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

happy, excited, and looked to him for direction. “What are you waiting for? Let’s take them home before the Campbells come back wi’ reinforcements.”
    In high spirits, they did just that, handily and efficiently.
    Ian mounted his horse and led the way. He sighed heavily. He hated it when his schemes didn’t conclude to his satisfaction. All this and he still had to figure out who was trying to kill him.

Chapter Two

    New York, Present Day:

    “...and since my esteemed colleague, Dr. Yakima, assured me that ending my speech with a joke was a good idea, here it is. What did Richard III say when a planning proposal was submitted for building a car park?”
    “What?” a few people in the audience shouted.
    “Over my dead body.” She glanced up from her notes, smiled at the groans and chuckles in the audience, and was pleased that at least some in the crowd understood the reference. They might not be belly laughing, but she hoped the polite tittering was enough to please her boss. “Thank you for coming tonight. We here at Hudson River University appreciate your interest and your continued support.”
    Applause broke out as Samantha stepped away from the podium and Dr. Yakima took her place to thank her and the others who’d spoken. She encouraged everyone to mingle and enjoy the drinks, desserts, and displays.
    Samantha noticed Declan Jones—black, good-looking, confident—standing off to one side. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he puffed up like a mother hen, glowing and proud. She knew it had nothing to do with her speech, and everything to do with the way she looked. She sucked in a breath and headed down the two steps toward the impudent stylist—who’d insisted on attending.
    Esme recommended the popular stylist to make Samantha look good in front of the alumni and sponsors. His idea of good meant plucked, waxed, and wearing twice as much make-up as a teen going to a concert. Earlier tonight he’d stuffed her into a long black dress with flowing sleeves. When they’d picked it out, she’d argued that black made her look pale; Declan insisted it made her skin glow like porcelain. Just what she’d always wanted—to look like an old kitchen sink.
    But she had to admit she loved the dress. Slightly medieval in style, it fit snugly at the bustline, but was still modest and comfortable. Considering that she was headed for Scotland later to find an artifact, it also felt like she wore a secret that only she was in on.
    Earlier in the week he’d taken her thick red hair out of its customary braid, gone into raptures, and colored it a supposedly subtle shade of red. Ha. Try flames of the Serengeti red. Then today, he’d forced her to wear it curled down her back. He wouldn’t budge on the hair. He claimed he was making a statement. From what she gathered during the grueling hair-coloring, then the later curling session, the statement he was going for was: I inflict pain and misery wherever I go. Still, she had to admit, sometime during the last four days, the guy had sort of grown on her. And, okay, she did look stunning.
    Declan intercepted her, enveloping her in his arms and the fabulous scent he wore. “You did a wonderful job. You looked fantastic. Your hair caught in the light like fire. Just brilliant.” He released and cupped her elbows. “Now admit it. Because you looked so wonderful, you felt fabulous and confident, and that’s why your speech went so well.”
    She reached up and touched one of the pretty butterfly clips. “Nothing to do with my degrees and experience, huh? It’s all about the clothes and hair?”
    He laughed. “If only you knew how true that is.”
    She smiled at him. “Go ahead and have your moment.” She tugged on a lock of her hair. “Just tell me how long it takes for this color to fade?”
    “A couple of months.”
    “Months?”
    “And by the time it washes out, my dear, you’ll have gotten so many compliments you’ll be begging for me to color it