Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (33 page)

Force? Jerry’s heart pounded. Did he mean torture? Sweat broke out on his back, under his arms, and his neck heated. “No.” Jerry swallowed repeatedly. “Please, don’t.” The rack, thumbscrews, chair of torture,
and worse
sprang to mind. The shakes came on strong.

Mad Malcolm turned back. “I wish more from my seer. I want predictions, foretellings, tidings against MacGregor. Or I am compelled to make you scream.” He pointed his index finger in Jerry’s face.
“You
make me do this.”

Jerry was so scared he could barely think. “I...” He swallowed. “I...I...have conjured something in your absence. But...it’s so powerful, I fear to give it to you.”

Mad Malcolm’s eyes seemed to light from within. “Powerful, you say? A weapon?”

“Y...yes...I...stole the knowledge from the lady.” If he thought Samantha was strong, he might leave her alone.

“Give it to me.”

Jerry dug the little laser he’d been holding back from his pocket. Still gasping, trying to get enough air, he opened his palm to reveal the toy.

Mad Malcolm’s face lit with glee and he reached for it.

Without even thinking, Jerry closed his fingers and jerked his hand back. “Careful,” he said, desperate to convince the man it was a dangerous weapon, and anxious to distract him from thoughts of torture.

Malcolm’s head jerked up and, face conflicted, he studied Jerry again. “What is it?” he whispered. “What does it do?”

Jerry took a breath to steady himself. Appearing weak wouldn’t help his cause. Hand clenching around the tiny cylinder, he stood. If he could just distract the man, turn his thoughts, maybe he could get away. Now he knew Samantha was alive and well with Clan MacGregor, he’d take his chances and try to get back to her. He’d hide out, look for a trail, even getting lost in the woods would be better than torture.

“It’s called the...the
Laser of Doom.”
Jerry said the last in an ominous tone, hoping to impress the man, hoping he didn’t just sound silly.

“The Laser of Doom?”

Jerry nodded, feeling less foolish than he’d have thought. “You must be very careful with it.” His voice strengthened. “It’s dangerous. I...it took a lot out of me to make it. It weakened me.” Jerry didn’t want the guy demanding more from him before he could get away.

Malcolm waved a hand dismissively. “Aye, yes. What does it do?”

Jerry curled it into his palm, wondering how much battery was left and how long it would last, regretting every single time he’d casually used it. “You have to be cautious. It can weaken with overuse.”

“Aye, yes. I understand. Use it sparingly. But what does it do? You must demonstrate.”

Jerry’s thumb hovered over the button on the top. “It won’t hurt its master, but it can harm your men. It will kill a true enemy.”

“Show me.”

Jerry glanced up at the sunny sky. It would dull the laser, and make the demonstration less dramatic. “We need to go inside.” He glanced around. “There are too many watching out here.” There weren’t actually that many people milling about as everyone tended to hide when Malcolm entered an area, but after a quick look around, Malcolm nodded his agreement. “Come.”

Inside the hall, Malcolm and his men dismissed several servants then Malcolm turned to Jerry and gestured impatiently. “Demonstrate.”

Jerry maneuvered the small laser in his curled hand, took a breath, and pushed the button on top of the cylinder with his thumb. The red laser-beam burst from the bottom of his clenched hand, a brilliant patch of red circling on the floor, the beam a red thread in the darkness of the hall.

Everyone gasped and Mad Malcolm stumbled backward, as did several of his men, crossing themselves.

After a few seconds, happy with the reactions, he lifted his thumb and the light went out.

Malcolm stared at Jerry, a new respect in his gaze. “You truly are a wizard.” He came forward. “Do it again.”

Again Jerry pushed the button, and, once more, the red beam appeared, brilliant in the darkening hall.

Mad Malcolm laughed. He did a little dance and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Reluctantly, Jerry handed it over, afraid Mad Malcolm would quickly discover it was useless as a weapon before he could escape. “Don’t overuse it,” he cautioned again. “It’s powerful, but will weaken with use. I cannot make another.”

Mad Malcolm took it and studied it, rolling the silver toy with his fingers.

“Careful. Don’t point it toward yourself.”

