Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance)

by Diane Darcy

  He considered clearing his throat, but the stiff, attentive way they stood caught his attention. He stopped behind them and listened. A scratching noise and a jingle made his lips twitch. The female was trying to tickle the lock and open the door.

  He bit back a smile. He puckered his lips and blew an almost silent whistle and all eyes turned toward him. Surprise and fear registered when they realized he stood behind them, and with a motion of his hand he excused them all.

  As they scampered away, he hid around the curve of the wall and heard the woman call out a soft, “Hello?”

  There was only silence between them and, after a long moment, and a muttered, “mice,” the scratching started up again. A few minutes later he was surprised to hear a quiet snick. The tower door eased open and he hurried silently down the stairs and stepped into a shadowed alcove. Within moments he heard the rustle of material as she made her way down, past his hiding spot, and across the upstairs corridor.

  Smiling, he followed, and, as she made her way directly to his bedchamber, his mouth parted. He eased through the portal after her and watched as, without hesitation, and with very little outside light, she knelt in front of one of his well-crafted hiding places.

  When she twisted the wood, he froze. How in the name of all that was holy could she have known about that? He’d built it and was the only one who knew the location. And she’d found it in the semi-dark, no less? And immediately?

  His mouth tightened as he heard the chink of coins, then her sigh. He could barely make her out as she sank back on her haunches. Another sigh. Disappointed was she? Wanted more, did she?

  “Oh, you tricky, tricky Scot. Where else would you have hidden it?” she said the words softly, but he heard, just the same.

  “Hidden what, lass?”

  She gasped, struggled to her feet, and faced him. With a hand to her chest, her expression distrustful, she said, “The crown. What else?” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I told you, I just need to borrow it for a little while.”

  He shut the door, took a moment to light a candle, then drew near and peered into the hole she’d exposed in the floor. Three sacks, full of coins, seemed intact. Two golden goblets, jewelry, and gem-encrusted daggers. He looked at her empty hands, at her skirt. He would have heard her pocket clink if she’d taken any coins, so, not a thief then—or mayhap he’d interrupted too soon. He placed the floor boards back over the hole and twisted it into place until the lines were completely concealed by the wood grain on the surrounding floor.

  “Explain yourself. How could you have found this? It took me a solid week to craft and I had to bar the door and pretend I was sickly the entire time so none would discover it. No one has, until now. I’d like an explanation that doesn’t include witchcraft or the fact that you noticed something and figured it out yourself.”

  She looked away, bit her lip, and it irritated him that she was so beautiful in the candlelight, that the gesture could so easily draw his eyes to her mouth. “I told you. I studied you. You don’t have many secrets from me.”

  The woman might be beautiful, but she was daft. “Think you I wouldn’t have noticed you hanging about, spying upon me?”

  She shrugged. “All you need to know is that I will find that crown.”

  “Mayhap. Mayhap not. Are you a witch in truth, then? A seer?” Even as he said it, he didn’t believe. He might not know—yet—how she came by her knowledge, but he would.

  She ran a hand through her red locks and sighed, attracting his attention once again, making him wish he could touch her hair. “No. Not a witch or a seer.” She looked around his room. “Oh, wow. Your bed is awesome.”

  She walked to the high bed and ran a hand along the hanging red tapestries and touched the metal ornamentation with her fingers. She pushed on the feather mattress. "Nice. I like the pillows too." She fingered the blue bedspread lined with miniver fur, and the coverlet of red sendal with the chevron pattern. "Back home, I have a Serta, and it's really comfortable, but I’ve never slept on a feather bed.”

  Was she hinting to sleep with him? Would he let her? He took a deep breath. Yes. Yes, he would.

  She looked at the heraldry embroidered on the hangings. "The dragon is your emblem, right? The orange background means rewarding ambition, and the dragon is the guardian of treasures and the bravest of creatures. She turned back, her eyes admiring. "Like you."

  He shook his head in confusion, and it almost seemed against his will that he followed her with his gaze, waiting to see what she’d do next. She glanced around, then crossed over to his standing wardrobe and ran her hand along it. “And this. It’s beautiful. I saw one of these in a castle I visited in Germany. I was on a dig site nearby, and the owner was an amateur archaeologist, sort of a fan of mine actually, and he let me have a tour. Do you know who made this?”

  Not understanding half of what she said, his chest stinging with a strange, unfounded jealousy of the man who gave her a tour, he shrugged. “Nae doubt a craftsman in Edinburgh. My father’s wife had a liking for nice things.”

  She exhaled. “Medieval Scotland is so cool.”

  “Medieval?”

  “Can I look for the crown in another place? I mean, will you let me?”

  He gestured with his candle, curious to see what she’d do next, unable to take his gaze from her.

  She warily walked around him and headed for the door. She plucked another candle from off a table and lit it from his, then opened the door and headed out. When they reached the grand hall, everyone stared at her. The lighting from the sconces and fireplace lit her hair, and made her skin glow white against the darkness. Several men crossed themselves against her as they stacked benches and lay out pallets.

  She nodded at everyone, as regal as if she were the lady of the keep, then strode to the great doors and stepped outside.

