Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (26 page)

She pressed a hand to her chest. “Be still my heart.”

Grinning, Ian tore off bits of meat and vegetables and threw the scraps to a couple waiting dogs.

“Poison testers?” Samantha winced as the dogs snatch the food from the air. “That’s just sad.”

“Tour of what?” Quinn looked interested. “Are ye going to dig some more?”

“Not at night.” She tilted her head toward Ian. “The cheapskate won’t spare the candles.”

Quinn nodded. “He is verra frugal.” His tone indicated approval, and several men sitting nearby murmured their agreement.

When everyone turned away, Ian grinned at her disgruntled expression. He grabbed a couple of rolls from a passing server. “Ye’ve seen the castle, so I’m sure there’s not a lot I can tell you about that. It was built in 1120 or so by a relative of mine. But I’m not sure he’d claim me, as I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, so to speak.” As he said the words, heat spiked his face.

She smiled. “Does your illegitimacy embarrass you?”

“Not normally.”

“Just with me?”

He scowled.

“Like I care about what your parents got up to.”

His face heated some more and he lifted his ale to drink, then laughed. “The things you say.” He took a swallow and felt the familiar wonder of her acceptance steal through him—a warm and welcome balm. He’d long come to accept the distaste of others. Was there nothing off-putting about himself which would daunt her?

“Are you worried about poison in your drink?”

“I fetched this from the brewery myself.” He pushed a second tankard closer to her. “Yours, as well.”

She sighed. “The world you live in.” She drank, and for some reason, satisfaction rose in him as she accepted his offering. “So who raised you?” she asked. “Your father?”

Glad for a new subject, he nodded. “My father at times, my mother’s brother at others.”

“Were you a happy child?”

“When I was ignored, it wasna too bad.”

She frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

He shrugged. “Who reared you, lass?”

She hesitated, gave him a searching glance, but finally answered. “My parents died when I was young, so my grandfather. He’s pretty strict, and crotchety, but all in all, he was okay. He certainly didn’t ignore me, though. He took my schooling pretty seriously wherever we went.”

“He treated you well?”

“He did.” She tilted her head. “We certainly got along. I just had a different upbringing than most girls my age.”

“How so?”

“Oh, you know, digging around in the dirt, looking for artifacts, all the travel.”

“So he’s the one who taught you such? A bit on the balmy side was he?”

“Actually, he was driven, focused, and a hard taskmaster. And he told great stories. I didn’t play with dolls like other girls my age, but there were the mummies, amulets, and canopic jars, so I wasn’t bored.”

“Canopic jars?”

“Mm hmm. When Egyptians made mummies of corpses, the process required them to remove all the organs. The brain, heart, liver, lungs, stuff like that, and they put them in storage vessels called Canopic jars.”

Ian noticed those around them had stopped eating to stare. Most knew of Egypt—but this.
This
was telling. She was well-traveled, and no doubt wealthy to have voyaged to such places. “And your grandfather let you play with such items?”

“Well,” she winked at him. “I didn’t let him catch me.”

He bit back a smile. “Hmm. I dinna have any such jars for you to look at, us not keeping wi’ the heathen vision of slicing up our dead, but we’re not completely without foul stories to interest one like yourself. Mind you, ’tis difficult to compete wi’ such grisly practices as pouring your dead into vessels, but I don’t think ye’ll fall to sleep.”

More kinsmen openly stared now as the tables around them quieted.

Samantha chuckled. “Give it your best shot. I’ll try to stay awake.”

“Weel, ’tis said that a baby was purchased from its mother and buried alive under the first wall to hold the devil from this keep.”

Her mouth fell open. “That’s horrible. If anything, wouldn’t that draw the forces of evil to your door?”

“Hmm. Mayhap. ’Tis said several virgins reside within the walls, as well.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Ew.”

Ian smiled. “There were once three horses, perfectly matched, and favorites of the laird. His pride and joy. One stepped into a hole, broke its leg and threw the laird’s only son, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. In a fit of passion, the laird killed all three horses. Remorseful, filled with pain, he killed himself. After the horses rotted, a tree sprang up among their bones, covered with red flowers, and ’tis said they are tears of regret.”

“That’s fascinating, but terrible at the same time. Tell me a good story. A love story.”

