Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (7 page)

When he kicked at her, she grabbed his foot and twisted. He screamed, rolled, tried to free the leg she lay on, but she had him trapped and twisted his foot again.

He hollered. “Get off me, you frightful cow. That hurts. Let go of me.”

She twisted once more and smiled when he screamed. “You’re lucky I don’t break your leg.” She released him, stood, hiked her dress, and ran for the crown.

He grabbed the back of her skirt, throwing her off balance, and, swinging his legs around, he tripped her to the ground once more. He tried to crawl over her, but she threw out her arm and blocked him to keep him from gaining ground.

Her dress was trapped again and she was ready to tear the stupid thing off. “Get off me, you skeletal bag of bones.”

“Why? Afraid you might like it?”

Her scream of rage had him rolling off to one side and scrambling forward, but Samantha grabbed hold of him and dug into his right thigh with pinching fingers.

“Ahhh.”
He screamed, twisted, and tried to shake her off. “Let go! Let go!” With a shove at her face and shoulders, he dislodged her and rolled to the side, panting wildly.

She army-crawled, reached for the crown, and dug her fingers into cool gold crevices at the same time Jerry did.

She glared at him in the darkness as they both froze, afraid to damage the crown. “Let go, Jerry. I mean it.”

He tightened his hold. “You have everything, Samantha. Would it hurt to let me have this? Your job is secure. Somehow you find something new all the time. Make connections that others don’t. It’s like you have a talent for it. I’m a decade older than you. I need this. I could go my whole career without another find with this to my credit.”

She tugged, but not very hard, fear for the artifact uppermost in her mind. They lay facing each other, both of them breathing hard, the crown between them, all of their fingers enmeshed in the curlicue gold of the prongs. The gold was sharp, cutting into her fingers, but his were no doubt suffering the same damage, and she didn’t let go. “Did you ever hear of hard work?”

“I do work hard.” His tone was hurt. “You’re so busy with your own endeavors you don’t have any idea how much time and effort I put into projects. It’s not my fault I haven’t had any big finds. Even you have to admit you’ve had better luck than most people. Please, Samantha. Can’t you give me a break here? This would mean the world to me.”

Her lips curled back in a sneer. “Look at you slathering your oozy, oily charm. I’d have thought you’d have understood, after you tried to use me to further your career when we first met, I’m immune to snakes.”

“Fine.” He tugged, not hard, but enough to cut deeper into her fingers.

“Fine.” She wrenched back, hoping his own digits suffered a similar fate.

“We’ll break it,” Jerry said. “Gold is soft. Is that what you want?”

She stopped moving, but didn’t let go. If they damaged the crown, both their careers were over and they knew it.

He sighed. “Let’s stand up and discuss this like civilized people, okay?”

She nodded. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” Fingers still gripping the crown, they both knelt, then stood. Her dress untwisted, which was a relief.

They faced each other. “Now what?” Samantha asked.

“Now we talk about this like civilized people. This is your last chance, Samantha. Divide the credit and we’re good friends for life, sharing the find of the century, our names linked for all time. Don’t agree to divvy the glory and we’re not friends anymore. And if you’re not my friend, you’re my enemy. I mean that. I’ll not only get full credit for this find, I’ll ruin you completely in the process.”

She didn’t say anything, just considered how to get the crown away from the blabbering fool. Once she had it, she’d have to climb the gate. But if she could gently toss the crown over, throw her keys, and perhaps even rip off her dress, she could possibly scramble over the fence and run to her car.

“Well?” he rasped out.

“Give me a moment to consider,” she said, buying time.

“Let’s move over by your flashlight. I want to see your face.”

The flashlight was a good idea. Maybe she could bash him in the head with it.

In tandem, walking sideways, they approached the monument. When the glow of the flashlight softly illuminated their faces, Jerry’s eyes widened, and he yelled,
“I don’t trust you,”
and wrenched at the crown.

Samantha cried out, her fingers catching and scraping on the gold as he tore it completely out of her grasp.

His expression desperate, he placed the crown on his head, blood from his torn fingers smearing his forehead, then, with both hands free, he captured her wrists and shoved her back against the monument as she made another grab for the crown.

She lifted a knee to do some damage and he blocked her.

