It Happened One Bite (6 page)

“A small sip of pleasure? Pray allow me to take—” His voice suddenly came to a halt. His hands extricated themselves from around her waist.

With a heavy sigh, he held his hands out by his sides.

“A simple
no
would have sufficed,” he muttered. His eyes were dark as night, betraying the surfeit of emotions that crossed his face. “You can remove the dagger from my person, Miss Lindsay,” he continued. His voice was much calmer than she’d imagined it would be when she’d pulled the small knife from its hiding place upon her body and pressed it to the side of his manhood, which swelled quite impressively against her belly.

“Do no’ think ta distract me, Kettering,” she said, happy to hear that her voice was strong and composed. It was not what she felt inside at all.

“Not a mistake I’ll make again, Miss Lindsay,” he grunted.

“I certainly hope no’,” she said as she turned back toward the door. She reached for the handle and jerked the door so hard in her haste that it hit her in the head again. Then she tripped over her own two feet as she tried to walk from the room. When she slammed the door behind her, she was mortified to find that the skirt of her dress was caught between the door and the doorjamb. She gave it a healthy tug, pulling it free.

“Damn it all ta hell,” she snapped.

A chuckle sounded from the other side of the door, dark and silky, touching her as no other sound ever had.

James chuckled as he heard Miss Lindsay stomp down the corridor. He still couldn’t quite believe the enchanting witch had actually pulled a dagger on him, and threatened to unman him with a flick of her wrist. Taming her would be rewarding in so many ways. He strode across the floor and retrieved the set of clothes the lad had left him. Brown doeskin breeches and a white shirt that felt soft against his skin.

He pulled the shirt over his head, but he couldn’t get it over his shoulders. Good God. If the shirt was this tight, he wouldn’t have a prayer with the trousers. But he had to wear
something
, if just long enough to find something else a bit more suitable. Abandoning the shirt, he pulled the breeches up over his hips. He had no hope of fastening the buttons, and the legs almost reached his knees. James tugged the shirt back over his head and held it in front of his nether regions. After all, he couldn’t go traipsing through the castle on display. Miss Lindsay might decide to use him for target practice.

James opened the door to find Brannock Lindsay waiting for him in the corridor. “Did ye want ta ask me anymore questions ta test how clever I am?” Then the boy took in James’ appearance. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he doubled over with laughter, nearly tumbling to the floor.

James frowned at the boy. “I hardly find it amusing.”

Brannock’s merriment brought his sister from her own chamber, and she covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggle. James glared at her.

“
Havers!
” she muttered with a mock seriousness James would normally have found charming. “Doona move,” she ordered. Then she flicked her fingers in his direction at the same time she said, “
Mòr!
”

In the next instant, his trousers expanded. The legs stretched down to his ankles, and, if she hadn’t been present, he’d have had the room to button the top. Even the shirt in his hands seemed to have grown larger.

“There, that should work,” she said dusting her hands against her skirts, apparently quite pleased with herself.

Never one to give up an opportunity to garner a woman’s favor, James winked at her. Flattery always worked. “You are so very talented, Miss Lindsay.”

Her silver eyes twinkled. At this rate, she’d be his in a matter of days. He could almost taste her.

Brannock seemed to have control over himself now, and he nodded in agreement. “It saves money when I outgrow my clothes, too. But now we’re rich.”

“Brannock!” his sister chastised. Then she turned her gaze back to James. “Sorry about the size.” Her husky voice reached his ears. “Ye are bigger than Aiden. It was all we had on hand.”

“And
my
clothes?” he asked, walking toward the enchanting lass. “What have you done with my clothes?”

“Burned,” she nearly sang. “The odor made them beyond repair. I do hope ye doona have a masquerade ta attend anytime soon.”

The only masquerade he’d be attending was the one where he pretended to be a lost baron in search of answers. Answers be damned. He was in search of vengeance. After he seduced Miss Lindsay into giving up that blasted coven, he’d find Blodswell and things would get back to normal. After he’d made certain those five maddening witches never took aim at another of his kind again. After he returned to his
life
. “And my pocket fob?”

She shrugged. “Pocket fob?”

Was he to be robbed by every witch in Scotland? First his ring and now his blasted watch, which had been a gift from Queen Elizabeth herself. “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes on the lass, who was too beguiling for her own good. “My pocket fob was in my waistcoat.”

She shook her head as though he was speaking Greek. “I have no idea what ye’re talkin’ about, Kettering.”

The little liar. James could see it in her eyes. But what the devil did she want with his watch? “See that it’s returned to me, Miss Lindsay, or I’ll—”

“
Frith
,” she said, flicking her fingers toward him.

