Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) Read Free Page B

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