Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (22 page)

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.

Chapter Twelve

When Samantha made her way into the great hall for supper that night, the head table was more crowded than usual. She paused, wondering if the fact that she’d sat with Ian earlier meant that’s where she should go, or, if she should perhaps find a less crowded table where she would probably be unwelcome. A plate in her tower room was looking pretty.

Beth spotted her rushed to intercept as Samantha headed toward the closest table where two women sat on one end. “Where are ye going? You’re to sit wi’ Ian.”

Pleasure and relief shot through her. “I am?”

“You’re his guest.”

Blowing out a breath, Samantha followed and, as they approached the table, she spotted some new faces. “Slide down,” ordered Beth. “The lady will sit here.”

She was seated two down from Ian, next to an older lady who looked so much like a feminine version of Brecken that she must be his mother. “Hello. I’m Samantha.”

“Janetta.” Taking a long look at Samantha’s hair, the woman bowed her head once. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.”

The man across from her gaped. Beth, now standing behind him, placed her hand on his head and ruffled his thick brown hair affectionately. “Shut yer trap, before ye catch flies, Quinn MacGregor.”

Brecken, sitting next to the man, laughed. “Aye, cousin, ye look like a fish.”

The man half-stood and leaned across the table toward Samantha. “But who is this wondrous creature?” He lifted a strand of her hair between finger and thumb, rubbed it, and when Samantha raised a brow, he smiled. “Had to see ’twoud it burn my fingers.” He wiggled the digits at her, then blew on them.

She laughed. “I’m Samantha Ryan. And you are?”

“I be Quinn McGregor.” He bowed low and deep over the table, almost dunking brown strands of hair in soup.

“Pleased to meet you. You’re Ian’s cousin?”

Quinn laughed. “Brecken’s only.” He tilted his head toward Ian. “Think you I’d claim that craven half-wit?” The words were obviously spoken in jest, the man’s face friendly and teasing.

“We meet on the field on the morrow, Quinn,” Ian said. “Me thinks you’re in need of training.”

Quinn laughed. “I beg off. I need my rest after such an arduous journey.”

“On the morrow,” Ian smiled pleasantly. “Best find your bed early, else you’ll be of even less use to me than usual.”

Quinn groaned and slapped the shoulder of the guy next to him. “And this be Dugald,” he told Samantha.

Dugald glanced at her, then quickly away. She remembered him, though he’d never spoken to her. He’d been with Ian that first day. If the guy weren’t so scary-looking, with cold, careful eyes and a deep scar along his jawline, she’d think him shy.

She glanced at Ian and was surprised by the warm regard in his green eyes. She raised her brows, but Quinn quickly demanded her attention.

“So, Lady Samantha, where are ye from, then?” His wide grin took up a quarter of his face. “England, is it?”

“Oh, um...” No one had asked that yet, and she had to consider. Granted, she was determined to change history by saving Ian MacGregor’s life. If she had her way, he’d continue on as laird, marry, have children—she pushed away the sudden turmoil churning her stomach. But still, she didn’t think blatantly spreading word about the location of America two hundred years early was a good idea. “Yes. England.”

Quinn cocked his head to one side. “Almost seems as though ye be uncertain.”

She chuckled nervously, picked up her cup of ale, and lifted it in a toast. “Good old Mother England. I’m sure, all right.”

“Weel, yer right pretty, even if you’re not Scots.”

She set her cup down and bowed her head. “And you are quite the looker, even for a Scotsman.”

He laughed loudly at that, glancing around at the others to join in, and Brecken obliged, laughing long and hard. She wondered how much they’d had to drink. She sneaked another peek at Ian, to see him scowling at Quinn. Because of her? The thought made her smile.

Tori served a platter of food, and Samantha noticed both Quinn and Brecken eyeing the pretty girl—and Brecken giving Quinn a sharp elbow to the gut and a glare. Janetta offered to share a trencher and Samantha accepted gratefully.

Quinn wasn’t done with her yet. As everyone started to eat, he shook a chicken leg in her direction. “I recognize yer accent, ye know. Ye must come from the same part of England as Lady Marshall across the border.”

Samantha sincerely doubted that. “It’s possible.”

“I took a long ride wi’ her once. She was a right
looker
too.” He chuckled and the chicken leg pointed in Ian’s direction. “Himself offered to marry the gel, but she wouldna have him.”