James gasped as his clothes shrunk back to their normal size, squeezing him like a tourniquet.

“Doona threaten me, Kettering.” She let her gaze travel the length of him. “I doona think ye’d like ta see my other talents.”

“Blaire!” The boy sucked in a breath.

She never removed her eyes from James. “Brannock, go see if dinner is ready.”

“But, Blaire—” he protested.

“Do as ye’re told,” she replied calmly.

Hanging his head in defeat, the boy slumped off down the corridor.

James nodded appreciatively at her daring. Still, he wasn’t about to let her run roughshod over him. “I suggest you put my clothes back to rights, Miss Lindsay.”

“Or?” she prompted. Her slender brows rose as though she waited for him to threaten her again.

James had never failed a lady’s expectations. “Or I can drop the shirt I’m holding.”

Miss Lindsay gulped, apparently just now realizing the bit of cloth he held in front of his trousers was the only thing keeping him decent. Of course she’d already seen all of him today. Perhaps she wanted another look. James was happy to oblige her if that was the case.

“Try it and see what happens,” she said, her spine stiffening before him.

“Is that a dare? How many daggers
do
you carry, Miss Lindsay?”

“Blaire!” Captain Lindsay called out before she could answer. His quick footsteps sounded on the steps.

He tried to bite back a grin. Could the fates be any more kind? Certainly, she wouldn’t want her older brother to find them in this compromising situation. “Well, what’s it to be? Shall I drop my shirt?” His fingers inched downward.

Her face shone instantly red. She glanced away from him as she muttered, “
Mòr
,” and flicked her wrist in his general direction. At once the clothes he wore and the shirt in his hands righted themselves.

James smiled at her, though she still had her face turned away. “Many thanks, Miss Lindsay. And I’ll expect my watch by the end of the night.” He buttoned his trousers, pulled the shirt over his head, and tucked the ends into his waistband.

At that moment, Captain Lindsay turned down the corridor toward them. “Blaire,” he called again. “Brannock said ye were quarrelin’ with Lord Kettering.”

James shook his head. “Nothing quite so dramatic, Captain. All is well.”

“Wonderful,” the captain said as he neared the pair. “Dinner is ready, my lord, and I am dyin’ ta learn how ye ended up in my cellar.”

“As are we all,” Miss Lindsay muttered under her breath.

James inclined his head to his host. “Of course, Captain. My memory is somewhat spotty, but perhaps we can put the pieces together that I do remember. It’s a bit disjointed.”

“And, Blaire,” the captain said as he glanced at his sister’s disheveled appearance. “Make yerself presentable.” The man disappeared back down the stairs.

“I’d sooner be boiled in a vat of bubblin’ oil,” the lass muttered as she turned toward her own chambers, presumably to make herself presentable despite her protestations. He liked her quite a bit in her homespun gown, which was still damp from where he’d pulled her against his naked, wet body. He hardened in response. Dinner. He had to find dinner very, very soon.

***

Mutton stew! Blaire nearly groaned aloud. What awful stuff. Still, it was her fault. Mutton stew was common fare when Aiden was in charge of meals. She wondered if she could last until morning without a bite to eat. Tomorrow, they would go into the village of Strathcarron and see about hiring staff. Perhaps there was an inn where she could break her fast in the morning.

Blaire glanced across the table at their
guest
, and what small appetite she did have quickly evaporated. Kettering’s dark eyes seemed to bore into her as though he could peer into her soul, and, for a moment, she wondered if he did, in fact, possess just such a power. Was that why he’d been trapped at Briarcraig? Could he see into others’ souls? What would one do with a power like that? Something nefarious, no doubt.

She watched as Kettering took a cursory glance at his own bowl before returning his attention to her. The watch she’d taken from his clothes rested heavy in her pocket. She had no intention of stealing the thing, not really. She’d just thought it might give her some clue about his purpose. A little ceremony with the piece under the light of the moon could possibly tell her something of the man before her. Blast him for realizing it was missing so soon.

“So,” Aiden began from his spot at the head of the table, “we are all curious, my lord, ta learn how ye arrived at Briarcraig.”

A heart-stopping, charming smile appeared on the baron’s face. “I don’t know precisely how I ended up in your cellar, Captain, but I can give you an educated guess. What, may I ask, is the date?”

Aiden frowned. “January 19th.”

Something flashed in Kettering’s eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “I suspected as much.” He shook his head. “Are you familiar with Lord Totley?”

