“Here, Uncle Arik. Sing us a song,” Skylar requested.
Rebeka’s eyes widened in surprise. Arik sings? She couldn’t imagine him singing. He was too cold and controlling to be emotional although she was beginning to see a very different side of the man.
He tuned the mandolin.
“Arik, all the court enjoys when you sing Greensleeves,” said Lady Beatrice.
“For you, m’lady,” he said with a nod.
His phrasing and emotion made the words come alive. Rebeka found his rich baritone voice soothed her. He encouraged everyone to join in the chorus. At the end, he handed the mandolin to Rebeka.
“Here, it’s your turn.”
“I don’t know what to sing.”
“Anything but Lord Randal.” They both laughed. “Sing the boat song.”
She found it impossible not to return his disarming smile and was surprised he remembered the song. “All right.” She played the introduction and began singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Logan played the flute and Skylar and Aubrey got everyone singing the round. There was a demand for more choruses and Rebeka graciously complied, Stuart and Arik adding their voices.
“Rebeka,” said Elfrida when the song ended. “Sing me a love song.” Everyone laughed. She looked at Rebeka. “One of your own choosing will do fine.”
Rebeka’s repertoire was limited in seventeenth-century love songs. She silently ticked off lyrics and eliminated one song after another. She decided on Ebb Tide, a love song filled with imagery and emotions, but without any dated information or references. The melancholy song came from her heart. When she finished, her eyes still closed, the air was deadly silent. She opened her eyes and knew Arik stared at her. His eyes bore into her and swallowed her. Still holding his stare, she passed the mandolin to the next person. She took a deep breath and shook her head to rid herself of the trance.
The musicians played the beginning of a lively dance. Everyone took a partner. Rebeka listened to the music. She knew these dances. She immersed herself in all aspects of this era, music and dance, as well. Doward grabbed Rebeka and brought her into the dance circle with Logan, Stuart and Marcus and their partners. Next, she danced with Alfred and others from the village. She lost track of the number of dances. Tired and thirsty, she went over to the table to get some mead. Arik handed her a cup.
“You seem to be having a good time.”
“It’s a wonderful festival.”
When the music started up again, Arik held out his hand in a silent request. She looked at him and held out her own. Again, he started making slow circles on her wrist. It must be the mead, the heat, the excitement, she thought as her heart began to pound. This dance was not a country dance, she realized. It was the Volta, the precursor to the waltz. It scandalized the first Queen Elizabeth.
Rebeka lost herself in the music. The dance’s intricate steps and lifts required very close contact. When the music ended to loud applause and cheers, Arik led her off the dance floor. They stood by themselves and he bent over her, lifted her hand and kissed it without taking his eyes from hers. Rebeka stopped breathing.
“Lord Arik,” Katherine interrupted. “Sir Stuart is waiting for you.”
Arik dropped Rebeka’s hand, but his eyes clung to hers. He bowed slightly and left to meet Stuart.
Katherine glared at her.
Rebeka didn’t care. She stood motionless staring at Arik’s retreating back. The muscles rippled as he wove his way through the crowd. He hesitated and glanced back at her, then with a gentle nod and a ravenous smile, he continued on to meet Sir Stuart.
Rebeka picked up a goblet of mead and drank thirstily, trying to quench the fire.
It was almost time for the bonfire. The last event of the day, Stuart and Arik led the way, each with a torch. Rebeka watched and cheered from the terrace when both men threw their torches onto the pile. It quickly burst into flames.
Only the adults remained, the children bundled off to bed sometime earlier. More barrels of mead and wine came out and the revelers danced around the fire. Slowly couples embraced, laughed and wandered off. The crowd greatly thinned out, Rebeka helped Jeannie clear away the remnants of the feast then returned to the bonfire. She sat gazing into the blue flames.
“Woman.” The sultry tone came from behind her.
The reflection of the fire blazed in his eyes. For a few brief moments, with their eyes locked on each other, nothing else existed. All she could hear was her heart beating. All she could see was him. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. Slowly he turned it over, his eyes never leaving hers, and kissed her palm.
