Page 29 of Bewitching the Knight (A Knight’s Tale #2)

Springtime in Scotland, eight months later

T hey paid the fee like good little tourists, and, holding hands, walked onto the empty castle grounds. “It’s not going to be there,” she told him, her boots crunching on gravel. “It’ll be long gone by now.”

He shot her an amused glance and held up the duffle bag he’d optimistically brought along. “We shall see, then, won’t we?”

They walked down the trail and, as always, she couldn’t help admiring her husband. Big, strong, and magnificent, he looked great in the boots, jeans, and the leather jacket he favored. His dark hair was cut shorter, but was still a bit on the long side, brushing the collar of his lambswool sweater. She couldn’t help but sigh. Her guy was gorgeous.

Her own hair was fading to her natural red shade, and she’d considered brightening it up again, but Ian had forbidden her to use such potions until after the baby was born. She mostly wore it in a ponytail, which Ian really seemed to like. He barely tolerated her jeans and kakis, considering them too revealing, and preferred her in long skirts and dresses. Of course, she didn’t always let him have his way.

First they stopped at his mother’s memorial and paid their respects. Ian stood in front of the stone, his hands clasped in front of him, his head bent. She stood quietly beside him, hands in her jacket pockets, cradling her six-month baby bump and enjoying the nip in the spring air.

She looked around to note the changes. Without the village, vegetation had overtaken most of the area. The last time they’d been here— discovering the crown —it had been a circus. They hadn’t found the chance to really look around.

“I’ve no doubt my mother would have liked this time.”

Samantha smiled. “If her son is anything to go by, I’d have loved her.”

Ian smiled. “And she you.”

When they walked on, her phone rang. “It’s Jerry.”

“Good timing. He’ll wish he was here with us.”

She snorted. “Not likely. Hello?” she answered the phone.

“Happy housewarming. I mailed your gift to you. Did you get it?”

“Yes, we got it.” He’d self-published a medieval historical novel and it almost immediately shot high on several bestseller lists—word of mouth pushing it to greater heights by the month. A publishing house had made him an offer for two more, and there was a movie deal in the works. She smiled. “It was nice of you to dedicate the book to us. And the picture of you and your dog is great. Nice teeth. You, not the dog.”

He laughed, sheepish. “I actually like my teeth better now that I’ve had them fixed.”

Samantha couldn’t help but tease him. “So Malcolm did you a favor?”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m still in therapy, so it’s a tradeoff.”

“I’m putting you on speaker-phone so Ian can say hello.”

“Hello,” Ian said, when she lifted the phone.

“Hi, big guy. Still traveling the world using my passport?”

“Aye, though I don’t see the resemblance, those at the airport don’t seem to mind. I suppose you want it back?”

Jerry laughed. “Sometime. Though I’m in no mood to travel anytime soon.”

“Agreed,” Ian said. He still hated to fly.

“I read the review of your book on USA Today,” Samantha said. “It’s being touted as authentic and so credible—almost like you’re there. And it said it featured dogs in such a believable way that it’s obvious the author loves dogs.”

Jerry laughed. “I won’t say I’m not having fun with all the praise.”

“Do you miss the university?”

“Not even a little. You?”

“I’m officially still on the payroll as a consultant, but I have to say I’m excited to start living in Scotland full time. Working at Edinburgh is going to give me access to all sorts of places here in Scotland and in Europe.”

Jerry made a shuddering noise. “If I never set foot in that country again, it’ll be too soon.”

“I heard that,” Ian said, as Samantha laughed.

Jerry chuckled. “It’s different for you, Samantha. I bet they treat you well. I read about the award Scotland gave you for finding the crown. They called it the find of the century.”

Ian snorted. “More than one century, surely.”

They continued up the tree and bush lined road. “Did I tell you we visited Mad Malcolm in the psych ward?” Samantha asked.

“What for?”

“Curiosity,” Ian said. “Though he tried to kill me, he’s a kinsman. I wanted to make sure he fared well.”

