Page 13 of Bewitching the Knight (A Knight’s Tale #2)

T he next morning, after a fairly comfortable night in the tower, Samantha stood at the entrance to the great hall and scanned the room only to get caught in the remarkable sight before her.

Medieval Scotland was exciting, breathtaking, awe-inspiring. To be here—to see what was just a normal day in the life—she couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face. Her colleagues would be green with envy. Which reminded her, where was Jerry?

The great hall was massive, with high ceilings to allow the smoke from the giant fireplace to escape. The stone flooring was covered with sweet-smelling rushes. Lit torches punctuated the walls because, although sunlight filtered through narrow windows, it wasn’t enough and the place would be positively gloomy without additional lighting. Trestle tables and benches were filled with people talking and laughing. She knew the tables would be stacked at night so those same individuals could sleep on the floor. It actually made her appreciate having the tower. It might be warmer in here with all the bodies, but it would also be more pungent—with all those bodies. In her tower, someone had laid a fire and provided a few blankets and she’d been snug, warm, and blessedly alone.

Serving girls scurried from the kitchen. She’d love a look at that setup. Maybe later she could ask for a tour. A girl with a bucket and ladle threw Samantha a suspicious glare as she darted past to serve breakfast.

As she took it all in, her chest tightened and a cold chill had her crossing her arms. As awesome as this was, what if she couldn’t get back home again? What if the crown didn’t turn out to be the answer she was searching for? Taking a deep breath, she pushed the worry aside. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

She noticed whispering, elbow jabbing, and surreptitious glances. As she was the resident witch at the moment, that was probably to be expected, but it didn’t keep her cheeks from warming. She could only hope word had spread that she’d been proved a mere mortal.

“My lady?”

My lady? She’d take that over witch any day. She recognized Tori’s pretty face and smiled. “Hi.”

“I’ll show you where you’re to sit.” Tori led the way to the end of the bench beside Ian’s head chair. The man showed no reaction to Samantha’s sudden presence, but kept talking to the guy sitting on his other side. So much for dreaming about his kisses all night.

“Good morning,” she said pointedly.

Ian paused. “Good morrow.” He didn’t so much as glance in her direction, but it appeared that was the best she was going to get.

In turn, the guy seated across from her wasn’t looking at Ian, but instead watched Tori walk away before turning to stare at Samantha, his blue-eyed gaze locked on her hair.

When her brows rose, he dropped his gaze, then, as if unable to help himself, peeked up again and smiled.

What a charmer. A handsome young man, with such a mischievous air about him, she couldn’t help returning the smile. “I’m Samantha.”

He nodded. “Brecken.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Brecken.”

Ian glanced between the two of them. “You were saying Tori let you know ’tis a priest blessing or nothin’? What’s wrong wi’ handfasting?”

So this was Tori’s young man? Was it her imagination or was Ian’s voice loud and pointed? Was he letting her know Brecken was taken?

Brecken ducked his head, suddenly bashful. “Surely a conversation for another time, cousin.”

Samantha felt a twinge of guilt. Poor guy. She probably shouldn’t have interfered by telling Tori to wait for marriage. Deciding it was time to change the subject, she said, “I’m worried about my friend Jerry. Have you heard whether anyone has seen him or not?”

Ian reached for a roll. “He’s yet to show his face.” He finally looked at her. “I’m to ride about the property this day. If you’d care to accompany me, you’d be welcome. Mayhap we’ll hear word of your friend?”

“Seriously?” She grinned at him. “I’d love to go. Thanks for the invite.”

He studied her a long moment, then glanced down to stir his porridge. “I assure you this is no attempt at courtship. I simply desire to help you find your friend and, at the same time, keep you from snooping about my property.”

Brecken’s mouth dropped. “Surely there’s no need for such bluntness. A young girl’s heart…” he waved in Samantha’s direction.

Samantha, her chest suddenly tight, could feel warmth steal into her cheeks. “Who said anything about courting? I surely didn’t. I’m simply looking for my friend while I keep an eye on you to make sure you aren’t murdered.”

