Knight of Runes (8 page)

“We’ll ride hard. I want to get as much distance between us and those attackers as quickly as possible,” Arik told them, urging his horse into a gallop.

Rebeka held tightly to the seat as they sped down the trail, her thoughts going as fast as the wagon as she tried to make some sense of it all.
Wake up, Rebeka. Think! This can’t be real. I can’t be in a different time. It’s impossible.
The wagon hit every raised tree root on the trail. The bouncing jarred her but her thoughts never wavered.
And if I am
—the thought hit her like a lead balloon—
how do I get back?

They rode through the forest for some time. It was a punishing ride. Her hair loose and flying, the cloak streaming behind her, she and Doward raced down the path at breakneck speed. Spent from the fight and her confrontation with Arik, Rebeka fought exhaustion. If she was in a different time—and she was beginning to think it must be true—she knew this period better than most, knew how things were resolved in this time. This was all about surviving. Rebeka was good at that, too.

Mounted men appeared on the rise in front of them. Rebeka tensed. There appeared to be hundreds, but when she looked at Arik, he didn’t look concerned. Surely, he saw the threat. “When we reach the rise we will be on Arik’s land. His men have come out to meet their lord.” Doward spoke beside her.

She took a deep breath and nodded, relieved.

“We’ll stop for Arik to take back command. Afterwards we’ll move on to the Manor.”

They crossed the boundary on to Arik’s holding. The men on the rise waited in a double line. They sat at attention, silent and alert as their lord and his party passed through.

Arik reached the end of the line and turned to face the battalions in front of him. A man—captain of the guard judging by the braid on his uniform and jeweled dirk in his belt—came forward, saluting smartly before reaching out a hand to his lord. “Sir, your men welcome you home.” Arik raised a hand in greeting and the men erupted in a warm hearty cheer.

Rebeka stood with Doward by the wagon and watched the men pay homage to their chief. She knew the value of rituals and especially the homecoming ceremony. It was a discussion topic on leadership techniques in her course.

He sat on his horse, a beacon for his men to see. His face was stern but she saw the twinkle in his eyes and recognized passion and camaraderie. He truly loved these men.

After the formal greeting, Arik told his troops to stand down. “No one is to go far. Once the horses have rested, I want to move on to the Manor.”

The wind stirred the trees, forcing the leaves to turn up exposing their underside. The rain would start soon. The raid and incident with Arik pressed on Rebeka’s mind. She pulled the cloak tighter and set off to speak to Doward.

“Don’t say anything.” He put up a hand as she got close. “I was able to soothe Arik and the men. I assured them you were suffering from your fall down the mountain. All decided to accept the explanation. You are fortunate.”

“Yes, I know and I thank you for intervening on my behalf. But, Doward…”

“I understand, Rebeka. Where you come from your actions and attitudes are acceptable. You must realize here they’re not. You have to accommodate.”

She was annoyed with his expectation of how she, or any woman for that matter, should behave. “I am who I am. I can’t be anyone other than me.”

“Hear me, m’lady. If you want to get back to where you belong, you need Arik’s cooperation. Being at odds with him will not get you what you want. It could get you killed. Again I tell you, you must accommodate.”

Exasperated, she knew he was right. She changed the subject. “Doward, you said you know something about the symbol I identified on the men who attacked us. At first I thought it was a
T
but I think it’s an Ogham symbol. What does it mean to you?”

“You know this symbol?” Doward inhaled deeply.

“Ogham is a system of writing using horizontal and slanting strokes to represent letters and is usually cut into stone or wood.”

Doward gave her a blank stare. She thought he had difficulty grasping the concept.

“You can see the symbols on graves and boundary markers. They’re on the signpost in the meadow. Druids used these symbols to record tales, histories and the like.” She looked at his face. Comprehension began to dawn. “Each symbol relates to a tree. If I’m correct, this is the symbol
H
for the hawthorn tree. Do you have any idea why it would be branded on to the men’s wrists?”

