It Happened One Bite (2 page)

Aiden slid a polished key into the bolt, but the lock refused to click. He rattled the key until Blaire felt certain it would break. She cleared her throat, and when her brother looked over his shoulder at her, she raised her brow expectantly. “Would ye like me ta give it a try?”

He scowled but handed her the key anyway.

Blaire looked at the key, which seemed much too small for the lock. It clearly wasn’t for the front door. “Where did ye get this thing? It doesna fit.”

“Mr. MacDonald.”

Blaire pocketed the key and then brushed past Aiden. She bent down to peer into the keyhole, which was rusted from non-use. “
Fosgail
,” she whispered. Then she tapped the door handle and turned it.

“Cheater,” Aiden muttered under his breath.

Blaire winked at Brannock, and the two of them giggled as their older brother pressed his way through the door. They quickly followed. As soon as Blaire’s foot landed inside the castle, she reared backward. One moment she was fine, and the next, she felt as though the breath had been sucked from her lungs. The ring she wore around her neck seemed to suddenly weigh ten times more, and it grew warm against her skin.

“Perhaps we shouldna go any further,” she warned. “This place feels…” She let her voice trail off. Voicing her own fears would serve no one.

Aiden scoffed. “Doona tell me the great warrior witch is frightened.”

Blasted brother. She shouldn’t let him goad her into doing anything she didn’t want to, but after two decades together, he knew exactly what to say to spur her forward. Blaire took a deep breath and pressed into the darkness, her senses on high alert. Something was far from right.

Whatever charm the castle had seemed to possess from the outside was long forgotten. Cobwebs stretched from one end of the long corridor to the other, filling every bit of open space. Brannock sneezed, and a plethora of dust motes scattered about.

“
Havers!
” Blaire turned her palm heavenward and a fireball sparked to life, lighting the way. Medieval wall sconces lined the corridor, and she threw her spark at each one, bringing a warm glow to the dismal atmosphere.

She first looked inside what must have once been the great hall. Old sheets covered settees, tables, and chairs. And layers of dust and grime covered the sheets.

“It looks haunted,” Brannock mumbled behind her, grasping her skirts with one hand.

Haunted
. The very idea sent a chill straight to Blaire’s soul. Then she shook her head at the thought of such foolishness. “There are no such things as ghosts, Bran.”

“A lot of people doona believe there are such things as witches either,” her little brother countered.

She supposed he had a point, not that she was about to admit that to the lad. Blaire tugged Brannock to her side and entered the great hall. “It’s just a bunch of old sheets.” She pulled the cloth from an old chair, scattering years’ worth of dust around the room and causing both of them to clutch their stomachs as coughs wracked their bodies.

Aiden entered the great hall, frowning. “Are ye all right?”

Blaire caught her breath and shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. “This place is awful.”

He waved his arm negligently in her direction. “Well, say a few magic words and clean it up.”

She scowled at him. “It doesna work that way, and ye ken it.” Though the truth was, being magical, she could make lighter work of the cleaning than her brothers would be able to do, not that she was about to admit it when Aiden was so haughty. “I’m ta use my powers for the purpose for which they were given ta me. So if ye have a dragon or a demon hidden away in this godforsaken place, I’ll be happy ta fight it for ye.”

The wind whipped through the hall and slammed the door shut loudly behind them. Brannock nearly knocked her over in his quest to hide in her skirts. “Bran,” she groaned, throwing her head back in defeat. “It’s just a little wind.”

He stuttered as he began. “I—I’ve never felt the wind move like that.”

She hadn’t either, but she’d be loathe to admit that. Aiden looked nearly as fearful as Brannock, and she didn’t want to make the situation worse.

Aiden crossed to the door and gave a hard tug. It refused to budge. He yanked once more and ended up falling to the floor, but he had managed to open the door. Aiden stood up and dusted himself off. He pulled a taper from the wall and held it out to Blaire. “Would ye mind?”

“I never did mind very well.”

“I hope ye have a daughter just like yerself some day, Blaire,” he grunted as she lit his taper and he started down the corridor.

“Where is Aiden goin’?” Brannock cried. Blaire soothed him with her hand on his back. But his teeth still chattered loudly enough that she could hear them.

“Explorin’, I would imagine,” she said absently, and she turned her attention to take in the uncovered furniture. Even after years of misuse, the settees and chairs looked to be in much better condition than what they were accustomed to in Edinburgh. How strange this place was.

“What if a monster eats him?” Brannock pressed.

Blaire swiped her finger across the mantel over the imposing stone fireplace and grimaced. Filth. “Then it would have a horrible stomach ache later. I imagine he’s no’ very tasty.”

“That is no’ humorous,” the youngest Lindsay grunted.

“Ye ken how much I love ta entertain.” Blaire winked at him, hoping to tease him into better spirits.

“B-Blaire,” Brannock stuttered as he stepped back from her, his finger pointing at her as all the blood drained from his face.

“What is it, Bran?” she asked.

“Ye’re g-g-glowin’,” he croaked.