Now Brecken regarded her, open-mouthed.

She shrugged. “Well, I don’t want him to die on me, do I? He’s probably the only one keeping me alive.” No need to mention her growing feelings for the guy. If Ian wanted to act the churl, she wasn’t laying her heart out there for the world to see, that was for sure.

“Just so we understand each other.”

She arched a brow. “Oh, I understand just fine. In fact, why don’t you give me the crown right now and I’ll be on my way.”

He slanted her a hard-eyed glare. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

“Well, make up your mind. Do you want me around, or don’t you?”

Brecken continued to watch the two of them with interest as they finished their breakfast, and Ian called for two horses to be saddled.

A few minutes later a man beckoned them from the door. Outside in the bright sunlight, Samantha couldn’t help but smile when she saw the smallish horse. She edged forward to pet the mare on the nose. “What a cutie pie.” She smiled at Ian again. “I’m excited to ride. I’ve actually ridden on quite a few different sites around the world. She’s a tiny one, though.”

“Don’t mistake her size for fragility. She’s a hardy mount.”

Samantha patted the soft brown and white nose. “I won’t. What’s her name?”

“Horse.”

Samantha laughed, and caught Ian smiling at her before he quickly approached, grasped her by the waist, and lifted her onto the saddle.

Whew.

She didn’t consider herself a lightweight as she packed a lot of muscle from all the walking and digging. But he hadn’t strained in the least, and her increased heart rate was in reaction to his strength, not surprise.

She considered riding sidesaddle because of her dress, then decided comfort was more important and arranged herself the best she could, eventually getting her legs covered. She caught Ian staring. “What?”

He glanced away, cleared his throat. “I’ve seen shoes resembling those before.”

She looked down at her name brand running shoe. “I doubt that.”

He only shrugged and when he urged his horse forward, she did the same. They made their way out the castle gates, and it wasn’t long before she was enjoying the scenery, wishing she’d paid better attention in the future so she could have noted the changes. They headed away from the village which, as far as she was concerned, was a major plus.

With Ian at her side, it was doubtful anything would happen—not only was is size a deterrent, but he carried a sword and she didn’t doubt he was armed with other weapons as well—and somehow, being out and about allowed her to breathe better. Do you think we’ll find Jerry?”

“If he sees that red hair of yours, he’s sure to come running, is he not? No doubt it can be spotted from afar.”

She touched her hair. “I keep forgetting about the color.”

“I do not,” he said low, under his breath, his gruff tone making her feel like a temptress. For the very first time, she was happy she’d colored it. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and was gratified to see the small gesture caught his attention. It almost made up for his earlier rudeness.

A few minutes later they met with crofters living outside the village, and children ran beside them, chattering excitedly. A young mother, child on hip, came outside a hut to see what the fuss was about, and her eyes went wide at the sight of Samantha and she shooed her children indoors. An older lady sitting on a stool stopped agitating a barrel and plunger to stare at Samantha’s hair.

Samantha, leaning forward in the saddle, watched with interest. “Are you making butter?”

“Aye, my lady.”

My lady again. Well, better that than witch. “Of course I know the process, but I’ve never seen it done quite like this. How does it turn out?”

Confusion registered on the lady’s face. “’Tis butter.”

“Ah.”

The young lady’s husband came running to greet them. “Offer ye nourishment, Laird?”

Ian shook his head. “We thank ye, but we’re to keep moving.”

“Somewhat to take wi’ you?”

Ian nodded. “That would be welcome, thank you.”

They waited, and a few minutes later the couple came back with bread of some kind and, looking happy, the husband handed the artisan-style loaf to Ian.

“It looks delicious. I thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Samantha said.

The husband beamed as Ian placed it in his saddlebag.

When they’d ridden a good distance away, Ian glanced at Samantha. “They’ve very little, as ye could see, but ‘twould insult them to refuse.”

“I know. I’ve been places where the poorest among them offered us food. The people had insufficient to sustain themselves and we hated to eat it.” She shrugged. “We settled for eating small portions and pretending to have tiny appetites. So I do understand.”

