Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance)

by Diane Darcy

  Samantha ignored their amused faces, pleased to have an answer to a question history had failed to record. “What do you know about him?”

  “His mother was burned at the stake,” Tori said. “His father was the former laird. His father’s wife was so horrible to him that his da finally sent him to his English relatives, no doubt fearing his son would be killed.”

  “Tori.” Beth snapped. “Get back to work and stop your gossiping.”

  “Sorry, mum.”

  Samantha hadn’t known about the stepmom. She wondered if the lady was the ultimate cause of his demise. “Is she still about? The stepmother?”

  Beth looked like she wouldn’t answer for a moment, but finally shook her head. “Nay. She died of fever this past year, along with her husband and two sons.”

  “Oh. That’s sad.” And the reminder that Ian also died young was totally depressing. It was a hard time to live in. She exhaled a breath. “Can you tell me about the layout of the castle?”

  Beth’s chest puffed out. “The place was once built of timber and had wooden palisades, but now most of it is fashioned of stone. We have a hall to hold three score, and a large kitchen with two fireplaces, as well as a well-stocked larder and pantry. There are the two bedchambers, and the solar. Then there are the stables.” Her lips pursed for a moment. “We do have a chapel, and there’s a church in the village, but both are boarded up at the moment.”

  “Why?” In this time period, church was the center of clan life.

  Beth shrugged. “We follow the laird’s wishes.”

  “Huh.” A question for another day. “Where does the laird sleep?”

  “In the great chamber, of course. At the bottom of the stairs, turn to your right.”

  This set the girls giggling. “Are you wishing to be the laird’s mistress, then?”

  “Tori, hush.”

  “But mum, you know Brecken is pressuring me to become such.”

  Beth looked upset.

  Tori glanced at Samantha. “I’ve considered handfasting.”

  “’Tisn’t a true marriage and you know it,” Beth said. “Contracts can be broken.”

  “Brecken MacGregor? And you’re Victoria?” Samantha recognized the names of the Laird and Lady who came into power after Ian was killed. She considered the time and place and offered the advice. “Being a mistress doesn’t afford much influence nor protection. You should hold out for marriage.”

  Someone stomped and wheezed up the stairs. A fat, red-faced woman appeared, holding a covered tray, two young girls in her wake. “Breakfast.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” Samantha said.

  The woman tore the cloth off the food, and oh, dear, it did not look appetizing. Blobs of...of...green, purplish, and brown stuff, placed on a large platter, none of it touching.

  “Oh.” Samantha looked around at the others. “The thing is, a piece of bread, with maybe some butter on it would probably do me.”

  “It’s not supposed to be appetizing,” the woman said. “It’s supposed to show if you be a witch.”

  Samantha sighed. “I’m not a witch.”

  The woman lifted the tray. “Prove it.”

  “It looks poisonous.”

  “’Tis not.”

  Samantha looked around at the expectant faces and realized that if she didn’t eat it, they’d believe what they wanted and probably spread rumors to that effect. Queasy, she looked at the food again. “So what you’re saying is, that if I eat this, it will prove once and for all I’m not a witch?”

  “Aye.” Tori smiled encouragingly.

  Samantha hesitated. She wanted them to trust her, but to eat that—Ugh. Green and goopy, purple and brown, it looked like what would be served on Medieval Fear Factor. “Is it cooked?”

  “O’ course.”

  “There aren’t any bugs or anything vile in it, right?”

  The cook puffed out her chest. “O’ course not.”

  “If I eat it, can I have something tasty to eat after?”

  The woman glanced away. “Aye.”

  “Why did you look away?” Samantha asked accusingly. “It’s poisoned, isn’t it?”

  Cook’s eyes flashed back. “Only if you be a witch!” Her eyes narrowed in on Samantha’s hair and she nodded once.

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll eat it if you will.”

  “I’m not a witch,” Cook puffed in indignation.

  “Then it shouldn’t hurt you.”