Shivers raced up her spine. Her lids fluttered close. Molten heat radiated through her. She opened her eyes and saw the passion in his.
Out of nowhere, Katherine appeared. “Arik. Come to me. Our guests are getting ready to bid us good eve.”
The passion leached out of his eyes. “M’lord, duty calls,” she whispered. She was determined not to let Katherine know how she ached.
He handed her a goblet of wine, took one for himself. “To duty, m’lady,” he said, only a trace of irony in his words.
Arik’s calm body belied the anger in his eyes as he turned to Katherine, but it faded as the shadow of his friend came up behind her “Yes, Arik,” said Stuart. “Come bid us good eve so I can take my lady wife to bed.”
Arik smiled and put the goblet down. “I wouldn’t want to come between you and your wife, Stuart. I’ll be along in a moment.” He grabbed Katherine’s arm and followed his friends into the hall.
Rebeka wondered whether it was midnight, and the appropriate bewitching hour for any good spell to be broken. If she was lucky, she’d be able to hold the magic of the day just a bit longer. She walked around the terrace, through the gate, to the drive and the cottage beyond.
“Katherine,” said Arik, as they walked into the Manor. “I will say this once and only once. These are not our guests they’re my guests. You’re here because you’re family and I’m obligated to see to your well-being. Do I make myself clear? What I do and with whom I do it with is none of your concern. Do you understand? Because if you do not I’ll be happy to return you to your family.” He’d had enough of Katherine’s intrusion. He would not tolerate any more of her interference or her toxic attitudes about Rebeka or anyone else.
“Lord Arik, I’ve only tried to help you and the children in your time of need. I only seek to protect you and yours from wicked outside influences.”
He could feel fear lace through her. He’d never been this angry at her. He’d certainly never threatened to send her back before. “Leave me, Katherine,” he commanded.
She turned silently and retreated to her room, a sulky look on her face.
Arik spent the next hour drinking mead and sorting things out. Was Logan right about Katherine all along? She did try to control him. What was her plan? He stood on the terrace, watching his men tend the bonfire while it burned itself out. In the veil of smoke, he saw Rebeka’s penetrating violet eyes. The bonfire was no match for the fire of desire that claimed every part of him. He finished the mead and headed to the cottage.
What was the woman’s purpose? Was she like Katherine? He saw her standing in front of the cottage door staring up at the clear sky with her arms wrapped around her.
“Do you always come out at this time to gaze at the sky?”
She turned and smiled as he joined her on the small porch. “Yes, it is beautiful but no I don’t come out here often.” A gentle sigh escaped her lips. “I simply didn’t want the evening to end.” She placed her hand on his chest. “Arik, it was a wonderful festival. Thank you.”
He covered her hand with his and started his campaign. He took her eyes first. Once secured, he moved his initiative forward. He put his hand behind her head and drew her close to him.
Her tongue flashed out and she moistened her lips.
The movement tantalized him. He ran his thumb over her full lower lip.
The intimate touch burne
d him like a brand.
The air sizzled with power. At ease in this element, he focused on her eyes and the silver flecks that sparkled in the moonlight. He memorized her face, devouring the image of her. Mine, was all he heard beating like a drum from some deep dark place. Mine, with every beat of his heart.
Her hair fell softly around her shoulders and a gentle wave escaped over her right eye. With his forefinger, he gently pushed the dark brown veil away and hooked it behind her ear. His hand lingered on her hair. It was soft, like fine silk. He crushed it in his hand as he brought her head to his chest in a gentle caress. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet torture as her body melted into his. Mine.
Reluctantly he released her and she moved away, the soft gown hugging her body accentuating every curve. His eyes gravitated to the large tawny sapphire nestled in the cleft of her breasts.
“There have been several times during this evening that I’ve envied the gem.” His voice sounded husky even to him. His arms circled her.