Lord Totley? Hardly. Blaire had never heard the name. However, the Lindsays were far from the sort who rubbed elbows with peers.

Aiden shook his head. “I doona believe so.”

Kettering sighed. “Well, apparently, I should have become more familiar with the man before I agreed to visit his country home in Roxburghshire. He’s a friend of the Regent’s and always has a fine hand at cards, but…”

“But, what?” Aiden asked, sliding to the edge of his seat.

Kettering looked back and forth between Blaire and Brannock and cringed. “Some vices are better left unspoken, Captain. Suffice it to say, a number of the guests were a bit more
unsavory
than one might hope to spend time with.”

“The five
women
?” Blaire prodded, not believing one word of his Banbury tale. “Ye mentioned them initially.”

Kettering glanced briefly at her and then turned his attention back to Aiden. “I believe one or more of them put something in my port one evening. “Those
women
are my last memory before waking up here.”

Blaire didn’t even try to suppress her snort. “And why would they bring ye here? Had ye done somethin’ ta deserve imprisonment?”

The baron’s eyes flashed back to her with a look so smoldering that she gasped for breath. “I have my whole life, Miss Lindsay, been a gentleman. No one has ever before thought I deserved to be drugged and stashed away in some castle. I’m not at all sure where I even am, to be honest.”

“The Highlands,” Brannock piped up.

“So five
women
drugged ye in Roxburghshire and drove ye inta the Highlands in the dead of winter ta dispose of ye in my brother’s castle?” Blaire shook her head. What nonsense. “Do ye truly expect me ta believe that?”

Kettering smiled. “Oh, I intend to find the women in question and determine just why they would assault me in such a way. You can be assured, Miss Lindsay, that I will find the truth.”

And that sentence was the first sincere thing he’d said, in Blaire’s estimation. A chill raced down her spine, though she wasn’t at all sure why.

“Tell me, did one of these
women
happen ta look like me?” Blaire crossed her arms beneath her breasts with impatience. Five witches. She only knew of one coven with that number.

“In fact, Miss Lindsay, one of them bore a striking resemblance to you.” His eyes narrowed at her. Blaire’s heart began to beat double time at the admission. It really was her mother he sought. How was that possible? Alpina Lindsay had been dead ten years. Certainly he hadn’t been locked in that cellar for a decade. Yet his clothes were from another time, longer than ten years if she had to guess.

“Would you happen to know where I can find her, this witch who resembles you?” Kettering’s voice broke into her thoughts.

Brannock sat forward and opened his mouth. Blaire snapped her fingers, and her brother sat back with a huff. She couldn’t allow the lad to tell Kettering that the witch he sought didn’t exist anymore or she’d never discover the true reason why he was locked in the cellar. And until she knew that reason, she couldn’t let him leave. He was too much of a threat.

“I’m no’ aware of any witches who look like me. I was simply curious. But I will do what I can ta help ye find what ye’re seekin’.”

“I would be thankful for your assistance,” he said as he bowed his head in her direction.

“Is your dinner no’ appealin’ ta ye?” Ever since he’d sat at the table, he’d simply dipped his spoon into his stew over and over, though he’d yet to take a single bite of the stew. Shouldn’t he be starving? Even Aiden’s cooking had to be better than nothing.

“I find myself a bit distracted, I admit,” he said quietly, and then he immediately turned to Aiden to speak, still without taking a bite. The man had been locked in the cellar for God only knew how long, and he wasn’t in search of a meal? That wasn’t normal. It wasn’t natural. Had the man truly gone ten years or longer without sustenance? She shook her head at the foolish notion. No one could survive that long. She was missing something important. Was there some sort of food source in the cellar? She’d have to take another look at the room.

Safely tucked beneath her dress, the ring around Blaire’s neck seemed warm against her skin. Just as she was about to reach for the relic, a clatter arose at the front door. The ornate brass knocker Blaire had seen earlier banged heavily against the oak. “Who the devil could that be?” Aiden mumbled to himself as he wiped his mouth, dropped his napkin in his plate, and rose to his feet.

“I’ll get it!” Brannock bolted from his seat and down the corridor.

A smile crossed Lord Kettering’s face. It was unlike any she’d seen grace his lips since she’d found him. It held no malice, no temper, no condescension, and no lack of trust. It was simply pleasure. “That will be for me,” he explained to Blaire as he came to his feet as well. She followed him down the corridor toward the great hall, with Aiden quick on her heels.

“Someone kent ye were here?” she called to his retreating back. Why hadn’t that someone helped him escape the room before now? Kettering was indeed an infuriating mystery.