Knight of Runes Read online

  Knight of Runes

  By Ruth A. Casie

  England, 1605

  When Lord Arik, a druid knight, finds Rebeka Tyler wandering his lands without protection, he swears to keep her safe. But Rebeka can take care of herself. When Arik sees her clash with a group of attackers using a strange fighting style, he’s intrigued.

  Rebeka is no ordinary seventeenth-century woman—she’s travelled back from the year 2011, and she desperately wants to return to her own time. She poses as a scholar sent by the king to find out what’s killing Arik’s land. But as she works to decode the ancient runes that are the key to solving this mystery and sending her home, she finds herself drawn to the charismatic and powerful Arik.

  As Arik and Rebeka fall in love, someone in Arik’s household schemes to keep them apart, and a dark druid with a grudge prepares his revenge. Soon Rebeka will have to decide whether to return to the future or trust Arik with the secret of her time travel and her heart.

  92,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.

  We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella Fatal Destiny by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel, Mercy, can look forward to her follow-up story, Redemption, set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.

  Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shots trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with Double Shot.

  In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.

  Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors, Liar’s Guide to True Love by Wendy Chen and Unscripted by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.

  Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

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  Dedication

  For Paul, Staci, Cori, Ari, Troy, Chris, Olivia and Alex. You are my hearth and home.

  My heartfelt thanks to Denise Spell and Jennifer Sampson for their encouragement and their spot-on critiques.

  My first readers, Alan Breus (brother extraordinaire), his wife Eloise, Margie Miller and Debbie Marsh who didn’t laugh and who took me seriously.

  Lisa Verge Higgins, Caridad Piñeiro, and Eliza Knight—for their support and close friendship even in those dark moments when publication seemed so out of reach.

  Especially for Denise Nielsen, my editor at Carina Press, for her instruction, guidance and for loving my story as much as I do.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  About the Author

  Prologue

  England

  May, 1605

  I should not have stayed away from the Manor so long. Something stirs. Lord Arik’s eyes swept the surrounding area as he and his three riders escorted the wagon with the old tinker and the woman. They sped through the forest as fast as the rain-slicked trail would allow. Unable to shake the ominous feeling of being watched, Arik remained alert. At length, the horses winded, he slowed the pace as they neared the Stone River.

  “The forest is flooded. I suspect the Stone will be as well. Willem, ride on ahead and let me know what we face at the crossing.”

  Willem did his lord’s bidding and quickly returned with his report. “The river ahead runs fast, m’lord. The bridge is in disrepair and cannot be crossed.”

  Arik raised his hand and brought the group to a halt. “Doward,” he said to the old tinker. “We must make repairs. There’s no room for the wagon at the river’s edge. You and the woman stay here and set up camp. Be ready to join us at the bridge when I send word.”

  Logan, Arik’s brother, spoke up. “I’ll keep watch here and help Doward and Rebeka.”

  Arik nodded and, with the others, continued the half mile to the bridge.

  “I am not pleased with this new delay.”

  “It can’t be helped, m’lord. We would make better time without the wagon,” said Simon.

  “I’ll not leave Doward and the woman unescorted through the forest, not with what we’ve heard lately. We’ll have to drive hard to make up the lost time.”

  The frame of the bridge stood solid, the planks scattered everywhere, clogging the banks and shallows. Arik leaped from his horse onto the frame to begin the repairs.

  “Hand me that planking.” Arik pointed to the nearest board.

  Simon grabbed the plank and examined it. “Sir, these boards have been deliberately removed.”

  Arik took the board and lifted it before him. An arrow whooshed out of the trees, and slammed into the plank’s edge. Willem pulled his axe from his belt as Arik and Simon drew their swords. In a fluid, practiced movement, Willem spun and found his mark. He sent his axe flying. The archer fell into the river and was swept downstream, Willem’s axe still lodged in his forehead. A dozen or more attackers broke through the stand of trees.

  Arik tossed the board into the river and readied his sword. The enemy was poorly dressed carrying clubs and knives. There was only one sword among them. The leader. Arik’s target.

  “They plan to pin us here at the river’s edge. Come, we’ll take the offensive before th
ey form up.” They moved forward, driving a wedge through the enemy’s ragged line, forcing what little formation they had to scatter and fight, each man for himself.

  A man, club in hand, rushed at Arik. Before the attacker could bring his weapon into play, Arik pivoted around him. He raised his sword high, and slammed the hilt’s steel pommel squarely on the man’s head. Arik moved on before the man’s lifeless body dropped to the ground.

