Page 12 of Bewitching the Knight (A Knight’s Tale #2)

I an felt the excitement rolling off Samantha as she stared down into the hiding place she’d discovered. She glanced up and her smile was like a punch to his gut. The darkness, the mystery, the discovery, her smile. She was a blight on his sanity.

“Granted, I thought the crown would be here,” she said. “But it’s still gratifying to find this place intact.” She glanced at him, and, seeming to come to a decision, took a deep breath. “It was discovered in the early 20th century, when vandals broke the altar. So far as anyone knew, nothing had been found inside, but then, the vandals wouldn’t have said anything if they’d stolen a treasure, would they? Anyway, by the time the damage had been discovered, the vandals were long gone.”

20th century? He had absolutely no idea what she spoke of and he’d let her have her way long enough. “Explain,” he said, his tone harsh, menacing, even to his own ears. He didn’t like feeling the fool and the way she spoke, as if he should know what she nattered on about, was driving him daft. “But know this. I’d best like your answers far more than I do now.”

Startled, she glanced up and whatever she saw of him in the soft candlelight had her swallowing. Slowly she lowered the altar-top and they both heard the mechanism click into place. Taking a breath, she turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

“How do you know of this?” He didn’t bother commenting on the vandals and such. “Even I knew naught of this.”

Her brows drew together. She looked at him, not as a temptress as her clothes indicated, but guileless, and the contradiction of her speech, clothing, and innocent expression confused him. “How could you not know?” she said. “You built it.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I?” he finally said. “How could I have built it? ’Tis obvious it’s been here for years. I only recently inherited the title and returned here.”

She frowned and she looked almost angry. “Then you must have built it years ago. Everyone knows you erected the altar.”

He snorted. Why would he erect an altar for a Catholic priest ? “Think you I made this as a child? Not likely, is it?”

Her lips pursed. “Well, if you’re telling the truth,” she sounded skeptical, “then maybe history got it wrong.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I really thought the crown would be here. Care to give me any hints as to its whereabouts?”

It was here, in this chapel. Yet he held his peace and didn’t answer the fact by so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

“No? I mean, everyone knows you were always hiding things.” She looked up at him and smiled in admiration. “It’s what this castle is known for, even to this day. The valuables and hiding places that have been discovered.”

“ Who knows of this?” He was starting to get angry. “What is your meaning?”

“Oh. Right.” She glanced around, then indicated the bench against the wall. “Maybe you should sit.”

Feeling a fool, he did so. Setting the candle on the bench beside him, he extended his legs, crossed his arms, and waited while she perched herself on the other side of the flame.

Grasping her hands in her lap, she studied them for a moment, then took a breath. “Look. I'm going to come clean and hope that you won't decide I'm a witch after all. See, the thing is...I’m from another time. The 21 st century to be exact.” She glanced at him, and when he didn’t respond, she continued. “In my time, this castle is a ruin. Many hiding places have been discovered, and The Crown of Scotland has been missing since your death.”

Gooseflesh broke out on his arms. Was she touched in the head? Or did she think him so? Perhaps she simply thought to trick him?

“Some of the hiding places were discovered by searching and measuring, ultrasound, others accidentally, a few by vandals. There’s this altar,” she lifted her hand to indicate the shrine. “And I know about the one in the ladies’ solar. And there’s another under the fireplace in the Grand Hall. Plus the three in your chamber.”

Two in his chamber. He planned a third sometime soon. Those mentioned, he knew about. And no, the crown was not in any of them, but here in the church, and if she didn’t know of that hiding place, he would not reveal it. “I’ll not give up the crown. ’Tis my responsibility.”

“No, of course not. I don’t expect that. I just…need to borrow it for a moment. So I can go home.”

“Let me make sure I understand. You come from the 21 st century. That’s what? 700 years in the future?”

“More like 750 years.”

“And how did you get here…exactly?”

“I studied you, figured out where you’d buried the crown, dug it up, and when that rotten, cheating scumbag Jerry Callahan snatched it away and placed it on his head we somehow ended up here. In the past.”

He rubbed his forehead. “You crossed time?”

“Correct.”

“And to return you need the most costly object I have in my possession, an item made of jewels and gold.”

“Well, when you put it like that it seems like I’m trying to cheat you or something, but I swear it’s the truth.”

“I see. And I’m simply to take your word on this?”

“I’d appreciate it if you would.”

His brow quirked. “I’m sure. What of the predictions you made? Of famines, of plagues, of queens killing queens?”

“All true, but most occur after your lifetime.”