“It’s difficult to explain. It’s a symbol used by Bran.” Doward frowned and shifted from one foot to the other. His obvious discomfort surprised her.

“Who’s Bran?” A chill spread through her.

“Bran and Arik trained together as young men.” He didn’t offer anything more. “These attacks have been happening for some time. I thought them only to be desperate villagers. But now with this mark I see they are desperate villagers with trained mercenaries behind them. You were right. The strategy was professional while the attack was amateur. I must get ready to leave. Stay here while I ready Shade.”

Rebeka sat on the ground, her staff across her lap. She concentrated on her breathing, calming it, controlling it. The ebb and flow of the world around her became peaceful and rejuvenating, her strength returned. Her eyes closed, she heard George’s voice.

“I made arrangements for the books to be delivered to you tomorrow.”

She frowned at the errant thought and dismissed it. But there was something else at the edge, an image she couldn’t quite make out. Before it came into focus it fell into itself and dispersed in a cloud.

“The wagon is ready,” Doward said beside her. “Before we reach the Manor, I must take you into my confidence.” She opened her eyes and gave him her full attention. “I have watched you face things any man, let alone a woman, would have found devastating yet you take on the challenge head on. You are an exceptional woman, stubborn and smart.”

“Is that a bad thing? Being smart?”

He spoke with quiet emphasis. “Few know the ancient symbols and how the Druids used them. But I need to know, from where and what time do you come?”

“What an odd question.”

Measuring her answer, she hesitated as he stared at the ground. Did he have the same suspicion? Dare she trust him? “The last memory I have I was in England, standing at the Avebury stones.” She paused for a moment then answered quickly over her rapidly beating heart. “It was May 1, 2011.”

She watched his head pop up and his eyes fly to her face. “Rebeka,” he began, but she interrupted.

“Doward, I must tell you everything.” The words flooded out as if from a breached dam. More than anything, she wanted confirmation. “I was sent to do research. I decided to go look at the standing stones in Avebury. I walked between The Cove stones and something happened. Everything went black. I couldn’t see and I was pinned to the spot. It was like being in the center of a whirling funnel of clouds. When I finally was able to move, the earth seemed to melt away beneath my feet and I began to fall and tumble. The next thing I knew, I landed on the trail almost where you found me. And, Doward, I have evidence. Here, look at these…” She took out her camera to show Doward pictures of the oak and the marker. He drew back startled, then reached out a tentative hand towards the camera.

“May I?”

She watched him as he studied the evidence she presented. “Remarkable,” he whispered softly to himself as he flipped through the pictures. He smiled at Rebeka. “Truly remarkable.” He handed the camera back to her reluctantly. “It is what I suspected also. We must figure out how to get you back. No one must know where you are from. There is much superstition here and I am concerned for your safety. Until we can figure out how to send you back, you must try to fit in, not stand out. This must be our secret. Now, we need to prepare how you arrived here and we must both be accurate in our telling. Do you understand? Your life depends on it.”

“Yes, I’ll do my best. I can’t stay here. It could affect the future.”
Secrets.
The whispered word echoed in her mind. It grew more intense, more urgent. With a burst of understanding, she remembered how her solicitor, George Hughes, told her the old books to be delivered to her contained
secrets.
The thought planted itself firmly in her mind. “If my suspicions are correct, I may find the answer in the library at the Manor.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Some of them I’ve seen briefly before. It’s only a hunch but it’s the only place I can think to start.”

“You have seen some of them before?”

“Yes, Doward, before I stepped through the stones I visited Fayne Manor. I looked at the documents in the library—I was to research them.” She didn’t mention the family tie. She wasn’t certain about the relationship and until she was, she didn’t want to mention it.

“Get ready to leave. I need to speak to Arik. I’ll let him know you’re a scribe from London and need use of the Manor library in search of information regarding the land.”

She nodded, hesitating. “What…what year is it?”

“Today is the second day of May. In the year 1605.”

