Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (35 page)

Samantha shot him a glare. “At least the dog is pleasant to everyone and would be missed.”

A platter was set down for Ian and Samantha to share.

Ian glowered. “I shouldna share, but should eat all this myself. Mayhap missing a meal or two would help you show some gratitude.”

Brecken broke in. “I doona like the way you’re speakin’ to her,” he said loudly.

“I doona care what you like,” Ian bellowed.

“How about
I
eat all the food and let
you
go hungry? Would you like that, then?” Brecken lunged for the platter and snatched it away before Ian could react. He started shoving morsels into his mouth, chewing furiously.

Ian turned to Samantha. “Are ye happy now? If my cousin dies because of you, then how will ye feel? I’d bet ye’d rather it was a dog if—”

Brecken grabbed his throat and stumbled off the bench in a dramatized fashion. He fell to his knees and made a gasping noise.

Wow. They chose him well for the role. She was just glad it was him rather than her as they’d originally discussed.

The hall quieted.

“He’s been poisoned!”
Ian yelled loudly enough for all to hear. “He ate off my trencher—God have mercy!”

Tori, horror-struck, stood over Brecken and screamed.

Samantha wished they could have warned the girl, but she’d have a far more convincing reaction without that heads up, and with luck, it’d be over soon. She remembered to assess the crowd as Brecken play-acted death throes, looking specifically for surprise and confusion. A murderer who hadn’t done anything, should, at the very least, look startled rather than horrified.

She glanced back at Brecken, now rolling back and forth, clutching his throat, and uneasiness made her stomach tighten. Brecken was almost too good at this. A glance revealed his reddened face. He’d said he was going to choke himself to get the effect, but really, it was too much.

He fell over onto the ground to lay on his back, limp and staring.

Samantha searched the faces around her, and those beyond at the other tables, and realized that this wasn’t going to work.
Everyone
looked surprised
and
horror stricken. She turned to Ian—had he any better luck?—and noticed him staring at Janetta, whose face contorted with horror. The poor woman. She’d be so angry at them later.

All around her, abundant shock and fear, but no one had an out-of-place reaction. So much for their grand plan.

Ian rounded the table as planned to thump Brecken on the back, dislodge a hunk of meat, and play the hero. Brecken was to miraculously recover, gaining for himself a reputation as someone who could not be poisoned so they could embark upon the next stage of their plan. He couldn’t wait. In the meantime, she hoped no one saw him breathing.

Janetta slowly stood.
“Ye’ve killed my son.”

Her face a mask of hatred, Janetta stared at Ian with loathing.

Samantha lifted a hand in a bid for the woman’s attention, to assure her it would be all right, but noticed Ian staring at his aunt, his expression arrested as Janetta rounded the table.

