Lonely is the Knight (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 3) by Cynthia Luhrs

four of the men. “My knights will guard the village until I have taken care of the threat.”
    The woman knelt at his feet. “I am most grateful.”
    Henry pulled her up by the arms. “You are under my protection.”
    He spoke to the men: “Be aware of your surroundings. If I know Hallsey, he will strike again. Be ready. And send word if anything happens.”
    Henry tossed one of the knights a bag of coins. “Purchase new livestock and whatever else was taken.”
    The men nodded as Henry mounted and urged his horse to gallop. He muttered, “I have beaten him in every tourney, and how was I to know ’twas his wife? All women look alike in the dark.”
    He must’ve spoken louder than he thought, for his men chuckled and continued making ribald jests the entire way home.

Chapter Eleven

    Charlotte lifted one hand off the wheel. Nope, no more shaking. The adrenaline was finally wearing off. She shifted, easing the seat back as far as it would go. The bulk of the backpack made her lean forward. In her haste to flee, she’d left it on, and so far there was nowhere to stop and take it off. The messenger bag dug into her hip as the seatbelt mashed into her side.
    A huge sigh of relief coursed through Charlotte. Even with all the commotion, she hadn’t lost the two precious bags. But both pairs of boots and the rest of her stuff were still sitting in the hotel. In her bags she had the daggers and her medieval clothing, along with the journal and other odds and ends. Her bracelet sparkled in the sunlight. A glance in the rearview told her she’d gotten away. Charlotte kept close to the coast. At some point, she’d have to find a way to return the car. Apologize for what she’d done. Hope the guy would understand and not press charges.
    Twenty-two years and she’d never stolen a thing. Not even a pack of gum when she was a kid. Charlotte snorted. The Aston Martin was significantly larger than a pack of gum.
    But my oh my, could this baby fly. The leather seats enveloped her, and the sound of the engine and the salty air made her want to drive forever. Forget all about some crazy guy wanting to kill her all because of another dead guy.
    It was like some video game gone rogue. Charlotte flicked through the stations until she found one playing eighties music. It seemed the DJ was on the same wavelength, as one perfect driving song after another came on. Singing along, Charlotte pressed down on the gas.
    Maybe thirty minutes had passed, and the instant she started to relax, a glance in the rearview showed a car coming up fast. She stepped on the gas, laughing as the car surged forward. For a moment she wondered how fast the car could go. Too bad she was running from a killer instead of taking a road trip.
    She had to slow down as she took the next curve. Apparently the guy behind her had no such qualms, for he bumped her. The impact jarred her from her teeth to her toes as she fought to keep control of the car.  
    Thank you, universe, for keeping other cars off the road. Where was everybody? It was a beautiful day and the promenade had been packed. Okay, maybe not a totally clear road. A truck passed her, preventing the man chasing her from hitting her again. She made the mistake of looking over the edge. There was no shoulder, and no guardrail, just a very steep and scary drop-off. Charlotte inched the car over toward the centerline.  
    As he crept closer to bump her again, Charlotte jammed on the brakes. She watched in slow motion as his car seemed to bounce off the Aston Martin. Saw him frantically trying to gain control as the car started to spin. Helpless, she watched as the car spun off the edge, seeming to hover in the air before it vanished. If someone had asked her, Charlotte couldn’t tell them if it was the fireball she saw or the explosion she heard first.
    A piece of debris from the car flew up and hit her on the shoulder. “Ouch, damn it.”
    Charlotte touched her shoulder. Her fingers came away red. Her hand