Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (17 page)

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.

What was he doing?

She was, no doubt, using her wiles and enchantments upon him—whether a witch or woman, it mattered not. All the same, moving away from her, watching her eyes fill with disappointment, was one of the most difficult things he’d done in his life. He released her and a sharp breath left his lips as he backed to the stairs.

She swallowed. “Are you going to let me out?”

“Nay.” Turning he hastened down the steps. “Ye’ll stay here ’til I can take you away from this place. For your own safety.”
And my own piece of mind.

“You know,” she yelled after him. “You have a lot of nerve accusing me of being a witch when you’re the one casting spells around here.”

Truly? She thought
him
a caster of spells? She sounded so disgruntled—about missing out on his kiss?—he couldn’t help it. He laughed in unabashed wonder, even as he locked her in and hurried away.

Chapter Nine

Jerry woke slowly, the ale from the night before making him groggy and listless. A man, late thirties or so, with brown hair, a hooded cap, and wearing what looked to be medieval priest’s garb stared down at him. Jerry blinked, uncomprehending.

“Oh, good, yer awake.”

Jerry, confused and muddle-headed, slowly sat up, aches and pains protesting all over his body as he looked around. He tongued his broken tooth and pulled his knees to his chest. It hadn’t been a dream. It hadn’t even been a nightmare. It was all too real.

“Where do you come from, my son? You look...” he waved a hand around to indicate all of Jerry, “different.”

Jerry glanced down at his crumpled linen shirt and slacks, then slowly stood, groaning as more pain throbbed and shot through him, sensations he’d never suffered in his life. He disturbed a dog, who also sat up to yawn, the sharp white teeth completely displayed for a moment, before the animal closed its mouth and licked its muzzle. It came back to Jerry then. It had been the worst night of his life, freezing cold, hard-packed earth, but it could have been far worse without the dog to keep him warm. Asking around for a blanket had earned him a swift kick to his calf, and another man had spit on him, so he’d lain in the dirt on the outskirts of the others, curled up, and tried to conserve body heat. When the dog had come by, he’d tried to keep the dirty thing away from him, but after a while, cold, and the realization that becoming filthy in this place was inevitable, had him snuggling close to the animal.

An unexpected spurt of gratitude for the beast rushed through him. As it gazed up, he patted the dog’s head. The mutt—brown, medium-sized, straggly fur hanging in its eyes—wagged its tail. It seemed strange in the clear light of day, but in the middle of the night, without the dog’s body heat, he felt he would have died.

“Are you well?”

Jerry glanced down at the grime on his formerly immaculate clothing and grimaced. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Come then. We’ll break our fast together. Everything will look better ere ye’ve some food in your belly.”

Jerry stayed on the edges of the large room where a ton of people had bedded down the night before among straw, blankets, and pallets. Men lifted and set out tables and benches, serving girls carried in bowls of food, and Jerry realized he was starving. He hadn’t eaten a thing since...since the bag of honey-roasted peanuts on the airplane.

The priest beckoned him onto a bench, exposing a chubby leg as he lifted his gown and climbed over the bench, seating himself. He pulled a bowl and spoon out of his robe, held it up, and a girl came by and ladled a gruel-like substance into it which looked disgusting, but smelled divine.

The priest glanced at him. “Where is your bowl?”

Jerry shrugged helplessly. “I don’t have one.”

“Don’t have a bowl? I suppose you’ve naught a spoon either?”

When Jerry shook his head, the priest asked, “Stolen, were they?”

Jerry shrugged helplessly, not even surprised by the strange turn of conversation. Everything here was strange.

The priest turned to the girl. “There’s a good lass, get the poor man a bowl and spoon.”

The girl’s brows pulled together in irritation. “Yes, Father Thomas.” She turned and headed to the kitchen amid shouts from the other diners. Quickly returning, she shot Jerry a dark look and said, “Cook says he’ll carve out your liver do you lose these, so ye’d best be about keepin’ ’em on yer person.”

Jerry took the humble wooden bowl and spoon with a nod, and a meek, “Thank you, I will.” He was no longer surprised they seemed to value such meager possessions. One thing was for sure, Scotland was struck off his list of places to visit in future. He didn’t vacation in third world countries. He liked his amenities.

The priest beamed. “I’ll find you a new kit to carry such items about.”

“Thank you.”

While filling his bowl, the girl smiled, showing yellowed teeth. “What nice manners you have, and such a pretty face too.”

“Thank you,” but he was looking at the gruel, feeling pathetically grateful for the food.

With a laugh, she sauntered off to fill more bowls.

He scooped the food into his mouth, a runny concoction with some sort of unsweetened grain, and had to stop himself from groaning aloud at the wonderful taste. He took another few bites, then heard a soft whimper. He looked down to see the dog. He took another bite, and then another, and then, with a fourth of it left, he did something completely uncharacteristic. He lowered his dish to the ground and let the dog lick the last out of the bowl.

When the animal had finished, it looked up, and Jerry patted the dog on the head.

The priest chuckled. “Now, you’ve done it. She’ll not leave you alone and you’ll have to name the little lady.”

Jerry was still patting the dog. “You think it’s a girl?”

The man raised a brow. “’Tis obvious.”

Jerry gave her one last pat. “Then I’ll call her Lady.”

The priest laughed. “A less noble-looking creature would be hard to find, but suit yourself. Now, are you feeling better? You look less rattled, to be sure.”

“I am feeling better, thank you.”

“How came you to be here?”

Jerry glanced around the room, but no one seemed to pay them any attention, and thankfully, Mad Malcolm was nowhere in sight. He considered whether or not he could trust the priest, but decided to take the chance. In a low tone he said, “I was brought here against my will.”

The priest didn’t look surprised. “From where?”

“Near Inverdeem Castle.”

“You’re no MacGregor. What did you there?”

“I drove there from the Edinburgh Airport. I was with a friend who’s doing some archaeological work, and I was assisting.”

The man looked confused.

Jerry swallowed. “I need to get back to her.”

“Back to MacGregor land?”

He considered all that had happened since he’d arrived. “Maybe Edinburgh would be a better idea. I could contact the police there and take them with me to try and retrieve my friend.” He just couldn’t,
wouldn’t
, face the possibility that Samantha might be dead. Not unless he had to.

“Depending on conditions, Edinburgh is a sennight or fortnight journey from here. You’d need Laird Campbell’s protection to travel so far.”

Jerry stared at the man. “Inverdeem Castle was just over an hour from Edinburgh.”

The priest laughed. “As the crow flies, perhaps. And if it were a fast crow at that.” He laughed again.