Page 20 of Bewitching the Knight (A Knight’s Tale #2)
H earing hoof-beats, Samantha turned to see Dugald ride past the men trailing them. When he reached Ian, now riding side by side with her at the front of the procession, he slowed and made a place directly behind them, forcing the others to adjust. “I doubled back, but dinna see any sign that we’re followed.”
Ian nodded. “The Campbells know where we’re going. Mayhap they’re simply not in a hurry to catch up.”
Dugald nodded. “Or mayhap they didn’t see us leave and are lazing at Stirling.”
“That’s quite possible.” Samantha added her two cents. “We packed and took off so fast that Laird Campbell could be taking an afternoon nap or enjoying the entertainment or something, completely unaware of our absence.”
Ian nodded. “Mayhap.” In the hours they’d traveled, Ian had been quiet and introspective. He looked back every once in a while, no doubt worried about his young cousin who’d stayed behind and promised to catch up.
Dugald slowed, creating a distance between them.
The sun beat down, and when a fly buzzed Samantha’s ear, she waved it off with a hand. She was getting tired of the silence, the feeling that they were waiting for something to happen. “So, what are you going to do with the crown now?”
Ian snorted. “You tell me. I thought you claimed to ken all there was to know about me? So what is my next stratagem?”
Amused, she lifted a shoulder. “It turns out you’re a surprise, even to me.”
He finally glanced at her, one brow rising, “How so?”
“Your fight with Lord Marshall. He had you fair and square. I don’t know what you said to him, but I’m positive it was sneaky and underhanded.”
“You sound admiring.”
“Oh, believe me, I am.”
He grinned.
“So, spill. What did you say?”
“I yelled that you were to take Gillian wi’ you to your place in the future.”
Samantha’s mouth dropped, then she laughed. “We couldn’t hear you. We could only see his reaction. Talk about devious. You don’t even believe me and you used my story against him.”
“Aye.” He shrugged. “No one was more surprised than I when it rattled the man. He seemed to believe the tale. Tell me again where you’re from?”
“Oh, so now you want to hear all about it.”
“Lass.” The word held a warning.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “New York. Across the ocean to the west. Over 700 years in the future.”
“Just so.” He chuckled. “Lord Marshall certainly seemed to believe such.”
“Did he? Was that why he wanted me away from his wife? He acted like I was going to contaminate her.”
“He merely believed you were poised to steal her away.”
“Hmm. So, now you’re wondering how he can believe something which you refuse to give credence to.”
“Aye. Lord Marshall doesna seem a man easily duped.”
“Yet you duped him today.”
“Did I? Or did I tell him true? Could you have taken Lady Marshall across time wi’ you?”
She glanced at the bag hanging from the saddle behind him. “With the crown? Probably.”
“So, no doubt you’re pleased wi’ today’s outcome?” He tilted his head toward the bag. “That we take this wi’ us?”
“Mostly relieved.” She thought about what Gillian told her, about the blood and holy ground. If she hadn’t met her, she might have had a devil of a time getting home again, even if she could obtain the crown. A coincidence? Fate playing with her? Whatever, it was strange. And were there really two crowns? Either way, she wouldn’t say anything to Ian. He might dig up the second one, if it was there, and conceal it too.
“So, where are you going to hide it now that everyone at Inverdeem knows about it?”
His lips twisted. “No doubt they will believe I left it with the king.”
“That’s true. You could hide it under the altar again. I won’t look, I swear.”
He shot her a sour look. “I won’t hide it there, and I’m sure you will look.”
She laughed. “So, hide it in the pantry.”
He snorted.
“Under the table?”
He shook his head and sighed.
“You could hide it in my dig site.”
“With the refuse? The boys might dig it up whilst searching for moldering bones.”
“The hole in your bedroom floor?”
He made a sound of disgust.
“No? What about visiting another castle nearby. I know of several hiding places in some of them. You could take it to Campbell Keep. They have a priest hole under the main fireplace.”
His eyes gleamed with amusement.
She shot him a look under her lashes. “It must be difficult to have so much responsibility placed on your shoulders at such a young age. A burden shared is a burden halved.”
He laughed. “Young? Do you try and imply I’m immature or foolish? I assure you I’m neither.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?” Her lower lip jutted into a pout.
“Nae likely.”
She smiled at him—flirting—and for the first time in her life, it came easily. That certainly had never happened before, and it was fun. A bird whistled and caught his attention and she remembered him telling her about his mother. “You said your mother could charm birds from the trees?”
“Yes. She could mimic them.”
“She sounds delightful.”
“She was. Years later I still canna believe the clan who knew her, knew of her relationship wi’ their laird, let her tend to their wounds, could have treated thus.”
“Your father couldn’t save her?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Wouldna, couldna, I dinna know why he allowed such to happen. I suppose he dinna wish to go against a priest, his wife, or the villagers. ’Tis a dance keeping a clan together and loyal. I’ve yet to master it.”
