Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (3 page)

“You’re the last of our line. You have to find someone sometime. It’s your duty. You say you’re leaving tonight?”

“I’m already packed and have all the permits. We start digging in three days.” She paused. Swallowed hard. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out as he stared at the blank TV across the room. “I’m not sure, Digger.”

She gulped and sudden tears flooded her eyes as she realized that with the advice he’d been giving, he’d been saying goodbye. “But—”

“I’m ready to go.” His brown-eyed gaze met hers. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

“But what about the crown? It’s the find of a lifetime. If you’re not here when I get back...” More tears filled her eyes and she sniffed. “Maybe I should wait.”

He laughed softly. “As if I’d let you.” After a long moment in which neither of them spoke, he sighed. “You’re so much trouble. Too smart for your own good. I never should have taken you in. After your parents died, I should have placed you with some nice family and given you young parents. If I had, you’d be married with two kids, not traipsing around the world, and worrying about me. I ruined you. You should have been playing with dolls, not digging up bodies.”

She laughed through her tears at the old, familiar rant. “So in lieu of these great parents I missed out on, will you be here?”

He blew out a breath. “I’ll be here. I’ve got to see the crown, don’t I?”

She leaned forward and kissed his soft forehead. “You really do, Grandpa. You don’t want to miss this.” She clearly saw his fragility and weakness. She thought about the time involved, the bureaucracy, and the fact that all he could ever really see would be photos. Scotland wouldn’t hand over its treasures, and he couldn’t fly there. “Do you know what? Hang the permits. I’m going to go and dig up the crown and bring it back here with no one the wiser. I can always rebury it, and find the blasted thing again, right? You are going to see it before you go, and hold it in your hands. That’s a promise.”

His brows drew together. “Now, Sammi. I taught you better than that.” His tone chided, but the sparkle in his eyes gave her hope. He’d caught the scent, same as her, and it would give him something to live for, a reason to wait.

“I promise I’ll document.” She quickly stood. “Now, I’m off to give a speech, then off to Scotland. Don’t go until I get back. Promise me.”