Malcolm, wide-eyed, held it in his palm, pushed the button with his thumb, and the laser lit the floor once more. He let up, laughed with glee, and jumped up and down. He pressed the button again. Red light on. Red light off. More laughter. The man was like a three year old. He glanced at his men, smiled, and turned the beam onto them, the red light going from man to man as they screamed, and ran from the hall.

Jerry, seeing his chance, turned and ran too.

Behind him Mad Malcolm laughed like a...well, like a madman.

~~~

They were almost home, everyone exhausted by the hurried to-and-fro trip.

Especially Samantha. She’d dozed off, and he’d finally let her ride on his lap so she could sleep. He’d considered telling Dugald to take her, but couldn’t stand the thought of another man’s arms about her. She was limp, soft, and warm, her head against his chest, and he could easily breathe in the wonderful scent of her hair, her skin. Nay, she’d ride with him and no other.

He snorted and shook his head. It wouldn’t have made a difference to her. She slept like the dead, and his arms, already sore from the fight with Marshal, felt like logs. Still, he’d not give her up. At any rate, they were close to home now.

He’d mulled over his options. They needed to have a frank discussion. He needed to know more about her. Lord Marshall’s reaction made him think he might need to listen to her wild tales. Not necessarily to believe them, of course. But perhaps to convince himself that, yes, even an intelligent man like Marshall could be duped.

If
he could get her to trust him.
If
he could trust her. She actually seemed a straightforward kind of girl most of the time. Direct, passionate, honest. So where had she come from? How had she come into possession of the crown? What had she planned to do with it? How had she known of the secret places in the keep? It was time to talk of these things. Time for actual answers. This time, no interruptions, no halts, no fleeing her company.

Mayhap he ought to find the man she’d come with. See who he was to her. A lover? A husband? He immediately rejected the ideas. Surely she’d have said something if that were the case. Of course, she had been concerned with finding the man.

He pushed the thought aside. The unknown male was
not
her husband. She wore no ring, had no children.
That he knew of
a voice whispered inside his head. But he pushed it aside. She’d told him, in a heartfelt way, that she believed in fidelity. Her kisses suggested that man was not her husband.

He sighed. Once everything was cleared to his satisfaction, mayhap they could see if this...whatever it was...was mutual. If marriage was a possibility. His arms tightened around her. And if it wasn’t, then what? He might not let her go, anyway.

Daylight ebbed as they arrived home and headed up the road to the castle gate. No one was more glad than he that they’d arrived unmolested. He truly did not wish another fight, not when Samantha was with him, and was glad the Campbells had decided against following.

“Laird MacGregor?” They were halted by one of the guards at the gate as the man stepped forward. He looked upset. Uneasy. “Yer Lairdship?”

The hair on the back of Ian’s neck rose in warning, and his arms tightened around Samantha, waking her. She yawned. “What is it? Are we home?”

The guard, Ronald, put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. Another guard stood behind him in the gloom. “My laird, there’s been a death.”

Ian froze. “Who?”

The man took a breath and glanced at his companion, who stepped out of the shadows to join him. Ian clearly heard Ronald swallow. “’Tis Beth, the housekeeper. They’re saying ’tis her heart what gave out.”

Ian’s mouth parted.

Samantha straightened. “Did you say Beth?” Her voice was a dazed whisper. “Her heart? But she couldn’t have even been forty.”

Shock and grief kept him silent. He didn’t wait to hear more. He touched his heels to his horse’s flanks as shaken whispers traveled the line behind him.

Beth, dead? She’d been constant, an ally in his home from the moment he’d arrived, the king's pledge in hand. He couldn’t imagine the place without her. Could the guard at the gate somehow have been ill-informed?

Dark suspicions of murder arose as they hurried into the inner courtyard. He pushed them aside.

Until he saw Beth, dead or alive, he’d not believe it.

~~~

Samantha, still in the grip of disbelief, followed Ian inside to find a crowd of people gathered in the hall. Beth’s body, wrapped in linen, was laid out on a table near the door, only her face visible. Tori, red-eyed, her countenance pinched from grief, stood near her mother with two girls at her side.

Ian found the first available man willing to look him in the eye. “What has transpired?”

The guard swung his head back and forth. “She died before bed last night. I was one of the first to see her. She clutched her heart in death.”

