A Knight in Her Arms (A Sexy Time Travel Novella) Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  About DEBORA DENNIS

  A Knight in Her Arms

  Copyright © 2011 by Debora Dennis

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Previously published in 2008 as Her Knight Before Christmas. Completely edited and revised in 2011.

  Discover more from Debora Dennis: http://www.deboradennis.com http://www.thesaucyscribe.com http://www.facebook.com/deboradennis.author

  PROLOGUE

  England, 1192

  "Sir?" The squire slowly approached Sir Gavin of Rogueforth, who sat alone in front of the roaring fire with a trencher of food in his hands.

  An orange flame spiked in the hearth, warming Gavin's tired legs and half-frozen feet. He needed to teach the boy to know better when he didn't want to be disturbed. Turning toward the squire he nodded for him to speak.

  "A woman wishes an audience with you."

  "Who is she?" Exhausted and hungry, all he wanted was to eat and sleep. "Can it not wait until morning?"

  "It's the old woman from the road, Sir. She is alone."

  Gavin barely had time to put his trencher on the table and stand before she walked across the vaulted room and into view.

  He immediately recognized the woman cloaked entirely in black, the strands of her hair barely contained beneath the hood. He'd come upon her and another female companion that morning as their coach was under attack from a band of highway thieves. The body of her son lay dead on the road.

  She removed her hood and said, "Sir, I wanted to thank you properly for aiding us today."

  Her wrinkled, frail fingers clutched at the neck of her cloak. She did not smile, but her eyes held a twinkle he found curious for a lady who'd faced the death of her son mere hours before.

  "I'm sorry I didn't arrive soon enough to save your son." Sorry didn't seem enough, but after years of witnessing death both at his hand and that of his enemies, he had no other words to offer.

  "I am sorry too, and I will grieve his loss for the rest of my life. He was ill prepared for fighting, I'm afraid. I am not here to talk of my son, but to reward your service. My daughter Hannah is safe tonight because of you."

  "Her safety is all the reward I require," he assured her.

  Chivalry kept him standing in front of her, just as it had forced him to take action on the road. He'd killed three men today. His squire, behind him, was to be trained as another generation to live and die by the sword. Gavin was tired of war, of crusades. More blood on his hands in the name of honor, more death on his blackened soul. Would it ever end?

  His attention wandered to the half-eaten food in the trencher and the warm seat before the fire. He wanted to close his eyes and dream of home. His journey back to England had been long. The dreams of the life he would make for himself now kept him on course. Some nights he even dreamed of peace.

  He contemplated how to get her on her way when she pulled his heraldry clasp from under her cloak and held it in the palm of her hand for his inspection. "I see great sadness and loneliness in your soul, Sir Gavin of Rogueforth."

  He touched his shoulder where the clasp should be, and stepped forward, keeping his gaze on the black shrouded woman. "Where did you get that?"

  She didn't answer; only closed her wrinkled lids, tugged out one gray strand of her hair and laid it over his clasp. Her fingers fisted around the piece before he could reach for it. "Your destiny is with another Hannah, Sir Gavin. In another time and place. Go to her. Claim her for your own and you will be rewarded. Time is of the essence."

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York, December 15th, Present day.

  Hannah gave a final tug on the hauberk fitting snuggly over the knight's hips and stepped back to have a look. His steel helmet needed to be straightened and the squire at his side was missing the red and black banner he'd be expected to carry into battle. She flipped an errant curl behind her ear as she tried to keep from tripping over the shield she'd left on the floor beside her. With one hand resting on the knight's shoulder, she nudged the visor up to ensure he would have no trouble seeing his enemy.

  "Hannah?"

  Startled, she turned toward her father's voice and nearly fell into the mannequins. She managed to right herself before an embarrassing mishap occurred. Thank God. She didn't have the time to completely redo the display tonight. "Yes, Dad. I'm in here," she called, her voice echoing across the tiled floor.

  "He's coming!" The excitement in his statement matched the exuberance on his face as he raced toward her.

  "Who's coming?"

  The official opening of the exhibit was less than two weeks away. Her displays still weren't done and a few pieces remained in transit from the last dig. He expected her to share his joy for his holiday party and now some surprise guest? Clearly he'd lost his mind.

  All her father's black tie dinner parties were a notorious display of never-ending boredom. The annual Christmas party was no exception. She only attended because it was expected. This year the party coincided with the opening of his medieval collection, there was no way she could escape.

  "Sir Vin Beauchamp is personally escorting the two heraldic clasps discovered in the last dig. He'll be here next week for our party to present them to the museum." Charles Falcon bent to pick up the shield beside Hannah's foot and handed it to her. "The display looks very nice, by the way."

  "Don't patronize me. It's what you pay me for. And I thought three clasps were found? Couldn't get him to part with the last one?" She snickered and tilted her head. "You're losing your touch."

  "You're still angry," he said, without looking her in the eye.

  "And you still don't get why."