Blaire looked down at herself, and sure enough, the signet ring she normally wore around her neck had a definite shine to it. “It’s just the light from the wall sconces,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It reflects off the stone.”

But it was more than that. And Blaire knew quite well that the glow wasn’t benign. She picked the ring up and gazed at the ruby-red stone. It almost seemed to mock her. She dropped the heirloom inside her dress where it rested heavily against her skin. She fingered it absently through the material. It seemed warmer to the touch than it should have in such a cold room.

What was this place they’d stumbled into? And why had she never heard of it before? “Help me fold up the cloths, will ye?” Until she had a firm understanding of the goings-on at Briarcraig, she didn’t want to worry Brannock for no reason. Keeping him busy would keep his mind occupied. At least she hoped so.

For a time, they folded the sheets and tried to keep from inhaling the dust that drifted up with every step they took. A scratching sound from the chimney caught Blaire’s attention, and she stepped toward it. A moment later, a bat flew from the opening and she cursed softly as she ducked to avoid the creature.

“I heard that,” Aiden admonished as he entered the massive room, heavily burdened by one of their trunks. “Ladies do no’ curse.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m no’ one,” she said smartly, a smile on her face as she turned toward him. “What did ye find down the corridor?”

Aiden chuckled. “An exit. And lots and lots of rooms. But at least it appears to be safe, even if it is dirty.” He stomped his foot. “The structure is sound, so at least I have somethin’ ta build upon.”

Blaire yawned behind her hand. “Did ye find any beds? I am exhausted.”

“Aye. Several bedchambers upstairs are full of furniture draped with cloths. Pick one ye fancy, change the bedclothes, and then ye can go ta sleep.” He nodded toward the trunk, which she knew contained fresh linens and several counterpanes.

Falling asleep would be heavenly. “Tomorrow, I’ll have to clean,” she moaned.

“Tomorrow, there’s a lot ta be done. Are ye ready ta eat?”

She shook her head. “I’m too tired. I’m goin’ ta go ta bed.” She started for the corridor.

“Oh, Blaire,” Aiden called.

She turned back to him.

“A neighbor stopped by as Ferguson’s coachman headed toward the village—”

Even the bloody coachmen knew better than to stay inside the castle. “We should have gone with him.”

Aiden frowned at her. “Frightened?”

“Hardly,” she insisted, folding her arms across her chest.

“Well, anyway, the neighbor—”

“Are ye sure ye’re no’ delusional?” Blaire shook her head. “I havena seen any evidence of anyone livin’ near Briarcraig.” Who would be mad enough to stay in these parts?

“Well, people
do
,” Aiden insisted. “Mr. Fyfe is the local magistrate, and he tends sheep in the valley. He and his daughters saw the coach as we were comin’ in. Ye might like the lasses. They’re about yer age.”

Blaire leveled him with a haughty stare. If he was trying to talk her into staying, he was out of his thick skull.

Aiden cleared his throat. “Anyway, I invited them ta visit tomorrow, once we’re settled in. It might do ye some good ta be surrounded by some
normal
lasses for a change.”

“Settled in? Have ye taken a good look at yer castle, Aiden? It would take a team of servants ta clean this place by tomorrow.” She let the comment about normal lasses go without a response. It was a fairly common sentiment after all. At least from Aiden.

He shrugged, the picture of an unconcerned male. “We’ll get the great hall and a parlor or two done by then.”

“I dinna traipse up here ta entertain Highlanders, Aiden Lindsay. Surely, ye doona think I’ll be stayin’ in this drafty old castle any longer than a sennight.”

“A sennight or a fortnight, no’ much of a difference really. Fyfe says the villagers think the castle is haunted.”

“Oh, what rubbish,” Blaire scoffed, hoping Brannock wouldn’t get worked up again after hearing such a thing.

“I agree!” the lad said at the same time.

Perfect. Nothing to do now but minimize the damage. She patted Aiden’s shoulder as she walked by him. “If ye hear any wailin’ or rattlin’ of chains, Aiden, ye can come and crawl under my covers. I’ll protect ye from whatever goes bump in the night.” Then she laughed at her brother’s horrified expression.

“Canna ye be serious for a minute?” he scolded.

Blaire shrugged. “What do ye want me ta say? I am no’ afraid of some ghost that doesna exist.”

Aiden mumbled something under his breath, and though Blaire couldn’t quite make it out, she was fairly certain it was far from complimentary.

“Tomorrow, we need ta look around and try ta find out what that stench is,” she said, hoping the talk of ghouls had ended for the evening. “It smells as though somethin’ died in here and no one has taken the time ta bury it.”

Aiden nodded absently, though his mind seemed miles away.

Blaire started for the doorway but stopped to retrieve an armful of bedclothes, and then she slid from the parlor and down the musty corridor with Brannock quick on her heels. She shivered. Now that she was here, she couldn’t believe she’d let Aiden talk her into this. Lindsay House was far from a castle, but it was clean, comfortable, and near people they knew.

