Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (15 page)

He heard the noise again and looked behind a couple of chairs to find the witch, or rather, the
woman,
curled in an old tapestry, sound asleep.

He let out his own breath and watched her sleep, her face becoming clearer in the gloom as his eyes adjusted. She truly didna appear as a regular female. Even in the dimness, her hair was a muted red rather than colorless as he’d expect in the shadows. Her face was certainly pretty. Her lashes long and dark against high cheekbones. She was a beauty, to be sure, though he didna like to think of her that way. In his experience, beautiful women were rarely trustworthy. And he’d liked her. Enjoyed her spunk, and certainly how she’d looked at him. Like he was a meal, and she was starving.

Suddenly anxious to speak with her, he poked her foot with the toe of his boot.

She stirred, but didn’t wake.

After he questioned her, ’twould be wise to send her on her way. What with the villagers’ reactions toward her, and the myriad feelings she evoked in him, it seemed a good idea. He nudged her again.

She moaned a bit, and finally woke to stretch and yawn, and he even found those movements enticing. What was wrong with him? He looked away, focusing on the rubbish beyond.

She opened her eyes, saw him, and sat up quickly. “Oh. Hi.”

He nodded once. “Good eve. I’ve brought supper.” He lifted the plate and tankard slightly.

“Thank you.” She swung her knees around and reached for the plate. After she situated it on her legs, he gave her the ale and she set it on the floor. She took a bite of bread, and he realized he stared, fascinated by her every movement. He glanced over at the slight light coming from the windows, up to the arrow slits, around the piled rubbish. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I have questions.”

“I expect you do.”

And blast it, he couldn’t seem to think of a single one. He blurted out, “You know, lass, if you dress like a witch, and curse people like one, ye'll be burned as one.”

“So I gathered,” she said, her mouth full.

That made him smile. The girl was a glutton, who, from the looks of things, hadn’t eaten in a long while. He crossed his arms, glad he’d thought to bring food, feeling curiously gratified he’d been the one to feed her. “Where d’ye hail from? How came ye to be here?”

She lifted the tankard, sipped, shrugged.

His eyes narrowed. Until she answered to his satisfaction, she’d remain locked within. He tried a different approach. “Can I escort you somewhere? Make sure you arrive unaccosted and safe?”

“I bet you could.” She stared up at him, and again, he heard admiration in her tone, and even in the dim light could see it in her gaze. It was headier than any seduction she could have staged, and he cursed himself for his weakness. Apparently he needed to find himself a wife if scant praise from a prisoner could affect him thusly.

“I’m curious about some of the foretelling you spoke of earlier. It sounds as though you know our king?”

Her gaze dropped to her meal and she quickly stuffed a morsel of venison into her mouth, a stalling tactic he’d used himself on occasion. When she finally swallowed, she shrugged. “No. No, I don’t. I know a lot about him, but I’ve never met him personally. They were going to kill me. I was just spouting nonsense.”

“But what you said about the king laying claim to the Western Isles. He does talk of that. Incessantly. He means to finish his father’s work. And you mentioned his death and that of his children. And war with England. How could you know of such?”

“I was just trying to capture their interest.” Intelligence shone bright in her eyes.

He should let it drop, but it bothered him. “It sounded as if ye knew. I ken the truth when I hear it. You spoke of queens killing queens. Of famine.”

“Natural disasters occur all the time. As do political ones.”

This was so close to his earlier thoughts, he wondered that he even bothered questioning the woman. He hesitated, then finally sighed. What was he to do? Press her until she admitted she’d scryed the future? Then what? Burn her as a witch? Even if she turned out to be one, he didn’t have the stomach for the deed. If he desired that result, he could set the girl loose and her hair alone would have her dead inside a week. He turned away, not liking that thought either.

He scraped a chair across the wood floor, checked its sturdiness, and sat. “Tell me what you do here. How did you dig up the crown without disturbing the earth?”

She glanced up sharply at that, thought for a moment, then finally said, “I didn’t.”

“Ye did.”

“How about I ask you a question. What would happen to The Crown of Scotland if you never told a soul where you’d buried it, and then you died?”

Chills broke out on Ian’s arm, and his muscles tensed in aggression, but he forced himself to remain still. “Are ye threatenin’ me?”

