It Happened One Bite (12 page)

Blaire nearly lost her breath at the power of his words. She didn’t know any of those things, and the fact that she didn’t almost brought her to her knees. Why didn’t she have his answers? Why didn’t her mother prepare her for this moment? What she
did
know was that she’d been right about him; he’d admitted as much. Her mother had trapped him. He’d said so himself. “What are you?” she asked, making certain her voice remained even. Not a tremor would escape her lips. Not if she could help it.

Kettering chuckled, though no joy could be detected in the sound. “You know that, too. Don’t you, my pretty little witch?”

No one ever called her pretty. Why did the first man to do so have to act as though the admission was painful to his soul? “What I ken is that ye’re a suspicious, self-absorbed Sassenach.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Suspicious? I suppose one becomes such after being locked away for two decades.”

Two
decades? Nearly double the time she suspected. Kettering had been here at Briarcraig her entire life, and yet her mother never breathed a word of it. Had she ensnared the baron right before her death and forgot to mention it, Blaire could possibly understand—but for
twenty years
. Her mother could have told her the truth of the matter at any time. Yet she had not. The room began to spin a bit, and Blaire struggled to maintain her composure. She edged away from the baron and started for the door.

“Don’t even think to run away from me.” Kettering advanced toward her again.

But Blaire didn’t pay him any attention. She made it to the door first, and she bolted up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedchamber. She shoved a wooden chair under the handle, though she doubted that would keep the baron out if he was of a mind to gain entry to her room. Blaire paced the floor, back and forth. None of this made any sense. So what did she know?

One: Briarcraig was the home of the battle-born witches.

Two: Her mother had stopped visiting the place before Blaire was born and had forbidden Aiden from ever speaking of it when he was a child.

Three: The property had only resurfaced after her father’s death when the meticulous solicitor Aiden had hired at Mr. Ferguson’s suggestion searched every nook and cranny for a way out of their debt. If the solicitor hadn’t stumbled upon Briarcraig, the castle might have lain untouched for decades, perhaps centuries even.

Four: James Maitland, Baron Kettering, whatever he was, had been locked away in that tiny cell for two decades, presumably to be sealed away until the end of time. At least that’s how it appeared at the moment.

And five: after twenty years in a tiny cell, Kettering looked no worse for wear. In fact, he seemed healthy, vigorous, and strong. And handsome. She mentally removed that last from her list. Regardless of his physical perfection, he didn’t seem remotely like a man who could have
lived
through such an ordeal, let alone look so hale and hearty afterward. Which brought back her original question—what exactly was he?

A knock sounded on her door, eliciting a startled gasp from Blaire.

“Aiden’s waitin’ on ye for dinner.” Brannock’s voice filtered into the room. “And the Fyfes too.”

Blaire squared her shoulders. Whatever Kettering was, she wouldn’t let him chase her away or allow him to endanger the others’ lives. “Just one moment, Bran, and I’ll be right there.”

***

James had watched Blaire escape into her room, unnoticed from the shadows of the corridor. He wasn’t certain what to think about her performance in the parlor, if it even
was
a performance. At the time, he’d been so furious, but looking back, she did appear unsettled by his insistence that she had his ring.

Still, it didn’t seem possible that she
didn’t
know, not from what Matthew had said of the covens’ practice. She just seemed so sincere in her denials. Even now, he wanted to believe her; he wanted to believe that she wasn’t toying with him as her predecessors had done, that the connection between them was as real to her as it was to him. He had no doubt that he was developing feelings for the witch. But he wasn’t at all certain what to do with them.

How was he to know the truth?

“One would think that after the many years we’ve known each other, you’d pay some notice to my advice,” Matthew said at his side.

James hadn’t even noticed Blodswell’s approach. Apparently, he wasn’t himself in many different ways. The witch had cast her spell on him, whether she’d meant to or not.

“I never expected to see a battle-born witch retreat,” Matthew said. “What did you do?”

“How many battle-born witches have you known?” James flung at his maker. “And what makes you think I’ve done anything?”

Matthew scratched at his temple. “Oh, perhaps the way the lovely Miss Lindsay ran from you up the stairs like the hounds of hell were nipping at her feet.”

Perhaps they were. “She didn’t admit to having the ring. And I can’t tell the truth between fact and fiction.” He’d let himself get too close to the girl. So close he couldn’t remain objective.

“I heard,” Matthew murmured. “She seemed sincere. And truly bothered by your accusations.”

Indeed she had. Which was why this was so confoundedly difficult.

