It Happened One Bite (4 page)

James leaned against the cold stone wall and counted his blessings. It was one of the covenants he lived by. Never take from another in anger. Always remember that life is a gift. Never forget the world from which he came, nor its societal rules. Love as though you still have a heart.

He scoffed at that last one. Though he’d been infatuated many times during the past two hundred years, he’d not once found a lady he could love. It probably centered around the fact that women held a purpose for him, aside from being a partner in life. They were a food source. Albeit one always taken willingly, always taken with care.

His maker had always stressed that even though James was a predator, living on the lifeblood of others, he was still a human being somewhere deep inside. He didn’t doubt it, but he would have to find a woman who would offer herself to him, trusting him implicitly, before he could love. That lady would be the one he spilled all his secrets to, the one who completed him.

James jumped when he heard quick footsteps growing louder and louder. They could only mean that someone was coming in his direction. Hope soared within him when a golden light shone through the crack beneath the door.

She’d come back. Thank God.

James walked closer to the door so he could speak to her through the crack. “Set me free, lass.”

“Who are ye?”

Probably your worst nightmare. “Who do you think I am?”

“An annoyin’ Sassenach,” she said quietly, but he heard her all the same.

A smile teased at his lips. Her scent, clean lavender and the earth, drifted through the crack in the door. He cleared his throat. “I have been called worse.”

“I will warn ye once.” He could almost see her in his mind’s eye with her hands on her hips, her face full of righteous indignation. “If ye hurt my family, I will have no choice but ta kill ye.”

Good luck with that. “I promise not to hurt you or your family.” And he meant it. If she’d just set him free, he’d be on his way. He had a few things to set straight after all.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the steps, and then a masculine voice called, “What are ye doin’ down here, Blaire? Did ye find somethin’ else?”

A man? Perhaps it was her husband. James wasn’t sure why he was perturbed by that idea. Although dealing with husbands was always a bit of a chore.

The warm light was quickly doused. Damnation, he had been so close to freedom! If he ever made it out of his cell, he’d kill the Scotsman simply for delaying his release with his very presence.

“Bloody hell, Aiden,” the lass complained. “Ye made me drop my fire. What did I tell ye about sneakin’ up on me?”

“What are ye doin’?” the man asked again, ignoring the indignation in her voice. “I havena had time ta search around down here yet. Find any more chests?”

“Perhaps,” she murmured. Then she said with a voice strong and clear, “
Fosgladh, còmhla, fosgladh
.”

The soft snick of the lock bounced off the walls of James’ prison. Freedom. He didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe, afraid that any sound from him would cause her to close him back up in the cell where he’d awakened. Had she found the elusive key? Or had her words freed him? It most certainly seemed like the latter. Until James knew what powers she possessed, it was best to be cautious.

A loud creak sounded as she pushed the door open. James stepped back and tried to assume an unthreatening air. It wasn’t a simple task when what he wanted more than anything in the world was to draw the lass to him, take her in his arms, and enchant her so deeply that she’d lean her head to the side and offer herself up for his pleasure…and her own. He’d make sure she enjoyed it.

Dear God, he needed to feed. Soon.

The lass was beautiful. Hair as dark as a moonless night hung down to her shoulders, making her look as innocent as a newborn babe. Silver eyes sparkled with intelligence. Beautiful, full lips the color of ripe berries were pursed tightly together. If he was standing close to her, he could kiss her forehead with a mere dip of his head, she was so tall.

She wasn’t part of the coven who’d imprisoned him. He knew that much. He’d never forget those five witches. Though this lass had many of the same features as the raven-haired one. Perhaps a sister?

“Who the devil is that?” the Scotsman with the same chilling silver gaze breathed.

She ignored him completely and spoke to James instead. “Doona move,” she said as she tossed a ball of fire lightly in her palm.

A ball of
fire
in her palm? He nearly laughed. She was definitely magical. That question had been answered.

Her silver eyes narrowed at him. “I dinna think ye were real.”

“Flesh and blood,” he said quietly. Well, not yet. But soon. He could almost taste her.