He nodded once, then settled back with a sigh. “I promise.” He gave her a slight smile. “In the meantime, say hello to Ian MacGregor for me, will you?”

~~~

Scotland, 1260:

Ian MacGregor told his men they were there to steal cattle. Of course, the true reason they waited outside on a late summer’s eve was to give his men a chance to kill him. Not that he’d make it easy. There would likely be more than one corpse on the ground come morning. Though not his. One fact was certain—this ended tonight.

He was weary of it. Weary of feeding food to the dogs to check for poison before eating. Irritated by the whisperings of his own blasted men. Annoyed by the warding branches, the charms, the devil’s fern planted at his front door.

He’d not have his own people safeguarding themselves against him, nor would he overlook the tickle on the back of his neck when his men stood behind. He’d have their respect
and
their loyalty, or heads would roll.

Fortunately, the Campbells delivered the perfect opportunity to test his men, and to release tension. They were the main suspects in last week’s raid—mainly because Mad Malcolm was the only one barmy enough to try him. The scabby clag-tails waited until Ian and half his men had gone to see Laird Grenock about trading supplies for winter. Then they’d attacked. To teach the miscreants a lesson, they’d retrieve their cattle, and then some.

Anyhow, he needed to keep his men keen, sharp, and battle ready. The training he’d given in the months he’d been laird honed their skills and they were anxious to challenge themselves; and hoping for payback in the bargain. All the same, this wasn’t to be a slaughter, but a raid, else they’d be fighting amongst their neighbors for years to come.

So there they sat, hidden and silent, on well-trained horses at the tree line, blending with the landscape as they overlooked the village and cattle. The half-moon shed enough light to reveal the fields and homes below, but not so much as to expose them before they descended.

His cousin, seated to his right, studied trees and bushes for sign of Campbells, excitement lighting his features. It could be any or even all of his men intent on murder, but his suspicions landed squarely upon Brecken, set to inherit until King Alexander proclaimed Ian his father’s blood and successor. The young man had never complained, but the loss would be a blow to any man, surely.

In the king’s court, at least, Ian had known his enemies and could see them coming. But upon his father’s death, the king insisted upon his return to this accursed place. No doubt the Comyns and Durwards had a hand in it. They’d resented anyone having influence over the king but themselves and convinced his highness that someone with Ian’s loyalty could better serve him by taking over this strategic location.

When Ian arrived, he’d wished to turn the land back to his cousin. What cared he for his supposed clan? He’d barely be welcome if the fever hadn’t taken his father, father’s wife, and two legitimate sons earlier in the year. If the king’s boot hadn’t been firmly planted to his neck, he might well have relinquished all.

But, like or not, the king did insist. And these people were his blood. He’d come to realize—whether the clan knew it or not—they needed him. Besides, he’d no place else to go. He couldn’t return to the king, and despite his mixed blood, he’d never tolerated England. This place was his by right of blood, no matter that some might say otherwise. Or mayhap it was simply pure stubbornness keeping him in place. They didn’t want him? Too bad.

Brecken’s mount fidgeted, no doubt sensing the excitement of the rider.

“Hold yourself, cousin.” Ian kept his tone low.

“A few minutes more ’til we attack?” Brecken whispered.

“Mm.” Ian merely grunted.

Brecken licked his lips. “Think you they have a priest in the village?” he whispered. “One we could merely borrow for a time?”

Ian turned a stony-eyed gaze on his cousin. “And have him burn your sweetheart in the village square? I think not. A priest wouldna last even a day ere he made it to Inverdeem, would he?”

Brecken’s shoulders slumped. “Just for a day or so. After, we could take him back. He wouldn’t have to stay long and we could treat him poorly if you like.”

Ian sighed. In the months since he’d driven out the last priest, the two newly married couples had handfasted for lack of clergy. Traveling alone was too dangerous an attempt, so the couples settled. Ian refused to feel guilty that Brecken’s choice of wife disinclined to have him until a priest could be found. ’Twas not his problem.

Put a power-hungry priest in place and see the murdering, raping, and thievery like to arise. Besides, if they all feared sin and everlasting fire so much, perhaps they should cease trying to kill him before their immortal souls were jeopardized by murder.

Of course, as they thought him the devil, perhaps they simply hoped to send him home. And mayhap they had the right of it. He’d single-mindedly honed his skills, and, when still considered a lad, he’d found and gutted the priest who’d killed his mother. With none the wiser. All without a qualm. Justice meted.

He lifted his shoulders, shrugging off the issue. He had other business to concern him. Like taking the most likely suspects raiding, and letting them accept their fates.

So far, none had worked the courage to attempt the deed, but he suspected Brecken was close. Let the boy act against him. Let them all attack at once and see what joy they received for their troubles.

“Somethin’ amuses you?”

Ian turned to the man astride the horse to his left. Dugald McClintock, his second, and no relation to any man there, was a tough, strong fighter, and had been at his side for years. Close in age, Ian bested the brute in several tourneys and they’d ended up traveling side-by-side for safety. The time spent together had turned into friendship, and Dugald was the only one present Ian trusted. Tall, broad of shoulder, body wiry and tough, he’d been with Ian through war, tourneys, the king’s court, and now here. So far, Dugald wasn’t overly impressed with Ian’s family. No surprise there. Neither was he.

