Secret Of The Manor by Taylin Clavelli Page B

slumber. Alex’s chiselled features were contorted with grief and frustration. His eyes darted here and there, never focusing on anything, and his mouth moved as though he was speaking, yet nothing came out. From that moment, Warren knew Alex meant every word he said. He knew the man’s actions were a desperate attempt to convey the truth of the matter and to make Warren believe.
    Was Warren prepared to believe? Did he believe? What was the alternative?
    From the questions that assaulted him, and the agony of the man before him, the persuasiveness of the facts was getting harder to deny. After all, everyone was at the cottage because Warren believed the joust happened and he wanted answers. He believed enough to ask questions. If the joust was real, why couldn’t Alex’s transformation be real, too? He could no longer deny the building evidence. Carl’s stories. The lack of birds in the Saxon burial ground. The pull of the church. His dreams. The joust. And, most of all, the man before him. Warren had seen many a fraud in the boardroom over the years, and although he wasn’t infallible, he knew the signs to look for in the face of a pretender.
    If Warren believed,
what
did he believe? He believed there were forces that he could not explain, and those forces had done something to the family of the men sitting with him. He needed to know more. He needed to know why he was caught up in the middle of it. He needed to show the man before him some faith and compassion.
    Warren leaned forward in his seat and tilted his head to get Alexander’s attention. “I saw your despair in my dreams. It was you in my dreams, wasn’t it?”
    Alexander held onto the hem of his brother’s jumper. “Yes. At first I saw you in my night’s eye and didn’t know who you were. Then, after the standoff in the valley, when your horse stood his ground, you got my attention. In the years I’ve been a swan, no equine has ever done that. When I saw your face, I knew you were involved somehow. I backed off and haven’t given you trouble since. Instead, I kept track of you while you were out riding. Even at night, when I can’t see you, I can sense you. But you fight everything you see with logic. There is nothing about this that your brand of reason will account for.”
    Alexander’s testimony was further evidence. Unless the manor had cameras in the area, or James was camped in a hideout, no one else had witnessed the standoff between Argo and Salem.
    “Why me? What’s my connection to you? All I know is that I ended up in the middle of an ancient scene with no reason as to why. I’m no knight in shining armour or champion of the joust.”
    “The young man seems to believe differently,” James countered.
    Warren cussed. “If I hadn’t gone out for that bloody ride, I wouldn’t be here now.”
    It was Alex’s turn to catch Warren’s eye. “Maybe not now, or in this way. I am sure something would have happened at some time in the future. Even if it wasn’t the joust.”
    “Why?”
    “Because of the dreams.”
    Alexander seemed to be getting calmer. Other than brief outbursts, Carl and James remained as levelheaded as when the discussion began. Warren’s emotions were veering in the opposite direction. He was steadily becoming more worked up as reality set in. Everything inside him trembled; even his teeth chattered at the stark reality that everything he’d experienced was no hallucination. The look on Alexander’s face told Warren he hadn’t been hit on the head. His bruises
were
the result of falling from his horse, in armour, and his dream in the graveyard was a view into the past, not his imagination.
    Without conscious thought, Warren massaged his shoulder. “Would anyone like a drink? I know I would.”
    Mumbles of affirmation reached Warren’s ears, and he moved to the kitchen in a bewildered state. His weak, unsteady legs barely carried him there, and he clung to the counter like it was a lifeline. He forgot to ask