Her heart clenched. “I think you’re doing a great job.” How sad that years later this big, strong, tough warrior was still confused and heartbroken over his mother’s untimely demise. Her murder . For the first time in her life she wished she’d taken a few classes in psychology so she’d know what to say to ease his pain. “What do you want from your clan?”
“I wish for their trust and loyalty. I want them to cease their fear of me. It may never happen.”
Samantha had already realized he’d saved her at great expense to himself. If he’d let her burn, it would have been better for him. It might have bonded him closer to the clan instead of creating another him-versus-them scenario. But he wasn’t like that. He was a complicated man: steadfast, determined, stubborn, funny, tricky, handsome, clever, heartbroken.
She suddenly ached to wrap her arms around him and her heart felt like it swelled in her chest.
She was falling in love with him! Real love. Not mere infatuation.
Her mouth parted and she dropped one rein.
He gathered it up and handed it back to her. “What is it?”
Taking a breath, she seized the rein and lowered her gaze. In love with Ian? Falling in love was a foreign concept to her. Sure, she knew plenty of people it had happened to—Gillian for one—but love had certainly never struck her before. When she’d never experienced the giddy sensation spoken about in love songs, books, movies, and every other week with some of her college roommates, she’d worried she didn’t have it in her to experience such a binding emotion.
“Samantha? Are you all right, lass?”
Granted, she’d always had a guilty crush on the guy, but this, this was different. This was getting to know the real man. Discovering who he was. Realizing she liked him, and felt as if she were bonding to him. Wishing it was always her he turned to with his problems and concerns.
Was she crazy? Did she even know what love was? She knew she didn’t want to leave him and missed him desperately even at the thought of it.
She thought of Gillian, who’d stayed here in the past with the man she loved. Could Samantha be happy here? Would it be the same for her? Would he even want her?
If he handed her the crown right at that moment, what would she do with it? Give it back to him? Tell him she wanted to stay? She thought about her grandfather. How much she missed him. Had he been able to hang on? If he’d gotten news of her disappearance…and if their conversation the day of her flight was to be the final one.
Grief pressed hard on her chest. She pictured him waiting for her, worrying when there was no word, fussing to the police. She didn’t think she could bear it if his last days on earth were filled with pain and concern.
And then there was Jerry. No doubt he was depending on her. As much as he was the biggest jerk she knew—sly, jealous, and underhanded—she could never leave him behind. Not with Mad Malcolm. The rest of his life would be a misery.
So, no. While she might actually be in love with Ian, she wasn’t staying here. She couldn’t. She had others depending on her and so she must go back. That was just the way it was. Still, she was filled with sadness and she tried to shake it off.
“Lass?”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired, I guess.” Blinking back tears, she glanced away from him as determination straightened her spine. For whatever time she had left, she was going to enjoy his company, savor being with him, and above all, keep him alive to the best of her ability.
* * *
The woman, Beth, snooped, riffling through the trunk. Lying open beside the chest was the little wooden box, gifted by Father upon learning to take the beatings in silence, like a good little beast. It held all my secret possessions. I shut the door.
Beth turned, a look of righteous indignation upon her face. “’Tis you .” She snatches up the box and lifts various packets of herbs and vials of potions. “’Tis been you all along.”
“What?” Pretend to misunderstand, carefully twist the ring into place and open the top. “What have you found?” I approach Beth, and feign surprise, confusion. With gentleness, I touch Beth’s hand and press the needle into the skin.
Beth yanks her hand away and scratches herself, blood beading along the graze left by the spike. Beth ignores it and shakes the box. “You are the poisoner. I’ve been going room to room, searching for evidence of foul play. But you ? I’m hoping to be proved wrong, of course, but I’m not mistaken, am I now? I’ve found these herbs among your belongings and I know what some are for. But why ? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Do what thing? I doona understand your distress? What is that you hold?” This is simply delicious. While feigning concern, bewilderment, I touch her as I’ve done many times before and prick her other hand, pushing harder on the ring to release more poison. There…that’s enough.
Beth flinches and jerks her hand, her attention nailed to the bead of blood welling upon her skin. She glances at the scrape on the back of her other hand, and looks up, realization turning to horror.
“Oh, aye.” My smile cannot be contained. “’Tis me. I’ve been trying to kill Himself.”
“But why?”
“Because—” one must speak slowly to a simpleton, “—If he dies, all will be returned to its natural order, as it should have been, all along.”
Genuine confusion tugs at Beth’s face. “But no one wishes for that. ’Tis not right.”
One must strike a dumb beast so it will understand and learn. I swing openhanded and strike the side of her arm, pressing more poison through the linen sleeves. “What is right about a misborn coming here to lead us? I say nay.”
Beth’s hand covers her arm. “I will stop you.” She whispers, weak. Swaying, she drops the box and the contents spill. “Everyone will know.” She stumbles toward the door, and, halfway there, falls to her knees to rocks back and forth, rubbing the skin of one hand.