This was news to Samantha.
He’d been in love?
“You were engaged?”

Ian snorted. “Nae hardly. I’d thought to help a pretty girl out of a bad situation, but it turned out she liked where she was just fine.”

Samantha felt her stomach unclench. “Oh.”

Quinn laughed loudly. “Too bad Lord Marshall was slow to ken ye acted wi’ chivalry. I hear tell he still has a craving to see yer blood spilled.”

Ian shrugged. “He has to catch me first.”

Quinn laughed again. Even Dugald glanced over at Ian and cracked a smile.

“But Quinn is right, you know,” Ian said. “Ye do sound very like Lady Marshall.”

Samantha lifted a shoulder, pretty sure she didn’t. “Maybe she’s a long, lost relative.”

Ian thumped the table. “Now that ye’ve emptied my larder, Quinn, what news from Edinburgh?”

Quinn tore a piece of bread and stuffed it in his mouth. “Laird Durward sent his greetings.”

Ian snorted. “I’m sure he did no such thing.”

“The cold fish squinted at Dugald when we walked past. Same thing if ye ask me. And the fine Lady Audra asked about ye. Wished to know if ye’ve plans to visit the king. Or anyone else ye might be missing at the king's court.” Quinn’s wiggled his eyebrows.

Ian glanced at Samantha and she arched a brow.
Lady Audra?
So much for women scurrying away at his approach.

“I’ve no plans to visit any of them.”

“Dinna be so hasty.” He elbowed Dugald. “Tell him.”

Dugald took a breath, but before he could respond, Quinn elbowed him again. “Nay, I’ll tell him.” He raised his cup high. “The king,” his voice rang so everyone in the hall could hear, “is to attend a tournament outside Stirling Castle in a sennight.”

Noise erupted in the hall, cheers and shouts of excitement, cups pounding on tables and Samantha couldn’t help her own smile. The king so close? What if she could actually meet Alexander III?

Surprise registered on Ian’s handsome features. “Truly?”

“Aye,” confirmed Dugald in a low, rasping voice. “The English king will be there as well, and there’s a big purse to be won.”

Janetta clapped. “Will you go?”

Ian shook his head amid sudden groans. “My tourney days are behind me.”

Brecken’s excitement was palpable. “But you must! Ye’d be the one to best.”

“And think of the ladies ye’ll disappoint,” Quinn said.

“I’m glad to be here rather than wi’ the court. And here I’ll stay.” He glanced at Samantha, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her presence influenced him in any way.

There was additional good-natured grumbling, teasing, and Samantha found herself smiling more often than not during the meal, soaking in the camaraderie and atmosphere.

Janetta started fussing about Ian’s near miss with the horse and Samantha listened while the men discussed the probability of attempted murder versus old and worn fittings. She noticed Dugald glaring her way more than once, and couldn’t help feeling the man held her responsible for Ian’s near fall. She tried to ignore the stab of hurt. It helped that, for some reason, Ian kept watching her with warmth in his gaze.

Until Dugald came right out an accused her, anyway.

“It’s sure to be the girl.” He was pointing a long finger at Samantha. “An accused witch and she was wi’ ye at the time of the accident.”

The allegation blindsided her and as Samantha caught her breath, she glanced around to see some faces condemning, and others sympathetic. She shouldn’t blame them, she was the newcomer after all, and looked and spoke differently. All the same, it hurt, and anger boiled to the surface. “I would never harm Ian MacGregor.
Never.
In fact, I’ve never deliberately harmed another human being in my life.” Jerry didn’t count.

Dugald eyed her closely, his gaze intent as if he were trying to see inside her head.

“Never,”
she repeated with vehemence. “Anyway, as I understand it, these attacks began before I arrived, not after.”

“I dinna suspect the woman, Dugald,” Ian interjected. “Quite the opposite.”

Dugald glanced between the two of them, his gaze lingering on Samantha’s hair. He finally nodded.

Ian stood. “Samantha, walk wi’ me.”

She rose, more than glad for the excuse to get away from prying eyes.

~~~

After walking across the bailey, greeting people along the way, and getting curious glances, Ian escorted Samantha through the gates, glad to get away from everyone. They left the castle grounds and headed away from the village and into the falling sun. “I weary of the staring and accusations. I suspect you feel the same?”