  Sometimes Hannah thought he forgot they lived in the twenty-first century. He had spent his life, and a good part of his fortune, putting together pieces of medieval history. He financed archaeological digs, oversaw recoveries and negotiated with countries for the rights to keep as many of them of them as he could here at the Natural History Museum in New York City.

  Year after year, he had staunchly refused to allow her on any expeditions. Instead she found herself alone in the museum cataloging artifacts, doing what was expected of her. As he inspected the squire, she sighed.

  Medieval history would always be her first love, her passion. But lately she found herself defending her love of history to all her friends who were busy dating and fending off their constant reminders she should do the same.

  Speaking of which…Hannah glanced at her watch and her stomach coiled. An hour from now she'd be on her third blind date this month, courtesy of her best friend, Susan. Maybe the third time would be the charm and he'd be sweet and intelligent, and she wouldn't have the urge to kill her best friend when it was all over.

  Not likely.

  Susan's last two choices hadn't been Hannah's type at all. This was her last chance. She'd assured her this date would be different, but if Susan's cousin turned out to be the least bit as whiny as the last man, this would be a very quick meeting.

  Hanna
h adjusted the shield she taken from her father and tried to cover the anxiety of her impending blind date with her annoyance at him instead. "That dig had so much potential. Just once I want to be there when they unearth something. Is that so wrong?"

  "But you know I'm always concerned for your safety".

  "Well, I survived being mugged for my purse right here in New York. You don't think I can take care of myself anywhere else?"

  "I didn't say that. I'm sure you can."

  After she had everything the she wanted in the knight's hand, she looked into her father's concerned brown eyes. Guilt stuck in her throat. He had his reasons for keeping her home. After her mother died she noticed him clinging to her, becoming more overbearing and protective. Maybe if she'd stood up for herself earlier, things would have been different and she wouldn't be living in some dream world of knights, ladies, and happily-ever-afters.

  Her father shrugged, a wisp of silver hair dipping over a raised brow. "I have something for you. An early Christmas present."

  From his pocket he pulled a gold-covered box wrapped in a thin red ribbon.

  Hannah took the gift from his outstretched hand and smiled. Knowing her father, the little wrapped token could hold anything from the sublime to the ridiculous. Her fingers itched to pull off the ribbon and see just how guilty he'd felt over leaving her home this time.

  He covered the box in her hand with his palm. "Not now."

  "Why not?"

  "Just indulge me. Open it when you're alone."

  *** *** ***

  Minutes later Hannah found herself alone when the night guard reminded her the museum would be closing and she needed to leave. To take one final look at her medieval display she sat on the wooden bench with legs curled beneath her, and she stared at the knight. Even as a statue, power of conviction flowed from him. Broadsword held high, the expression on his face hidden behind a visor of steel. No wonder knights were sung about by troubadours and romanticized in poetry. They took what they wanted, fighting for chivalry and honor. And courtly love.

  She reached into her pocket and took out the box. After a quick look around to ensure she was alone, she pulled the edge of the red ribbon. Lifting the lid, she peeked inside and sucked in a ragged breath. Tucked safely in the middle of a cloud of fluffy white cotton sat an enameled heraldry clasp, the third one the last dig had produced, no doubt. The delicate gold piece glistened under the dim museum lights, and she hesitated touching it. Her heart thumped an excited dance in her chest. These were the finds she lived for, craved with every fiber of her being. The only thing better would have been unearthing it herself.

  The red and black blocks on the shield-shaped pendant were dazzling and perfect. Her father had outdone himself this time. She smiled, knowing she couldn't stay mad at him after a gift such as this.

  Hannah laid the box on her lap and stared at the clasp, touching it tentatively at first with the tip of her finger before delving inside the box to pick it up. The cool metal nestled against the skin of her palm. Clutching it against her chest, she took a deep breath and imagined the knight who would have worn it.

  A burst of light flashed red over her closed eyelids and the sound of clinking, rattling metal filled the after hours silence of the gallery. She opened her eyes in surprise and stared. Before her, standing tall and proud, directly between her and the display she'd worked all day perfecting, was a chain mail clad mountain of a man.

  And he wasn't smiling. Hannah quickly looked down at her lap and back to the knight, blinking a few times to clear her vision. The stress had finally taken its toll on her imagination.

  "Sir Gavin of Rogueforth, at your service," she heard him say, in a brusque baritone with the hint of an accent she couldn't quite place. "Are you Hannah?"

  She focused her attention onto the most attractive, fiercest-looking man she'd ever laid eyes on. She blinked again and her mind raced ahead. Was he a figment of her imagination or could he possibly be…

  "Where did you come from?" She looked from left to right, expecting the night guard to round the corner any minute and announce this an elaborate joke. Then she remembered her date. "You must be Susan's cousin—" she started, but his growl stopped her mid-sentence.

  "I am Sir Gavin of Rogueforth." He sheathed his sword at his side and bowed his head slightly. "And you are Hannah?"