“I’ll not let them starve, you ken. They’ve not to fear on that score.”

“Because you’re Laird?”

“Aye. They’re mine to rule, but mine to protect as well.”

“No wonder they like you so much.”

He dug in his bag and handed her a piece. “A taste?”

“What is it?”

“Oatbread”

“Really?” She took a small bite, chewed and smiled. “This is great.”

His brow rose. “’Tis only bread.”

“But it’s authentic, right? Future girl here, remember? I’ve never had this before.”

“Oh, aye.” His lips tilted at the corners. “What do ye eat in this far distant future time?”

She took another small bite, enjoying the nutty texture, wondering how they’d processed the grain. “I hate to admit it, but a lot of fast food.”

“’Tis difficult to catch?”

She laughed. “Not at all. It’s sort of like what we just did. Drive horse up, have food brought out, be on your way.”

“I thought you said you dinna have oatbread before.”

She chuckled. “Never mind.”

They stopped at the top of a hill that overlooked a pretty lake. “Are there any monsters here like the one in Loch Ness?”

“O’ course. How else would mothers get their children to come inside after dark and stay in bed?”

“Good point. Do you swim?”

“O’ course. You?”

“Of course.”

There was a long pause as they stared at each other, the air between them seeming to heat. Finally, he asked, “D’ye wish to swim, lass?”

She looked longingly at the water. She’d been making due with sponge baths, but to be immersed in water would be heaven. She smiled. “What would I wear?”

His lips curled. “What ye’ve on, or naught at all.”

She glanced around, searching for bystanders. “I’m actually tempted.”

His brows rose, he straightened in the saddle, and his expression could only be described as interested. “Truly?”

She laughed. “I said tempted, I didn’t say I’d actually go skinny-dipping.”

“Skinny dipping.” He repeated the words. “There’s naught skinny about you, Samantha.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Thanks a lot.”

“I meant it as the most sincere of compliments,” he said, his tone gruff, and yes, sincere. Remembering their kiss, the way his big hands gripped her hips, her lips curved. “Tell me about your time at court. I heard you were quite the ladies’ man.”

He snorted. “Not at all. When I walked into a room the ladies all scampered out the other door.”

She smiled. “That’s not what I heard.” When he didn’t respond, but looked surprisingly bashful, she relented and changed the subject. “I wanted to tell you that I love the memorial you erected in memory of your mother. It was a sweet gesture.”

He nodded once. “’Tis strong and will stand the test of time.”

“It will.”

“She loved birds and could whistle ’em from the trees.”

“She could mimic them?”

“Aye. I’ve forgotten her features, which grieves me deeply, but I remember her clearly when I hear a bird’s call.”

“Why was she accused? Do you remember what happened?” She’d always wanted to know.

He hesitated, then, gazing out at the lake, finally lifted a shoulder. “A priest came to the village where we lived and visited my mother. He attacked her, tried to force her, and she fought back, scratching his face and scorning him. He took his revenge by turning everyone against her. As she was English, and the Laird’s mistress, it wasna hard to do.”

Samantha, hearing the quiet rage in his voice, was sorry she’d asked, unhappy she’d brought the remembered pain back. “That’s terrible. I hope that horrible man got his in the end.”

“He did. He bled out at the end of my sword ere I’d reached a score of years.”

“Good.”

He raised a brow.

After all these years, this big, tough, ancient warrior was still heartbroken over his mother’s untimely demise, and it endeared him to her. No wonder he’d saved her life. She remembered the way he’d rushed down the hill with his ax and tears burned behind her eyes and she bent her head, trying to stem them.

“Let’s go.” He turned his horse, tapped his heels to the horse’s flanks, and put the pedal to the proverbial metal.

Not to be outdone, she followed, urging her horse to catch up. She heard a sharp twang, and watched as Ian’s saddle started to slide and him with it.

“Hey!” Samantha, almost even with him, made a grab for him.

