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

around, watched his men’s eyes slide away. It wasn’t necessarily bad that they feared him. He was bigger, stronger, and a more experienced fighter than any here, and he knew that earned him a sort of awed respect. When he found his betrayer, he’d gut the worm as an example. Ian was laird. He was The MacGregor. It was time his clan let go of their disappointment and acknowledge it with more than lip service.
    The clouds finally veiled the moon, and Ian gave a soft whistle and started his horse forward. “Look sharp.” He led them toward the cattle and, unexpectedly, the Campbells attacked with bloodcurdling shrieks.
    Ian smile was genuine as, dagger in hand, he jumped from his horse onto a Campbell, his weight crumpling the wretch as Ian crushed his wrist, divested him of his knife, and slammed the hilt into his temple. Without a sound, the man was out.
    The noises of battle commenced all around him, the quiet night quickly turning into a mass brawl as wails, screams, and bellows rang out in the darkness.
    He quickly dispatched another, his blade ripping through the screaming man’s arm before he kicked him hard in the chest and off his feet, leaving the bleeding male gagging and winded. Ian looked around for more.
    “’Tis him .”
    Ian faced two men, one of whom pushed his companion. “Go. He is but a man.”
    “You go.”
    One Campbell took a breath and surged forward as his companion waited. He timidly slashed the air with his dagger, such a pathetic effort that Ian took pity, grabbed his wrist, divulged him of his knife, and plowed a fist into his stomach, robbing him of breath and will. As the man slumped to the ground, Ian looked at the man’s companion and smiled.
    Crossing himself, he turned and ran.
    Ian rushed into a group of Campbells and fought them all, efficiently assaulting them one by one, not killing anyone, but disarming and injuring all who crossed him.
    With a yell, one man took him on and Ian hit him thrice in the face, knocking him cold and swinging away before the man hit the ground.
    Next, three men attacked as one and Ian slashed one with a sword, another with a dagger, and broke the third’s nose.
    A Campbell came up behind him, slashing a blade, and Ian turned, tripped over a tree root and fell hard. As the man lifted his knife high, Ian readied to kick the weapon away, but Brecken came out of nowhere and shoved the man back, slashing, whooping, bellowing, and grinning the entire time.
    Ian slowly stood and watched the younger man hack, pummel, and finally trip and kick the wretch.
    Brecken had saved him rather than let him be killed? Why?
    Brecken grinned, unaware of Ian’s thoughts. “He almost had you there, cousin. Mayhap you make too big a target?”
    Ian gripped his sword. “Mayhap.” Why hadn’t his cousin taken the chance to rid himself of the one blocking his way to leadership and land?
    Brecken strutted away and, with a mighty war cry, ran for a group of fighters, yelling, laughing, and having a good time of it.
    Ian stared after him. He’d eliminated one suspect, anyway. Now he only need eliminate one hundred or so more in his clan, and then he could rest easy at night.
    No time to think of that now. With a yell, he raised his sword and took on two men rushing him, slashing with lethal efficiency, crashing his left fist into a jaw, and when a third man turned and ran—joining the other Campbells now scrambling away, running down the hill toward safety—Ian roared after them. He wiped his brow and turned to see his men staring, fear and awe in their expressions. “What? You questioned my abilities?”
    Ian looked around and assessed the damage. A few of his men were down; one clutched a slashed arm while another tended to it. One held his head in his hands. A third attempted to rise, and fell back. “Gather the men and start the cattle moving. See if you can catch any horses.”
    They rushed to do his bidding, capturing horses, helping the injured. They appeared