Good. Very good.
I approach, to comfort the dying beast. “None would believe ye anyway, my dearest. I would say the box wasna mine, but placed there by the witch.” A sigh. “Just as the last laird and his family all died of fever, all will believe your heart gave way. None will suspect me of aught.”
Beth begins swaying. Gasps, horrified, and in anguish.
Exultant, the display stirs my delight and excitement. Beth’s every move, every expression, a joy to behold.
“The clan admired you so,” Beth panted.
“O’ course they did, they do . I took care of them all. I should be much admired.”
Beth let out a sob. “I feel weak.”
“Dinna fight it. ’Tis somethin’ new I’ve concocted and, while it works quickly on the cats, I’m curious to see how well it works on you. I intend to use it on Himself upon his return home. He’s too clever by half at avoiding my brews, but the prick of a pin is much more certain, d’ye not think?”
“Poison,” wheezed Beth. “Must tell him.” She falls forward, limp, and lands upon her face.
I tsk-tsk at her clumsiness, but kneel and offer comfort. “There is aught you can do to save yourself, or anyone else for that matter, I assure you. Many must die that Inverdeem might thrive.”
The side of Beth’s face presses to the floor and she chokes and drools, but she tries to push her arms beneath herself to rise again. I delight in her struggles. Her hands flop awkwardly to her sides. She tries to lift her head but cannot. “T oorrii,” She moans, slurring her daughter’s name.
I pet her hair as she leaves this world. “Aye, Tori must go. I will miss you, though. You’re very talented at housekeeping and organizing the staff. You keep every area comfortable, which I appreciate.” Another sigh. “Why did you have to meddle?”
Beth’s breathing ceases and she dies, quickly and efficiently—just like a good little beast.
With a wet a handkerchief, I gently wipe the blood from Beth’s hands, the foam from the corners of her mouth, the drool puddled on the floor. Thus, I restore her dignity. Such a worthy friend am I.
I check that no one is outside the door, and pull Beth into the hallway. It’s a simple matter to set her hand to her chest as if she’d clutched her heart as she died.
I set everything to rights again, leave the keep, and wait for Beth to be discovered.
All that remains is to wait for Himself to return home.
* * *
It was almost full dark when they finished setting up camp. Brecken still hadn’t arrived and Ian had to admit he worried for the lad. Not that he could do anything about it at the moment. Even if it were morning he wouldn’t split his men and risk the crown to go after him. They’d return home first, then deal with Brecken’s situation. The young man was most likely waylaid at Stirling, where girls and entertainments abounded. If Ian sent men and they found such, Brecken’s life would surely be forfeit. Well, mayhap not forfeit, but certainly his face bashed up a bit. ’Twas better to worry for the lad and naught more.
Ian approached the pair of men on first watch. “Stay sharp. ’Tis likely we are followed. I want no surprises this night.”
Next he found Dugald, deeper in the trees, as was usual. “I’ll take first watch.”
Dugald’s eyes narrowed. “You never take first watch.”
Ian glowered at him, glanced at the tent where Samantha was bundled for the night, and thought about the soft looks she’d sent his way throughout the day. Staying outside was for the best. “I’ll take it tonight.”
Dugald shrugged, unwrapped the blanket from around his shoulders, and handed it to Ian before heading to the tent to try and get a few hours’ sleep.
Ian moved silently through the trees. He listened closely, but heard nothing more than the usual shifting, stirring, and murmuring of men. Most had settled for the night. Besides the two other guards, a few still spoke softly around the dying fire.
In truth, he didn’t trust himself alone with Samantha. His emotions ran too high around her and, after traveling for the day, he couldn’t be alone with her and not pull her into his arms. He heard her laugh and realized she must be talking with Dugald.
Yearning tightened his chest— he should be with her—earning her smiles and laughter, hearing her funny stories and interests. Turning, he prowled further into the trees. It unnerved him that leaving her with Dugald, his most trusted friend, didn’t set well with him.
He admitted it. He had feelings for the girl. Strong ones.
His jaw tightened and his fingers clenched on the blanket. Blast it. What was it about her? Why was her pull so strong? What was she doing to him? He’d never felt this way about another. Her beauty was captivating, surely, but he’d seen better at both the English and Scottish courts.
He sighed. Nay, he had not.
And it wasn’t just her beauty. It was everything. The sound of her voice, her laugh, her amber eyes when they lit with teasing or merriment. Her inquisitiveness and love of stories, past, present, and future. Even her silly berry hair. Would that he truly did believe her a witch. Then he could blame witchcraft for this spell she seemed to have effortlessly cast upon him.
Which reminded him—he desired acceptance and respect from his people, and had worked hard toward that goal. An accused witch was the last lady he should take to wife. Especially one who was easily kidnapped, told stories about the future, and knew of things she should not.
He sighed. Wife?
He wrapped the blanket about his shoulders and settled back against a tree. He truly did have it bad.