  He followed, protected his candle from the slight breeze, and smirked when hers went out. It didn’t take him long to realize she headed toward the chapel, big and looming in the darkness. There weren’t many people about, but the few that were stopped to stare.

  He jerked his head. “Move along.”

  They did.

  When she reached the chapel doors and found them locked, she asked, “Is there another way in?”

  “You dinna know?”

  She smiled, impish. “Actually, I do. I was just being polite.” She went around back and he followed. She stuck her fingers under the shutter’s edge, ran her fingers along the wood, until they both heard a snick and the shutter opened. A chill ran up his spine. How could she know of such things? “Were ye raised here, lass?”

  “Nope.” She threw him a grin, as if this were all a game to her, but grimness settled in his chest as he watched her pull the board aside, hike her skirts in a fashion that in no way proclaimed her a lady, and crawl through the entrance he’d slid through earlier that day.

  Warily, he handed her his candle, then inched through to the other side, half-expecting her to bash his head before he could straighten, but she was already moving away from him. She crossed the room to the altar, set the candle on the floor, and felt her way around the edges much like she’d done with the window. Again, he heard a click.

  The hair on his arms rose.

  Looming over her shoulder, he watched her lift the wood and expose a hiding place. One he did not know of. He lifted the candle to peer inside the empty space big enough for three large men to sit inside. He glanced at her animated expression.

  “Hmm. It’s not there. I was so sure that’s where you’d put it.”

  When he didn’t even know of the vault?

  Here and now, if it took the whole night through, it was time she answered his questions.

  Chapter Ten

  Ian felt the excitement rolling off Samantha as she stared down into the hiding place she’d discovered. She glanced up and her smile was like a punch to his gut. The darkness, the mystery, the discovery, her smile. She was a blight on his sanity.


  “Granted, I thought the crown would be here,” she said. “But it’s still gratifying to find this place intact.” She glanced at him, and, seeming to come to a decision, took a deep breath. “It was discovered in the early 20th century, when vandals broke the altar. So far as anyone knew, nothing had been found inside, but then, the vandals wouldn’t have said anything if they’d stolen a treasure, would they? Anyway, by the time the damage had been discovered, the vandals were long gone.”

  20th century? He had absolutely no idea what she spoke of and he’d let her have her way long enough. “Explain,” he said, his tone harsh, menacing, even to his own ears. He didn’t like feeling the fool and the way she spoke, as if he should know what she nattered on about, was driving him daft. “But know this. I’d best like your answers far more than I do now.”

  Startled, she glanced up and whatever she saw of him in the soft candlelight had her swallowing. Slowly she lowered the altar-top and they both heard the mechanism click into place. Taking a breath, she turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “How do you know of this?” He didn’t bother commenting on the vandals and such. “Even I knew naught of this.”

  Her brows drew together. She looked at him, not as a temptress as her clothes indicated, but guileless, and the contradiction of her speech, clothing, and innocent expression confused him. “How could you not know?” she said. “You built it.”

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I?” he finally said. “How could I have built it? ’Tis obvious it’s been here for years. I only recently inherited the title and returned here.”

  She frowned and she looked almost angry. “Then you must have built it years ago. Everyone knows you erected the altar.”

  He snorted. Why would he erect an altar for a Catholic priest? “Think you I made this as a child? Not likely, is it?”

  Her lips pursed. “Well, if you’re telling the truth,” she sounded skeptical, “then maybe history got it wrong.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I really thought the crown would be here. Care to give me any hints as to its whereabouts?”

  It was here, in this chapel. Yet he held his peace and didn’t answer the fact by so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

  “No? I mean, everyone knows you were always hiding things.” She looked up at him and smiled in admiration. “It’s what this castle is known for, even to this day. The valuables and hiding places that have been discovered.”

  “Who knows of this?” He was starting to get angry. “What is your meaning?”

  “Oh. Right.” She glanced around, then indicated the bench against the wall. “Maybe you should sit.”

  Feeling a fool, he did so. Setting the candle on the bench beside him, he extended his legs, crossed his arms, and waited while she perched herself on the other side of the flame.

  Grasping her hands in her lap, she studied them for a moment, then took a breath. “Look. I'm going to come clean and hope that you won't decide I'm a witch after all. See, the thing is...I’m from another time. The 21st century to be exact.” She glanced at him, and when he didn’t respond, she continued. “In my time, this castle is a ruin. Many hiding places have been discovered, and The Crown of Scotland has been missing since your death.”

  Gooseflesh broke out on his arms. Was she touched in the head? Or did she think him so? Perhaps she simply thought to trick him?

  “Some of the hiding places were discovered by searching and measuring, ultrasound, others accidentally, a few by vandals. There’s this altar,” she lifted her hand to indicate the shrine. “And I know about the one in the ladies’ solar. And there’s another under the fireplace in the Grand Hall. Plus the three in your chamber.”

  Two in his chamber. He planned a third sometime soon. Those mentioned, he knew about. And no, the crown was not in any of them, but here in the church, and if she didn’t know of that hiding place, he would not reveal it. “I’ll not give up the crown. ’Tis my responsibility.”