“No, I’d never hurt you. Not in a million years.”

That gave him pause. He didn’t know exactly what she meant, but could hear the sincerity in her voice. Like she was speaking truth, or making a vow. “What of the man you brought wi’ you?”

“Jerry is no threat to you.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. Gone. I need to find him, and I’m going to need that crown back.”

She was a demanding wee thing. And curse him, but he liked her for it. It made a nice change from the cowering females in his keep. “The crown is my responsibility.”

“Not this one, apparently.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“You never answered my question. What happens if you die and you haven’t told anyone about the crown? Maybe someone, years in the future, will figure you out. Would study all the places you like to hide things—in the solar, the space under your window, the hollowed out beam of your bedroom ceiling—”

The hair rose on his arms, and he stood. “Enough. That is enough.” He started to back away.

“Wait.” She rose, and her dress fell into straight lines, and his eyes were drawn to her narrow waist flaring to shapely hips. His gaze darted to her cleavage, her face. A breath escaped him. Even in shadow she was bloody beautiful, bewitching him effortlessly.

“Are you going to let me go? Please, help me find Jerry, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Nay.” He kept his eyes on her as he backed toward the stairs, then he turned and hurried down. “I’ll not do any of that.”

“Wait a minute, where are you going?”

“Stay where you are. Doona follow me.”

“But—”

“Stay.”

“Wait. Don’t leave me. There’s a mouse in here!”

“You doona say?” He reached the bottom, shut the door, and locked it. He hurried down the stairs so she wouldn’t be able to see him if she crept down and peered through the bars.

He finally stopped, leaned against the wall, his heart pounding like a drum.

She’d known of his best hiding spots. Even the one he was still crafting. He’d never, since the time he’d been a boy, believed in witches, but now he was questioning that fact. Could she be a seer? Just because he’d not met one before, didn’t mean they didn’t exist. There was no other way he could think that the girl could have known his business.

And he still didn’t know how she’d removed the crown without disturbing the dirt.

He pushed away from the wall. He had no intention of going back up there this night. But one matter was certain. She’d remain his guest until she could answer all his questions to his satisfaction.