James realized Matthew hadn’t even responded to his query. “How many battle-born witches
have
you known in your lifetime? You didn’t answer my question.”

“Several. But I only knew one of them well. I met her during the Crusades, though I had no idea what she was at the time. She fought beside me like a man until she was wounded and her ruse was exposed. I came between her and a blade that would have taken her life.” He inhaled deeply and scrunched up his eyebrows, as though he was digging for a memory or two. “That was how I became thrice blessed.” At James’ confused expression, he clarified. “Three rings. Thrice blessed.”

Matthew cocked his head to the side as though listening for something.

“What is it?” James needed to know.

“They’re in this area.” Matthew’s cheek jumped as he clenched his teeth.

“Who?”

Before he could answer, quick footsteps sounded in the corridor.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Matthew said, though he’d truly worried James at this point.

Brannock Lindsay skidded into the corridor, his breaths coming in gasps. “Oh, there ye are. Aiden said ta tell ye that dinner is ready, and everyone is waitin’ on ye.”

Matthew reached over and ruffled the lad’s hair. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a coin, and flipped it with his thumb so that it flew through the air, right into Brannock’s hand. It was a shame that Matthew never had children of his own. He’d have been a great father.

“Thanks!” the lad cried as he spun on his heel. “I need ta show Aiden!”

Matthew turned to James and spoke to him as though he was still in leading strings. “Why don’t you escort Miss Lindsay to dinner. Be a gentleman, for God’s sake.” Matthew cracked a smile that made James groan.

A gentleman. The last thing he wanted was to be a gentleman when he was around Miss Lindsay. He either wanted to pin her to the wall and kiss her. Or pin her to the floor and force her to tell him all her secrets…by kissing her into submission. He was a complete and utter fool. He scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration, but he trudged up the winding staircase anyway.

He knocked softly on Miss Lindsay’s door.

“I said I’ll be there in a moment, Bran,” Blaire called back.

James leaned close to the crack between the doorjamb and the door and said softly, “It’s not Brannock.” He steeled himself. “Allow me to escort you to dinner.” Wasn’t that what Matthew had told him to do? Be a gentleman? He hadn’t forgotten how. He just forgot how whenever he was alone with Miss Lindsay.

“I can find my own way downstairs. This is
my
castle, after all. Yer assistance is no’ needed, Kettering.”

James leaned his forehead against the door. “But I need
your
assistance, Blaire. I need it terribly.” He continued to speak softly to her, hoping his tone would ease some of her anger. “I’m not myself, you see.”

The door flew open with such force that James stumbled inside. Blaire stepped to the side and allowed him to flounder, moving nothing more than her eyebrows as she watched his clumsy movements. James hadn’t been clumsy in years. What was it about this woman that confused him so?

He reached for her hand to place it upon his arm. Matthew had said to be a gentleman. Damn Matthew. She jerked her hand back and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. He scowled at her. Heavily.

“Do ye always look so pleased when ye’re playin’ the gallant?”

He never
played
the gallant. He just was. Usually.

“I am pleased because I have a beautiful lass who might allow me to escort her to dinner if I remember how to act properly.” He cleared his throat. “My apologies, Blaire, for my earlier behavior.”

“Ye suddenly are no’ quite so intent on findin’ yer jewelry?” she asked skeptically. The toe of her slipper began to tap against the floor.

“It’s not jewelry.” James sighed. “It’s a ring. It was stolen from me, if you must know. And I think your mother passed it on to you as the next in the line of battle-born witches.” She started to speak, but he held up his hands to stop her. “You say she didn’t. But I don’t know what to believe. My instincts are usually spot on. Just not right now, apparently.”

Blaire glared at him. So much for soothing her with his gentlemanly ways. He nearly chuckled at the absurdity of it.

“What are ye?” she asked, her voice strong and clear.

“Are you certain you wish to know what I am, Blaire?” he asked, watching her face closely. She barely blinked.

“I believe I have a right ta ken what ye are. If I’m ta help ye find yer ring, I’ll need all the details ye can give me.”

He wanted to tell her. He needed to trust her as badly as he needed blood to survive. James stared at the beautiful witch across from him and hoped he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life. He stepped close to her, prepared to bare his soul; and she looked up at him warily.

“Very well. Allow me this concession,” he said quickly, before he could change his mind. “And I will show you what I am. Do you agree? I promise not to hurt you.”

“Do ye plan ta sprout wings and fly away, James? Because, honestly, that is the only thing that would surprise me at this point.”