An expression of pure surprise on his face, he lunged for her horse’s mane. He caught it, and held onto both horses as she urged her pony closer. “Whoa.”

He managed to get his footing. He ran between the horses as Samantha pulled on the reins. As a collective group of horses and humans, they finally came to a stop.

Wide-eyed, they both gaped at each other.

Samantha panted, her heart slowly returning to its natural rhythm. “Do saddles break all the time? Is that normal?”

“Normal? Nay, lass. Nothin’ so much.” He led his horse to where the saddle lay on the ground a good distance away and she urged her horse to follow. He turned the leather over and examined it. He lifted the saddle in the air to show the dangling straps. “’Tis been cut.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “Cut?”

He exhaled. “Someone truly desires me dead, do they not?”

“It certainly appears that way.”

He lifted the saddle over his shoulder, grabbed his horse’s reins, and headed out, leaving Samantha to follow.

She watched him stride toward home, broad shoulders easily carrying the saddle, his strong, vital body eating up the distance. It had always been a tragedy to her Ian MacGregor, Laird of Inverness had died so young. But she wasn’t reading history books now, was she? This was the present and this time she was around. Danged if the man was going to die if she could prevent it. It was time to put that big brain of hers to work and find his killer.

* * *

By the time Samantha dismounted in the bailey, she was fuming. Who was trying to kill Ian? Why? These people needed a serious wake up call. They didn’t know how good they had it. In this day and age, they could have a monster for a laird. Someone who took everything they had, abused them, and no one could stop him. They needed to appreciate Ian. And protect him.

Ian showed the shocked stable master the cut saddle strap. “Weren’t no one in here that shouldna hae been.” The man appeared frightened.

When Ian only nodded, and didn’t press the issue, Samantha spoke up. “Well, maybe someone who you feel had the right to be here did it? Has anyone acted in a suspicious manner lately?”

The man’s lips tightened into a straight line, probably at being questioned by her. “Nay.”

As Ian thanked the man and turned to leave, Samantha said, “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up later. I’m going to pet the horse for a while.”

Ian shot the stable master sharp look. “No harm better come to the lady, understood?”

The man bobbed his head. “Aye, Laird.”

As soon as Ian left, she turned to the stable master. “Someone is trying to kill your laird. You need to keep a sharp eye out for anything out of the ordinary.”

The man’s jaw jutted. “I dinna need a witch tellin’ me what to do.”

“Well, do you need everyone wondering why your laird died falling from your saddle?”

The man’s face scrunched with anger and he pointed a finger. “ Out . Go on. You’re not welcome here.”

“Think about it.”

She was fuming herself when she left the stables and unfortunately the first person she saw was Willie.

He held out his arms as if to corral her. “Escaped from the tower, have you?”

Samantha crossed her arms. “No, the laird let me out.”

“Bewitched him, have you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Willie, give it a rest, I’m not in the mood.”

His arms were still out as if to capture her if she tried to get past him.

She sighed. “I know your type. You’re a bully. You push people around because it makes you feel powerful. It makes you feel better about yourself. You’re completely selfish and only care about what you want and what you feel. Am I right?”

Willie’s arms dropped and his head reared. His mouth hung open, revealing brown teeth that needed a good brushing. Or better yet, a dental hygienist. “I be watchin’ out for the entire clan.”

“Is that so? It’s probably you making attempts on the laird’s life, isn’t it?”

Willie sucked in a breath. “Never! I be completely loyal.”

“I doubt that. Your laird told you to leave me alone, yet here you are, disobeying him. I wonder what else you’d do.”

She saw in his darkening face his intent to attack. With an outraged yell, he lunged to grab her, but at the last moment, she dodged and used his momentum to shove him and send him sprawling. When he didn’t try to get up, but only glared at her from the dirt, she said, “I thought so,” and headed toward the castle kitchens.

A few minutes later she stood in the doorway of the kitchen teaming with helpers. A boy turned a huge haunch of meat over a spit on one fireplace, and a girl of about seven years turned five chickens over another. There was fresh bread laid out on one table, and dough being pounded by a teen girl. Vegetables were being cut by several girls, and a big woman blew on a spoonful of liquid before tasting it.

