Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (41 page)
Read Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) Online
Authors: Diane Darcy
“Don’t believe everything you read,” Samantha said darkly.
Ian laughed. “Just because it said I died and a witch snatched me up and took me, body and soul, to live wi’ the devil, doesna mean the rest isna true.”
Samantha didn’t like that part. “Whatever.”
He laughed at her as they went into the old chapel, with its broken altar and crumbling walls. He headed toward the remains of the far wall and ran his hands over a spot low on the stone.
“What are you doing?” She really didn’t want him disappointed. “Come on, Ian. There’s nothing over there.”
His knelt and deftly fingered the stones. “When you found the altar and opened it up, do you remember?”
“Yes.”
“Weel, ye didna seem to know of this spot, so I hid my coins and other valuables here—and the crown as well, for a while.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You said the crown was under the altar!”
He grinned. “Did I now?”
She heard a snick and he pulled a stone out of the bottom of the wall—revealing a hole that went into the ground. She inhaled sharply as he pulled out a handful of coins. He plucked something from the pile and lifted his fingers to show her a small bit of metal.
“My butterfly clip.” Surprise parted her mouth. “You had my clip? Why?”
“A token. To remember our first kiss. At the time I thought our only.”
“So you kept my clip?”
“Ye hold my heart, lass. Ye always have.”
Her heart practically melted into a puddle at his feet as he gripped the butterfly in his hand and smiled sweetly up at her.
He held her heart too—and well he knew it.
She blinked back tears, knelt beside him, and looked at the pile of ancient coins. There were more behind him, low inside the wall. Quite the pile, in fact—along with some goblets, jewelry, and daggers—all worth a fortune.
She snorted. Laughed. Shook her head.
“Oh, Ian. You tricky, tricky, Scot.”
~The End~
Thank You!
I hope you enjoyed reading Bewitching the Knight. If you did, you might also like to read Gillian’s story in
To sign up for my mailing list, please visit
If you liked this story, please consider leaving a positive review. Thank you.
About the Author
Diane Darcy loves to read and write lighthearted and funny books. She’s a member of the Heart of the West, and RWA. She was a finalist for Romance Writers of America's Golden Heart® Award. She’s written romantic comedies in several different genres; some historical, some contemporary, all lighthearted and fun. She makes her home in Utah with her family, and is hard at work on her next book.
Books by Diane Darcy
Time Travel Romance
She Owns the Knight
Bewitching the Knight
Once in a Blue Moon
Fairy Tale Romance
She’s Just Right
The Princess Problem
Beauty and the Beach
The Texas Sisters
Steal His Heart
Christmas Novellas
The Christmas Star
Stand Alone Stories
Serendipity
A Penny for Your Thoughts
How to Rewrite a love letter
For previews of upcoming books by Diane Darcy, to sign up for the mailing list, or for more information about the author, visit
Acknowledgments
A great big thank you to Melody Chase, Heather Horrocks, Kristin Holt, and Sara Cardon.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and for giving me such wonderful ideas and feedback. You ladies are awesome!
Excerpt:
She Owns the Knight by Diane Darcy
Why does she have to travel seven hundred years through time to find a decent guy?
Broken-hearted Gillian Corbett finally finds the knight of her dreams...in the past. Unfortunately he’s bossy, overbearing, and...betrothed! Fortunately,he thinks she is his affianced, which keeps her from garderobe duty. Or worse, being hanged as a spy. She knows she has to get back to her own time before his real fiancé shows up and the truth is discovered. But until she finds a way, she’s going to squeeze every bit of enjoyment she can out of this situation. As far as she’s concerned, this is one relationship in which she gets to call the shots, not the other way around. The dowry provided by his betrothed bought him, lock, stock and barrel. She’ll gladly whip him into shape for the girl who ends up with him. No thanks required. In the meantime, Gillian owns him, and as every twenty-first century girl knows...ownership has its privileges.
Why can’t he find a lady who is obedient, submissive...or at least not trying to kill him?
