Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture (7 page)

“Good.” Arik nodded and picked through his armaments. He’d given Logan a good speech.
Faith
. He didn’t know if he was ready? But he died a thousand deaths not knowing if she was safe. No. He had to go. He had no choice.

Logan peered over Arik’s shoulder. “You prepare like you’re going into battle.”

“I’ve no idea of the consequences we face to bring her home.”

“What about the consequences of you traveling there?” Logan asked. Even a druid Grand Master faced consequences using such powerful magick. Any error in the formula or the process and he could be caught between the two times forever. He understood the risks but he wouldn’t let them stop him.

Arik raised his eyebrow. “I prepare the best I can to avoid surprises. We both do.” He tucked a knife into his waist belt. He removed a small pouch of coins from the chest. He thought to leave them behind then reconsidered and tucked the pouch into his belt as well.

“One thing more.” He took off his sword and raised the Sword of Rapture above them. The sword was more than a blade. It sang with the blood of the vanquished and was the glory of his people. It proclaimed its owner its chieftain. He lowered the steel and appreciated the reverence on Logan’s face.

“I remember the day Maximillian gave this to me.” Arik’s voice was filled with respect. “It was too big for me, or rather I wasn’t the man to wield such a mighty weapon.”

“You grew into it,” Logan said, a trace of laughter in his voice.

“Aye, and I’ve never been without it. The sword doesn’t define the man. But the principles it represents—honor, loyalty and trust—do. They are a part of him.” Logan had proved he was worthy and able to hold his place while he was gone.

And if he didn’t return? A chill passed his shoulders. If he didn’t return Logan would carry on.

He swung the blade around and presented the hilt to his brother. By giving Logan his sword he gave him the right to rule. “You’ve always taken my part when I’ve gone to court or on campaign,” Arik said, his tone solemn. “I leave Fayne Manor in your capable hands.”

“There’s no need for this.” Logan pushed the sword away. Arik recognized a bit of panic in Logan’s voice.

Arik put his arm around his brother and drew him close. “You know I go of my own accord. But I don’t know how long I’ll be gone and I will not leave you at a disadvantage.” He took off his chieftain’s signet ring and slipped it into Logan’s hand. “The sword and signet proclaim your legitimacy to lead.” His low-pitched voice rang with authority. “There must be no doubt.”

Logan turned the gold ring over in his hand. “It has your sigil.” He examined every line in the magick symbol. “I remember watching the goldsmith work the design into the ring. How exacting you were with its creation.” He hefted it, testing its weight. “I’d forgotten the energy it carries.” He peeked at Arik, a boyish expression on his face. “It hums,” Logan added, his tone hushed.

Arik closed Logan’s hands around the ring. He was proud of the man Logan had become, a man with great patience and courage beneath a lighthearted exterior. He would miss his company, his counsel and even his sense of humor. He watched Logan fill his lungs with breath.

Logan nodded. “I’ll accept them but I’ll put them in the druid sanctuary for safekeeping, until you reclaim them.”

Arik watched the concern skitter across Logan’s face. He knew that look in brother’s eyes, the tilt of his shoulders, the dancing from foot to foot. He waited for his request.

“Will you reconsider? I’d rather give
you
my sword arm than take your sword.” The hope in Logan’s voice was unmistakable.

Arik put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Your sword arm would be a comfort but it’s needed here.” It wasn’t easy telling him to stay. He removed his hand and closed the chest. “Now, let’s begin.”

“I’ll be ready when you need me. I’ll stay here—” Logan swept his arm around the room, “—and wait for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Arik said. “With any luck I’ll collect Rebeka and we’ll both see you tomorrow when we break the morning fast.”

The brothers stood by the hearth. “Stay safe,” Logan whispered.

Arik nodded his agreement. With nothing else to say, he took his place in the center of the pentagram. The flames from the hearth danced and caressed him in the reflection of the mirror. He turned toward the eastern wall and recited the ritual that asked for a safe journey while Logan responded and set the wards.

“Hail, Guardians of the East. I summon the power of air.” His voice echoed through the room.

“By the air in her breath, be with us now,” Logan replied.

He turned to the south. “Hail, Guardians of the South. I summon the power of fire.”

“By the fire in her spirit, be with us now,” came the reply.