She looked down at the gem then up at him with a devastating smile. “I’ll have to ask Jeannie if I can borrow it again.” A soft blush painted her face a soft pink.
He pulled her close. His heart pounded an erratic rhythm. The anticipation was almost unbearable. “Sweet Rebeka, make me immortal with your kiss.” He covered her mouth with his, tasting the mead still on her breath. He pulled away and gazed into her eyes. The very air around them sizzled with power.
She stared at him unable to speak.
“‘Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies! Come, give me my soul again.’”
“You surprise me, quoting Christopher Marlowe,” she whispered so softly he could barely hear. “I wouldn’t think you a romantic.”
“It seems there is much about me you don’t know.” He raised one eyebrow with a flourish that made her giggle. He took a seat in the lone chair and gently pulled her into his lap. Tenderly, he drew her closer and seared her with another kiss, this one long and deep. Her lips parted for him and let the tip of his tongue advance, a small victory. He deepened the kiss and her arms around him tightened.
He lifted his head and nibbled on her earlobe. A soft moan escaped her lips. With a shudder, she held on to him, stretching to place kisses up his neck.
It was a delicious sensation. When she reached his lips he knew he was lost. He took her face in both his hands and looked at her passion-drenched eyes and swollen bruised lips. His decision made, he gently pulled her head to his chest and willed the storm to subside. He stroked her hair as the charged air settled, and a warm breeze caressed them both. After several minutes, her deep breathing told him she had fallen asleep. He sat for a few minutes and enjoyed holding her. He would tell the king he would not give her back.
“Beka. It’s time to wake.” The short form of her name slipped out, like an endearment.
“Hmm.” She snuggled deeper into his arms.
He brushed the hair out of her eyes and stood up with her in his arms. He pushed the cottage door open, laid her on the bed and covered her with the blanket.
“Pleasant dreams,” he whispered in her ear. He closed the door behind him. Whistling, he crossed the road to the Manor.
Chapter Twenty
In her darkened room, Katherine stood at the window. Her hand crushed the brocade drapery when she spotted Arik at the cottage with Rebeka. Tied to her perch like a bird of prey, she stared at the love birds in the midst of their opening salvo. She closed her eyes for a moment, the liquid heat gathering. They opened in time to see him carry Rebeka inside the cottage. Shock, as if she’d been doused by cold water, laced through her followed by a deadly anger. If the tapestries at the window were shutters, the crash slamming them shut would have been heard throughout the valley.
Katherine had kept them in her line of sight all day. How much longer must I endure this? No, I’ll be patient. She’ll not get in the way. She paced in front of the closed curtain. I am too close to the prize to lose it now. Back and forth, back and forth. I’ve got to put an end to her interference! The pacing did nothing to soothe her. Only getting rid of Rebeka would appease her now.
The light sound of Arik’s footsteps on the stairs distracted her. She opened her door to peer out into the hall, glad the candle in her room wasn’t lit.
Arik walked down the hall to his room whistling. She slipped into a black silk nightdress, a dramatic contrast to her golden hair which she let down and brushed until it was silky. It was her best feature, she knew—she watched men flex their hands itching to touch it.
A final look in the mirror, a pinch of her cheeks, and she was ready. She stole silently out of her room, and glided into the hallway. How many times had she lain in bed and thought about this night, planning each maneuver. She would resist a bit to make him hunger for her and then let him bed her. She must bind him to her. It wouldn’t take much. Reaching his room, she opened the door and entered. The fire burned. His festival clothes were on the chair, but the room stood empty. Exasperated, she raced downstairs but all was dark and abandoned. She stood by the library window, her eyes gravitating to the cottage. The light dimmed and went out.
When did he go back to her? She stood tormenting herself. Determination and jealousy warred in her breast.
High in his tower room, Arik lay on the bed trying to make sense of his suspicions and desires. He had never been drawn to anyone with such a hunger. Try as he may he couldn’t stop the feelings, nor did he want to. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Guilt permeated his thoughts.