“Are ye sure?” he teased. “I’d never figure a girl such as yourself, one who played wi’ the innards of the dead, to care for romance.”

“Then I guess you don’t know me as well as you think.” She spooned some pottage into her mouth.

“Hmm. All right then. Connie, a braw lad, once met a girl by the river. As beautiful a girl as ever did live. He watched her bathing—”

She tore her roll apart and dipped a piece in gravy. “So he was a voyeur.”

“A what?”

“A creepy guy who spies on young girls.”

“You’re takin’ the romance out of this, lass. Do ye wish to hear or d’ye not?”

She rested her elbow on the table, and palmed her chin. “Sorry.”

“So our Connie, gone these twenty-five years or more now—”

“Did he die of a broken heart?”

“Are ye tellin’ the tale or am I?”

“Sorry.”

“He noticed a pelt on the side of the river and realized the girl was a selkie.”

“Really?”

“You ken a selkie?”

“A seal girl?”

“Aye, and he says to himself, Connie my lad, ’tis said selkies make wonderful wives and mothers, and to have such a beauty for a wife would suit me just fine. So he rushed forward, snatched the pelt, and burned it. The girl, a sad lass for the rest of her days, did marry him and act as a good wife should.”

Samantha’s face twisted with disgust. “You call that a romance? It sounds more like a kidnapping and worse to me.”

Those within earshot roared with laughter.

Ian grinned. “Aye, to be sure. Some of the best marriages have started that way. Where else was she to go?”

Samantha’s lips twisted. “If a guy did that to me, I certainly wouldn’t marry him. I’d marry his best friend and let him watch me make his friend happy instead.
Very happy.”

Everyone laughed again.

“It’s a failure as a romance. Is that all you’ve got?”

“What about Ewan?” Brecken called out.

Ian nodded. “Ah, a good, romantic tale there. There is a crumbling wall out next to the chapel. One cold winter’s day, Ewan the armorer walked beside it and did stub his frozen toe badly and young Jenny did wrap it. He kissed her and her mother caught them at it, and they were forced to marry and had three children.”

Samantha looked at him stony-eyed. “You’re terrible at this.”

There was more laughter from those nearby.

Ian widened his eyes, trying to hide his amusement in an innocent expression. “’Tis a true story, lass. No one died or was kidnapped. All ended weel.”

She waved a hand. “Whatever. I—”

Young Fergus rushed in, breathless, and charged directly to Ian’s side. “Laird Campbell is at the gates wi’ twenty men demanding entrance.”

Ian considered as everyone quieted. The man was peculiar. He could be here to demand his cattle back. Or mayhap to make peace or to trade for the winter. But with Mad Malcom there truly was no telling. Elbows on the table, he clasped his hands and pressed index fingers against his lips. Finally, he took a breath. “Let Campbell in, invite him to dine, but deny his men entrance. If he willna come alone, turn him away.”

Fergus nodded once and was off.

Janetta and the others scooted down on the bench and Ian had more food brought and set out.

Minutes later, Laird Campbell strode into the room and halted. His white blond hair seemed to glow in the torchlight as his uncanny barely-blue eyes surveyed the room. No one stood and nothing was said. After a slight pause, he headed directly for Ian.

“I’ve come to kill the witch in the tower.”

“Thank you, ’tis neighborly, but she’s long gone.” Ian gestured toward the bench, the food. “Help yourself.”

Malcolm laughed, the sound slightly off. “I jest. Though I did hear tale of a girl wi’ sinful hair.” Malcolm sat next to Ian, glanced about as if to ensure privacy though there was none. “I’m actually here,” he whispered, “to take possession of the crown.”

The hair on the back of Ian’s neck rose. “The crown?”

“The king’s crown. I know you have it.”

Ian forced himself to stay relaxed, but it wasn’t easy. Was there no one who did not know of the prize in his possession? Was knowledge of it being bantered about the country? “Where did you hear such a tale?”

“A fool wandered in from your village wi’ just such an account.”

Samantha leaned forward. “Do you mean Jerry? Do you know Jerry Callahan? Is he with you?”

Campbell turned his gaze onto Samantha and Ian had to resist the urge to block her from view. But he did nothing, not wishing the man to target her out of belief she had importance to him.

Campbell smiled slyly. “I know him.”

“Is he here? Did you bring him?”

“Nay. He’s at Campbell Keep. What know you of him?”

