Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (13 page)

“Hmm.”

Jerry waited, tense, not trusting the man’s sly expression.

“I may find a need for you, after all. Ye’ll stay here wi’ me, aye?”

“Stay here? I...but...I have a family to get home to.”

“Regardless, you will stay here, will you not? At least ’til the matter of the crown has been seen to. D’ye understand?”

Jerry was too afraid to argue. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Mad Malcolm smiled at him, nodded to his men, and Jerry was hauled up and away, scared of what would happen next, but grateful to leave the room with his tongue—and his life—intact.

Chapter Seven

Crown in hand, Ian headed down the tower stairs, stopped when he reached the first landing, and listened. When he didn’t hear noise coming from the tower, he hesitated, thought about hiding the crown in his room, but decided that since every man, woman, and child in the village had already seen it, he might as well display it for his men. Better that he show it—so curiosity didn’t drive anyone to search for the blasted thing. He headed down to the great hall and was unsurprised to see the place full of clansmen and families, all trying to look busy, most of them whispering and glancing covertly at the crown.

Janetta hurried forward. “They say ye’ve captured a witch?” Her voice sounded overloud in the sudden silence.

Ian blew out a breath, then walked past Janetta and took his seat. He settled the crown in the middle of the table, above his half-eaten trencher of food, aware that every eye in the place was upon it. Finally, he said, “She isna a witch.”

Two dogs whimpered at his feet, whether begging for food or from his irritable tone, Ian wasn’t sure, and he threw some scraps from his plate to distract them.

Janetta sat beside him. “Why have you brought her here? For what purpose?”

Ian lifted a shoulder. “She’s just a frightened lass.” Only she hadn’t appeared frightened anymore as they’d walked to the castle. Interested, delighted, and mayhap fascinated. By
him,
it seemed. Until he’d locked her in the tower, anyway.

Brecken ran past the hall at full speed, heading for the stairs, but, when he heard Ian’s voice, he changed course, almost losing his balance before barreling into the room. “We have a witch?”

Ian rolled his eyes at Brecken’s obvious excitement.

His mother nodded. “He’s put her in the tower.”

Brecken regarded Ian with admiration. “Truly? I miss everything!”

“Where were you, son?”

Brecken ignored his mother and looked at Ian. “Weel?”

Ian’s brows rose. “Weel, what?”

“What does she look like? Is she young and beautiful or a crone?”

Ian’s lips twitched. “What if I said she was young and plain?”

Brecken laughed. “Then I wouldna believe you. There are only two types of witches. Young and beautiful, or old and haggard.”

“And that doesna tell you anythin’?”

“Like what?”

“That the beautiful ones are most likely murdered from jealousy, and the old ones from fear.”

“She’s in the tower?” Brecken glanced with naked longing toward the staircase. “Why would she wish to stay in that gloomy place?”

“I dinna recall giving her a choice.”

Brecken’s mouth dropped and he laughed. “You locked a witch in the tower?”

Ian was losing patience. “She
isna
a witch.”

Brecken, still grinning, shook his head.

“What?” Ian thundered.

“’Tis naught. ’Tis simply that putting a witch in the tower...” Brecken whistled. “’Tis sure to scare the servants, and they’ll get the villagers worked up, and the next matter to consider is pitchforks and bonfires. Has she been screamin’ the place down? That won’t help.”

Ian stopped to listen, surprised the girl had not been crying for escape. Even the servants avoided the tower with its gloomy, sparse light, and its myriad cast offs, piled high in the shadows. The place wasn’t fit for ghosts. “Nay. Not a peep from her.” Remembering her clear, intelligent gaze, he wondered what she was up to, and if he should check on her. Irritated to realize he actually did wish to see what she was doing, he waved a hand. “Go see her if you like. Perhaps she’ll have turned into a bat and flown the tower.”

Brecken snorted.

Janetta’s spine straightened. “Mayhap you should just let them burn the girl. Tell them you’ve changed your mind, that she tried her wicked spells on you, and let them have her. It will cause less trouble on the whole. For you, I mean.”

Ian’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head.