“Ye filthy, foul swine!
Ye’ve killed him.” She screeched as she drew a knife, lifted it high, and threw herself at Ian.

~~~

Janetta was almost on Ian when, growling, she plunged the knife in a sweeping arc—aiming for his heart.

Janetta?

At the last moment, Ian grabbed her wrist, then, when she reached for the dagger with her other hand, he grabbed that wrist as well.

She dropped the knife and used her thumb to fiddle with her ring and it took a moment to realize what she was doing. The ring flipped open, revealing a spike. She bent her hand and tried to stab him with it.

Ian spun her around so her back was pinned to his chest and forced her hand open, the spike to her neck.

She froze, panting, teeth bared. “You killed my son,” Janetta’s voice dripped venom.

Ian had never seen the like. Still couldn’t wrap his head around it. They hadn’t planned to catch a murderer this eve, but to simply bait the trap. The sweet woman who’d supported him and fussed over him was unrecognizable, in voice and in face.

“You killed Beth,” Ian accused.

Janetta didn’t respond, yay or nay, so Ian shook her. “I will hear ye say it, else suffer her fate.”

Janetta’s chin lowered the slightest bit as she tried to look at the ring. “My son is dead. What matters now? Yes, I killed Beth when she meddled with my possessions.”

“She has a spike in her ring that she tried to stab me with.” Ian said loudly so everyone—including those behind him—could hear. “I’ve seen this type of ring before. I’ve no doubt ’tis filled wi’ a reservoir of poison. I confiscated such from an assassin at the king’s summer house at Kinghorn.”

He swung her around to face everyone.

When she saw the contempt growing on the faces before her, her lips tightened. “I could so easily have killed you all. I could have—”

“Mother.”

Janetta caught her breath and Ian felt her go completely still as she noticed Brecken on the floor, propped up on one elbow, looking up at them, denial and horror marring his face.

“Brecken,”
she breathed his name. “Nae, love. Doona look at me that way, son. I did this for you. This is
all
for you.”

“For me?” Brecken sat up. “You killed Beth, for me? Why would ye ? I could never desire such.”

“I’ve removed everyone from your path. My brother, his wife, and sons.” She tilted her head, indicating Ian. “Only to see this baseborn inherit? It wasna fair! You should have been laird. You.”

A sharp pain pierced Ian’s chest.
She’d killed his family?

Brecken stood, his expression turning to acceptance, sorrow. “Who was next, mother? After Ian, would ye have killed Tori?”

“She isna good enough for you. Ye know she’s no’.”

A depth of emotion showed on Brecken’s every feature. “I never wished to inherit on the spilled blood of others. I told you I was relieved when Ian returned. I’d felt guilty so many had died and I had succeeded only because of the misfortune of others.”

Ian felt her body tighten an instant before she lunged, and held her fast as she struggled. “But I did it for you! You must see that!”

Stunned silence filled the hall.

Brecken, his mouth working, tears streaming from his eyes, finally choked out, “My cousins, Mum? I loved them. Mourned them. And Beth? She was a second mother to me. And all the while...” He pressed a forearm to his eyes, openly weeping now.

Janetta looked around at everyone. Slowly she shrank back against Ian as she finally seemed to realize the bad feeling against her. “I’m going to my room.”

She was docile as Ian closed the top of her ring and wrested it from her unresisting fingers.

“Dugald. Quinn. Take her to the tower and lock her in.”

“There are keys in the chest,” Samantha quickly injected.

Ian nodded once. “Retrieve the keys first.”

Janetta, limp now, didn’t protest as the men came for her. She took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and calmly walked from the hall. Clansmen and women, their faces full of disgust, spit upon the floor as she passed.

~~~

Hours later, they gathered in Ian’s bedchamber once more and he stared out the window into the darkness, still trying to come to terms with what had happened, still unable to believe they’d hit upon the one scheme sure to draw out the murderer.

He looked toward the tower, which he couldn’t quite see from this vantage. Janetta would stay there until they could contact a convent that would take her. He’d already sent Dugald and several other men to complete the task. No doubt he’d have to pay for her confinement, but he’d gladly do so to rid his clan of that poisoned thorn.

It needed to happen, fast, for now there truly was a witch in the tower, and many desired her dead. He knew he’d be leery to eat food sent from the kitchens were he in Janetta’s place.

He’d prefer to put her to death, himself. It was no more than she deserved, but, as she was a woman and a noble, he wouldn’t stain his hands with her blood. After she was installed with the nuns, he’d let the king decide.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Samantha tried to comfort Brecken by rubbing his neck and making the occasional soothing noise, but the young man was pretty much inconsolable, slumped on a chair and staring into the fire. Ian truly felt sorry for his cousin. He knew the pain of losing a mother.

“My own mother, killing everyone for some sick plan to give me more of what?” Brecken had said it all before, but, like the lancing of a boil, it was as if he couldn’t quit worrying the subject until the infection all poured out. “Possessions? Land? Responsibility? I dinna wish for it anyway. ’Tis
senseless
. All is spoiled now, my mother lost to me. Tori willna want me.” His voice broke. “Willna even speak to me now. Why should she wish to? My mum murdered her beloved mother.”

Samantha rubbed circles down Brecken’s back. “Give Tori some time. She won’t blame you in the end. I’m sure of it.”

Brecken jumped up to pace. “Will she not? I might blame her, were the positions reversed. I’ve a murderer’s blood cursing my own. People were slain in
my
name that I might get gain. Aye. She blames me and I canna fault her. My mother killed Beth, wiped out my family.” He tilted his head to look at Ian. “She tried to kill you, too. Who knows who else died at her hand? My own father, I’ve no doubt.”