He leaned his head back against the wall. She truly was like to drive him mad.

She threw up her hands. “This is fun and all, but—”

“Fun is it?” He slowly stood, loomed over her, and her speech faltered and trailed off. “As in an enjoyable and diverting time? You might be entertained by your tales, but for myself, I’d go so far as to say I feel a mite upset, confused, and perhaps a bit balmy. But fun has no part in it. Perhaps I’m doing it wrong? Let’s see if we canna turn this around and have us a merry time. What say you?”

* * *

Samantha swallowed as Ian, suddenly closer, held out his hand, his face in half light, half shadow. Unable to resist, she placed her hand in his and felt a jolt of attraction as she was engulfed by his warm, inviting touch. He easily tugged her upright and took another small step forward. His height and proximity nearly overwhelmed her and she had to force herself to stand her ground. “What are you doing?”

“Do you mind? Just looking to enjoy myself.”

She swallowed again, paralyzed by his gaze, both unable and unwilling to move away. She put her free hand up to his chest to stop more forward progress and the warmth radiating through his shirt weakened her knees and set her heart thudding. “How ’bout I make you a deal? For the crown, I mean.”

“A deal, is it?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “What have you to offer?”

A chuckle escaped her. If he thought he was intimidating her, he was sadly mistaken. It was taking all she had not to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. “What do you want?”

His large hand captured her smaller one against his chest as his gaze lifted to her eyes, then back to her lips.

This time her laugh was a trifle breathless. “I’m flattered. Really.” He was overwhelmingly larger than life, not just his body, but his presence, his warmth and vitality, and she had a momentary pang at the thought of him gone, dead, murdered by an unknown assailant. She licked her lips. “How about this? I stick to you like glue. I find out who’s trying to kill you. You live past your death date, and then I get the crown?”

That gave him pause. “You know my death date?”

Her stomach clenched. She had a really big mouth. “Uh…maybe?”

“When is it? Soon, then?”

How to answer that? “Uh…that would be telling.”

“Do ye know everyone’s death date? Cook’s and her helpers? The clerk and his assistant? The housekeeper and her maids?”

She slowly shook her head. “Just yours.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ooh. Just mine is it? And why is that, Miss Witch?”

Relieved that he was taking it as a joke, her lips curled and she said, “It’s Miss Ryan if you don’t mind.”

“Mistress Ryan, then.”

He still held both her hands with both of his and when his voice slowly rumbled out her name, she was glad of the support as her knees went weak. She stared up at him, at his hauntingly beautiful face with its broad cheekbones and stubble-lined jaw. Her fingers itched to stroke his cheek, to touch him and see if his whiskers were as soft as they looked. His nearness, the heat emanating off his body, the darkness surrounding them, all made her shiver. “You can call me Samantha.”

Did he move closer? “Samantha,” he said, low-voiced and rumbling.

Even though she suspected him of deliberate seduction, her knees definitely weakened as he spoke her name, his accent thick and raspy. She clung to his hands, a lifeline.

“A very pretty name.” His voice was soothing, husky.

“I’m…I was actually named for a witch my mother liked to watch on TV.”

His brows rose.

She swallowed. “Never mind.”

“So,” he practically purred. “Tell me why you’re so interested in me and no other. Why d’ye know so much about me? Why have ye studied me?” He leaned closer, his face inches from hers.

She tilted her head, tried for nonchalance even as she trembled. “What can I say? You’re a fascinating guy.”

“Facinatin’, is it? Are you sure ’tis not that without my intervention, and now my protection, your situation would be precarious indeed?” He said the words smoothly, without threat or heat. “That being the case, mayhap a show of appreciation on your part wouldna be amiss?” The man was definitely trying to seduce her.

She should be insulted. Him trying to take advantage of her in the dark wasn’t the most gentlemanly behavior on his part, and in this time period, the lack of respect was telling. But as she was sort of wanting to take advantage of him, she decided not to complain. “What kind of show?”

“A simple kiss, lass.”

Her gaze zeroed in on his lips. She shouldn’t. She really should not. She should insist he simply play the gentleman and take her thanks as payment. “You’re quite the ladies’ man, aren’t you?”

“I wouldna say so. In fact, I’m quite the opposite.” He leaned closer, barely shifted, but she shivered again. She wasn’t sure if the small increments were meant to lure her or keep her from running, but either way, his nearness made her heart pound and she lost all interest in pulling away.