Sympathy surged through Samantha and she hurried forward to envelope Tori in an embrace. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

The girl nodded dully against Samantha’s shoulder.

Ian followed and put a hand on Tori’s back. “Lass—”

Tori jerked away from them both, rigid and rejecting. “We need a priest. The church is locked and there is no priest.”

Samantha looked around as others murmured agreement. Anger was growing on the faces of those in the room, and she wasn’t surprised. This was bound to happen.

Ian might have a policy against priests, but in this day and time, it was perfectly normal for the church to dictate most of their everyday lives and uphold all their traditions. Guiding, teaching, keeping them on the straight and narrow. Recording marriages, births, deaths. Someone dying would make the lack of mediation between God and man very real to them at this moment—no one to issue absolution and peace. The absence of clergy support at a time like this was bound to cause resentment and fear.

“She dinna get anointed,” a man accused.

“She’s had no prayers!” A young girl sobbed aloud.

“Nae absolution,” said a lady. “Nae communion.”

As the mutterings and complaints continued, Samantha approached Beth and looked down at her face. She looked peaceful, younger in death than in life. And slightly blue. She turned to Tori, standing closest to her mother. “What were her symptoms?”

“Symptoms?”

“Was she sick? Did anyone see her die?”

Tori’s brows furrowed. “I worked wi’ her all day. In the gardens, in the hall, cleaning rooms. She was fine.”

“I came upon her in the upstairs hall.” Janetta sat on a nearby chair, listless. She pressed a handkerchief to her face. “It looked as if she’d been cleaning. She was already...gone.”

Samantha turned to Tori. “May I?”

Tori looked confused, but stepped back.

Samantha hoped she wasn’t being disrespectful, but she lifted one of Beth’s eyelids. The eye was dilated and very bloodshot.

“What are you doing?” Tori demanded.

“Checking to see if your mother was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Tori blanched.

Samantha returned to her task, and checked the other eye. She sighed and, feeling sick, turned to face Ian.

His eyes sharpened on her face, but he didn’t say anything. He simply waited.

Samantha nodded. “Her eyes are dilated and bloodshot. It’s hard to tell in this light, but her skin looks slightly blue. Suffocation, or the poisons cyanide or deadly nightshade could cause these symptoms.”

Silence echoed through the vast room and Ian, pale now, looked as sick as she felt. He drew near, cupped her elbows in his big, warm hands. “Could a weak heart cause the same?”

Samantha shook her head. “Not the bloodshot eyes. It looks like murder.”

“Murder!”
Tori, gripping her arms tight around her body, burst into tears.

Everyone started talking at once, and the anger in the room was palpable.

Samantha’s throat tightened. Beth had been such a nice person and now she was gone. Snuffed out on the whim of a despicable, cold-hearted fiend. It wasn’t fair. She looked across the room at Ian and her jaw clenched. She was smart. So was Ian. This
couldn’t
continue.

A glance down at Beth’s face had tears flooding Samantha’s eyes. They should have tried harder, sooner. If they didn’t find the murderer, then Ian would be next and she could not let that happen. She
would
find that poisoner so Ian could live a long and full life after she was gone. She couldn’t bear the thought of him dead. All his hopes, dreams, plans—just gone.

Was she messing with history? She couldn’t care less. This wonderful man shouldn’t have to die because some idiot decided to poison him.

They had to figure out who’d murdered Beth, and they’d better find out soon. Before the killer struck again. She glanced around as she realized the murderer was most likely in the hall, right now, listening to Samantha and cursing her for casting doubts.

With the attention now firmly on the monster, with everyone watching, the murderer would no doubt be keen to retaliate, lash out...at her, and at Ian.

They needed to stick together.

Chapter Twenty

Ian spotted Brecken coming into the room, still wearing a cloak, his cheeks reddened from travel. He glanced around the room, confusion evident on his face. “What happens here?”

Tori’s head jerked up, she spied him, sobbed harder, and wove through the crowd to throw herself against the young man who opened his arms and held her close. “What happens here?” he repeated, more softly.

Ian expelled a breath. “’Tis Beth. She’s been murdered.”

Brecken gaped as the crowd parted for him to see Beth laid out on the table. “Nay.” He gripped Tori tighter. “How?
Why?”