  “No, of course not. I don’t expect that. I just...need to borrow it for a moment. So I can go home.”

  “Let me make sure I understand. You come from the 21st century. That’s what? 700 years in the future?”

  “More like 750 years.”

  “And how did you get here...exactly?”

  “I studied you, figured out where you’d buried the crown, dug it up, and when that rotten, cheating scumbag Jerry Callahan snatched it away and placed it on his head we somehow ended up here. In the past.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “You crossed time?”

  “Correct.”

  “And to return you need the most costly object I have in my possession, an item made of jewels and gold.”

  “Well, when you put it like that it seems like I’m trying to cheat you or something, but I swear it’s the truth.”

  “I see. And I’m simply to take your word on this?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would.”

  His brow quirked. “I’m sure. What of the predictions you made? Of famines, of plagues, of queens killing queens?”

  “All true, but most occur after your lifetime.”

  He leaned his head back against the wall. She truly was like to drive him mad.

  She threw up her hands. “This is fun and all, but—”

  “Fun is it?” He slowly stood, loomed over her, and her speech faltered and trailed off. “As in an enjoyable and diverting time? You might be entertained by your tales, but for myself, I’d go so far as to say I feel a mite upset, confused, and perhaps a bit balmy. But fun has no part in it. Perhaps I’m doing it wrong? Let’s see if we canna turn this around and have us a merry time. What say you?”

  ~~~

  Samantha swallowed as Ian, suddenly closer, held out his hand, his face in half light, half shadow. Unable to resist, she placed her hand in his and felt a jolt of attraction as she was engulfed by his warm, inviting touch. He easily tugged her upright and took another small step forward. His height and proximity nearly overwhelmed her and she had to force herself to stand her ground. “What are you doing?”

  “Do you mind? Just looking to enjoy myself.”

  She swallowed again, paralyzed by his gaze, both unable and unwilling to move away. She put her free hand up to his chest to stop more forward progress and the warmth radiating through his shirt weakened her knees and set her heart thudding. “How ’bout I make you a deal? For the crown, I mean.”

  “A deal, is it?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “What have you to offer?”

  A chuckle escaped her. If he thought he was intimidating her, he was sadly mistaken. It was taking all she had not to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. “What do you want?”

  His large hand captured her smaller one against his chest as his gaze lifted to her eyes, then back to her lips.

  This time her laugh was a trifle breathless. “I’m flattered. Really.” He was overwhelmingly larger than life, not just his body, but his presence, his warmth and vitality, and she had a momentary pang at the thought of him gone, dead, murdered by an unknown assailant. She licked her lips. “How about this? I stick to you like glue. I find out who’s trying to kill you. You live past your death date, and then I get the crown?”

  That gave him pause. “You know my death date?”

  Her stomach clenched. She had a really big mouth. “Uh...maybe?”

  “When is it? Soon, then?”

  How to answer that? “Uh...that would be telling.”

  “Do ye know everyone’s death date? Cook’s and her helpers? The clerk and his assistant? The housekeeper and her maids?”

  She slowly shook her head. “Just yours.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ooh. Just mine is it? And why is that, Miss Witch?”

  Relieved that he was taking it as a joke, her lips curled and she said, “It’s Miss Ryan if you don’t mind.”

  “Mistress Ryan, then.”

  He still held both her hands with both of his and when his voice s
lowly rumbled out her name, she was glad of the support as her knees went weak. She stared up at him, at his hauntingly beautiful face with its broad cheekbones and stubble-lined jaw. Her fingers itched to stroke his cheek, to touch him and see if his whiskers were as soft as they looked. His nearness, the heat emanating off his body, the darkness surrounding them, all made her shiver. “You can call me Samantha.”

  Did he move closer? “Samantha,” he said, low-voiced and rumbling.

  Even though she suspected him of deliberate seduction, her knees definitely weakened as he spoke her name, his accent thick and raspy. She clung to his hands, a lifeline.

  “A very pretty name.” His voice was soothing, husky.

  “I’m...I was actually named for a witch my mother liked to watch on TV.”

  His brows rose.

  She swallowed. “Never mind.”

  “So,” he practically purred. “Tell me why you’re so interested in me and no other. Why d’ye know so much about me? Why have ye studied me?” He leaned closer, his face inches from hers.

  She tilted her head, tried for nonchalance even as she trembled. “What can I say? You’re a fascinating guy.”

  “Facinatin’, is it? Are you sure ’tis not that without my intervention, and now my protection, your situation would be precarious indeed?” He said the words smoothly, without threat or heat. “That being the case, mayhap a show of appreciation on your part wouldna be amiss?” The man was definitely trying to seduce her.

  She should be insulted. Him trying to take advantage of her in the dark wasn’t the most gentlemanly behavior on his part, and in this time period, the lack of respect was telling. But as she was sort of wanting to take advantage of him, she decided not to complain. “What kind of show?”

  “A simple kiss, lass.”

  Her gaze zeroed in on his lips. She shouldn’t. She really should not. She should insist he simply play the gentleman and take her thanks as payment. “You’re quite the ladies’ man, aren’t you?”