“So help me Samantha, if you kick me, I’ll knock you into next week.”

Sudden light blinded her.

Jerry made a sound of distress and bent his head.

She hid her face against his shoulder for a moment as she tried to figure out what was going on. Floodlights? Had they triggered some sort of alarm? Police with spotlights? She squinted and her eyes watered a bit and she could see people stopping in mid-stride to stare. A lot of people. Men, women, and children.

Security? With their families? In the middle of the night? Dressed for a reenactment? She’d worry about that later. Right now she had to stake her claim to the crown before Jerry declared it his own.

She’d gladly accept any consequences for her actions rather than give Jerry credit for the find. Anyway, in her profession—with all its secrecy, cloak and dagger shenanigans, and suspicious conspiracy theorists—unprofessional behavior was mostly rewarded with a slap on the wrist rather than any real penalties. Especially when the find in question was turned over to the proper authorities.

Samantha wrenched a hand free, slippery with Jerry’s blood, and reached for the crown with claw-like fingers, ready to yank it off Jerry’s fat head, but he reared back.

A large man stepped forward and said something in what sounded like Gaelic.

Jerry managed to recapture her wrist and glared down into her face. “Let me do the talking—”

She clawed at his wrist.
“I
will be the one doing the talking.”

Jerry screamed, but didn’t release her so she didn’t let up. She just kept digging her fingernails into him and he finally jerked his hands back, releasing her, his expression contorted as he shrieked, “You bloody, awful witch. Let go.”

She didn’t have time to be offended. She needed to get that crown before he claimed it for his own.

“She be a witch, ye say?” The guy, probably security, asked, this time in thickly accented English.

Jerry, arms up, blocked her attempts to grab the crown. “Yes, she’s definitely a witch. And a lot of other things, as well. Stop it, Samantha. It’s over. I’ve got witnesses that the crown is mine, and you hopping about and acting like a kangaroo isn’t going to change that. Enough.”

She jumped for the crown again, this time knocking it to the ground.

They both dove for it and Samantha got there first. She skipped back, holding it up in triumph. “Now who’s got possession?” She turned to run, determined to reach the gate before Jerry could stop her, when strong, burly arms closed around her from behind, effectively trapping her arms at her sides, forcing her to drop the crown.

An older, wizened man with crazy white hair picked up the crown, studied it, and then lifted a malevolent gaze to Samantha. He thrust the crown into the air and in a strong voice said, “Ye heard her, did ye not? From her own mouth, she admits she’s bedeviled, a possessed witch. Gather the firewood.”

Chapter Four

Samantha tilted her head to look at the guy behind her, and got a glance of a big, frightened face, before he jerked his head out of her view, leaving a brawny shoulder encased in a dirty white shirt within her line of vision.

“What...what are you doing?” She wiggled against the tall, hard-muscled body, and fought to free herself. “Seriously,” her voice rose in pitch. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” Her hands clenched and unclenched, trying to find some part of the guy to claw or pinch, but she couldn’t move, the bear hug effectively trapping her.

Jerry reached for the crown, but was thwarted as the old guy held it behind his back.

Jerry straightened. “Now, see here—”

“See, what?” A young, dirty, unkempt man, shorter and stockier than Jerry, loomed beside the old guy, his chest and chin jutting aggressively.

Jerry, eyes wide, took a step back. “It’s just that the crown belongs to me. Sir,” he added, and swallowed audibly. “If you could please give it back, I’ll just be on my way.”

Samantha struggled. “Jerry, you lying thief.” She bent her upper body forward, but her captor tightened his hold, squeezing like a boa constrictor, leaving her breathless. “The crown is mine,” she gasped out. “I found it.
I claim credit for finding it.”

Jerry’s face was visibly sweating. “Don’t listen to her, she’s delusional.”

Ignoring them both, the brute advanced toward Jerry, forcing him backward.

The old guy lifted the crown into the air like a trophy. “Do ye see? The riches of the devil are hers for the taking.”

With a sound more rage than fear, Samantha tried to tug away, but the man standing behind her was solid, twice or more her weight, and forcing him to let her go just wasn’t happening. She was trapped. She let out a breath and relaxed against the unbathed barbarian at her back, letting him take her weight. He didn’t let her go, just continued to smell strongly of onions, woodsmoke, and body odor.

