Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture (9 page)

“His wife was taken from him and he’s determined to find her.” He pointed to another section of runes. Even he caught the haunted tone in his voice. He glanced at the scrying mirror. He struggled with himself to not take her in his arms and force the portal to open. All he wanted was to carry her back to his time.

“Did he find her?” Her voice was fragile, as if she was afraid of the answer.

He turned back to the runes. “Eventually.” He couldn’t take her back, not yet. Not until he knew the extent of the damage Bran had done.

“And did they have their happily-ever-after?” Something in the sound of her voice made his spirits soar. He stood behind her, eager to rest his hands on her shoulders, but instead put them behind his back.

“I haven’t gotten to that part of the song yet.” His voice was deep and rugged with emotion. “This man is very determined and loves her deeply.”

“I hope they did.” She turned and faced him. He reveled in the dreamy look in her eyes that matched the soft swell of passion in her voice. Dare he kiss her?

She moved away from him and gave her shoulders a minute shake. “This must be written in an obscure dialect.” Sounding stronger and more matter-of-fact, she returned her attention to the runes. “I’ll have one of my students do some research.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, a satisfied expression on her face. She stole one more look at the walls and they left the tower.

When they got to the bottom, she closed the tower door and followed him down the hall. “We try to keep as much of the original pieces on exhibit.” She passed the various rooms with twisted golden ropes hanging across the doorways. “But to keep them safe we’ve roped off the rooms so guests don’t wander in and our priceless pieces don’t wander out.” He stretched his neck to see into the rooms. He expected to see Jeannie rushing around taking care of the chambers, his nieces in their rooms, Logan in the solar with his flute. He stood between two worlds and his head swam. She continued along the corridor.

“Here we are at the central staircase. The area we’ve been through is the original section of the house. In 1846 the manor was enlarged. This is the family gallery. It is one of the original rooms.” They stood at the doorway peeking into the large room. “It, too, has also had many uses over time, from a convalescent area for soldiers during World War Two, to a ballroom. We’ve restored it to its original use, the family portrait gallery.”

They finished their tour of the upper floor and headed downstairs. How had she coped when she fell through time? She was stronger than he imagined. The travel itself was strenuous but the mental changes, the disorientation, not knowing anyone. She was so much more than she appeared. As they moved along on the older side of the building on the first floor Rebeka hesitated. She stood immobile by the door that led to the old cellar. Her face was ashen.

“Rebeka? Is something amiss?” He had an idea what stopped her but hoped he was wrong.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and she flinched. “This is the door to the cellar. I…I…I can’t go down there.” She gave him a helpless look. Her voice was a whisper. “I don’t know why.”

He took her arm and threaded it through his. He felt her thundering pulse when his fingers brushed her wrist. He covered her hand. “That’s all right. I’ve no need to go to the cellar.” He churned with guilt. He knew why she couldn’t face the cellar.

It led to the dungeon.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember that he had left her there for two days thinking she had been in league with Bran. Visions of finding her curled on the cot in the rain-drenched cell tore at him.

Unconscious and near death, he’d fought to bring her back to life. That’s when he’d found the mark on the nape of her neck.

His mark.

The one he had put there at their betrothal—before Maximillian took her away and dulled his memory of her. Seeing his mark cleared his mind.

He had almost lost her then. He wouldn’t lose her now.

He led her into the safety and comfort of the library—her domain. Searching for a distraction, he let go of her arm and stood by the hearth, under his painting. With his arm on the mantel he mimicked the portrait’s pose.

“Do you think the picture looks like me?” He begged an innocent expression. Her eyes slowly, very slowly, swept up his body. He watched her and ached for her touch. When her gaze met his he could almost feel her heart beat faster. She licked her lower lip as if nibbling a tasty confection.

He would bargain with the devil for a taste of that lip.

He stepped away from the hearth and moved toward her. “I feel a draft.” He softened his voice, commanding her attention. At her side he leaned close, his mouth by her ear. “Perhaps you should return my clothes, or would you…” he whispered in a teasing voice. He enjoyed her fluster as she stammered and at last let loose a small sigh. He flirted with her shamelessly to recapture some semblance of their closeness. He was satisfied for the small success.

He wasn’t a wooer by nature. He left that to the courtiers in James’s court. He was a warrior but right now his challenge was fitting in to this new century. That was a new idea. He’d never worried about fitting in before.

“I’m sorry. I was intent on measuring you against our Lord Arik.” She gestured to the painting. “I got carried away.” She worried her bottom lip again.

He knew she wouldn’t deny her actions. She was honest, direct and outspoken. “Did I fare?”

She tore her eyes away from the picture and focused on him. “Yes,” she whispered. He held her gaze, unwilling to move.

Remember me
, he silently begged her but he knew she didn’t hear him. He would have to be content, for now.

The clock on the mantel struck the hour and shattered the spell.

“I didn’t realize it was so late.” She blinked a few times before she stepped away. “I’m afraid that’s all I have time for today.” She checked her watch with the mantel clock then reached for a stack of papers. “I have to get over to the gatehouse for my class.”

“Gatehouse for classes?” he asked.

“The gatehouse is part of the wall surrounding the manor and along with the gate to the village, houses a military garrison with several large rooms.” Yes, yes, he knew what the gatehouse was. “Some rooms function as classrooms and others as a dormitory for students and staff. We use one room as a garrison for our soldiers.”

One room for soldiers—how could that be enough to guard the manor and protect the estate? He’d have to review the men and make certain the manor had adequate protection. “Their schedule is much different than anyone else’s. We created a program for veterans. When many of them returned to civilian life they couldn’t find work. We hire them as soldiers for our reenactment and they take classes toward a college degree.”

