred couldn’t defeat the Danes in a siege battle.” Thank goodness Rebeka found her voice. He believed he’d have to keep the conversation going with Louise by himself. Although he was certain she would seek other entertainment.

“You’re quite correct. That’s why Alfred sought out Mannis.” He turned and gave Rebeka his full attention. “He and his garrison of men were well known for their battle abilities.”

“Yes, but Alfred wasn’t a supporter of Mannis,” Rebeka said.

“Not on the surface. Together with Alfred, they planned to starve out the Danes and their men. Your ancestor’s army, Mannis’s army, strengthened Alfred’s.”

“Rebeka, who is this man?” Louise asked. They both stared at her. Arik had forgotten she was there he was so intent on his discussion with Rebeka. “We know about Alfred the Great but not about Mannis’s connection with him or the event. If his information is correct there should be some proof.” Louise turned to him. “Where is it?” Her voice was courteous but patronizing. Her arrogance didn’t sit well with him. Perhaps it was a poor first impression, although he doubted it.

“The battle’s well documented but the details about what happened have long been in question,” Rebeka said, already pulling a book off one of the shelves.

“The battle is not in question—but if your family participated we need the records. Besides,” Louise turned to him, still focused on his chest, “how does that prove the land grant?” Her eyes tracked up his torso and stopped at his eyes. He was used to seeing adoration, even lust, in a woman’s eyes but her eyes held something more predatory.

“I’m sorry, Louise, this is Arik. He’s George’s cousin from the north. He’ll be playing Lord Arik in the reenactment.” Rebeka paged through the book. He assumed she searched for a reference. It wouldn’t be there. History has the king the victor. His right-hand man barely mentioned. But there were other records.

“Do you have proof Rebeka’s ancestors participated in the battle?” Louise asked.

“Alfred prevailed and won the battle, but only because Mannis gave him support. To honor him, Alfred gave him a special sword.” Doward told this tale often. Usually tales of wars were embellished, not forgotten.

At least not for the winners.

“Yes,” Louise exclaimed. “The great druid sword, the Sword of Rapture, but it’s been lost for centuries. Is that why there’s so much mystery around this event? Did Alfred call upon the druids for assistance?” He was startled on several fronts. That this woman knew Mannis was a druid. That had been a well-kept secret. That the sword was missing. Lost in battle? Or taken as spoils? Or locked away, forgotten? Or for safe keeping? He considered the sanctuary. He sniffed the air for any trace of lightning and found none. That wasn’t proof Bran wasn’t involved. He had to speak to George.

Rebeka turned and nodded at the picture over the hearth. “That’s the only known picture of the sword.”

“To answer your question, Louise, Mannis practiced the old ways. It’s because he did that he had to become a competent defender. His life, his family and followers depended on it. Alfred the Great utilized Mannis’s competency to his advantage.” He gave Louise his best this-interview-is-over stare.

“Well, Rebeka, you have an excellent person for your reenactment. He seems to be very well versed in folklore, if not history.” Folklore indeed. He kept his temper at her quip.

There was a light tap on the door and Charles entered. “Excuse me, Ms. Rebeka. Ms. Richards’s car is waiting.”

“Thank you, Charles.” Louise faced Rebeka. “We’ll have to postpone our practice today. I have to get back to London for a meeting.” Louise turned to Arik. “We need to document this story in some way to help with the authentication. And as you know we will need corroborating evidence.”

“Of course.” Rebeka hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He understood her confused expression. He’d have to instruct her how to make her face unreadable. He didn’t like that Louise could see her thoughts. It gave the Trust representative too much power. He moved next to Rebeka to silently declare his allegiance and, he hoped, give her strength.

“Call if you find anything,” Rebeka said. She started to see Louise to the door.

“Oh don’t bother. I’ll see myself out. Nice meeting you, Arik.” Her eyes ran up his body. “Very nice indeed.” He gave a polite smile but underneath he seethed.

“How did you know about Mannis and the sword?” He noted her demand, ran his hand through his hair and came to a quick decision.

“I’m a sword master. Great swords are an interest of mine. It led me to the Sword of Rapture and your family story.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if everyone knew about his hobby. She made no objection so he assumed she accepted his ruse.

“Then you know there’s no trace of the sword after that picture was painted. There’s speculation the sword was already lost before the portrait was commissioned.” She stood by the hearth. “Its significance is now coming to light and that information has not been made public.” She turned and faced Arik. “And I’m not aware of Mannis’s connection with the battle.”

He had instructed her, when he taught her about her family line. He would have to teach her again. Right now there was a more pressing issue: they had forty days to find the evidence they needed to save the manor and the family name.

“That book,” he pointed to the one she held, “won’t help you.” He moved along the library and went to the section with the more ancient documents.

Rebeka followed a step behind. “What are you searching for? How do you know about the documents?”

“This library has always been open to anyone seeking knowledge. In the past,” he turned and pinned her with his stare, “I’ve been here often.” He tried to stay as close to the truth as he could. He moved on. Was Bran involved in this new disaster? He moved along the row of books, searching the titles.

“Ah, good.” He pulled a large book from the shelf and paged through the manuscript. Rebeka peered over his shoulder.

“These are from the seventeenth century. You want…?”

“The ninth century.” He came to the end of the book.

“The older volumes are back here.” She headed to another bookcase.

He closed the cover with a snap. “Yes, of course.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he responded. He put the volume back in place and joined her at the other shelf. He scanned the spines and removed the book he wanted. He flipped through a few pages then closed it. “Hold this.” He turned his attention to the drawers that held the older documents and searched the scroll.

He read a few lines and replaced them. There was nothing here. He moved to the documents pertaining to the soldiers.

“Tell me what you want. All these books and documents in this section have been reviewed and cataloged for the online library.”

“Here it is.” He took the document. “Bring the book.” He unrolled the parchment on the table. “Here is your proof.” He pointed to the text.