He faced the west. “Hail, Guardians of the West. I summon the power of water.”

“By the waters of her womb, be with us now.”

Turning north, toward the hearth. “Hail, Guardians of the North. I summon the power of earth.”

“By the earth that is her body, be with us now,” Logan said.

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

“Ninzure nin ah ray.” A whisper reached their ears when Logan scribed the final symbol.

Arik repeated the new chant. “Ninzure nin ah ray.”
My hearth, my heart.
He waited.

The air stirred, at first rustling Arik’s hair then catching his loose-fitting shirt. Yet the papers in the room were still. He renewed his concentration and continued the chant. His scalp tingled with anticipation. Even though he was deep into the ritual he sensed that the room changed.

The flames leaped high in the hearth when the last word was spoken. Soft sounds gathered into whispered words that grew more insistent until a voice called to him, the same one that called him last night, “Arik.”

He and Logan searched for the source and turned to the mirror. The smooth surface shifted and swirled. The image of a man materialized holding Rebeka’s walking staff covered with the familiar runes and leather strapping. Arik stood rooted to the floor like the great oak in Oak Meadow, excitement rippling through him—he would be with her soon.

He searched the mirror for any sign of his wife but saw nothing. Was she safe? A finger of fear spread across his back. He needed to keep his wits about him. With care, he stepped to the mirror and slipped his hand through the silvery vapor to touch the staff. It was beyond his grasp. He extended his fingers but still fell short of his goal.

He turned to Logan and nodded. Then, showing more confidence than he felt, stepped into the mirror.

Present Day

“Lord Arik.” The man’s voice was softened by surprise. “
Rebeka.
” He reached out to her with his mind. His eyes never left the staff, Rebeka’s staff as the man lowered it. There was no reply. “You’re here.” The disbelief on the man’s face matched the amazement in his voice. He froze for a heartbeat. It took the man another heartbeat before he moved. “I’m George Hughes.”

“Hughes?” Arik furrowed his brow and searched the man’s face. The George Hughes he knew was his solicitor and an advisor to the druid Council. There was a family resemblance. He’d find out about this Hughes soon enough. He pulled his mind back to Rebeka.

He took in his surroundings, the tower room. He dipped his head toward the staff. She never lets it out of her sight. “That’s Rebeka’s. Where is she?” He reached out again with his mind and among the debris he located her essence, small and quiet. He didn’t like what he found. His hands itched with the impulse to push the man aside but he forced himself to remain calm.

“Your wife is downstairs. But she—”

He took a menacing step toward Hughes. “Is Rebeka harmed? In any danger?” He disguised his fear with the hard shell of ice that clung to every word.

George raised his hand to stop him. Arik held his ground; so did Hughes.

“No. Physically she is well.” A new authority colored Hughes’s voice.

Finding Rebeka was his immediate goal. He would use anything and anyone to rescue her. He touched the man with his mind but it was guarded well. Arik strengthened his already-tight defenses.

“As for who I am, I’m a descendant of your barrister.”

His George Hughes was an advisor to the druid Council when needed. Arik respected the man and trusted him. It remained to be seen if his descendant was as worthy.

“I’ve maintained the family business on both fronts.” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I’m Rebeka’s barrister, George Hughes of Hughes, Swift and Lacey.” Hughes’s brows knitted together.

What was Hughes holding back? He said nothing and waited. There’d be time enough to tear the man apart if anything had happened to Rebeka.

“She has no memory of the four months she spent with you.” Hughes’s tone was apologetic.

Beads of cold sweat dampened his forehead. His heart hammered in his chest. “What do you mean she has no memory of me?” His voice was soft. George wouldn’t recognize the danger it held.

“I have a great deal to tell you.” Hughes gestured toward the chairs. “Please, take a seat.”

“You’ll take me to her, then you’ll help with the scrying mirror and we’ll return. Now.” Less than an arm span in front of the man, he closed the short distance between them and stood in that private space that was intimidating and threatening. His tone allowed no denial.

Hughes didn’t budge. “Arik, you must understand some things before you see her, otherwise all may be lost.”

Arik dismissed the pleading note in the man’s voice with a wave of his hand. “Now, Hughes.” He was close to walking over him to get to her. “Do I make myself clear?” Each word shot like a bolt through his clenched teeth. One hand fisted at his side, the muscles beneath his light shirt rippled with tension. “Now.” His free hand rested on the knife in his belt, his fingers ready to pull the blade and strike.