He swore to the king he would protect Letty after his brother-in-law died. It was his only mission. Hadn’t he sacrificed all else? Hadn’t he delayed claiming his betrothed? An ache squeezed his heart as he allowed the deep hidden feeling to the surface. He had failed.
From the time he was a young boy he had been betrothed to the Grand Druid’s daughter. The match was long overdue but he had done nothing to find her. He raked his hand through his hair. How could he claim her? It was his duty but who was he fooling? He couldn’t protect a wife any better than he had protected Letty. He had tried to do the honorable thing and dissolve the betrothal but the Grand Druid held him to his word. When that didn’t work Arik had renounced all his druid powers, had them taken away.
And now…Rebeka. How much longer would he be able to protect her?
He had lost everything. His sister, his future and, if he followed his heart, possibly his king. Jamie sent Rebeka here. Would he let her stay? Arik’s thoughts battled on throughout the night. By morning he had resolved what he must do. He would have Rebeka. Fight for her if necessary—any man, his king, even the Grand Druid himself. Anyone. He would not give Rebeka up, ever.
“Lady Katherine! Lady Katherine, come quickly!” Jeannie knocked on Katherine’s door.
“Go away! It’s too early for anyone to be awake,” Katherine commanded.
“Mary is getting ready to birth her baby. I think you want to be there.”
What would she say to these peasants? Even the elders were well beneath her.
Jeannie should be going. A peasant’s birth. Arik and his demands. She wouldn’t have to put up with this much longer.
“Call whoever is on guard for an escort into the village. I’m not going to traipse through the village unescorted at this hour.” She pushed Jeannie to move.
“I already called him, m’lady. Nickolas is waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.”
She grabbed her shawl out of Jeannie’s hand and left to meet the guard.
The village stood dark and empty at the early hour. Katherine and Nickolas turned toward the miller’s house, the moonlight lighting their way. In the distance, the house looked like a welcome beacon in a sea of darkness with lights blazing and people coming and going. The house overflowed with people.
The conversation stopped when Katherine arrived, and resumed again in hushed tones.
Mary was surrounded by the other women from the village. “I’m sorry to disturb you
, m’lady,” Mary said when the pain subsided and she was able to speak.
“Will it be long?”
“I don’t suspect it will be, m’lady. The other two came quick enough.” Mary smiled before the next pain grabbed her.
“M’lady, we have everything in hand here. You’d be more comfortable in the other room.”
“How very thoughtful of you…” Katherine struggled for the woman’s name. “Molly?”
“Yes, m’lady, I’m Molly, the blacksmith’s wife.”
“M’lady,” said Nickolas. “I must go and check the watch. I’ll send one of the men to escort you back when you are ready.”
She waved him away. She wanted to leave now. Waiting with these people, well it was painful. Alfred gave her a comfortable chair near the hearth and the other women. The men gathered at the table.
Perhaps she could work this to her advantage.
She spoke. “What a wonderful festival this year.” It was enough to start the gossip—who drank too much, who won which game or contest. The women speculated and laughed.
“Logan looked handsome.”
“Yes, Lady Beatrice kept trying to keep everyone away from him and her daughter.”
“The poor lad,” said one of the women. “Everywhere he turned Lady Beatrice was there with Holly.”
“No wonder Beatrice was pushing. Logan is constantly with Rebeka these days,” Katherine offered, casually, as if she was one of the women. “Logan and the girls go to her cottage every evening after the evening meal. The girls come back at a reasonable time but Logan stays until all hours.” She smiled to herself at her cleverness, letting the implication sink in.
“M’lady! Quickly the baby is almost here!” Lora called out from the other room.
The room erupted into action. Satisfied, Katherine strutted out of the room, glad to go into the birthing room. It would give the women time to work the gossip. It had turned out to be a very profitable morning. Now all I need is to wait for the news to reach Arik. Soon she would be rid of Rebeka. She would be there to console him. Yes, a very profitable morning indeed.
Knight of Runes Page 19