The Scotsman nearly fell over. “Ye were aware there was a man livin’ in the cellar and ye dinna tell me, Blaire? Have ye lost all yer wits?”

“Being sequestered in a smelly old castle has been known ta drive the sane straight ta Bedlam. Were ye no’ aware, Aiden?” She paused briefly as her gaze danced down James’ body. “And I believe we found the source of the odor.”

The Scotsman inhaled deeply. “I believe ye’re correct,” he said as his face scrunched up with displeasure.

James scratched at the stubble that lined his jaw before he glanced down at himself. In the light from her ball of fire, which hovered at the ready for her use, he could plainly see he was filthy. Dust covered him in layers and flew from his clothes in waves that caught on the flickering firelight as he bent to dust himself off.

“Pray forgive my appearance. I’m typically more presentable than I find myself at present.” He held out a hand to the man, hoping he’d take it in friendship. The man she referred to as Aiden glanced at her as though asking for permission. Strange. Why would he need permission to be sociable from the witch?

“Captain Aiden Lindsey,” he began. Then he shook his head with wonder as he clasped James’ hand. “How did ye end up in my cellar?” the man asked.

“To be quite honest, I don’t recollect how I came to be here. Where
is
here, by the way?”

“Briarcraig Castle,” the Scotsman said quietly. “Ye doona ken how ye came ta be locked away in the bowels of my castle?”

“No earthly idea,” James muttered. Though unearthly seemed to be the dominant trait in his present situation. “The last thing I remember was five w—,” he glanced at the lass. “Women,” he finished. “Five women who didn’t appear to like me very much.”

***

Blaire stood at the ready, though she felt like an interloper when the men began to talk as though they were meeting at an assembly hall instead of a musty cellar of an old Highland castle.

She found it difficult to look away from the stranger’s dark gaze. His eyes appeared to be black in the flickering light from her fire, but it was hard to tell. However, it was impossible to miss his strong body with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles. Even beneath the odd, filthy clothing he wore, Blaire could see that he was more than the average man. But what he was, aside from being most unfashionable, eluded her completely.

One thing was for certain, however. The Englishman was dangerous. His presence in the castle didn’t make sense. He’d been trapped by magic. There was no denying its force upon the lock she’d just opened. The question was why.

She stepped into the room and lifted her fireball high in the air. Nothing but dingy walls, damp stone, and darkness were visible. How long had he been there?

“Where did ye come from?” Aiden interjected.

Instead of answering, the stranger stared at her fire. “That’s a nice bit of magic you have there,” he said. But she saw no curiosity in his gaze. No surprise. Any sane man would be worried over a strange lass who could hold a fireball above her naked palm. Perhaps he wasn’t sane at all. Not even close. His wardrobe certainly argued that point.

“Aye, it comes in handy at times,” Blaire replied. She took a deep breath. A warrior never hesitated to jump into the fray. “Why did they lock ye up?”

“They?” He arched a dark eyebrow.

“The witches. Ye almost said ‘witches’ earlier. Ye’re no’ surprised by my ability ta hold fire in my hand, which means ye ken what I am. And those who trapped ye here were witches, too. What I want ta ken is why ye were left ta rot in the bowels of this castle. What type of bein’ are ye? And how long have ye been here?”

He whistled softly. “You know of a lot of other beings, lass?”

“A few,” she clipped out. She’d heard all sorts of legends when she was younger, though she’d never quite believed those tales. Until recently when Elspeth met Benjamin Westfield, she’d thought witches were the only anomaly that truly existed. However, now she was quite the expert on Lycans. What else was out there, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“How interesting,” he said, his voice husky and slow. “I’d like to discuss them with you.”

Discuss them they would. The unfashionable Englishman wouldn’t step foot outside Briarcraig until he answered her questions and she decided what to do with him. “Aye. Right after ye wash some of the stench off yerself, I’ll be happy ta entertain ye.”

“Blaire!” her brother scolded.