He moved his head close to her and held her eyes with his. “You’re in the right place but the wrong time. To set things straight, you must go back. Perhaps your being here is the reason for the strange lightning and weather, although I’m not certain. My abilities are limited.”

“Doward, I agree with you. I can’t stay here. Who knows what would happen. I must go back. Do you know how to get me back?” She hoped he had the answer.

“No, I don’t.” He patted her hand, a reassuring smile on his face. “Stay here while I speak to Arik.”

“She’s in my care. Of course I’ll protect her.” Arik stiffened at the request from Doward.

“Don’t take insult. I meant none. I want only to stress the importance.”

Arik eased. “No insult taken. I understand your concern. But, Doward, she can take care of herself.”

“Yes, but there is something else. Arik, she may be able to help us find the information we need about the land.”

“Doward, I am not a simpleton. She’s out of place here, her speech and her attitude all speak of it. Tell me what you suspect.”

“She’s a scholar from London, an excellent scribe and document translator. News of the problems with the land appears to have traveled far. She feels the answers may be in the writings in your library. She has come to investigate.”

Arik stood thoughtfully. “So the king has sent her.” He sounded relieved. “Sir Stuart and I petitioned him months ago for assistance. But he sent us a woman?” He shrugged. “Do you think she can help?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll bring her to the Manor, keep her safe there and give her access to the library. You needn’t worry.”

“Good, many thanks, friend. Then I’ll make ready to leave.”

Arik watched Doward walk away.
There is something more going on here. I can feel it deep inside.
He glanced at Rebeka as she stood by the wagon, seeing past the bruising to the curve of her profile, the sleek look of her body. She was self-assured and had an almost regal manner in the way she carried herself.
I wonder how she looks without all those bruises. Her reaction when she sat on my lap. I could swear I heard her moan.
A mental picture of her relaxing into him came to mind. He ventured she didn’t realize her eyes were closed, nor the look of ecstasy on her face. The mere thought sent tendrils of heat through him. He smiled. That was a different conquest and for a different time. He mounted Spirit and rode over to the wagon.

“Mount up!” His men got into formation. With Arik, Marcus and Logan at the lead, the wagon took its place in line. Arik turned to the assembly. “To hearth and home,” Arik declared and the men started forward.

Behind him, he heard a gasp and turned to look. Rebeka stared back at him, a shocked expression on her face.

Big plump raindrops sprinkled down, splattering when they landed with a loud plopping sound. They pelted the riders, growing in intensity until the skies opened, and the rain came down in large blinding sheets. Rebeka was cold and uncomfortable but she’d been in rainstorms before. This one was no different. She winced with each bounce of the wagon as it sped along. The gash on her thigh throbbed and felt warm. Fighting the river crossing and now this bouncing only aggravated it. Her wound needed some attention but there was nothing she could do now. She ignored the pain.

“Does he always drive his men this hard?” She held on to the wagon frame.

“His men are not complaining. They would follow him anywhere.” Doward looked at her, his brows wrinkled. “No one would question him. He leads his men with respect and devotion. It is what he seeks back from them. Watch as he rides the column to see and be seen. Each feels a personal connection. It is his strength.”

Rebeka watched Arik charge up the line, encouraging his men. His muscled body, penetrating stare, his strong yet graceful movements all spoke of command and control. The men called out to him as he passed. He acknowledged them with a raised fist.

“We are close now,” said Doward. “We’ll turn onto the Manor drive up ahead.”

The closeness to home seemed to spur the men on. Everyone hunkered down and picked up the pace even more to get out of the weather.

They came through the line of oaks and onto the rise. Arik stood sentinel as the men raced on. The wind picked up, whipping the rain into stinging darts attacking them and as the temperature dropped, lightning streaked across the sky, and rolls of thunder rumbled in the distance. The wagon was the last to pass. Arik pulled up behind it and rode for home.