She tilted her head to get a look at the behemoth, but again, he ducked his face out of view, his shoulder hunching. “Are you the police? Is this some sort of sting operation? Because I assure you I wasn’t stealing the crown. I was going to call the Edinburgh University at first light. I’m Samantha Ryan. You can check my credentials if you want. I’m sure you’ll see that—”

She glanced around and suddenly realized police floodlights weren’t illuminating the area.

It was daytime.

The light was sunlight.

Full light. As in midday. Not just sunrise, though she’d labored for hours to unearth the Crown of Scotland.

Confused, she glanced around and found herself standing in the middle of a medieval village. Jerry’s jaw slackened, his eyes confused as he gazed from one place to another, taking everything in.

“Jerry? It’s daytime...the huts...their clothing...” Her voice quavered. “How did that happen?”

He finally turned, shrugging helplessly, his eyes wide, his mouth working. He looked more out of his depth than she’d ever seen him.

Eyes on Jerry, on the only person making any kind of sense to her befuddled brain, she shook her head slightly. “What is going on here?”

“I... I really don’t know.” He started backing away, toward a wooded area. “Maybe we should get going. Get back to our cars. You know what, Samantha? You’re absolutely right. You found the crown. I was just a bystander at the event. You figured out where it was, you dug it up, the find is yours.” He backed up a few more steps, away from the village and into the vegetation.

She glanced around. The men wore stockings, tunics, and leather boots. Women and children wore long skirts, sleeveless tunics, and wimples covered the ladies’ hair. All the material appeared to be wool.

She viewed the fifty or so homes, the village. There was a blacksmith shop, and a church, complete with graveyard. Further on, a mill stood at the edge of the houses next to a stream. She looked out into the fields, heavy with crops.

She turned to her left to gawk at the castle, higher up on the hill, surrounded by trees, a ruin no longer.

Then she examined the monument, not ten feet away, smack in the center of the village square, the birds freshly carved, and the ground at the eastern base undisturbed. Just beyond, three men stacked wood on a bare spot on the ground. She tensed. Surely they were kidding about burning her. They only wanted to scare her. Right?

The noise level rose as more and more villagers walked over to see what was happening. Occasional shouts of witch, and sorceress rang out.

Jerry stood just inside the bushes and trees at the edge of the village. Her heart thudded hard in her chest as she stated calmly, “Jerry, please don’t leave me here. At least stay with me as I try and sort this out.”

Another man came forward, an ax over his shoulder. His muscle and bulk were impressive, his feet bare. He headed to join the men splitting wood.

Jerry chuckled nervously as his eyes darted about. He gestured her forward, both hands beckoning as he backed away. “Why don’t you just come with me? Leave the crown. We’ll sort the whole thing out later, all right?”

Samantha studied the two men in front of her, the young man’s eyebrows drawn down, his face set in determination, his arms crossed. The older man stood still, stern-faced, craggy, and unforgiving.

“That’s a good idea.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Sir, if you could just release me, my associate and I will be on our way.”

“The witch is no free to leave.” The old man glared at her. “We’ll no have a witch wandering about the wood cursing our land, livestock, and children.” He jutted his chin at Jerry. “Ye may go. Within the hour, her influence over ye shall be ended. Go in peace and gratitude for this boon, else share her fate.”

Sweat broke out on Samantha’s back and her heart pounded against her breastbone. “What do you mean, share her fate. What fate?”

The old man turned back, his face hard, his wrinkles accentuated by his frown. “Thou shalt no’ suffer a witch to live.”

She swallowed. “Is this some sort of joke because I was trespassing? Because I dug up the crown? I’m not a witch and this isn’t the 14th century.”

His eyes narrowed. “Aye. ’Tis the 13th. And wi’ hair the color of sin, think ye that ye can fool us into believing ye other than a witch? And a gown such as yours serves no purpose but to tempt man into sin. Think ye we do no’ have eyes in our head to see such?” He pointed at Jerry, still at the tree line. “This man, yer own companion, named ye such. We all heard him speak it.” He waved a hand at the gathering crowd. “Did we no’?”