  Willem and Simon, on either side of Arik, advanced through the melee. Their swift continuous swordplay moved smoothly from one stroke to the next, whipping through the air. They slashed on the downswing and again on the backswing, sweeping their weapons back into position to repeat the killing sequence. The knight and his soldiers steadily advanced, punishing any man who dared to come near them.

  “For Honor!” Logan’s war cry carried from the small camp to Arik’s ears.

  Arik stiffened. Both camps were now under attack. He pulled his blade from an attacker’s chest. The body crumpled to the blood-soaked ground. Arik breathed deeply, the coppery taste of blood in the air. “For Honor!” he bellowed in answer. His men echoed his call, arms thrown wide, muscles quivering, the berserker’s rage overtaking them.

  The remaining attackers paled and fled headlong into the forest.

  Motioning to his men to follow, Arik raced toward the camp. He could hear the shouts, and cursed himself for not seeing the danger. He crested the hill and came to an abrupt halt.

  Logan’s sword ripped through the air as he protected Doward. The tinker drew his short blade and did as much damage as he could. But it was the woman Arik noticed. Her skirt hiked up, she twirled her walking stick like a weapon with an expertise that left him slack-jawed. She dispatched the attackers, one by one, in a deadly well-practiced dance. A man rushed toward her, knife in hand. The sneer on his face didn’t match the fear in his eyes. She stepped out of his line of attack, extended her stick to her side, and holding it with both hands swept the weapon forward, striking the attacker across the bridge of his nose. Blood exploded from his face in an arc of fine spray as his head snapped back. Droplets dusted her face creating an illusion of bright red freckles. As he fell, she reversed her swing and caught him hard behind his knees. He went down on his back, spread-eagled. She swung her stick over her head and landed a precise and disabling blow to his forehead that knocked him unconscious.

  As she spun to face the next threat her eyes captured Arik’s and held. In the space of an instant, time slowed to a crawl. Her hair slowly loosened from its pins and swirled out around her. His breath caught and his heartbeat quickened as a rapturous surge raced through his body. Something eternal and familiar, with a sense of longing, unsettled him. In the next heartbeat, she tore her eyes away, leaving him empty. Time resumed its normal pace. Another attacker lay at her feet.

  Arik joined the fight.

  England

  2008

  “Lady Emily, time for your tea.” Ninety-year-old Lady Emily Parsons sat in the old solar at Fayne Manor, now a grand and comfortable drawing room, resting in the wingback chair that faced the large window. She removed her glasses and looked up. Lord Arik’s Journal Chronicled by Doward lay open in her lap.

  Helen, Lady Emily’s housekeeper and companion, brought in the steaming Earl Grey tea with warm scones and clotted cream. The tangy citrus aroma of the tea and sweet fresh baked fragrance of the cakes filled the room. She set the tea service on the table.

  “Tea already?” Emily closed the journal and put the book on the table. Her hand lingered. She stroked the old leather binding, her finger tracing the strange embossed letters on the cover. “He must have been a driven man.” She straightened up and accepted the offered cup, enjoying the mild orange aroma.

  “Who, m’lady?”

  “Lord Arik. From everything I’ve read, someone was out to ruin him.” Emily stirred her tea with a shaky hand and let out a heavy sigh. “If only we knew where to find his sister Leticia’s journal I’m certain we would have the complete story.”

  “You’ve been working too hard these last few months. First, organizing your family papers and now finding this,” said Helen, gesturing to the book by Emily’s side. “Perhaps Mr. George can take your mind off things. He arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “Are those Helen’s scones I smell?” George Hughes entered the room, his bold strides making fast work of the distance from the door to Emily’s chair.

  Emily watched as he took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet buttery aroma.

  “Ah, there they are. Emily, you’re not keeping those scones all for yourself. What need I do to get one?” He took her hand, kissed it, winking at Helen as she left the room.

  “You, young man, can have one just for the asking,” Emily said as she poured his tea.

  He sat across from Emily, politely spooning cream onto the small cake. She smiled, remembering a younger George sitting in the same chair scooping all the cream out of the saucer and onto his scone leaving the dish empty, his resulting mustache the only sign there had been any cream at all. She looked now at a fine young man in his late thirties, tall with a muscular build and dark loosely waved rich brown hair with a slight touch of grey at the temples.