They arrived well into the evening. They crossed into the Manor courtyard and the guards closed the gates for the night. Logan and the soldiers vanished, presumably to the barracks, Rebeka surmised. Arik and the wagon stopped in the front courtyard. He went inside with Doward. Rebeka, trying not to limp, followed behind and found herself in the Great Hall.

“Jeannie,” Arik called. A woman, probably a housekeeper, came out and gave a low curtsy. “Some warm ale.”

“Arik, the men are all here.” Logan entered the hall, the captains behind him.

“What news do you have?”

“Lord Arik, other than some routine items it has been quiet. The only excitement was Alfred’s boy, Luke. He made some mischief but he has been reprimanded.” The rest of his men reported. Arik listened patiently, satisfied all was well.

Jeannie brought in the ale and stood ready to replenish the tankards.

It was Arik’s turn. “We were attacked at the Stone, near the log bridge. A mark branded the wrists of all the attackers.”

Standing at the other end of the large hearth to dry out and get warm, a feverish Rebeka stood gazing at the room, trying to keep it in focus. At the mention of the attack, she listened carefully. Caught up in Arik’s account she came forward. “Yes,” she blurted out, “I thought at first it was a
T
but the more I think about it the more I think it was an
H
branded on the inside right wrist of each attacker.” Doward went to say something but she continued. “As I told Arik, the men used a good strategy in separating us but they were not skilled fighters. They were rather uncommitted to the fight.” As she spoke, she looked from man to man, her eyes finally resting on Arik. The men seemed uneasy. Arik, on the other hand, looked uninterested. He said nothing, but when she finished speaking, came toward her.

His wet shirt was plastered to his chest. Rebeka watched, swallowing hard. He walked with slow strides, as if he had all the time in the world, but there was a hard purposeful set to the corner of his mouth. He stopped, inches away, his eyes narrowed into slits as he addressed her in a controlled voice laced with danger.

“Woman, it is clear you aren’t accustomed to our ways. It’s not your place to either interfere or instruct my men. Don’t mistake my bringing you here for forgiveness for your offense earlier today. I wouldn’t let a dog stay out in this weather.” He looked at her with steely cold eyes. The only sound in the room was the crackling fire and the drumming of the rain on the windows. In a scathing tone he spit out, “At least a dog obeys!” Arik turned, dismissing her.

Rebeka couldn’t stop herself. “Well, if you haven’t the sense to give complete information, someone needed to do it for you.” She wanted to pull him around and make him face her. Arik ignored her.

Doward grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her back to the other side of the fireplace. “Stay here, dry off, but more importantly keep still.”

Sweating and simmering, she tried to look at ease while she grabbed at the fireplace for support. Her leg was killing her but she refused to admit to the pain. “Lord Arik, may I take her ladyship and make her more comfortable?” It was the woman, Jeannie, who had brought ale. Rebeka had noticed Doward speak to her.

Arik appeared engrossed with the storm damages. He waved to Jeannie without a glance at her or Rebeka, drank his ale and remained focused on his men.

Rebeka used every ounce of energy she had to walk out of the hall tall, in control and without limping. Once out of Arik’s view, she gave in to the pain and limped slowly up the stairs behind Jeannie to one of the guest rooms.

“Here we are, m’lady. My name is Jeannie.” She started a fire in the hearth. “I’ll be back. I want to get some scented soap. It’s a wonderful mix of lavender and rose. And I think a good hot cup of tea would suit you fine.”

Jeannie came back with tea and soap followed by servants carrying a tub. They placed it by the fireplace and filled it with buckets of hot water.

“I noticed your scrapes and brought Lady Leticia’s salve. She made different types of creams. This one is for healing. It heals almost everything. Some say her salves are magic but they are only good herbs used wisely.”

Rebeka examined the salve, wincing as she got up. “Yarrow and olive oil with a touch of rose water.”

“Yes, m’lady, you have a fine nose for herbs.” Jeannie caught a glimpse of the bandage on Rebeka’s thigh. “I noticed the wound on your leg. I’ll help you.”