“Contemplating a nice, juicy steak for dinner?” Dugald spoke softly.

Ian smiled. “Aye. If I’ve the stomach for it after this night.”

Dugald sent a look of understanding. After three attempts on Ian’s life, both men were eager to expose the culprit. Brecken? Hired spies sent from the Comyns or the Durwards? He hesitated to suspect his own clan, but he must. He’d no intention of becoming a pin pillow for any man’s dagger this night.

He glanced around, watched his men’s eyes slide away. It wasn’t necessarily bad that they feared him. He was bigger, stronger, and a more experienced fighter than any here, and he knew that earned him a sort of awed respect. When he found his betrayer, he’d gut the worm as an example. Ian was laird. He was The MacGregor. It was time his clan let go of their disappointment and acknowledge it with more than lip service.

The clouds finally veiled the moon, and Ian gave a soft whistle and started his horse forward. “Look sharp.” He led them toward the cattle and, unexpectedly, the Campbells attacked with bloodcurdling shrieks.

Ian smile was genuine as, dagger in hand, he jumped from his horse onto a Campbell, his weight crumpling the wretch as Ian crushed his wrist, divested him of his knife, and slammed the hilt into his temple. Without a sound, the man was out.

The noises of battle commenced all around him, the quiet night quickly turning into a mass brawl as wails, screams, and bellows rang out in the darkness.

He quickly dispatched another, his blade ripping through the screaming man’s arm before he kicked him hard in the chest and off his feet, leaving the bleeding male gagging and winded. Ian looked around for more.

“’Tis
him
.”

Ian faced two men, one of whom pushed his companion. “Go. He is but a man.”

“You go.”

One Campbell took a breath and surged forward as his companion waited. He timidly slashed the air with his dagger, such a pathetic effort that Ian took pity, grabbed his wrist, divulged him of his knife, and plowed a fist into his stomach, robbing him of breath and will. As the man slumped to the ground, Ian looked at the man’s companion and smiled.

Crossing himself, he turned and ran.

Ian rushed into a group of Campbells and fought them all, efficiently assaulting them one by one, not killing anyone, but disarming and injuring all who crossed him.

With a yell, one man took him on and Ian hit him thrice in the face, knocking him cold and swinging away before the man hit the ground.

Next, three men attacked as one and Ian slashed one with a sword, another with a dagger, and broke the third’s nose.

A Campbell came up behind him, slashing a blade, and Ian turned, tripped over a tree root and fell hard. As the man lifted his knife high, Ian readied to kick the weapon away, but Brecken came out of nowhere and shoved the man back, slashing, whooping, bellowing, and grinning the entire time.

Ian slowly stood and watched the younger man hack, pummel, and finally trip and kick the wretch.

Brecken had saved him rather than let him be killed?
Why?

Brecken grinned, unaware of Ian’s thoughts. “He almost had you there, cousin. Mayhap you make too big a target?”

Ian gripped his sword. “Mayhap.” Why hadn’t his cousin taken the chance to rid himself of the one blocking his way to leadership and land?

Brecken strutted away and, with a mighty war cry, ran for a group of fighters, yelling, laughing, and having a good time of it.

Ian stared after him. He’d eliminated one suspect, anyway. Now he only need eliminate one hundred or so more in his clan, and then he could rest easy at night.

No time to think of that now. With a yell, he raised his sword and took on two men rushing him, slashing with lethal efficiency, crashing his left fist into a jaw, and when a third man turned and ran—joining the other Campbells now scrambling away, running down the hill toward safety—Ian roared after them. He wiped his brow and turned to see his men staring, fear and awe in their expressions. “What? You questioned my abilities?”

Ian looked around and assessed the damage. A few of his men were down; one clutched a slashed arm while another tended to it. One held his head in his hands. A third attempted to rise, and fell back. “Gather the men and start the cattle moving. See if you can catch any horses.”

They rushed to do his bidding, capturing horses, helping the injured. They appeared happy, excited, and looked to him for direction. “What are you waiting for? Let’s take them home before the Campbells come back wi’ reinforcements.”

In high spirits, they did just that, handily and efficiently.

Ian mounted his horse and led the way. He sighed heavily. He hated it when his schemes didn’t conclude to his satisfaction. All this and he still had to figure out who was trying to kill him.

Chapter Two

New York, Present Day:

“...and since my esteemed colleague, Dr. Yakima, assured me that ending my speech with a joke was a good idea, here it is. What did Richard III say when a planning proposal was submitted for building a car park?”

“What?”
a few people in the audience shouted.

“Over my dead body.” She glanced up from her notes, smiled at the groans and chuckles in the audience, and was pleased that at least some in the crowd understood the reference. They might not be belly laughing, but she hoped the polite tittering was enough to please her boss. “Thank you for coming tonight. We here at Hudson River University appreciate your interest and your continued support.”

Applause broke out as Samantha stepped away from the podium and Dr. Yakima took her place to thank her and the others who’d spoken. She encouraged everyone to mingle and enjoy the drinks, desserts, and displays.