“Ye didna know.” Ian finally spoke. “She fooled me too. Not an easy task to achieve.”

Hope slowly dawned on Brecken’s expression. “That is true. If she could fool you, what chance did I have to see through her? Think you that will sway Tori? The others?”

Ian nodded. “I’ll speak to her and smooth your way, if I’m able.”

“Mayhap you could go see her now?” Brecken looked so encouraged, so grateful, that Ian had to turn away, unsure he was up to the task of winning the girl.

“Perhaps it would be a better idea to wait until after the funeral,” Samantha said.

Ian shot her a look of gratitude. “’Twould be for the best,” he agreed.

“She’ll not want me by her side tomorrow, will she?” Brecken’s shoulders drooped once more and he headed for the chair to sit down, his head falling into his hands. Ian met Samantha’s sympathetic gaze and felt gratitude for her soothing presence. How would he ever manage without her, ere she left him?

He felt for the younger man. He had a hard road ahead, but if Ian was able, he’d do his best to level it for him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next morning, after Beth was buried in the village churchyard, Ian and Samantha lagged behind the others as they walked from the cemetery beside the chapel. Ian offered his arm to Samantha, not wanting to return to the keep or to the chore of living just yet. “Will ye walk wi’ me to my mother’s memorial?”

After the service, he’d a yen to see it and, after all that had happened, believed his presence in the village this day, being available to his people, a wise notion.

Samantha took his arm and looked sideways at him. “The new priest did a good job. He seems sincere and competent.”

Ian snorted, well aware she was digging for his feelings, wondering if he’d be keeping the man. “He doesna seem wholly evil.”

Samantha chuckled. “Nice recommendation. I think having a priest officiate Beth’s funeral gave comfort to a lot of people.”

Ian sighed. “Aye. I might find myself able to stomach this one.”

“ So you’ll let him stay?”

Ian shrugged. “If he spends most of his time in the village and the chapel, mayhap.”

Father William called to them. “Laird MacGregor! Lady Samantha!”

Ian stopped, shook his head, and turned back. “Let us hope the man doesna become a nuisance.”

Father William hurried after them. “Thank you for waiting.”

“I see you’re not out of breath. That fact is a small point in yer favor. Gluttony is never a good trait in a priest, as far as I’m concerned.”

Samantha shook his arm. “Ian! Manners.”

Father William laughed. “Not to worry. ’Tis not a good trait in anyone. Where do you go?”

Ian hesitated, but saw no reason not to tell the man. “To my mother’s memorial.”

The priest nodded. “I believe it would be helpful if you were to introduce me about the village.”

Ian’s gaze narrowed. If he did so, it would be as good as showing his acceptance of the man, ensuring him a place if the priest’s superiors agreed. It would also mean taxes to the church, but he doubted his clan would mind. Regular religious services, schooling, Holy Communion and more would be considered a fair exchange.

Ian finally shrugged and walked with Samantha. “Come along if you will.”

When they arrived at the monument the three of them stopped to gaze at it and Father William folded his hands in respect. After a moment, he glanced up. “May I inquire as to the details of your mother’s death?”

Ian hesitated before finally answering. “She was murdered by a lustful priest who didna care for her rejection of him. My own clan looked on without lifting so much as a finger in her defense.”

The priest gaped in dismay and he looked genuinely shocked. “Where is your mother buried?”

Ian shrugged. “Scattered to the wind.”

“What was her name?”

Ian swallowed. No one had ever asked him that before. “Mary Evelyn Christine of Rothbury.”

“Might I bless this ground?”

Ian hesitated a long while, his gaze on the monument, then he finally agreed with a curt nod of his head.

Father William removed his cross, held it before him, and spoke a prayer. He lifted the waterskin he carried on a long leather strap about his body, poured water into his cupped palm, and, speaking Latin, sprinkled the monument.

Ian’s throat tightened and a rush of moisture filled his eyes. It meant more to him than he would have imagined.

Samantha squeezed his fingers, but said aught.

As villagers came forward, Ian got hold of himself, cleared his throat, hesitated, then finally called out, “Come forward and meet your new priest, Father William—” he looked at the priest and raised his brows.