She was adorable when she was sarcastic.
And when she was angry. And when she was overcome with passion.
James allowed his thoughts to linger on the last. If he was a small bit aroused, it would make his incisors descend all the quicker.

“May I?” he asked as he stepped closer to her and pulled her into his arms. She came to him warily. Yet still she came.

James inhaled the scent of her. Absorbed the warmth of her. Felt the sweet remembrance of her life’s blood.

Then he stepped back and smiled at her. Blaire’s eyes widened to the point where he felt almost certain the silver orbs would fly from her head. Then she covered her mouth and laughed.

That
was her reaction? “It’s not a good idea to laugh at a vampyre, Blaire. Truly, it’s not.”

Vampyre?

Blaire’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t meant to laugh, not really. She’d just been so surprised that the sound had escaped her. Never in a million years had she expected to see fangs appear in James’ mouth.
Fangs
for heaven’s sake. And a vampyre? She had heard of them, of course. For whatever it was worth, her mother had at least told her about vampyres, immortal monsters that live off the blood of others to survive. Parasitic creatures that scour the night and entrance their victims before draining them of their life force.

Vampyres were to be feared and avoided at all costs. After all, they were indestructible. However, the
Còig
had held one in great esteem long ago, or so the tale went. He was a noble knight who’d fought alongside a warrior witch, both having followed Richard the Lionheart into battle. She’d always attributed the tale of vampyres to those of legend, like fire-breathing dragons or trolls who lived under bridges.

James folded his arms across his chest. He was not a legend, but a man of flesh and… “I’ve never seen you at a loss for words.”

She never had been before, not that she could remember anyway. “I doona suppose ye were a knight in the Third Crusade?” Even as she asked it, she knew he had not. Had he been that benevolent knight of the legend, her mother and the others would never have captured him.

The baron’s eyes narrowed on her. “So you do know.”

What was she to know? What a vampyre was? Why he’d been held prisoner for two decades? The location of his all-important ring? Blaire shook her head. “I doona ken what ye’re askin’ me.”

“Don’t play me for a fool, Blaire.” A frown marred his too-handsome face. “I don’t have the patience for it.”

“Why must ye talk in riddles? I doona ken what ye are askin’ of me. Just speak plainly, will ye?”

James turned his back to her. He walked across the room and leaned against her hearth, staring into the flames. Still he said nothing.

Blaire thought her head might explode. Why did he ask her questions repeatedly, act as though she knew the answers, and then fail to respond to any of her inquiries in return? She stomped across the room after him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought that antagonizing an angry vampyre might not be the best idea. But she had endured all of his evasiveness she intended to. Before she even reached him, he spun on his heel so quickly that she lost her balance watching him.

James hauled her into his arms, which kept her from tumbling to the floor. She stared up into his black-as-night eyes and felt completely lost to him. Even knowing what he was, she wasn’t afraid. Not of him, only that he’d release her.

“What do ye want of me?” she asked, her voice breathless to her own ears.

“More than I should.” James lowered his head and very softly touched his lips to hers.

But the pressure wasn’t nearly enough. Blaire pressed herself even closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He ran his tongue across the seam of her lips, and she gladly opened to him, welcoming him into her mouth. He tasted of cheroot, danger, and all-encompassing sin. She couldn’t get enough of him. If he’d only pull her closer.

As though he could hear her thoughts, James groaned and clutched her tighter to him, his fingers so wonderfully spreading across her back. Then his hand went lower, across her bottom, and Blaire’s heart skipped a beat. A chill touched her calves, and she realized James was gathering her skirts in his hands. At that moment, she didn’t care as long as he kept touching her, kept kissing her.

An impatient knock broke the spell. “Damn it ta hell, Blaire,” Aiden bellowed from the corridor. “How long does it take for ye ta come down ta dinner?” He pounded again. “Our guests are waitin’.”

James slowly released Blaire’s skirts and took a step away from her. He did appear as lost as she felt, but there was no time to discuss it. One more bang and Aiden was likely to knock the door from its hinges. The last thing she needed was for her irrational brother to find James in her room.

“Just a moment!” she called.

“Sorry,” Aiden grumbled from the other side of the door. “I ken we’re no’ the upper echelons of society, Blaire, but it’s beyond even ye ta keep the Fyfes and Alec waitin’ on ye.”

“I said I’d be down in a moment.” Blaire’s eyes sought James’, but he now was staring at the floor. Why wouldn’t he look at her? She prayed he didn’t regret what was happening between them. She didn’t think she could take that.