She really, really shouldn’t do this. She should turn away. In all reality, she didn’t really know this man at all. Her infatuation was based on reading small snippets of history, and a whole lot of imagination on her part. But his nearness and scent, even his warm breath as he leaned closer, pulled her in. She felt electrified, riveted. She couldn’t pull her gaze from his mouth. It was just a kiss, right?

But he didn’t know her. Based on his suspicions, he probably didn’t even like her. He was probably trying to seduce the truth out of her, find out if she had cohorts and if so, who they were. Plus, if she kissed him, he’d probably get an entirely wrong impression about her. But darn it, she wanted a kiss. She felt herself weakening even more. While he might not have feelings for her, she had plenty for him. Was she really going to let herself miss this chance? What if she didn’t get another?

When he leaned the slightest bit closer, his mouth only inches away, she couldn’t help herself. She closed the distance between them and, with a soft moan, pressed her lips to his.

* * *

Ian couldn’t believe she was kissing him! Her mouth, the feather light caress, the increasing pressure—all felt wonderful. She was wonderful. The woman could tempt a saint. Since he’d never claimed to be one, he dinna stand a chance now, did he? He slanted his mouth to deepen the kiss and was rewarded when she sighed, her palms sliding against his chest, burning through his tunic and the linen of his shirt.

He lifted his hands to her thick, lush hair. The way she kissed! Saints almighty. Her lips were soft, giving, warm upon his, delectable. She met him kiss for kiss, pleasure raking the sensitive skin of his mouth as she willingly wrapped her slim arms around his neck as if she’d never let him go. His heart pounded and he wanted to haul her closer, wrap her in his arms, and keep her there forever.

An inner sense of self-preservation rose within him and he forced himself to break off the kiss, lift his head, and bring his hands to her wrists. Gasping for air, he pulled her away, not quite sure how he managed it.

They stared at each other as their breathing slowed, and, seeing the look of wonderment on her face, of acceptance, he tried to hide how she’d affected him.

She smiled at him. “Wow. Just wow. That was awesome. Will you do it again?”

He took in her happy expression and thought to remain impassive, but his chest lifted with pride and he smiled anyway. When she shivered, the implication that he affected her so, made him chuckle. He let go of her wrists and took a step back, and had to admit her look of disappointment was tempting, flattering.

He’d never met anyone like her before. The way she looked at him…made him… feel . She was the very last person he should desire, have affections for. The way she’d arrived was suspicious, the likelihood of her staying, doubtful.

If he let her go…

He should walk away, but he wouldn’t. Not while the mystery of who she was, and why she was there remained uncertain. Regardless of what she said, there would be an explanation for her, and one that didn’t involve another century or witchcraft. The sooner everyone, including Samantha, stopped seeing her as something she wasn’t, the better.

“I’ll give you a key to the tower,” he said. “I’ve told my clan they’re not to harm you, but as a precaution, keep the door locked at night.”

“Why would you give me a key?” Her delicate brows furrowed. “Because I kissed you?”

He snorted and bent his head to cover the fact that her kiss well may have made the decision for him. It hadn’t hurt, leastways. He took another step away. “Because having a witch locked in the tower is never a grand idea, is it?”

“Oh, I agree. Plus, being free of the tower will allow me to keep an eye on you.”

He arched a brow. “Why would you feel the need to do such?”

“I don’t want anyone killing you before I find the crown, now do I?” her tone was light, teasing.

He studied her face.

She sighed. “No. I haven’t been trying to kill you if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve already sworn I’ve not.”

That was exactly what he’d been thinking.

“The very last thing I want is for you to die. I mean that.”

“And here I believed you were the one who needed saving.”

“You’re right.” She chuckled. “I could do with a knight in shining armor right about now. Are you up for the job, Ian MacGregor? Or how about you save me, and I’ll watch out for you too?”

He stared at her for a long moment, confused by the way she made him feel. He desired to take her under his wing. He wished to keep her safe. He wanted to keep her.

But the things she made him feel…and now she wanted to protect him? As much as he didn’t wish to admit it, he deemed she truly did want him kept safe. It affected him. Made his chest ache for things he’d long put behind him. Respect. Trust. Mayhap even love?

“We need to go.” With a shake of his head for his foolishness, he headed toward the chapel window. He needed to get away from her before he started believing in her nonsense, and most especially, before he kissed her again.

He clenched the small butterfly pin in his hand, stolen from her hair, and considered returning it to her. He couldn’t. Thief he might be, but he wanted the memento. Wanted something to mark the occasion when a woman with fiery hair and soft lips had kissed him of her own accord.