Free Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) by Diane Darcy Page B

Janetta wonders if you’d like your supper now.”
    “Tell her I’ll be down in a moment.”
    He shut and bolted the door, waited, and when he didn’t hear anything, climbed the ladder once more. He picked up the dull blade and continued hollowing the wood.
    One positive about physical labor was he always found it easier to think. He missed training with equals, missed the tournaments. Mayhap he should be grateful for whoever was trying to kill him. Without the riddle to solve, he might find himself growing bored.
    As he twisted the knife, circling the wood, he mentally went back to his list of supposed foes. Regardless that Brecken had saved him, the man was still heir, and so still Ian’s main suspect. But he had to admit that was more for lack of villains presenting themselves than anything the man had said or done. In fact, Brecken acted carefree and completely uninterested in the running of clan affairs, more drawn to fighting and girls—or rather, one girl in particular—than in anything else.
    Ian wiped his brow. If his father’s wife still lived, he’d have been convinced she’d had a hand in the thing. The woman had been pure poison herself. No doubt she could have simply touched any food he ate beforehand and venom would have oozed from her pores to taint it. He’d have expired on the spot while she gloated over his frothing, gurgling corpse.
    Still, mayhap it was a woman? Granted, the servants seemed to fear him. Cook. Any of the maids. Even the laundresses, soap makers, and cup-bearers flinched at his approach. Who knew what resentments they harbored? No matter he did little to frighten or harm them, all quaked at his presence.
    Little wonder he desired to spend his time alone.
    There was much malevolent history about the place. Menace and threat permeated the very walls at times. He’d grown up knowing many of the petty intrigues, but he’d not been about the place in years. At times he thought he wouldn’t mind going back to the Scottish court or even the English. The intrigues there were fairly easily discovered. No one ever stopped talking, gossiping, and whispering. Here, on the other hand, he’d never seen such a group of closed-mouths.
    Letting out a breath, he finally replaced the beam against its twin, and dusted the wood shavings clinging to wall and floor. The work was exhausting, and he half-regretted choosing the beam. An oaken sill under his bedroom window would perhaps have sufficed for hiding more of the valuables he’d won in past tournaments and in the king’s service.
    Mayhap he’d craft that one next, as the idea intrigued him. He could keep a handful of gold coins in it, available at a moment’s notice. He liked that idea.
    He descended the ladder once more, slid it under his bed, hid the dull blade, then scooped up slivers of wood and dust and tossed it all out the window. He kicked at the leftover dust until it dispersed, then remembered to brush out his thick hair with his fingers, else the shavings would show against the dark.
    He grimaced as his stomach rumbled. He truly did need sustenance. The apples he picked directly from the trees weren’t enough to fill him, and the thought of eating another made him sick to his stomach. And surly, blast it. He’d be naught but skin and bones at this rate. He had to catch the murderer before he did the villain a favor and collapsed from starvation.
    When he walked into the hall a few minutes later, the servants scrambled away. Ian’s lips pressed together and he could feel his face tighten. What did they think he’d do? Murder them all?
    “Ian.”
    He turned to Janetta, Brecken’s mother, seated at the long table on the dais, smiling at him. She lifted a hand in greeting. “Good-day to you.”
    “Good-day, Aunt.”
    His father’s sister beckoned him closer. As he was late to the noonday meal, most were already done and gone, which suited him fine. Any man who looked at him overlong while he ate tended to become