“Arik, a few moments, that’s all I ask so you know what’s happened.” Arik softened his stare. The man sounded like Logan pleading his case. He couldn’t blunder about. He needed information.

“A few moments. Tell me how she got here and what’s happened since. We can discuss the rest at another time.” He relaxed enough to listen but was ready to take action.

“She came out of the portal by the Avebury stones. That’s where she was when she left us in May.” Arik gave George a curt nod to go on.

“My sister, Cora, and I brought her back here. She told us what happened at the portal. Her scream… She had no idea about its power. Cora and I suspect Bran tricked her.” He spoke about Bran in a casual tone. He needed to know how much George knew.

“Yes, that’s the same thing we believed.” Having George substantiate what he suspected didn’t make things any better.

“At first she remembered everything and together we determined that Bran was involved.” Arik let out a deep breath.

“Cora and I will do anything to help you and Rebeka. We’ve pledged ourselves to your cause. Bran must be stopped.”

“Bran.” So he was still a threat in this century—with his Dark Magick. “Take me to her, now.”

George hesitated but stepped aside, clearing the way to the door.

Arik glanced over his shoulder at the mirror. He made out Logan’s hand pressed against the now-solid surface as the vapor swirled then obliterated him. The portal closed. Something dark and heavy with a sense of foreboding came over him. This way was closed. His plan to return with Rebeka immediately was already changing. He didn’t like it when his plans changed unless it was by his design.

Hughes led the way and started for the tower stairs.

“What do you know of Rebeka and her situation?”

“I know she is the daughter of Grand Master Maximillian,” George said, “and his wife, the sorceress Ellyn. Rebeka has the powers of both her parents even though they are dormant. Born in your century, she spent a long time in mine. When the time came for her to return to you, something went very wrong. A descendant of yours, Emily Parsons, put the pieces together and before her death charged me to locate her. I searched for years to find her. Maximillian hid her well. When I located her at last, I realized she had no memory of the past. Her father took great pains to keep her hidden from Bran.”

“Yes, that was my finding as well.” George was telling the truth.

“I’ll do all I can to help you both return to your time. But you can’t take her back now, without her memory.” Arik bristled at being denied. He needed time to think.

No memory of him? He brushed the idea away. Their feelings for each other were deep. Once she saw him she would remember.

They came to the bottom of the tower steps. Seeing nothing amiss, he hurried along the hallway. “Have you…touched her mind to find why she can’t remember?” George said nothing. Arik stopped and gave George one of his tell-me-right-now-or-else looks. George’s hesitation made him wary.

“Touching minds in this century can have deadly effects.” George’s words hit him hard—not because of the spoken danger but at what other magick would not function here. “We’ve learned to keep our minds guarded all the time.” The quicker he got her away from here the better.

“Where is she?” he demanded as he marked a quick pace. George followed a few steps behind.

“She’s in the ballroom.” He stopped abruptly. George slammed into him and lost his grip on Rebeka’s staff, sending it tumbling to the floor.

“What ballroom? I don’t have a ballroom.” The notion never occurred to him that his manor would be changed.

“You do now.” George took the staff from the carpeted hall. “You’ve had one for the last 165 years,” George said.

Curious, and with great caution he peered past the top of the grand staircase at a hallway filled with doors that stood like silent sentinels—a hallway he’d never seen before. He turned back to George and gave him his full attention.

“Your descendants renovated the manor several times in the past four hundred years.” George brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Some things may be familiar to you but others,” he nodded toward the blank doors, “will be very different. I suspect most things will be very different,” he muttered in haste. Arik didn’t plan to be here long enough to take note. It was as simple as a highland border raid. Go in, get his wife and get out.

“I’ll take stock of the improvements later. Tell me where to find this ballroom.” He knew this place. It was his home but now it had a foreign feel, as if he’d never seen it before. He covered his unease by giving George his best intimidating glare.

“Come with me. You’ll see Rebeka.” George stepped to the other side of the staircase and stood in front of a door tucked neatly in an alcove. “Here, in the minstrel gallery above the ballroom,” George said in a conspiratorial tone as he inched the door open a crack. His finger touched his lips for silence before he signaled Arik to enter.