But next time he’d question her in daylight.

~~~

After a sleepless night during which she’d failed to pick the lock and then had to make use of the garderobe—nothing quite like hovering her derriere over a medieval toilet in the dark—Samantha woke when she heard the key turning in the lock. She figured she knew who it was. Mr. Smoking Hot, Himself. After deserting her and leaving her in the dark, with a mouse, all night long, he’d decided to show his face again.

Regardless of the irritation, her heart leapt. She sat up on the straw-filled pallet and waited, not wanting to scare the guy off again. Meeting him was probably akin to unexpectedly meeting a favorite movie star. She smiled and admitted it. She was star struck. As there wasn’t a chance a relationship could ever happen between them, why not fantasize, right? It wasn’t everyone who got to meet their obsession.

The pulse in her throat fluttered as she heard whispers at the bottom of the stairs. She was enjoying the feeling of anticipation. She was pretty sure she’d never felt quite this way before. The thrumming, energy, the building excitement. In fact, she knew dang well she hadn’t. Did they just make men differently back in the day? She certainly hadn’t had this reaction to any of the guys in the village. But then, the whole burn-the-witch-at-the-stake thing had been going on. But still, she thought maybe it was just him. She chuckled at herself. Okay, calm down, girl. Calm down.

When he didn’t appear, and the whispering continued, she finally called out, “Hello?” She started to stand, heard a pause, then more whispering, and settled back to wait. It wasn’t long before a cloth-covered head peeked up over the stairs, and startled blue eyes met her own. Definitely
not
The MacGregor. Darn it.

The young lady ducked down again and Samantha was left wondering what to do. Get up and greet the whisperers? Or stay put so she didn’t startle anyone? Run down the stairs, scream like a banshee, and push her way past them and scramble toward freedom?

She grinned and decided the most circumspect thing to do was sit and wait.

It paid off. Two heads appeared together this time, and wide-eyed pretty teen girls slowly climbed the stairs, one balancing a bowl of water that sloshed as she walked, the other carrying cloths and shooting Samantha wary glances. Two more followed. They retreated as far from her as possible, then turned as a lady who looked to be in her mid-thirties or so huffed into view.

“Hello.” Samantha addressed the woman.

“A good day to ye.” She stood at the top and caught her breath, a hand pressed to one side. A plump woman, her brown hair was pulled up in a bun on top of her head, and a few wrinkles marked the skin at her eyes.

“Quite the climb.” Samantha commented.

The woman studied her openly in return. “It is, indeed. I am Beth. The master sent us to make the place a bit more hospitable for ye. We’ve brought you soap, wash water, and a chewing stick to clean your teeth. I’ve a spare comb about somewhere, and we’ll have some food brought up later.”

“Thank you. I’ll be glad to freshen up.” Considering the fact that she’d been lolling around in dirt and woodpiles, she was genuinely grateful.

The woman nodded. “We’re to clean. I’ve enlisted some boys to move some of this,” she waved a hand to indicate the pile of junk, “to another room so ye might be a tad more comfortable.”

“Okay. But before you start, I think you should know there’s a mouse in here.”

Beth looked at her for a moment, then a smile, wide and genuine, preceded a chuckle. “Probably more than one, as there are in most rooms of the castle, I’m sure.”

Samantha groaned. “You just had to say that, didn’t you?” She finally deemed it a good idea to stand. She held out a hand. “I’m Samantha.”

Beth took her hand in a rough one and squeezed. “Pleased to meet ye.”

“And you. What can I do to help?”

After an appraising look, Beth pointed toward the broom on the floor. “I’ll let you sweep and ye can throw the dust out the window while the girls start to remove some of the lighter rubbish.” She clapped her hands. “Enough standing about, lassies. Get to it.”

The girls started to haul stuff down the stairs, and Beth called one of them over. “This is my daughter, Victoria. We call her Tori.”

The young girl blushed and looked down. Blonde beneath her headscarf, beautiful, with high cheekbones, and a tiny waist, she was neat as a pin in her dress and apron. She dipped a slight curtsey. “Mum.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tori.” She glanced at Beth again. “She’s a beauty, like her mother.”

“She’s a hard worker.” Beth said sternly, but wasn’t quite able to hide a pleased expression as she shooed the girl back to work.

“Does the sudden cleanup mean I’m going to be here for a while?”

Beth shrugged. “I’ve no idea. We just do as we’re told.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Samantha muttered, earning another short smile from Beth.

As the girls hauled stuff out, Samantha swept dust and dirt. They shied away from her at first, but after a while the girls seemed to lose their fear as they went about their business.

Two teen boys appeared, stared at Samantha curiously, and caused some giggling among the girls. They were quickly instructed to haul some of the heavier pieces of furniture away, but to leave the largest chest for Samantha’s use. When they hauled the chest against one wall, Samantha inspected the interior. She pulled out a piece of metal and lifted it for inspection. “Oh, wow. Check this out. It’s a bodkin. I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

Her excitement made the kids smile.

“It’s a nasty little stabbing weapon that knights kept on their person for up close and personal fighting. They could grab it off their belt and stab the enemy, usually in the eyes or throat.” Realizing that this particular piece might have done exactly that—and fairly recently by her standards—she made a noise of disgust and dropped it back in the chest—to the tune of more teen laughter.

She pushed some folded material aside and snagged something from one corner. “And look at this.” She pulled out a bronze clothing buckle, in better shape than any she’d seen before, with floral designs etched into it. The middle pin was only slightly bent. She held it up for everyone to see.

“Aye,” one of the boys commented. “An old buckle. How very useful.”

“Don’t think I don’t hear the sarcasm, chum.”

They laughed again, but she didn’t care. Maybe the pin could be used to pick the lock? This place was a potential treasure trove. She opened a box and found some keys on an iron ring. She looked around, but no one was paying her any attention, so she shoved the box under the material. The keys might work out even better than the buckle.

She bent over the chest again, and her body weight shifted it slightly and she disturbed a nearby mouse. The rodent scrambled, catching her attention and she lifted her head in time to see it run toward her dress, felt it scramble over the back of her exposed calf, and she shrieked, long and loud, springing to her feet shaking out her skirt.
“Hantavirus! Plague! Run!”
She looked wildly around to see where the critter had gone, slammed the lid of the chest, and scrambled on top of it.