Read Online She Owns the Knight by Diane Darcy - Free Book Online Page A

lordship and he will answer your questions.”
    Gillian’s mouth twisted. “You’re what, fourteen, fifteen?”
    “I am all of fourteen summers.”
    “So, you’re fourteen and you’re telling me you don’t have a cell phone glued to your hip? Come on, just let me borrow it. I promise to make the call really quick. No one has to know.”
    Beatrice looked around as if seeking help.
    “Cross my heart,” Gillian made a crossing motion over her chest and smiled reassuringly. “I won’t tell a soul.”
    The girl looked scared. “Perhaps if her ladyship would like to lie abed for a time? Her ladyship’s bedchamber is most comfortable.”
    “Yeah, I laid on that bed earlier, and let me tell you, it was not a restful experience.”
    The girl looked at the ground and clapped her hands in front of her.
    In frustration, Gillian turned. “Fine, if you’re not going to help me, I’m out of here.”
    A couple of hours later, with the girl still on her heels, Gillian sighed. She’d studied every inch of the place, from the buttery to the barracks, to the blacksmith’s and the brew house, to the dovecote and the garderobes—which Gillian had unwillingly made use of. No one was giving up a phone, and most ignored her.
    Even more worrisome, she couldn’t find anything that indicated she was in the twenty-first century. Not so much as a light switch or a pair of athletic shoes. And as far as she could tell, not one single woman wore makeup. Not even mascara. Surely that went beyond fanatic?
    Unless she really was in the past?
    Again, she went over what had happened before she’d arrived at the castle. She’d been running. She’d almost fallen a few times, but she didn’t remember actually hitting her head or anything. And she wasn’t in any pain.
    She’d only sipped from her water bottle, and didn’t remember being stuck with any needles. So how had she been drugged and brought to this place?
    She tried to think. To remember every single detail. Right after she’d shoved her father’s ring on her finger, the hooligans had disappeared and the medieval guys had shown up. Suddenly, it was as if she were in a different place.
    A frisson of fear chased up her spine. Was she in a different place? In a different time? Had she somehow managed to travel through time?
    She studied the ring and thought about the engravings on the inside. She knew her father had hired someone to translate the markings, but she couldn’t remember what they meant. She let out a breath. If it had caused the problem, then she could remedy the situation quickly enough. She grasped the ring and pulled.
    The ring stuck to her finger.
    She spit on it, rubbed the moisture around, and tried to twist it off again. It didn’t budge. Panic bubbled in her chest. She didn’t remember the ring being so small when her father had worn it. Tugging at the ring was making her finger swell and she gave up.
    Later she’d find some cold water to soak her hand in. What she was thinking couldn’t be the truth, anyway. “Beatrice. What is the date today?”
    Beatrice curtsied, and smiled. “The first day of June, my lady.”
    Gillian sucked in air as goosebumps ran up her arms. As far as she knew, it was April the eighteenth. With a shiver she asked, “What year?”
    The maid looked confused. “The year of our lord, 1260.”
    Chills ran up Gillian’s back, and the hair on her nape stood straight. But disbelief had her scoffing. “The real date, if you please.”
    The girl’s face showed absolutely no understanding. Either she was an incredible actress, or she really was more than seven hundred years old. “Are you telling the truth?” asked Gillian, trying to sound stern.
    The girl looked scared. “Of course, my lady. I would never lie to you. If I did so, Father Elliot would serve up bread and water for a sennight!” The sincerity in the other girl’s face sent an icy chill through Gillian.
    “What is the name of this castle?”
    “Marshall Keep, my