Rebeka stiffened. She wasn’t about to let anyone touch her leg.

“M’lady, the wound on your leg is bad. The salve will help the healing but I think it’s worse than I first suspected. I must look at it.” She handed Rebeka a cup of hot tea and looked closely into her eyes and at the gray look of her skin. She felt Rebeka’s head. “M’lady, you’re feverish. It’s not a good sign.”

Rebeka knew Jeannie was right. The last thing she needed was an infection. A bad infection could lead to amputation here. Arik would enjoy that little scene. If she kept a watchful eye on Jeannie, it would be all right. She set the cup down, sat and began to take off the makeshift bandage.

She looked at the rag.
Maybe I could soak it. I may not get all the blood out but it would be usable.
She took a deep breath and almost smiled.
What am I thinking? The scarf is beyond salvaging. Let it go. Losing the scarf won’t stop me from getting back.

Jeannie took a long look at the exposed wound and sat back. “M’lady, I’m afraid this will be very painful. This is not a fighting wound. It’s jagged. The skin is pulled apart.” Rebeka saw that the bleeding had started again. “See, it is red and your skin is almost hot. Luckily, I don’t see any signs of putrification.”

Jeannie took a closer look. She didn’t seem too pleased. “It’s good you kept it as clean as you did. We need to stop the bleeding, clean and stitch it. I’m afraid it will scar badly, m’lady. The salve may help.”

“Jeannie, I’m not certain it needs stitching. I’ve kept it clean. Perhaps we can put on the salve, bandage it and see how it heals.”

Gone was Jeannie’s casual manner. In its place was a commanding yet gentle tone. “No, m’lady, we can’t wait. The wound should have been stitched immediately. I’m surprised Lord Arik didn’t see to it. The longer we wait the worse it’ll be. I’m concerned it will fester if we don’t take care of the wound at once. No, it needs to be stitched or the hot iron.”

Rebeka looked again at her leg closely. She peered at the woman and was overcome by her look of compassion and determination. Some inner voice soothed her anxiety and left her with the notion that Jeannie was more than competent. She had the overwhelming feeling that she was in good hands. Besides, the woman looked like she had no intention of leaving before she stitched her leg. If she didn’t cooperate, she was certain Jeannie would call in reinforcements possibly the great lord himself. The last thing she wanted to do was have Lord Arik hold her down while Jeannie stitched up her leg or applied the hot iron.

Gently but firmly Jeannie took Rebeka’s hand. “M’lady, I’ve stitched up many in my time.”

Rebeka took a deep breath. “You’re right, Jeannie. It needs stitching. Small stitches close together would be best. It’ll help with the healing and the scarring. You did boil the needle and the thread?”

Jeannie smiled. “Come drink this. It’ll ease the discomfort of the stitching.” Rebeka reluctantly took the tankard and brought it up to her nose. It was a fragrant brew.

“What’s in this besides white willow and honey?”

“It has one drop of henbane, m’lady.”

Rebeka nodded.

“The pain should soon subside.”

It didn’t take long for Rebeka’s breathing to slow. Looking relaxed, Rebeka leaned into the back of the soft chair and placed her leg onto the footstool.

“Is there a lady of the house I should thank?”

“No, m’lady. Lady Leticia died six years ago. The people miss her still.”

Maybe that’s why his lordship is so obnoxious? He’s lost without his lady,
thought Rebeka.

“Lady Leticia’s duty was to protect the land,” Jeannie continued. “It was a happy family. But six years ago, the land began to fail and so did Lady Leticia. No matter what anyone did, she kept getting worse and worse until she died.”

Jeannie finished cleaning the wound and stitched it with small even stitches. “Ah there you are, m’lady. Good as new. I’ve some linseed oil to help prevent the scarring but not tonight. Let it be for the night.”

Rebeka looked at the good work Jeannie did.