“Aye, ye said that
ten
moments ago.”

“I havena been feelin’ myself, Aiden. A little patience would be most appreciated.”

“What do I care?” her brother complained. “Either come ta dinner or do no’. I’m tired of beggin’ for yer attendance.”

As soon as Aiden stomped down the corridor, James’ gaze rose to meet hers. The intensity of his dark stare took Blaire’s breath away. “You should go down to dinner,” he said quietly.

She reached her hand out toward him. “Come with me?”

A self-deprecating smile settled on his face, and this time Blaire didn’t find his elongated incisors surprising at all. On the contrary, everything about him was wildly appealing, and she didn’t want to walk away from him. “It would be best if you’d make excuses for Blodswell and myself.”

“Blodswell?” Blaire echoed as her heart sank a bit. But of course Blodswell. He was an old friend of James’. He must be a vampyre as well. There was no other explanation for his presence at Briarcraig or his lack of surprise that his friend hadn’t aged in two decades. Not one vampyre but two were under their roof, and yet Blaire wasn’t concerned in the least.

“Ye have ta come, or Aiden will wonder why ye’re no’ at dinner and there are guests.”

“He will wonder more if two of his guests don’t touch a bite of their food. Go on, Blaire. You need to eat. I’ll be waiting for you here when you’ve finished.” James’ voice rumbled over her like a caress.

She shook her head stubbornly. She wasn’t sure if it was because his plan was ridiculous or because she simply didn’t want him out of her sight. “Aiden is tryin’ so hard ta impress those featherbrained twits that he willna pay the least bit of attention ta yer plate. I promise.”

James nodded. His fangs retreated, and he offered her his arm. “Whatever you wish, my dear.”

Together they descended the steps and found Blodswell waiting for them outside the dining hall. “Glad you both could make it.”

Blaire’s cheeks warmed. She had a fairly good idea that the earl knew exactly what had kept them. “So sorry ta be late.”

Blodswell grinned good-naturedly. “Save your apologies for the Captain, lass. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

The three of them entered the dining hall, which caused several sets of eyes to land on them. Blaire cleared her throat. “My apologies. I was detained.”

Aiden glared at her, though she chose to ignore his stare. She settled into an empty spot beside Alec.

“Ah, my fault entirely,” James offered as he slid into the chair on Blaire’s other side.

Blodswell took a seat across from them, next to the icy-eyed Crissa Fyfe, who looked extraordinarily pleased at her good fortune. Footmen poured wine in their glasses, and Blaire noticed that the young fresh-faced Malcolm Fraser, amongst their numbers, gave her a warm smile in the process. She took a deep breath. They could get through this evening. It couldn’t last forever, after all.

“Forgive our tardiness,” Blodswell said smoothly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Earl of Blodswell, and my dear friend here is Lord Kettering. We are generally more punctual, but circumstances prevented that this evening.”

Heather Fyfe twittered from her spot beside Aiden. Blaire could see the glee in the mercenary girl’s green eyes. A wealthy captain next to her, two English lords, and a well-to-do Scotsman all in attendance. She was probably pinching herself under the table to make sure she hadn’t dreamed the whole evening.

Crissa Fyfe narrowed her blue eyes on Blaire across the table. “Will anyone else be joinin’ us? Miss Gulverness perhaps?”

“Gulverness?” James muttered, but Blaire kicked him under the table.

“I am afraid Miss Gulverness is no longer with us. My brother had ta let her go this mornin’ right before we went inta Strathcarron.”

“Aye,” Miss Fyfe glanced around the room at the footmen standing near the doors. “I do recognize many of these faces. I had thought ye’d arrived at Briarcraig with yer staff from Edinburgh.”

Alec frowned beside her, and Blaire winced. Prevaricating to the Fyfes was one thing, but Alec knew the true state of their finances, or at least he did before they’d stumbled across Aiden’s fortune.

“Well,” Aiden’s voice carried all the way down the table, “we did come with a skeleton staff, but we sent them back ta attend the house in the city as Miss Gulverness was leavin’ anyway. And as we intend ta keep Briarcraig workin’ throughout the year, we thought it best ta go ahead and hire locally.”

“Good of ye,” Mr. Fyfe agreed. “Very admirable. This area’s been hit hard. It will be good for everyone ta have Briarcraig Castle returned ta its former glory.”