After a horrible first marriage that ended badly, Sir Kellen Marshall is determined to protect what is left of his dreams. He needs an heir, an alliance, and a chaste bride who has never loved another. Would that he’d been choosier in his specifications because what he’s ended up with is a loud, bossy, demanding female who will drive him daft at every opportunity. So why does he feel he’d like to lay the world at her feet if she’d simply give him the chance?
When modern meets medieval, can there be a happily ever after?
Prologue
England, 1260
“Is aught amiss?” Brows drawn together, Lord Kellen Marshall reached a hand to steady his wife. “Is it the babe?”
Catherine set her goblet on the sideboard, but seemed unable to take her gaze from it. “You switched the cups?”
“Aye. To give you the less cloudy, more pleasing drink. I’ll not have you drinking the dregs.” He gave her a smile, hoping, aching to receive one in return.
Her face turned ashen.
Kellen quickly set his drink aside, lifted her slight weight, and carried her swiftly to the bed to set her among quilts and pillows. He ran to the heavy wood door, threw it open, bellowed for help, then hurried back to where Catherine lay sweating, clutching her swollen belly. In the distance, people scrambled and orders thundered as Kellen lowered himself to her bedside.
“’Tis Cowbane,” she whispered to him.
“What?” Mouth gaping, he shook his head. “No. That cannot be.” Who would do such a thing? Who would dare to poison his wife?
“You have ruined everything.” She turned away from him, pressing her face into the pillows, gagging and shuddering before rolling back to grip his surcoat, her face taut with fear. “Please. You must save me. Please.” She put a hand to her stomach. “The babe.”
Several knights appeared in the doorway, “Find the midwife! Bring the healer!” Kellen roared the words.
A wide-eyed servant rushed out of the chamber as others filled the entrance.
Kellen gripped his wife’s cold hand as her breathing quickened and resignation set her face. “You cannot save me,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “’Tis not possible.”
Her breathing became labored, her throat violently clenched, and her entire body tightened, head thrown back.
Kellen, every muscle in his body constricting with panic, shook her shoulders. “Catherine!”
She took a loud, gasping breath, then relaxed for a moment. Kellen wiped sweat from her brow with shaking fingers. “Catherine, you must be well.” His voice broke. “Perchance the babe comes early?”
“The drink was meant for you.” She breathed heavily, drawing breath an effort.
“What are you saying?”
“My daughter is not of your seed.” Again, she convulsed violently, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth, then relaxed once more, placing a hand to her belly. “Nor is the one in my womb.”
Kellen studied her face, the swelling of her body. He swallowed and gripped her hand. “You are out of your head.” His voice roughened, low, deep, and pleading. “A devil has overtaken your mind.”
“I despise you.”
He tried to convince himself she was not herself, yet saw in her clear eyes she spoke true. And he was well aware the poisoned drink had been meant for him as he’d switched them himself. Why would she dishonor herself this way? It was senseless. “Why?”
“You sicken me.” Her face twisted. “I hate your disgusting, overlarge body. Your vile face. My lover is wonderful, slim and beautiful as a knight should be. Handsome and without scars.” She smiled, her face relaxing. She laughed once, then stopped breathing.
His wife, eyes open and staring, lay dead in his arms. He shook her, rage and despair welling within him. “No!” He clutched her to him. “No!” She’d swallowed poison meant for him? She’d meant to kill him? Surely he’d misunderstood. She was no poisoner. She could not be.
Kellen’s eyes filled with hot tears and he gently shook his wife once more. “Live. Live, curse you. Live!”
She didn’t move.
His wife was dead. His son, as well. His son.
Kellen’s head pounded. He laid his wife gently on the bed, stood, and backed away. His head, suddenly heavy, bobbed up and down as dizziness overtook him.
Air finally filled his lungs and he threw his head back, and howled like a madman. He clenched his hands in his hair and, heart pounding, every muscle constricting to the point of pain, Kellen turned and grabbed the long bench from against the wall.
With a yell, he heaved it into the fireplace and watched as pieces of heavy wood, ashes, and smoke burst into the air.
