Free Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture by Ruth A. Casie Page B

She grabbed George’s sleeve. “It was Bran,” she whispered.
    George put his hand on top of hers. “Yes, it was. You’re safe now.”
    She studied his face. “It wasn’t a portal?” She’d been foolish to believe… “There are two of them.” She stared off into the distance.
    His face was in front of hers. “What do you mean two of them?”
    “I saw him.” She kept her eyes on the floor. She couldn’t look into George’s eyes. “The old Bran. The one we all loved. He told me to get out but I stayed. I couldn’t leave without trying to help him.” He raised her face to his. “I watched as he tried to fight off the Dark Magick. It changed his face. He fought but it took over.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “That was who attacked me. I couldn’t keep him from touching my mind.” She stood on shaky legs with George’s help. “It’s Caylyn. He asked me to help her but I couldn’t.” She stumbled trying to make her legs move.
    “Slow down, we don’t need to rush.” He brushed off her singed staff and gave it to her.
    She stared at her walking stick. “For a moment I believed it was a bad dream.”
    “No, it wasn’t a dream but it wasn’t a portal. I wouldn’t have been able to get to you if it were. Even Bran’s magick can’t create a portal. It was an enchantment. You were there but it was temporary.” He put his arm around her and helped her down the hall.
    She glanced back at the room. “He said he was taking my memories. I’ll lose them little by little until I won’t remember…Arik.” She started trembling. “I was so sure tonight I would be back with him.” She turned to George when they got to the top of the staircase. “Instead, now I’ll lose him forever.”

Chapter Six
    March 20, 1606
    “Steady, men,” boomed Logan’s captain, his voice trumpeted across the field of soldiers.
    Arik, at his tower window, watched the men below eager to observe Logan’s plan. He scowled at the west. Even at this distance the ground rumbled with the pounding hooves of the advancing horde. In step with Logan’s men, he imagined them hefting their swords, others readying their bows, everyone keeping their eyes on the black line of riders rushing toward them and waiting for the order to attack.
    “Come on,” Arik urged the advancing men. His neck muscles hardened with tension. Logan’s second in command raised his arm high, a purple cloth grasped in his hand. His eyes narrowed. Where was the signal? What was the delay? The riders were close.
    The purple cloth dropped like a stone.
    The left flank sprang into action, crumbling in disarray before his eyes. Arik stood in place trying to make sense out of what he witnessed. In unison, the attacking troop swerved toward the disassembled men and rode for the weakened spot. Horsemen swept up the embankment and clashed with the foot soldiers who tried to maintain a semblance of resistance before their line broke apart. The advancing men and horses thundered past them over the top of the ridge and down into the dry streambed.
    He had been driving Logan hard to make certain he was ready for the challenge of taking over for him when he left to bring Rebeka back. But the line shouldn’t have collapsed. For weeks his men played war games, neither side besting the other. The tried-and-true tactics were discouraging and Logan had pressed him to try this new maneuver. He couldn’t leave Fayne Manor defenseless. Had he pushed too hard? He tossed the notion away. His brother was battle tested.
    An arrow, a purple ribbon trailing, soared high in the air and caught his attention. He stretched his neck out the window and searched for the bowman.
    On the ground, Logan stood—his spent bow in his hand. The signal understood, in a rush the men on the left flank regrouped, closed the gap, then pressed toward the invaders. The concern that plowed deep furrows into Arik’s face smoothed.
    Arik’s fist pounded the ledge while