Page 11 of Falling for the Knight

Now it was her turn to be confused. He’d mentioned that name before, and it had meant as little to her then as it did now.

“A Scotsman,” he clarified. “Our enemy.”

“Our?”

“He is an enemy to my overlord, and therefore, one to Saxford as well.”

“I see. And you no longer think I am also your enemy?”

This time, his gaze was slow and deliberate as it raked up and down her body, leaving a tingling sensation in its path. Right now, it didn’t matter that he was a knight or a lord or her captor. He was just a man—and she wanted him to kiss her.

Hannah! Seriously?

But those lips . . .

“Nay, I do not,” he finally said. “Though I would like to know what you saw in the hall that scared you. And why you lied about being from Venetia.”

Shit.

“Sei straordinariamente bella.”

Yeah, this wasn’t going to work. Sometimes she really did wonder how she’d managed to squeak her way into Yale as a graduate student.

Wait . . . bella. She knew what that meant.

“Let me help you,” he pressed.

Part of her wanted to tell him the truth, yet she knew she could not. She wouldn’t have believed it herself had there been any other possible explanation. He’d either be afraid of her and think her a witch or decide she was mad.

I just need to get him to take me to the waterfall.

If Caroline and Allie had been transported too, they’d find a way to meet her there. And there had to be a way for them to get back home. If the falls had sent them here, they could send them back too. Some way.

“I . . . I can’t tell you.”

He crossed his arms. Even with a shirt and some padded coat-looking thing with a crest on it, Hannah could tell he was heavily muscled.

“Look, I really can’t. I just need to get back to Leannan Falls. I was with my sisters when . . . when I must have hit my head or something. Maybe someone took me and dumped me on that beach. I don’t know. But I have to find Caroline and Allie.”

He knew she wasn’t being completely straightforward with him. If only she’d realized earlier what was happening, maybe she could have come up with a more plausible story. One time Hannah had stepped on a glass Christmas ornament, her mother’s favorite, and sliced her foot. She’d taken off all of her clothes before anyone could find her. Literally. Every single stitch. To this day she didn’t know why—her mother said she must have been in shock. But her sisters still teased her about her literal inability to think on her feet.

“I will send you there with an escort.” If Leannan Falls was anywhere near Sutherland’s land, he’d be signing his own death warrant if he brought her himself.

“Then what does it matter—”

“It matters because . . .” When he took a step toward her, Hannah did not move away.

“Maybe I can help.”

“And why would you want to help me?”

He shrugged. “Because you need it.”

He seemed so genuine. She was still concerned about the whole witch thing, but something told her he deserved her honesty. Surely this was another really, really bad decision, but she was going to do it.

“I am from Maine, like I said originally. In the United States. You don’t know of it yet. Apparently some Vikings may be there, but it won’t be until the late fifteenth century—actually, more like the sixteenth century—before the English are involved—”

“Hannah, what in the bloody name of Saint Thomas—”