She frowned in response. Aiden would be less than helpful during her interrogation. “Doona pretend like ye canna smell him. Do everyone a favor, and prepare a bath for our guest,” she said, sending Aiden the most pointed glare she could muster. Without her brother’s prying eyes, she might be able to force the Englishman to tell her some truths, instead of the evasive comments he’d made thus far. She shooed Aiden away with her hands. “Off with ye. Go on.”

Aiden grumbled all the way up the stairs. She couldn’t quite make out all the words, but knew they were far from complimentary. With her brother disposed of for the time being, she turned back to their uninvited visitor.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Blaire was nearly afraid he’d expire on the spot, just from taking in that much of his own stench. But a small smile curved the corners of his lips. “You smell like heaven, lass.”

“I wish I could say the same for ye. And doona change the subject. What are ye?”

“I am a man,” he said, holding his hands out in front of him with his palms pointed up, as though she could find the answer within his reach.

“I hardly believe that’s the extent of it. I’m waitin’ for the truth,” she encouraged as she began to tap her foot.

The Englishman tipped his head backwards and laughed. “And what would you like for me to say? You’re looking at me with your own eyes. What do
you
think I am?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? “Someone who doesna own a mirror?” she quipped.

He scowled at her response. “I’ll set myself to rights in no time. Thank you for ordering the bath.”

“Do ye own clothes from this century? Or do ye travel around the countryside lookin’ for masquerades ta attend?”

The Englishman’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. He glanced down at his grimy knee breeches and high-heeled boots that had gone out of style many years before. “Good God,” he muttered to himself.

What had she said to elicit such a reaction? “I beg yer pardon?”

But he said nothing and merely shook his head.

Blaire pursed her lips. What was he hiding? Why the look of confusion on his face? “Who are ye?”

Finally, his black eyes sparkled. He dipped his head. “Kettering,” he answered proudly. “
Baron
Kettering of Derbyshire.”

Whatever else he was, Lord Kettering of Derbyshire was full of English pride. She would be surprised if his ego fit through the door. Blaire winced. Heaven help her when Aiden learned their
guest
was a peer of the realm. “Well, my lord, why doona ye tell me exactly what ye did that made the other witches so angry with ye.”

A roguish smile lit his lips, and, despite his state of dishabille, Blaire almost gasped at how handsome he was when he smiled. Almost. A warrior never allowed an enemy to see a weakness. Her discomfiture when he smiled was most certainly a weakness.

“You have me at a disadvantage, lass,” he replied, his voice dripping with seduction.

“Disadvantage?” she echoed. Blast! Did her voice crack on that word?

Kettering stepped closer to her. His eyes darkened, though she didn’t know how that was possible. “You know my name, but I’ve yet to learn yours.”

Blaire wanted to step away from him. In truth, she wanted to run and never look back. Yet she merely straightened her stance and planted her feet. Something about Kettering was most definitely not right, up to and including the fact that he appeared to have stepped out of the pages of a book written two or three decades earlier. However, she would
not
retreat. She would not let him know he had any effect on her whatsoever. “Blaire Lindsay.” She forced her voice to sound smooth and unconcerned.

The baron’s gaze flashed to the stone stairwell. Then his eyes narrowed and twinkled, almost as though he held a secret. “Not Captain Lindsay’s wife. Most definitely not.”

She couldn’t have kept the snort from escaping her if she’d tried. “I pity the woman who ends up with him.”

Kettering smiled again, and Blaire felt her knees weaken. What was the matter with her? Weakening knees. No wonder her mother didn’t tell her about Briarcraig. She was the most undeserving warrior witch who had ever lived. She’d known the man for five minutes and was nearly ready to surrender at his feet in exchange for his smile.

“A brother, then?” he asked.

Blaire nodded, unable to speak coherently when he stared at her so…hungrily? Was that the look he had? His attention swung from her lips to the base of her throat and back. Chills raced up her spine.

“Blaire?” Brannock bellowed from the top of the steps.

She’d never been so glad to hear Brannock yell at the top of his lungs. Normally, she would have chastised his behavior, but not this time. This time she thought she might kiss the lad. “Aye, Bran?”

“Aiden says ta bring yer Sassenach up ta the family wing.”

Kettering offered her his arm. “Shall we, Miss Lindsay?”