Jerry shuddered again. “I heard he broke into a house, terrorized the homeowners, caused all sorts of damage, and robbed the place. I’m just glad he’s locked up and that there’s an ocean between us.”

Samantha brought the phone closer. “The nurses told us that Malcolm does very well as long as they keep him medicated and let him wear a paper crown. It’s got plastic jewels glued to it. They originally gave him a laser, but he’d started to shine it in people’s eyes and they’ve taken it away. They only use it now to keep him in line.”

“I, for one, will never visit that man,” Jerry said. “Even the thought of him scares me to death. I still have nightmares.”

When they hung up, Samantha glanced up at the imposing ruin. She thought about how much had happened in the past months. Jerry had overnighted his passport while Ian was still in the hospital. When he’d been released, they’d driven straight to the airport where they’d had a few tense moments during the car ride.

The passport worked with no problems. They’d checked the crown in with their luggage without a hitch. Foresight had made her ask Ian’s doctor for a couple of valium, and the airplane ride had become a lot more bearable once the medication kicked in.

They’d traveled straight to Grandpa’s house, and introduced him to both Ian and the crown. He’d had a hard time believing it all. Samantha finally just told him, “Grandpa, you always taught me the world was a magical place. Can I help it if you were right?”

Ian and Samantha were married, in a church, with Grandpa as witness. After his death, she’d applied for permits, returned to Scotland, and discovered the crown. She’d received all sorts of accolades and her university had been thrilled.

Ian had been amused.

He’d spent the time healing and acclimating, and had adjusted surprisingly well. Especially to technology. The man had a blog for heaven’s sake—on the use of medieval weaponry and fighting techniques. Video of his sword play had gone viral. They’d attended a few jousting tournaments and he’d quickly become considered an expert on all things medieval and was invited to tournaments worldwide—much to his consternation.

He deemed all the attention silly for the most part, but enjoyed training both men and women in the lists. As no one could best his skill, she considered all the praise his due.

She also thought a lot of his popularity might have something to do with his sexy face and accent. He’d turned off comments on his blog when he’d realized most were from women, and, as he’d said, he’d not wanted his wife upset by brazen females.

He still hid money, and he still had a knack for making it. The coins he’d brought he’d cashed in and invested in land and property in New York. As a landlord he was overly-interested in his tenants as he saw them as his responsibility. For the most part, no one seemed to mind. Now he was anxious to expand his holdings in Scotland—and heaven help the new tenants. The man truly didn’t know how to mind his own business, and, on his own turf, would always see himself as Laird and protector.

She knew he’d been pining for Scotland, and since she wasn’t averse to living there she’d wrapped things up at work, and now, here they were, starting a new career, expecting a baby, exploring the old keep. Next they’d attempt to get Ian an identity with the proper authorities.

She took Ian’s arm as they walked through the inner courtyard. “You need to brace yourself. It won’t be there anymore.”

“It’ll be there.”

‘You’re going to get caught and you’re going to get in trouble.”

“If I do, I’ll tell them the truth.”

“That you’re a medieval time-traveler trying to reclaim your missing fortune?”

“Nae. That I’m saddled with a sharp-tongued, troublesome wife who drives me to distraction. Any misdeeds, especially those of a vandal nature, are due to her influence.”

She chuckled. “Interesting defense. Let me know how that works out for you.”

Ian stopped and studied the crumbling ruin, a slight sadness on his face.

“Do you miss it?”

He shook his head slightly. “Nae. I wasna supposed to live there any longer. I feel it here.” He touched his chest. “And I couldna live without you, so…” he squeezed her fingers and shrugged.

Tears sprang to her eyes for all he’d given up. “I’m crazy about you, you know that, right?”

“Come here, love.” He gathered her close, made the familiar, reassuring noise deep in his throat, and nestled his face against her neck. He was used to comforting her on a daily basis since the hormones hit, and claimed he liked to feel their child safe between them.

After a moment, he cradled her face, checked for tears, and took her hand once more. “Come.” As they walked past the old brewery, Ian shook his head. “Can you believe Brecken and Tori had twelve children?”

“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.”