Aiden preened under the praise, and Blaire tried not to roll her eyes. Her dolt of a brother must truly have eyes for Heather Fyfe, or he wouldn’t go to such extremes to impress the lass. She slid a sidelong glance at James beside her.
H
e wasn’t telling
her
Banbury tales, was he? She didn’t think so. The man had confessed to being a vampyre and even showed her his fangs. Something about that honesty suddenly made her heart warm.

Alec glanced across the table at the Earl of Blodswell. “When Miss Macleod and I met you in England, I had no idea you were acquainted with the Lindsays.”

“Our acquaintance is a new one, Mr. MacQuarrie. Though I am happy for it. Miss Lindsay is a diamond among paste imitations, don’t you agree?”

“Blaire is indeed one in a million.”

At the end of the table, Aiden’s brow rose in question, which Blaire took as an inquiry about whether she’d still prefer James or the earl after that last exchange. She hadn’t truly set out to catch either man, but after the soul-searing kisses from James, she could almost feel herself falling for him. That afternoon she’d told him their connection wasn’t about love, but perhaps she was wrong. Or perhaps she was a fool. A vampyre for heaven’s sakes. A vampyre her mother had helped trap. She was apparently losing her mind.

Footmen began ladling cock-a-leekie soup into their bowls, for which Blaire was extraordinarily grateful. In the first place, the Fyfe sisters would be occupied with eating, so she wouldn’t have to listen to any of their inanities. Secondly, dinner smelled delightful. Mrs. Fraser must be a genius in the kitchen. After a year of Aiden’s cooking or her own dismal failures, the soup promised to be heaven.

Beside her and across the table, James and Blodswell lifted empty spoons to their lips. The ruse of dining with the others was so practiced that she would never have realized their subterfuge if she hadn’t known to look for it. Some cheeky imp inside Blaire made her glance at the vampyre baron beside her and ask, “Is everythin’ ta yer likin’, my lord?”

One black brow rose with mirth. “Indeed, lass. I like everything I see. I can hardly wait to taste the fare you have to offer.”

Across the table, Blodswell choked.

She probably should have been embarrassed by James’ words, but instead she was giddy at the suggestion and the twinkle in his black eyes.

“Well, I hope ye enjoy it.”

“I’m certain I will.”

Crissa Fyfe batted her eyelashes in Blodswell’s direction. “How long do ye intend ta stay in Strathcarron?”

The earl smiled at the lass beside him. “Not long. I shall be spending the season in London, Miss Crissa.”

“London?” the girl sighed wistfully. “I’ve always wanted ta go ta London.”

“Indeed?” Heather Fyfe sent an arch stare toward her younger sister. “I’ve always wanted ta see Edinburgh.” Then she tipped her head toward Aiden. “Will ye tell me about yer home, Captain? I find the lowlands so fascinatin’.”

Blaire barely managed not to roll her eyes.

The Earl of Blodswell tapped the side of his bowl with a spoon, catching Blaire’s and James’ attention. Then he slightly nodded his head to the left toward the main doors, though what he was trying to indicate, Blaire had no idea.

Someone cleared his throat, and Blaire looked over her shoulder to find the new butler, whose name escaped her at the moment, standing just inside the dining hall. “Captain Lindsay, there are some people in the great hall…”

Blodswell’s chair legs scraped along the floor as he rose from his spot. “I believe the people are here to see Kettering and myself.”

Blaire blinked at the earl in surprise. Who would even know to find them here of all places? Before she could ask the question, James leapt to his feet as well. “Do excuse us, Captain.”

James looked down at Blaire and shook his head. “Stay here,” he silently mouthed.

Like hell
. Blaire rose from the table as well. “I’ll just see ta the new visitors, Aiden.”

Her brother scowled and James growled, but she paid neither of them any attention as she brushed past the new butler and down the corridor with two vampyres quick on her heels.

“Blaire,” James hissed. “Go back. This is too dangerous.”

Dangerous? She glanced back over her shoulder at the baron. “I am perfectly capable of handlin’ danger, James.”

“Not like this,” he warned as they turned the corner. “Wait just a moment. There’s something I should explain.”

She spun on her heels to look at the man. Worry lines marred his face, and a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach. Something
was
terribly wrong.

“Jamie, is that you?” A feminine voice filtered down the corridor.

“Jamie?” Blaire echoed. Who exactly did that voice belong to?

James winced and clutched Blaire’s arm in his hand. “Keep your voice down. Don’t say anything.”

“Doona say anythin’?” she whispered. Was that all he intended to tell her? If so, he was sadly mistaken.

“And don’t look them in the eyes,” James muttered.