Rebeka squinted at his portrait then at him.

He followed her eyes to the portrait. “Why is this painting in the library and not in the family gallery?” The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile.

She’d already refocused on the papers and kept her attention there. “The space over the hearth was empty and needed to be filled. This was the only picture that fit.” Standing the papers on edge, she tapped them into a pile then she slipped them into her pack. She put on the tattered old backpack, threaded her staff through the convenient leather straps then headed for the terrace doors.

He stood in the middle of the library, his smile sliding off his face. He watched the sway of her hips as she crossed the terrace and knew there was more to her answer.

When she got to the terrace steps she glanced over her shoulder at him. “You care to join me?” She pulled her eyes away from him.

He covered the distance with his long strides and was already ahead of her, leading the way to the garden gate.

“You know where it is? Of course,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear. “You’ve been here before.” She hurried to catch up.

They continued on in silence. He was intent on noting the things around him as they traveled along the drive and was relieved that it appeared much the same as when he’d left it this morning.

He opened the gatehouse latch and with a practiced eye took quick stock of the people. It was obvious to him who were students, staff and, if he wasn’t mistaken, soldiers. The central room was lived in and in disarray—not to his standards. His garrison appeared to be in good order. The large double doors to the soldier’s area—the garrison, she called it—stood ajar. There was one bright spot at the far end of the room, an area that was well organized.

“That’s the major. Our most seasoned employee. He’s responsible for mustering in the new staff—recruits, as he calls them—getting them settled and oriented. He also hires the soldiers and handles the small military enactments that we put on for the guests. He’s retired from Her Majesty’s Armed Forces.”

Arik approached the man. “Major.”

“Sir.” The man stood at attention and snapped a salute.

“Don’t let me get in your way.” He returned the soldier’s salute. From the man’s manner he knew he was a warrior. From the expression in his eyes Arik suspected he’d seen his share of war.

“Thank you, sir, Dr. Tyler,” he acknowledged and continued what he had been doing.

Rebeka bent close to Arik. “Why did he salute you?”

“Old military men know each other even when they’ve never met.” He glanced past the last cot. The druid sanctuary was beyond. The walls appeared to be sound. He could feel the energy of the manor wards and was relieved they were intact. His magick was strongest in the sanctuary. Perhaps he could use it to help Rebeka. She would find it a great historical site. The idea made his heart thump. She’d make it into a museum. He had no intention of corrupting the sanctuary. No, he couldn’t allow that. But he had to see its condition.

“I see you’re admiring the old stone work. Fayne Manor was very lucky. During World War Two, when the Germans bombed the countryside, Fayne Manor wasn’t touched. As a matter of fact, during the war the manor served as a place for convalescing soldiers and a refuge for the surrounding area.”

In their quiet time, after lovemaking, she told him things about the previous century. His chest swelled with pride when she spoke of the part Fayne Manor played in the war. He considered the soldiers that she had here now and was pleased she had given them a home.

“Okay, men. We’re confirmed for Avebury tomorrow night,” the major said.

“Avebury has a facility for blind veterans. Our men go there once a month. They have dinner with the soldiers and they talk ‘soldier talk,’” she said.

“Our guests will be arriving soon. Let’s suit up,” the major said. Arik watched the handful of men halfheartedly make ready. Most didn’t change their breeches, only their shirts. Some strapped on swords, others put dirks in their belts. Altogether the result was a mismatched group of disinterested men.

How could these men defend the manor?

“This building hasn’t changed much,” Rebeka offered. “Like other buildings at the manor, it has been unused for a quite a while. George says it’s been used for storage for centuries. The recent renovations to the garden house have been completed. We made it our museum. Some of the exhibits in the new museum were found here.”

“What did you include in the museum?” His eyes took in everything around him as they followed the men out into the bailey.

“Almost all of them are farm tools and household items. We found so many original items we had the idea we would put them on display. I have a group of students researching the different pieces so we can note them properly.” She checked her watch then glanced toward the manor. “I have to get to my class. I’m certain George will be here soon. Is there any place you’d like to go? I can see if one of the staff—”

“No, that won’t be necessary. You go on.” The last thing he wanted was to let her out of his sight but he had no choice. Reluctantly, he watched her go off.

A rumbling in the distance grabbed his attention. He spun on his heels to locate the major. The man had to be deaf not to hear the uproar but he and his men took no notice. He peeked through the open gate to investigate the disturbance. A cloud of swirling dust moved up the road. Every so often, when the dust settled, he got a clear view.

A coach without horses. Amazing.

He headed out the gate to get a better look. He turned his head sideways and stared at the machine from a different perspective. From here the long square box gave the appearance of a fallen siege tower.

Rebeka’s drawings had been quite accurate. The machine stopped at the far side of the village. George came up behind him. “I can take you for a ride in something smaller a bit later but unless you want to be overrun by an unruly crowd of people we’d best start back.”

He nodded and followed George back to the house. “Are there enough men guarding the manor?”

“We don’t have the same need for guards as you do. There is a centralized force that we call if needed.”

“There is an overlord? Other than the king? My manor was self-sufficient from farming to security.”

“No, there isn’t an overlord. The Wiltshire magistrate has jurisdiction over Fayne Manor. Our soldiers are here for the reenactment.” Arik was relieved. For a moment he believed someone had taken Fayne Manor from the family.

“You didn’t appear to be surprised when you saw the coach.”