Brecken laughed. “That willna be happenin’. What if we asked a priest to come and bless the tower wi’ her in it?”

“If I had ten witches locked in the tower, I’d not send for a priest.”

Janetta leaned forward. “You know, Ian, just because your mother wasna a witch, doesna mean this one isna. I’ve heard her hair is the color of evil.”

“I repeat: there are no such things as witches.”

Brecken shrugged. “We’re just trying to help you, cousin.” He nodded toward the table. “So tell me about this crown she brought wi’ her. ’Tis fine.”

“Clear the room.” Ian didn’t yell, but his loud, irritated voice carried and everyone except Brecken and Janetta slowly made their way out.

Ian sighed, rubbed his forehead. The crown was the real crux of the matter and the reason he’d locked the woman in his tower. How had she discovered it? Now that people knew he had it, word would spread. It would undoubtedly draw thieves upon them, perhaps of the noble variety.

Mayhap he needed to return it to the king, but Alexander wouldna thank him for it. The matter was supposed to have been taken care of already. It
had
been taken care of. Curse that female.

He exhaled.

So that left finding a new place to hide the king’s crown. At first, everyone would assume it belonged to the woman. But the seeds planted would grow on fertile soil once news of the king’s missing coronet reached them. The story would travel back and others would come looking.

Blast that woman!

How could she have known it was there when, as far as he was aware, no one in the world, notwithstanding himself, knew where it was hidden?

“Ian? The crown?” Janetta reminded him they awaited a response.

He shook his head. “She didna bring it. She dug it up.”

Brecken sank down on the bench opposite his mother. “What d’ye mean, she dug it up? Do we have royal jewels lying about the property? Perhaps caskets of gold and silver, too?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Brecken eyed the crown his gaze slightly dazed. “So just where did ye get this?”

“Where d’ye think?”

Brecken tore his gaze away. “King Alexander gave it to ye, did he not?”

“Aye.”

“I had no idea he held you in such esteem.” Awe brightened Brecken’s eyes. “Why did he give it to you?”

“There was an attempt to steal it. He wished it kept safe.”

Brecken laughed. “So you buried it in the village? Where anyone could come along and dig it up?”

“I didn’t believe anyone knew I had it. And I figured if anyone did know, they’d tear the castle apart looking for it, rather than suspect it was in the village square.”

Brecken’s brows pulled together, then cleared as his eyes widened. “You buried it under your mother’s monument?” He laughed. “Ye sly dog. Ye’re right. No one would ever think to look there.”

Ian quirked a brow. “That’s what I believed when I buried the crown the night before the stone was set.”

“So how did she find it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not questioned her yet.”

“A lucky guess on her part?”

Ian raised a brow.

Brecken shrugged. “It could draw thieves to us. If you wish, I could keep it, or take the crown back to the king.”

“’Tis my responsibility, and I’ll not shift it to another.” But that did give him an idea. He might send Quinn and Dugald to find where the king’s assemblage planned to reside come winter; in case he needed to return the blasted object. He was nothing if not a careful man.

“What’s wrong wi’ the dogs?” Brecken asked.

Ian turned to look. They were moving about strangely, their paws lifting to scratch their throats. Groaning, they fell to the ground, one after the other, foam oozing from their mouths. Chest going cold, Ian looked at the plate of food set in front of him.

Eyes wide, Brecken followed his gaze. He slowly stood. “Poison? Did ye eat anything?”

Janetta made a sound of distress and Ian shook his head. “Earlier. But I’ve not eaten a bite since I returned.”

Brecken exhaled sharply. “Could it have been the witch?”

“Nay.”

“This has gone on long enough, cousin. We must ferret out the culprit ere you’re dead. Who was in here?”

“Everyone,” Janetta said, her face pinched. “I left for but a moment.”

Brecken immediately started to question a servant coming into the room.

Ian stood, turned away, and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d almost died. He hadn’t given a thought to poison when he’d fed the dogs. Could easily have taken an unwitting bite himself. So much for being a careful man.