“He’s a friend of mine.”

Malcolm waved a hand, thankfully losing interest. “The Crown of Scotland? Give it to me or I’ll kill you and take it.”

Ian blinked. The man truly was daft.

Quinn glanced around and asked, “What speaks he of?”

Brecken kicked Quinn under the table and the man flinched.

Malcolm laughed. “Your own men dinna know you have it? Interesting. How have you kept it hidden?”

Samantha spoke up. “
If
Ian really did have the crown, and
if
you managed to kill him, the crown would be lost forever.”

Laird Campbell glared at Samantha. “Mayhap I will kill
you
, ere I dinna possess the crown.”

Ian considered throwing the man in the pit. He’d no doubt be doing the Campbells a favor. “Why do ye desire it?” Ian asked.

“So I can rule Scotland as king.”

“Ah.” Ian lifted a brow. “By wearing the crown ye’ll be king?”

“Aye. Of course.”

“I’m going to have to decline your offer,” Ian said. “I’ll keep what’s mine.”

Malcolm whipped out a blade, and incredulous, Ian grabbed his wrist. Squeezed. The man truly was mad.

Ian’s men rose, several benches toppling backward.

“Hold,” Ian demanded.

Malcolm resisted and ineffectually tried to thrust the blade toward Ian.

Ian squeezed harder, considered breaking the man’s wrist, but resisted. The man was so pitiful, and so obviously sliding into madness, it would feel as if he browbeat the weak. Why didn’t the Campbells take care of the situation? He’d no desire to war with them over a madman.

Finally Campbell moaned and dropped the dagger, which Quinn snatched up. Ian released the man.

Malcolm held his wrist to his chest, massaging it, glaring. “The crown is mine.”

“Return him to his men.”

Brecken rounded the table, stern and unbending for once. “But he threatened ye in yer own home. Threatened the lady. Shouldna we—”

“His men won’t follow him forever. He’s their problem to deal wi’, no’ mine.”

Brecken and Quinn grabbed Laird Campbell.

“Wait.” Malcolm twisted his head.
“Let everyone here know that Ian MacGregor holds The Crown of Scotland.
’Tis worth a fortune. Any who brings it to me will be handsomely rewarded.” His eyes met Ian’s. “Now let’s see you hide it as all these prying eyes watch your every move.”

Irritation rose within Ian and he considered the pit once more. He didn’t need this sort of vexation. He watched as Quinn and Brecken wrestled the man from the hall with Dugald following. He’d like to silence the fool, but he was barmy, and Ian didn’t fight with the daft.

He looked around at the interested faces. Heard the whispers start and wondered if hiding the piece in the chapel was such a good idea, after all. Samantha hadn’t known of the spot, but that didn’t mean others did not.

Blast it, he was going to have the move the bothersome thing, wasn’t he? He sighed long and loud as he considered his options. Leave it? Move it? Return it?

He drummed his fingers on the table. Deliberated. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He might as well take it back to the king now that everyone knew of it.

Before
the tale reached His Majesty’s ears.

~~~

The next day excitement rose high among everyone as Ian, Samantha, and his men readied themselves to attend the tournament at Stirling. Servants rushed to and fro, fetching and sorting, as they finished loading a couple of pack horses with food and ale for the journey. The men and lads to accompany Ian gossiped and prattled, their spirits high.

Ian sighed, trying to stem annoyance. He wished he shared in their anticipation. He didn’t want to go, but ‘twas not as if he had a choice. Everyone not only knew of the crown, they now knew its exact location, for ‘twas wrapped and packed on the back of Dugald’s horse, as the man himself stood watch.

Ian grimaced as he tightened the cinch on his saddle. He’d overreacted. When he’d come out the window of the chapel the night before, crown in hand, trying to decide whether or not to replace it, two boys had run off, no doubt to spread the tale.

He was usually a bit more canny.

This was Samantha’s fault for digging it up. No one would have ever found it if not for her. And no doubt, she’d be the first he had to watch.

Hands on hips, he glanced upon horses at the ready. Quinn and ten others had already mounted. Quinn watched Brecken whisper excitedly to Tori as she smiled and gazed into his eyes, nodding. Beth bustled about giving the men last-minute instructions and double-checking they’d all the supplies they’d need. Janetta fussed and, when she approached Brecken, Tori ran off.