  Cook hesitated, then glanced around at the expectant faces, and her chin jutted out. “Fine.” She balanced the tray with one hand, then plucked a slimy looking piece of something off the dish, popped it in her mouth, chewed without so much as a grimace, then swallowed. “Now you.”

  Since she could see no way out of it, Samantha lifted another of the same piece of goo as Cook had, pinched it between finger and thumb, smelled it, then slowly placed it in her mouth.

  After a moment Beth said, “You must chew.”

  Samantha chewed. Cold, slimy, and chewy, tasting slightly of grass, she gagged once, but finally managed to swallow. She gagged again, but kept it down. “Proof enough?”

  “Nay.” Cook scooped up another piece, this time from the purplish pile, and crunched her way through it.

  Crunchy was better, surely? Samantha reached forward and this time didn’t hesitate, but popped a piece into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Mm. That one tasted like a cookie.”

  Cook watched her suspiciously, probably waiting for her to keel over, and Samantha refrained from grabbing her own throat and making gurgling noises, but just barely.

  Next Cook picked up a brown gelatin looking something and ate it.

  Samantha did the same, but couldn’t help screwing up her face at the bitter taste. “Ugh. What’s in that?”

  Cook laughed out loud. “Witch’s bile. And, I have to say, nastier than I remember.”

  “Ugh. Can’t I have something tasty now? Something to drink?” A toothbrush? Mouthwash?

  Cook brought a piece of bread out of her apron, split it in half, and shared it.

  Samantha gladly chewed, hoping to eradicate the taste. “Mm. This is good.”

  Cook’s expression finally softened. “Perhaps I’ll send some up wi’ jam.”

  When Samantha looked toward the platter, Cook laughed. “Berry jam.”

  Samantha smiled. “That sounds great.”

  Cook laughed again.

  “Then she’s not a witch?” asked the redheaded girl.

  Cook lifted a shoulder and, balancing a platter in one hand, headed for the stairs. “Nae more than me, it seems.”

  Tori was grinning. “I ne’er believed her such.”

  “Me either,” said another girl.

  “Nor me,” said the redhead.

  “There’s no such things, you know.” Samantha mentally listed the pros and cons of telling the girls about the number of people put to death in Europe, or the Salem witch trials, but decided against it, simply saying, “A lot of good people have died over the years, both men and women, who’ve been falsely accused. Often their accusers stood to gain from their deaths. I know of one such case where a lot of really good people died for no reason, and the accusers later admitted that they’d lied.”

  When the three girls started to cry, Samantha wished she hadn’t said anything. Especially when she saw Ian MacGregor standing at the top of the stairs.

  “What is going on here?”

  Wow. The man just seemed to get better looking every time she saw him. Samantha shrugged. “They were testing me to see if I was a witch. I passed with flying colors.”

  He made an impatient noise. “Everyone out.”

  Beth shooed them all, and they scrambled, picking up cleaning supplies, before heading down the stairs. A couple of the girls shot looks between the two of them and giggled before hurrying down.

  “Don’t tell me. They made you eat wormwood?”

  She made a face. “Please tell me it wasn’t made of worms.”

/>   “It tastes like grass.”

  She shuddered. “Yes. I ate it.”

  “Did they put herbs in your bed?”

  Samantha looked over to where the girls had made her up a bed on the pallet. She crossed to it and pulled back the blanket to see herbs dotting the sheet.

  He followed. “Och, aye. If you’re a witch, ye’ll be dead by morning. They played the same trick on me when I arrived. It won’t hurt you, but it’ll itch like the devil it you don’t shake it out.”

  Her mouth curved and she dropped the blanket. “Thanks for the tip.”

  After looking at her mouth, he turned without another word and headed for the stairs.

  “Wait. Do I get to go, too?”

  “You’re to stay here.”

  “For how long?

  “Until I let you go.”

  Maybe she needed to tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He looked like a reasonable man, and if it would get he out of the tower...she’d have to think about it.

  He looked at her, apparently waiting for a reaction, but all she could muster was a slight shrug.

  “Nae complaints?”