Samantha glanced around at the different utensils, pots and pans, and had to squelch a sudden yearning to pick them up and study them. She needed to stay focused. “Hello?”

That got the attention of the buxom lady and when she swiveled around, Samantha saw it was Cook, who’d fed her nasty things the day before.

“You there, what d’ye think you’re doin’ in my kitchen?”

“I want to talk to you about the The MacGregor. Someone is trying to kill him, and I want to know what precautions you’re taking to prevent him from eating poisoned food.”

Cook laughed. “And what? You’ve set yourself up as Himself’s protector?”

“Yes.”

Cook stopped laughing as suddenly as she’d started and shot Samantha a sour look. “The MacGregor is fine, isn’t he, then? I just saw him walk past not ten minutes ago, hearty and hale.”

“How long do you suppose he’ll stay that way with someone trying to poison him and cutting his saddle so it’ll break while he rides?”

Everyone stopped working now, openly listening. Samantha could see wariness, scorn, curiosity, boredom.

“I was just out riding with the laird and the straps on his saddle snapped. They’d been cut. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt, but it could have been fatal. Someone is trying to kill Ian. If you people don’t watch after him better, you’ll end up losing him. Have you thought about what might happen if your master dies? Isn’t he important to you? If he’s not, he should be. From what I’ve seen he’s smart and clever and he cares about what happens to his clan.”

She saw a lot of suspicion, but not much concern, and tried to hide her impatience. She needed them on her side if she wanted them to listen. “Look. All I’m saying is I think you’re better off with a laird with his experience. He’s a warrior who can protect you. He has connections to the king. He’s fair. What if he died and someone else took over? Someone without his experience? Who would suffer for it? All of you, that’s who.”

“How can we keep him alive?”

Samantha smiled at the thin woman who spoke. “We need to figure out who is trying to kill him.”

“How?”

“Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Maybe someone near his food who shouldn’t be. That sort of thing.”

A young man glared at her, suspicion darkening his gaze. She remembered her training, How to Win Friends and Influence People. If she ever needed it, this was the time. “He’s your laird.” She spoke in a sweeter tone, and tried to think how to appeal to them on a personal level. “No one has your best interests at heart the way he does, right?”

They appeared dubious.

She needed to sway them somehow. She admitted it. She was feeling a bit possessive of the man. And no, it wasn’t because he’d saved her, or kissed her, or made her laugh. She’d always liked the guy, even when long dead.

“You was the one what was with him,” one of the boys spoke up.

Samantha sighed. “I assure you it wasn’t me. I don’t even have a knife to cut with.”

“You could have used your witch powers,” Cook said.

“I’m not a witch—and we settled this yesterday with the disgusting Witch’s Bile.” She shuddered, but was distracted by the power thing. “What powers do witches have?”

Cook crossed her arms over her full bosom and shot her a narrow-eyed look that said, as if you don’t already know. “Souring milk. Shriveling crops. Murdering kinfolk.”

“Those sound more like acts of God to me.” She thought about the TV show, Bewitched. Would that she had Samantha Steven’s powers. Then she could divine who was trying to kill Ian and smite them. Or twinkle them to the mid-Atlantic to swim for it. “Look. We’re all on the same page here, right?”

Blank expressions.

“What I mean is that none of us want The MacGregor dead. Right?”

Some heads nodded, but everyone remained silent.

“I mean, isn’t he a fair laird? Doesn’t he treat you well?”

“He’s scary,” said the girl punching dough.

“I don’t think so. Some men allow unlimited power go to their heads.” She thought about her time studying the Aztec people. Human sacrifices, cannibalism, people buried alive. “I once heard of a laird who ate babies.”

Horror filled the faces in front of her.

Samantha nodded. “He also threw people off cliffs and made his men bury his wife with him when he died. She was still alive at the time. So you see it's in your best interest to keep Laird MacGregor alive. We need to find out who is trying to kill him. Or you could end up in a much worse situation. You probably think Brecken would take over. But the king could send someone new. Someone bad. Then what would you do?”