Thinking about the witch had made him lower his guard. He briefly wondered if she could have had anything to do with it. Was she to lure him away, give him something else to consider? He wanted to believe she did. After all, if she had something to do with it, then he didn’t have to look to his clan, his family. But this had been going on too long.

Besides, what would she gain by his passing? He was the only one standing between her and sure death.

He sighed. Whoever wanted him dead could have easily achieved their objective this day. He needed to catch the culprit—preferably before he dropped dead.

~~~

Samantha stood at the top of the stone stairs and looked around in wonder. This place was amazing. The small garret was obviously the top room of the tower, and there were no doubt others below, and, that being the case, she felt like she’d just struck gold by getting locked up here. She looked up at the barrel-vaulted ceiling with its large oak beams and rafters that arched into a point covered with thatch.

The stone tower was taller than she would have thought. Greenish-gray bricks, and even some pink color shone through on the walls. The stones were of different shapes and sizes, some of the rocks were huge, others much smaller, but they fit well together, like puzzle pieces surrounded by hardened mortar.

A plant had somehow sprouted and made itself at home near the top of one arrow slit window. Over by a small, rectangular window, some architect had taken the time to create decorative stone work. In another spot, a cross was plainly visible on the wall, the rocks all of uniform size and surrounded by smaller stones. She smiled at the effect. This was brilliant, just brilliant.

A garderobe, or medieval toilet, was built into the external wall and she hoped she’d be out of there before she had to make use of it. A fireplace, built into what looked like a former window embrasure, made her think someone had actually lived up here at one time. She looked out a small window to see a high stone wall surrounding the tower, no doubt for keeping cattle safe from marauders at night.

But it was the stuff heaped around the room that made her feel she’d just discovered long-lost treasure. It was piled everywhere: Furniture made of wood, some of it carved with intricate designs, some of it broken, some of it painted in reds, golds, and greens.

Pieces of a broken four-poster bed leaned against one wall. She spotted a couple of pallets, two stools stacked on one another, a broken bench, some chairs, chests, two wooden barrels. Even a very bad portrait of what appeared to be a middle-aged man...or a horse?

There were three candle holders tipped over on the floor, a few swords against a wall. A small stone statue, and a big stack of deer or elk antlers. Thrown over a chest was a rug made of animal skins woven together—rabbit?

She smiled. Wow. Just wow. Some of these discarded items were museum quality stuff. And most were likely destined for the fire come wintertime. That thought made her want to cry. Or start hiding things.

Her path to the window was blocked by a chest with various tapestries piled on top. She considered knotting the material together to dangle out the window, but as the tower was so high, she didn’t really give the idea serious consideration. Besides, wall-hangings didn’t lend themselves to knots.

She looked around and sighed. What she needed was to get hold of that crown again, find that scumbag Jerry, get out of there, and see her grandfather again.

She considered searching for something to pick the lock with, reached up and touched the butterfly clips, still stuck in her hair. They were too flimsy. She glanced around, but got distracted once again by the bounty. What was the hurry? She’d probably find something useful in the search. And she could pick the lock later, maybe after everyone went to sleep. That would be a better idea anyway, in case The MacGregor came back before she left.

That thought gave her pause. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not immediately, anyway. She wanted to see Himself again before she left. She had to. After obsessing over him these last years, to meet his gorgeous self was like a miracle, despite his cantankerous attitude.

So, for the moment, she’d just dig through this stuff and see what else she could find.

Thinking about nighttime, it occurred to her that she might want to find some candles, and a tinderbox, or flint and some kind of firestone. It would be pitch black in here once the sun went down, and she had no desire to sit against a wall all night, wishing she’d thought ahead.

She looked at the pieces of the four poster, quickly realized some were missing, and that there wasn’t enough space for the bed even if she did find all the parts. She pulled one of the tapestries off the chest and gave it a shake. Dust flew everywhere, and she coughed while covering her mouth with the material from her flowing sleeve.

She tugged another tapestry from the bottom of the pile, took it to the stairs, and unfurled it. It was the size of a small blanket and would make an excellent cover if she needed it. She shook it over the stairs and a minimal amount of dust settled downward.