  There was mischief in his blue eyes as he wiped the last of the crumbs from his mouth using the large damask napkin. “I’ve brought you a birthday present.”

  “A birthday present? Is it my birthday already?” Emily teased him innocently.

  He put the napkin down, went to her and took her hand. “Come. Let me give you your present before dinner.” He helped her up from the chair, tucked her arm in the crook of his and led her downstairs.

  “What’ve you been up to?”

  “You’ll see.” He opened the door to the library. An easel holding a large wrapped frame stood next to the fireplace flanked by Helen and Charles, the butler. Charles stood at attention holding a tray of glasses filled with her favorite champagne.

  “What is this? I stopped counting birthdays years ago.” She was girlishly excited that her closest confidants had not let the day go by unnoticed.

  “I think you’ll be pleased. I took the old painting you found in the attic and had it cleaned and repaired. The restoration proved challenging for the art historian. He couldn’t identify the picture’s subject, it was mucked up so badly.”

  He gently sat her in a chair. With a brisk step, he walked to the easel. Standing in front of the painting, he removed the wrapping and stepped to the side for Emily to see the full picture all at once.

  She gasped and brought her trembling hand to her throat. “George, the picture is exactly like the description in the journal.”

  “Yes. Here we thought all the family portraits were hanging upstairs in the Grand Gallery. I’ve no idea why there were any tossed in the attic. The historian dated this portrait to the late 1500s or early 1600s, making the time correct. Your research appears to substantiate that this portrait is Lord Arik with his brother and two nieces.”

  Emily sat without moving for some time mesmerized by the picture. No, by Lord Arik. “For months I’ve been studying him, trying to imagine what he looked like. George, this is a wonderful gift. Thank you so much.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” George took two glasses of champagne and handed one to Emily. He turned to Helen and Charles. “Please join us.” He faced the painting, lifted his glass in salute. “Lord Arik has returned!” George gave a respectful nod and lifted his glass higher. “M’lord.”

  Emily sat in silence her eyes drinking in the painting.

  “If there is nothing else, Lady Emily, Helen and I will see to dinner.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Finishing her champagne, she turned to George. “Did you bring the papers? I’d like to sign them before dinner.”

  “Yes, I have them here.”

  “You have everything documented. There will be no doubt. You will find her, George.” Lady Emily sat forward, concern fixed on her face. “Promise me, you will find her.”

>   George took her hand and patted it gently. “Everything is as we discussed. There will be no doubt. Locating her won’t be easy and may take some time. We’ve so little to go on. But yes, I promise I’ll find her and personally see to your wishes.” He placed her hand on the arm of the chair and took the papers out of his briefcase that stood nearby.

  She noticed how easily he slipped into his business persona. He would do his father proud. She relaxed and for the next hour reviewed her will with her solicitor. They completed their business just as Charles knocked on the library door.

  “Lady Emily, dinner is served.”

  “Very good, Charles. Come, George. I can’t wait to see what Helen has planned for my birthday.” She turned to her butler. “Charles, in the morning please have Lord Arik’s portrait hung in the Grand Gallery.”

  She looked at the picture. Was his lordship looking directly at her, his blue-green eyes twinkling? She smiled, gave a gracious nod and addressed the picture in a quiet tone. “Good eve, m’lord. ’Tis good to have you home.”

  Chapter One

  April, 2011

  Rebeka Tyler, her walking staff firmly in hand, stood at the edge of the meadow and surveyed the landscape. A warm breeze tousled her long hair. She caught the familiar sweet fragrance of wildflowers in the air and closed her eyes for a moment while she savored the heady aroma.

  The grass, several shades of green, dipped and waved in the breeze as if it danced only for her. The splash of wild flowers—a riot of colors—dotted the landscape and gathered around a stone signpost at the crossroads. The carving, washed away by time, showed only small fragments of words and what was left of those were obscured by an abundance of climbing vines. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here, years probably.

  A frisson of recognition shot through her as a lone faceless figure emerged from under the oak’s branches. The air around him was unsettled and set the branches swaying. The fallen leaves in front of him scattered, opening a path as he walked with a strong determined stride, his greatcoat billowing around him. The sunlight caught and glistened off the heavy braided silver torque around his neck. She felt her smile fade, the practiced poker face to hide her anxiety replacing it. She knew the routine. He’d stop at the signpost and stare at her, waiting for something. She still didn’t know what.