  She shook her head and held in a smile. It was easy to be nice about being locked in when you had a box of keys. She had no doubt one of them would fit in the lock. Medieval key making wasn’t that advanced and besides, the ones she’d found looked like a spare set, something the chatelaine of a castle would wear. She was pretty sure she could make one work.

  Tonight she was going to find that crown and get out of there. And now, thanks to the girls, she knew just where to look.

  ~~~

  Ian eyed the girl. She was as attractive in daylight as she’d been in shadow, and incredibly appealing to him. He’d been trying to stay away all morning, trying to keep busy both indoors and out, but it was as if she drew him here without effort, and he’d finally given in, convinced that if he could see her he’d realize she was but a woman and the sway she held over his thoughts would fade quickly away.

  But blast it, he could see it wasna to be. She watched him with long-lashed brown eyes, so beautiful a man could drown in them, her expression lit as if happy to gaze upon him again, her pretty face surrounded by that untamed, vibrant hair. He wrenched his gaze away and turned to follow the others down the stairs.

  “Wait,” she cried out. “At least let me out of the tower for the day. I could stay right by your side.”

  He stopped, glad for the excuse to stay, and considered keeping her with him. He faced her again, and her pull grew ever stronger, more enticing, and he shook his head. He’d get nothing done if she was beside him the whole day through. “Nay, ye’ll stay here.”

  “I haven’t done anything to deserve this. How is this fair?”

  The pique on her face had him suppressing a smile. “Life rarely is fair. Anyway, ’tis to keep you safe ’til I decide what to do wi’ you. As it is, my clan wants ye dead, as they fear you.”

  She crossed her arms. “Well, that makes us even, because I’m terrified of them.”

  Still reluctant to leave, he glanced around. “It looks as if they made a good start of the clean-up. ’Twas time to burn some of the rubble, anyway.”

  Samantha’s mouth dropped. “No! You have some amazing finds. Incomparable 13th century relics that could be restored. Oh...wait a minute...I mean, uh, useful things.

  Surprised at her vehemence, his brows rose. “Ah. A thrifty lass, are ye? Weel, that’s not a bad thing.”

  They stared at each other and he wondered if his expression was as...keen as her own, suspected it was, and grew uncomfortable until he shifted on his feet.

  “How did you get so big?” she finally asked, her hands waving to indicate his arms and chest, her tone admiring.

  He felt his neck heat as he lifted a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “My mother’s brothers are tall and big like me.” He started to walk backward, began to form an excuse to take his leave. “Weel, now, I’ll just—”

  “Wait.” She closed the distance between them. “Have there been attempts on your life yet?”

  He stopped, his brows lowering in disbelief. “What know you of that?”

  “Nothing really, I’ve just heard rumors. But I do know that if you die while I’m in here, that there will be no one to protect me and I’ll be burned at the stake before you can say Bob’s Your Uncle. Or left to starve in this tower.”

  “Then perhaps you’d do well to remember that.”

  “What are you implying? I’d never try to kill you. Never.”

  He studied her fierce, passionate face. “Ye seem to mean that.”

  “I do.” She stepped in front of him, blocking his way to the stairs. “Have you thought about giving me the crown?”

  “Nay. ’Tis hidden, and it’ll do ye no good to look for it.”

  Her eyes darted as she considered. “Along with valuables won from tournaments?”

  His brows slammed together. “What know you of that?”

  She grinned. “Just that you like to hide treasure for a rainy day.”

  “Rainy day? You’re an odd lass. Are you truly a thief then?” He stepped to the side, intent on getting away now.

  “No.” She moved again to block his path again.

  It would be a simple matter to set her aside, but he did not make the attempt. Apparently he wasn’t quite ready to go.

  She looked calculating. “Come on, Ian.” She shifted closer. “If you could just see your way to letting me out, I’d appreciate it so much. Can’t you just do me this one tiny favor?” She smiled, obviously trying to soften him, but being so blatant, so obvious, that his lips curled the smallest bit. If she was a spy, she wouldn’t make a very good one.

  “Nay. Ye’ll stay here.”