A girl lifted her chin. “After he arrived he gave me a new blanket.” She looked around. “We all got one, remember?”

Several nodded.

“He helped my son when he had the croup,” said another woman. “Gave him medicine from the king’s own apothecary.”

“Himself helped wi’ the planting. Helped to dig a new field. Worked alongside us, he did.”

“The MacGregor is good at hunting. And he lets everyone have a share in the meat.”

Now it was Samantha’s turn to nod and smile, pleased that she was winning them over. “That’s right. You’re lucky to have such a strong, fair, giving laird. We need,” she emphasized, repeating herself so all would understand the import, “to find out who is trying to kill him before he dies and you get a new one who isn’t half so clever or strong or generous.”

A girl peeked out from behind Cook’s wide girth. “Mayhap it be Fiona McGregor what’s doing it.”

A few murmured their support of that idea.

“She hated that boy like poison,” said the thin woman.

“Who?” Samantha asked.

Cook nodded wisely. “The old laird’s wife. Ian was her husband’s son by another. She’s probably turnin’ in her grave right now on account of how her sons died of fever, one after the other, and Himself inherited by the king's order. Suffering Ian to receive all that her children should inherit, that would raise her from the dead for sure.”

“All the heirs were wiped out at the same time? I hadn’t realized.” Sometimes it really irritated her the way history books glossed over important facts. Didn’t anyone keep good records? “But she’s dead, right?”

“Aye.” Cook nodded and both chins wobbled. “She died, as well. But if anyone would ever have a restless spirit ’twould be her. Mean-spirited in life, and no doubt in death also.”

“Hmm.” Samantha didn’t want to publicly scoff at the idea, not when she was so close to winning them over, so she simply said, “Maybe so. But let’s rule her out for now and focus on the living. Let’s do everything in our power to keep Ian MacGregor safe, what do you say?”

This time, the response was much more enthusiastic.

Samantha smiled. “Great. Thank you. Let everyone know they need to watch out for him too. I’m sure if we all put our minds to it, we can catch the killer before it’s too late.”

Because one thing was for sure. If there was a way to change history, she would find it.

* * *

As Samantha finished convincing his clan to watch out for him, Ian pushed off the wall and strode away from the kitchen door, not wishing to be seen by her nor anyone else for that matter.

He had not intended to eavesdrop. After Willie complained Samantha shoved him to the dirt, he’d thought to have a talk with her about behavior and tact. Antagonizing the main person responsible for stirring up trouble was not shrewd or canny, and the sooner she stopped, the better for Ian. Listening to an old man whine was not how he wanted to spend his day. Nor was stopping future attacks against his witch.

And thus he’d overheard her talking to his kitchen staff.

He headed into the darkness of the keep, stopped, and rubbed at the tightness in his chest.

Why would she say such things?

Granted, she’d told Brecken that keeping Ian alive was in her own best interests. And she had the right of it. If not for him, she’d be dead and left for scavengers now. She could still be at risk ere he died, though hopefully his clan had seen the error of their ways.

But she’d sounded so sincere in her concern for him. She’d not cowered before their scorn, disbelief, or mockery. And the way she’d led them to her way of thinking was nothing short of amazing. Not one person in his entire life had taken up for him in such a way. No one had to. He was always the one who kept others safe, not the other way around. It made him feel unbalanced, as if things were out of order. And yet, at the same time, her acceptance made his chest ache with an emotion he could not name.

Blast him, he felt flattered. Valued. Esteemed.

And he also burned with curiosity. Did she harbor genuine feelings for him?

His chest rose and fell with swallowed breath as he took the stairs a pair at a time. He needed to find something to do. She confused him and he did not care for it. Mayhap a couple of hours working on his hidey-hole under the window would calm him. For all the good it would do him since Samantha already knew of its existence, location, and probably what he planned to place in it, blast her. One way or the other he would clear his mind of her.