Free Teresa Medeiros by Touch of Enchantment

Brisbane’s women not swooped down from the platform to seize her by the arms and drag her up the narrow stairs. Tabitha struggled, but it was like battling a fleshy dragon with an infinite number of limbs and a dozen tittering heads. She had to hold her breath to keep from choking. Not evenseveral layers of spicy perfumes could disguise the sour taint of body odor. No wonder Colin had noticed her fresh-from-the-shower scent.
    As they dragged her past a tonsured priest filling out what she assumed was a medieval coroner’s report, she craned her neck to peer over the bobbing feather of his quill. Her glasses were still tucked away in her pajama pocket so she had to squint to make out the date etched in his flowery script—
Year of Our Lord Twelve Hundred and Fifty-Four
.
    “Twelve Fifty-Four. Twelve Fifty-Four,” she muttered.
    There was something naggingly familiar about that particular sequence of numbers. One. Two. Five. Four. She groaned as she remembered magnifying the amulet’s image within those precise parameters. Why couldn’t she have chosen one, nine, seven, and six? Then she wouldn’t have had to face any challenge more daunting than the advent of disco.
    As they thrust her into the chair next to Brisbane’s throne, Lucy’s plaintive mew sounded from somewhere behind her.
    She leveled a steely glare at her assailants. “Let go of me, you bullying cows, or I’ll … I’ll …”
    Sue for assault?
    Dial 911?
    Give you a verbal reprimand?
    Tabitha sputtered to a frustrated halt.
    “You can’t blame the wench for being vexed,” crooned one of the women as she forced a coronet of flowers over Tabitha’s tousled hair. “After all, she’ll soon be losing more than her temper.” Clucking in mock sympathy, she ran a finger across Tabitha’s throat.
    Another woman fanned herself with her pudgy hand.“One night with Ravenshaw may cost her both her head and her virtue.” She offered her companions an impish wink. “ ’Twas well worth it, no doubt. The rogue’s prowess in bed surely exceeds even his prowess on the battlefield.”
    The women tittered. Tabitha stiffened. They’d have probably been laughing louder had they known she’d failed to incite even the most perfunctory lust in Sir Colin. At least while he was conscious.
    Her tormentors put the finishing touches on her humiliation by draping an ermine-trimmed cloak over her shoulders. She was beginning to feel like Miss America—without the scholarships. Still whispering and giggling among themselves, the women withdrew to their benches. Tabitha barely had time to steal a breath of fresh air before Brisbane drifted back to his throne on a cloud of tart fragrance that smelled vaguely like Lemon Pledge.
    “Shouldn’t you be down on the field?” Tabitha snapped. “Defending your honor … or your lack of it.”
    Brisbane’s nonchalant shrug was enhanced by the ripple of his robe. “Every man and woman has the right to choose their own champion. I’ve chosen mine and ah … here’s yours now.”
    Malice oozed from his voice, but Tabitha still couldn’t resist leaning forward and gripping the rail that encircled the gallery.
    Jeers and hoots of derision assailed her ears as Colin was led onto the field riding a shaggy pony. They’d stripped him of both armor and shirt, leaving him wearing nothing but his boots and a pair of loose black breeches. He should have looked ridiculous, but even half-horsed and half-naked, he still looked like a man capable of slaying a dragon or two. Robbing him of hisshirt only revealed the powerful ripple of muscles honed by warfare and bronzed by the Egyptian sun.
    As one of Brisbane’s smirking squires paraded him past the platform, the knight’s indomitable dignity shamed the crowd to silence.
    Tabitha was relieved to note that his wound still showed no sign of fresh bleeding. She’d learned from experience never to discount the restorative powers of a Big Mac. And Colin had wolfed down three of