Next, he gripped a chair and dashed it against the stone wall, once, twice, until the heavy wood shattered. He ripped a tapestry Catherine had fashioned from the wall. He smashed her writing table with his fists. Threw a basket of knitted baby clothes into the fire. Tore and pulled the linen hangings from the great bed and cast them to the floor.
Breathing hard, searching for something else to destroy, Kellen stood still in the middle of the chamber. He looked to the doorway, where only a few of his knights remained, and a few more beyond, out in the hall. The servants had run off.
Only the midwife, Catherine’s old nurse, the one come from Corbett Castle, had dared enter the bedchamber. She covered Catherine’s body with a fur coverlet, knelt on the stairs beside the bed, crossed herself, and wailed.
Kellen watched her wipe foam from Catherine’s mouth, and turned away.
His dream had died with Catherine. With the babe. His marriage, the chance to continue his line, to build a family, was the one thing that had kept him alive through all the petty wars, the politics, the tournaments, and his dangerous allegiance to King Henry.
Who provided her the poison? Who turned her against him? He knew she could not have done this on her own.
Her lover, no doubt.
Kellen’s teeth ground together, and a guttural sound escaped his mouth. The babe was not his? The girl child not of his seed? There lived a man who did not have long for this world.
“Mamma?”
Kellen turned to see his three-year-old daughter lingering in the passageway with her nurse, and pain twisted his guts. She should not be there, and he did not want to look on her. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Take the girl away from here.”
He would not be cheated this way. His eyes narrowed. He would marry again. He would petition the king and remind him of his loyalty and—
No. That could take years and numerous favors. At a score and ten, Kellen could not wait. Would not. He sucked air into his lungs. Corbett owed him an honorable daughter. He had seven. Six, now. He would demand another, the youngest, and most trainable, or Corbett would pay the price for his daughter’s treachery with a war. Any betrothment on the girl’s part would needs be broken. He would show no mercy. He’d have his heir within the year, or else.
He grabbed the nurse still kneeling beside Catherine, startling her, and hauled her to her feet. “Give me the name of her lover.”
Rigid with terror, the woman gaped. “My lord?”
“Catherine’s lover. His name?”
The woman trembled, shook her head, and her head-cover slid to reveal gray hair as fear widened her eyes. “Nay, my lord. She would never play you false.”
Kellen forced himself to release the woman before he gave into the desire to shake her. “She admitted such. Doubt not that I will find and kill him.”
Teeth clenching, he nodded toward Catherine. “Finish this. After, go home to Corbett. Tell him of his daughter’s infidelity, of her attempt to murder her lord. I want another daughter in reparation, or there will be war. You will leave directly after the burial.”
He would have a wife and heir. But he would never make the mistake of trusting another woman. With one last glance at Catherine’s white face, he turned and strode from the chamber.
If you’d like to read more, please go to
Excerpt:
My Spare Lady
A Romantic Comedy by Heather Horrocks
Still stinging a year after being dumped by her boyfriend for a fast-talking, black-clad, high-heeled New York writer, Beth Lawrence decides to leave her calm, predictable, obviously boring life behind and try life in the fast lane for awhile.
Popular race car driver Eric Davis is just the man to take her for a few laps around the track.
She just wants some laughs with no commitment, but can she keep from falling in love with a man with an unexpected gentle side? Or will her heart hit the wall at two hundred miles an hour?
CHAPTER ONE
BETH LAWRENCE TAPPED HER BRAKES, her heart revving as her new car slowed toward the speed limit. “Oh, please, please, please don’t turn on your lights.”
Her cousin, Angie O’Brien, twisted in her seat to look back, her long black hair blowing in the convertible’s breeze. “You already snagged a highway patrolman?”
“It’s not me he’s after. He’s after somebody else.” It could be true. She couldn’t be the only person in the state of California speeding today.
“Maybe he’s not, but the last one was. Why’d you choose fire-engine red, anyway? Everybody knows red cars get the most tickets.” Angie tapped a manicured fire-engine red nail, which she used to collect men rather than tickets, against the center console. “Like you need help in that department.”