  She straightened her legs, got off the bench, and looked up, way up, into the emerald green eyes of the knight. She nodded. "I'm Hannah." She instinctively offered her hand. Then took it back. "Hannah Falcon."

  To her surprise, the green-eyed knight knelt before her, snatched up her hand with his gauntlet-encased fingers and laid his lips upon her knuckles. The gentle kiss sent an unexpected ripple of warmth up her arm.

  Dear Lord in heaven, had she died?

  She quickly glanced at the bench, expecting to see her dead body sprawled across the wood. No body. And from the way her skin fluttered beneath his soft touch, there was no way she was dead. No way was this her imagination, either. He was living and breathing and his kiss sent tiny jolts of electricity straight down to her toes.

  "Lady Hannah." The deep cadence of his voice, mingling with an accent she decided was old English, almost brought her to her knees beside him. As abruptly as he'd lowered himself before her, he stood. The man towered over her, his chain mail covered with a sleeveless black and red surcoat. He put his right hand over his heart. "It is my pleasure to be of service to you."

  She bit her lip. Was he for real? Susan failed to mention this date would show up in costume. Wasn't she always joking she'd find a medieval stripper and hire him for Hannah? She wouldn't put it past her friend to talk her cousin into doing something this insane. She probably even paid for the costume. She had to give him credit — he certainly looked and acted authentic. "Did Susan put you up to wearing that?" she blurted out, suddenly feeling small and inadequate next to him.

  Every inch of him spoke of power, strength, and virility. Heat crept up the back of her neck. She shook it off.

  "I know no Susan."

  "Sometimes I wish I didn't either," she said, thinking of all the crazy things her friend did and the last two disastrous dates she'd sent her on.

  His hands were back at his sides, encased in gauntlets and they were downright huge. For a split second she wondered if his hands were really that big or if it was just the gloves. Then she imagined those strong fingers working their way across her body. Her insides tingled with a shock of desire, her nipples hardened beneath the fabric of her bra. She blinked and tried to maintain her composure. "Give me a minute to collect my stuff and we'll get out of here."

  "You'll not leave my presence."

  She didn't imagine many men would agree to don a suit of armor for a blind date or take it to the extreme by staying so true to character. He must owe Susan one pretty big favor. He stood watching her as she gathered her display materials. His stare penetrated her skin, making it prickle and flush. Jeez, she needed to get out more. Susan should have at least warned her what to expect from this date. Still, she decided to play along for the fun of it and deal with Susan later.

  "I just need to drop these off in my office, and we'll leave out the side door."

  Feet apart, body tall, and covered with chain mail that clinked as he took a step toward her. He lifted off his chain hood and shook out the shock of black hair on his head. A fierce red scar ran the full length from his left ear down to the tip of his chin. Wonder how he did that? It certainly wasn't a shaving accident. A patrician nose, a few scowl lines along the sides of his mouth, and angled features gave him a tough no-nonsense look, making her wonder if he smiled much.

  But those eyes. Under hooded brows those mesmerizing green eyes stared down at her with an expression that made every inch of her body burn. She hoped she wouldn't melt where she stood, but her more practical side quickly took over and tried to remind her to focus.

  A hint of fear crept into her chest. What if he wasn't Susan's cousin? He denied know
ing her, and as much as she wanted to believe it was part of his act, what if it wasn't? Only the night guard would hear her if she screamed, and he didn't even carry a gun. This man was all brawn. He had a really big sword and in that armor of his, even a well-placed kick probably would have little effect on him. Did she need to start carrying pepper spray in her pocket now? Why did she keep leaving her cell phone in her purse? Had she learned nothing from the purse-snatching incident?

  "You shiver." He stepped closer, clutching his surcoat between the fingers of his armored gloves. He stood so close she could swear she smelled cloves. "Take my tunic."

  She hadn't noticed the chill in the air, but at his mention of it, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms that now prickled with gooseflesh beneath her wool blazer. She took a tentative step back, shaking her head. "No, I'm not cold."

  "I am here to protect you, Lady Hannah. Not harm you."

  "Protect me? Now you sound like my father. One stolen purse and suddenly I can't take care of myself?"

  "I was not told the details."

  "What exactly were you told?" Hannah narrowed her eyes at Sir Whateverhisnamewas. "Do you want to change before we go to dinner, or will you be wearing that?" She laughed and started walking toward the relative safety of her office, her phone, and her pepper spray.

  "I am here for my reward."

  "Reward, huh?" Now Susan had gone too far. How many times had she opined about the only reward for kissing all the frogs New York City had to offer was the great sex? If she'd promised Mr. Hunk-O-Metal some easy sex with Hannah, he was going to be one disappointed man of steel. "Come on, you'll have to follow me. Only the employee entrance will be open now."

  "You dress like a man. Is that how you will be dressed for dinner? And why do you keep asking me to change? I do not possess the power of witchery, I cannot simply change to suit you wishes. I am a warrior, a knight of honor. My mail protects me, whilst I protect you."