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

suspect.
    Dugald sat alone at one end of the table eating a late meal, and, as always, avoiding eye contact as he wolfed his food.
    “I’m starved.” Ian announced as he made his way across the room.
    Janetta’s smile brightened and she set down the embroidery she worked on and stood. “O’ course you are. I’ll be right back, my dear.”
    Ian seated himself and watched as the servants went about their chores, avoiding his gaze, while they managed their tasks as far from him as possible. He grimaced. He was pleasant to them for the most part. Even when the unknown villain or villains had tried to strike him down, he hadn’t blamed any of them, so their cowering was irritating.
    He turned to look at the needlepoint Janetta had set on the table. The face of a young girl was all he could make out, but he felt a flicker of warmth for the feminine, graceful pastime. He hoped Janetta planned to hang it on the wall when finished.
    He glanced about the sterile room. Frankly, he’d appreciate anything that would brighten this gloomy old place. Granted, he’d torn down many of the tapestries his father’s wife had ordered fashioned and burned them when he’d arrived, so he’d none but himself to blame for the lack of decor, or the chill that was sure to seep in come winter.
    Still, he wouldn’t undo it if he could. Destroying that woman’s life’s work in a single afternoon had proved highly satisfactory, with the added benefit of erasing the scenes that bore witness to the many humiliations of his childhood.
    He drummed his fingers against the tabletop. He could order more tapestries. And mayhap it was time for him to marry. A few wall hangings and a wee bit of chatter and laughter in the place wouldn’t come amiss. Finding a girl who’d have him, now that was a problem in itself, though, wasn’t it? His lips curled. Perhaps he should petition the king. The young whelp owed him, but Ian doubted the king’s choice of bride and his own would match. Better he should marry a girl from his own or a neighboring clan. But finding one who didn’t cross herself against him or scurry off did he look overlong in her direction might prove difficult.
    Janetta returned ten minutes later, bringing out his meal herself. The generous portions of venison, fish, onions, and cabbage all smelled and looked delicious. She fussed around him as she set the steaming plate down, a spoon to one side, and beckoned a serving wench forward with ale.
    She waited for him to take a bite.
    He hesitated.
    “I assure you, I stood over Cook myself and watched her prepare yer food.”
    Her earnestness amused him, her natural warmth and friendliness again reminding him of his mother. If not for his aunt, life would be much less pleasant. He wondered if Brecken knew how lucky he was. Mayhap her interest and concern toward Ian was yet another reason for Brecken to be jealous. Ian shrugged. “Who knows where the food was before you arrived to watch the preparation.”
    He picked up a piece of venison, then fish, and threw it to a waiting dog.
    Janetta tsked her disapproval as she sat. “Ian, truly, ’tis a waste. I told you, I carefully watched Cook, myself.”
    He threw the dog some cabbage and onion. “Sorry, Aunt. Old habits die hard.”
    She huffed out a breath.
    “Doona take offense. I’ve no doubt you’ve protected me. But the ingredients, themselves, could be tainted. Anyhow, I doubt I’ll ever be able to let off wi’ precautions ’til I catch the culprit. I’ve no intention of dying to please a sneaky, sniveling, backstabbing coward.”
    She lifted a shoulder, her expression troubled. “It just seems a displeasing way to live.”
    “Mayhap, but at least I’ll live.”
    The little brown dog thumped his tail, his eyes adoring, a white paw lifting to beg for more. Ian was glad the dog didn’t die. He liked the mutt. And what was more, it actually seemed to like him in return.
    Janetta resumed her seat and picked up her needle.