Inside the small room, in the deep shadows, he stood hugging the back wall. Remaining still, he peered out from the small balcony into an almost empty room.

He took a deep breath and amid the musty smell of history he found the scent of lavender and rose—he found Rebeka.

His breath caught at the sight of her standing below him. The ballroom, with its one oversized table, had various documents spread over the floor like giant pieces of a puzzle. Large beveled glass doors bordered the terrace, letting in streams of sunlight that landed in a pool around her.

But Rebeka held his attention.

A quickening beat drummed in his chest and pulsed in his ears. His body ached to crush her against him and hold her close. He wanted to feel her arms around him, her lips touching his—he wanted to bury himself deep inside her and shout his passion to her world and to his. He flexed his fists to control the building tension.

She stood in profile, bent over a large document on the table. Her long dark hair fell loose in a gentle wave, creating a soft drape hiding her face. His fingers itched to feel the silkiness of her tresses once again. His eyes lingered but a moment more then swept down her body.

He stood peering at her, amazed and shaken. He’d expected her clothes would appear different but he hadn’t expected them to be so…revealing. Her black breeches molded to her trim hips and long, shapely legs. The lower band of her oversized knitted shirt rested snuggly on her hips. He remembered every inch of her with a longing that was difficult to control. He told himself to relax but his heart kept hammering away.

“My heart,” he whispered. Wave after wave of relief washed over him. He was with her at last.

Rebeka glanced at the men. “George. What are you doing there?”

“Showing off Fayne Manor. We’ll be right there.” George turned, giving Arik a congenial pat on the back. “Are you ready?” At his nod they filed out of the gallery and headed for the stairs.

He had climbed these steps hundreds of times but now the farther he descended the more he moved away from all he knew and loved. He would be foolhardy if he denied his apprehension. Awareness gave him an advantage. He saw things around him others overlooked. He was going someplace new and from what Rebeka had told him all those months ago it would be very exciting. This change in plan was manageable. As soon as he understood the state of things he’d ask George for his assistance to return. This was a small delay.

He straightened his back and continued down the stairs. Each step took him farther away from his century and closer to the new one until near the bottom the twenty-first century closed in around him.

George drove past him. “Let me do the talking.” The barrister stood by the ballroom’s large carved double doors, his hand on the knob. George straightened his shoulders and settled a comfortable smile on his face then turned to him—was he ready? Hoping he appeared confident, he gave the barrister a nod. George opened the door and they stepped inside.

“Hello, Rebeka.” George placed Rebeka’s staff next to the door.

Rebeka turned toward them, a large piece of parchment in her hand. “Hi, George. You’ll have to tell me if your theory was correct. I haven’t gone into the tower. If you hadn’t told me about the runes there I’d never have known.”

Her eyes scanned his face. His heart pounded but he kept silent. He was satisfied to be near her—for the moment. She, on the other hand, seemed to be fascinated with his…clothes? She stole another glance at his eyes. He didn’t turn away.

“I think my theory’s promising. I’m sorry if we’re disturbing you.” George wandered over toward her.

She laid the parchment back on the table. “That’s okay. I need to put everything away and get ready for our guests. They’ll be arriving soon.”

George turned to him. “To help maintain the manor, it’s open to the public, for a fee. We’ve re-created some historic events throughout the grounds. Rebeka had wonderful ideas about expanding the program to immerse visitors in a total experience. Soon we’ll be reopening the entire manor and from the time our guests step inside the gate until they leave, they’ll experience life in the seventeenth century. We still have a few things to do but we’re moving along quite well.”

She cocked her head to the side. “George, are you going to introduce me?” Her eyes were wide and her voice was soft.

“Of course. Rebeka.” George grasped Arik’s shoulder. “This is Arik…my distant cousin.”

He searched her violet eyes he knew so well. He glimpsed a spark of curiosity and maybe even a hint of attraction but shock held him immobile at his acute sense of loss when he realized there was no glimmer of recognition.

“Excuse me. I’m covered with charcoal and grit.” She wiped her hands on a rag she grabbed off the table. “Pleased to meet you.”

“As am I. George has told me much about you.” He gave her a well-practiced nod touched with a devilish smirk. He remembered how she played at being annoyed when he would flash the same smile at her. He didn’t miss her quick intake of breath.