“Now then, I’ll leave you to your bath. I have left some clean, more appropriate clothes.” She raised an eyebrow looking at the clothes Rebeka wore. “I’ll be back with the evening meal.”

“Thank you, Jeannie.” Rebeka took off her clothes, what was left of them, and stepped into the bath. Keeping her stitched leg out of the water, she sank down luxuriating in the soothing heat, her mind blank. She hummed softly as she gathered her thoughts and ticked off a short list of “To Dos.”
One, fit in. Two, how to handle Arik? I’ll have to treat him as I do Dean Marshall. He thinks women can’t think for themselves. Okay, so I listen, agree and do what I know is right. Eventually he’ll come around. The Dean does. So two, stay clear of Arik. Three, figure out how I got here then use the information to find the way back.
Satisfied with her plan, she closed her eyes to enjoy the last of the water’s heat.

Rebeka stepped out of the tub, dried herself off, applied the salve to the scrapes and wrapped herself in the robe Jeannie left. She got her brush out of her pouch, sat in front of the fire and began to dry her hair.

“Ah, I see you have finished your bath. I’ve brought you something to eat.” Jeannie carried a tray as she entered the room.

The rich aroma of beef broth with onions and carrots got her attention. That and the crusty bread and cheese reminded Rebeka she was hungry.

“If there is nothing else, I’ll be off.” Jeannie went over, looked into Rebeka’s eyes and felt her cheeks. “It looks like the fever is down but we’ll know better in the morning.”

“Thank you, Jeannie.”

Rebeka cozied up in front of the fire, the savory aroma of dinner hard to ignore, and began to eat. The hearty soup warmed and satisfied her. Little by little, she relaxed. Her body unwound and so did her mind. She looked at the pictures of the meadow and the signpost.
1605. It must be the stones.

Unconsciously, she crooned a song her father taught her. She had gotten lost in the woods behind their house as a child—the very thought brought a lump to her throat. When her dad finally found her, he taught her the silly song as they trekked back to the house. It soothed her then and it soothed her now. The song over, she stretched out on the bed calm and refreshed. As she drifted off to sleep, she heard the soft rumbling of a rich deep voice, Arik’s voice.

“Woman!”

She frowned. She couldn’t get away from his admonishments even in her sleep.

The captains were still in the hall with Arik. He felt more than heard music, a soft sound. The thoughts charging around in his mind slowed, the information falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. A sense of calm settled over him. He saw his brother relax and watched as concern washed from the faces of his captains. The song’s signature had to be Logan’s. Who else’s could it be? Logan and Doward were the only ones beside him who could use druid powers so subtly and skillfully. Arik returned his focus to the debriefing.

“Everyone understand their orders?” Arik’s men nodded.

“That’ll be all.” He dismissed them and turned to see Logan waiting for him.

“Do you really want to talk to her now? I’m not certain this is a good time to interrogate her,” said Logan as they walked out to the stairs.

“Yes, best to get this over with. She should be quiet by now.” He marched up the stairs, leaving Logan at his room. Arik was determined to find out more about Rebeka. She would be tired and apt to be more complacent. At least that was how he found most women, agreeable at night.

He opened Rebeka’s door without knocking to keep her off guard. He expected a confrontation. He did not expect to find her asleep. She slept facing the door. With her quiet, and not challenging him, he took a better look at her. Her face was much improved. Jeannie must have used some of Leticia’s healing cream. The weak light from the hall played softly over her one bare shoulder and long dark hair lay spread out over the pillow. Her bare leg was over the covers, the newly stitched wound in full view. He took a closer look. Small stitches closed the jagged gash, the stitching obviously Jeannie’s fine work. He straightened all at once, remembering her leg bleeding during the fight. He took another close look at the wound. The skin around it looked inflamed. How did she fight with such a wound, and then ride across the Stone, and endure the grueling ride to the Manor? When she should have spoken up, she remained quiet. Frustrated, he stood up and raked his hand through his hair.