  “Pretty, pretty please.”

  Ian bit the inside of his lower lip in an attempt to hold a grin. He had to admit, blatant or not, she was appealing and he was tempted to grant her wish...her every wish. Of course, that was the trick of it, wasn’t it? Lure him in with charm, then steal his valuables and disappear. Perhaps she wasn’t so bad at this after all. “Nay.”

  She dropped the sweet expression. “Why not? It’s a perfectly reasonable request. I’ll stay with you where I’m safe.”

  Her trust in him did funny things to his insides. “No.”

  She looked down the stairs, then back at him. “I could probably beat you to the bottom, shut the door, and lock you in.”

  He laughed, pulled a key from his shirt pocket, and dangled it in front of her. “Without a key?”

  She didn’t bother to hide her irritation.

  He grinned, enjoying her transparent reactions. “You are most amusing.”

  “How ‘bout we make a bargain?” Her eyes flickered briefly to his lips. “You give me the crown, and I’ll give you a kiss.”

  That caught his attention, and said much about her attraction as he was incredibly tempted. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Tell me how you knew I had the crown and I’ll consider it.”

  She took a deep breath. “The crown disappeared from court at about the same time you did. The memorial to your mother has birds carved into it. And, at the base, lion’s claws, which everyone knows is the king’s emblem.”

  Which he’d meant to resemble birds so as fool a casual observer—but that the king or an emissary would recognize did he come searching for the crown. This business with the poison made him a cautious man.

  Still, how could she have known any of this? One look at the memorial and she’d figured it out? Figured him out? Apparently he wasn’t as wily as he’d believed. She was beautiful, passionate, and driving him mad. He circled her, striding for the stairs, needing to get away, needing to think.

  She grabbed his arm, her cool touch like a heated brand. “Take me with you. You can keep an eye on me. I won’t try to elude you or disobey.”

  He was tempted. She interested him and made him laugh. She seemed to admire him, as well. Her wide-eyed appeals, the
attempt to manipulate him to do her bidding was at odds with her transparency. Seemingly, intelligence and innocence made for a heady combination where he was concerned. And he still couldn’t get her bravery from yesterday out of his head.

  “You never answered. Have there been attempts on your life?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You give yourself away without meaning to. How could you know that unless you are the assassin or working wi’ one?”

  “I’m not an assassin. I just know everything ever written about you, okay?” She threw up a hand, an impatient gesture, then without warning rushed toward the stairs.

  He caught her, gripped her wrist and twirled her around to face him, so close their bodies were a hair’s-breadth apart. “Written about me? I hardly think monks are wasting time scribbling about my feats or that others would take the time to read such.”

  “You’d be surprised.” She struggled.

  “Where do you think to go, lass?”

  She inhaled. “I can’t be caged like a bird,” she said, her attention locked on his mouth. “I must be free.” She softened, relaxed.

  His stomach clenched like a fist, hard to his gut, and his gaze dipped to her lips. His hands clenched on her wrist and he swallowed, fought not to pull her flush against him.

  “I never really thanked you properly. For saving my life, I mean.” Her voice was breathy, almost a whisper. Had she inched closer?

  There was that expression again, the yearning, the admiration. She would drive him to madness. Everyone feared him, but she looked at him, well, the way a woman looks at a man she wishes for her own. The sensation was heady, and he shook his head to break her spell.

  It didn’t work.

  His gaze dropped to her plump lips once more, and he couldn’t help but wonder how far she’d take this trick. If he leaned down to claim her offered kiss, she’d no doubt lose the expression of wonder and esteem. He was tempted to try. It would be a test. Just to prove her false.

  He bent his head, leaned closer, saw her startled expression before she smiled and tilted her face to his. She must’ve pushed up on her toes, for she drew near of her own accord, her free hand landing on his chest, hot, like a brand.

  He stopped, sucked in air, his mouth hovering over hers, the air between them seeming to heat.