Briarcraig was the most isolated place she’d ever been, different in every way from Edinburgh. She couldn’t imagine actually
living
here. She shuddered at the thought. Aiden was daft if he thought she’d even consider it. The smell alone was enough to drive one mad.

She turned the corner to where she thought the staircase was, but instead she found another dank corridor. Blaire’s eyes took in the dismal scene, and she cringed. This was not the sort of place where one would want to be lost. So she turned around and went back in the direction from which she had come.

After several attempts to locate the staircase, she finally found the right corridor and breathed a sigh of relief.

“I wonder who haunts the castle?” Brannock commented as he followed her into one of the bedrooms. She noted that he hadn’t let more than two steps separate them as they’d twisted and turned down the maze of corridors.

“The only ghost who’ll haunt these halls will be yers,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “if ye doona get ta work and help me get the beds ready.”

“I wonder if he was murdered.”

Blaire rolled her eyes as she handed him half of the linens. “Probably no’, but ye might be the next victim if ye keep on talkin’ about it,” she complained.

“Do ye think he’s a good ghost or a bad ghost?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Bran!” she groaned.

He went on as though she hadn’t said a thing. “Maybe the ghost will show itself ta me and tell me where it buried a long lost treasure.”

Blaire couldn’t help but laugh at the image his words brought to mind. The lad was positively starved for an adventure of his own, even if he was scared to death. “If ye see the ghost, Bran, ask it ta clean up a bit, will ye?”

He snorted, and though Blaire couldn’t see his face, she was fairly certain he’d rolled his eyes.

James Maitland, Baron Kettering, groaned. It felt as though someone had coshed him over the head with an anchor and left him for dead. His temple pulsed angrily. How odd. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in pain. Centuries ago perhaps, but nothing in recent memory.

He tried to blink his eyes open, but his lids were too heavy. How very strange. Then he noticed his arms wouldn’t move, not even his pinkie finger. Nor would his legs. What the devil had happened to him? James focused all his energy on his eyes, willing them to open; to no avail.

He was lying flat on something cold, something damp, but that was all he could tell for certain. If he could just remember how he had gotten here…

That blasted coven. A memory flashed through his mind. Five witches had accosted him in the coaching yard. They must have cast some spell on him that rendered his limbs useless. What had they said? Something about monsters and acquiring justice for his victims. Had James been able to scoff, he would have.

Victims! What utter nonsense. Any woman who shared her life’s blood with him enjoyed the experience as much as he did. Not once in more than two hundred years had he taken something that wasn’t freely offered. Blodswell had belabored the point, and it was a code they lived by. It was expected. And he would never disappoint his maker.

Blodswell!

Relief washed over James. Blodswell, his old friend, was sure to find him wherever he was. He’d set things to rights, and then those five witches wouldn’t know what hit them. They thought he was a monster, did they? He’d show them what a monster truly looked like. Damnation, being paralyzed was a bloody inconvenience.

I’m outside Edinburgh. The Black Dragon Inn. I need your help. Please find me. That blasted coven of yours has attacked me.

Then a sound hit his ears. The pitter-patter of footsteps and then a childlike laugh.

“Brannock Lindsay!” a woman cried, “I doona have time for such nonsense. Climb inta bed. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“But, Blaire,” the child complained, “I just want ta catch the kitty first.”

“Aye. Ye always have somethin’ ye have ta do first. But tonight I doona have the patience for it.” Her voice dropped as she grumbled, but he heard her nonetheless. “Only ye, Brannock, could befriend a mangy, mottled bag of fur as soon as we arrived. Ye’re lucky it dinna scratch yer eyes out.”

“It’s no’ a bad cat, Blaire.”

“There’s no such thing as a good cat,” the feminine voice continued her grumble. Against his will, James felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn up.

“But what if it’s lost and scared?” the child continued. “Or what if the ghosts or ghoulies snatch it up?”

“I’m sure the cat kens the best places ta hide in this old pile of rocks. Now, I’ll no’ tell ye again: off ta bed with ye.”

The sounds drifted further away, and James was more confused than ever. Pile of rocks? Ghosts? What a bizarre conversation. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t hear the sounds of a working inn. There were no groomsmen in the courtyard repeating ribald stories. There were no sounds of cooks or maids scurrying about the kitchens. No smells of freshly baked food wafting upward. No uproarious bellows of drunkards in the taproom. There was nothing but strange bits of conversations between some lad and his sister or nursemaid. Where the devil was he?

Pile of rocks
. What had the lass meant by that? Anger swamped James, and he struggled once again to open his eyes, to open his mouth, to move one inch. But nothing happened, and he’d never experienced such torture in his previous life, or in the current one. Once again, righteous anger at that blasted coven coursed through his veins. When he got free from this trap, there wouldn’t be a place in the entire world where those five witches would be safe from him.

***

Just as Blaire closed her eyes, a knock sounded on her door. She sighed. Would this day never end? “Aye?”

The door creaked open. “Blaire?” Brannock’s small voice preceded him into the room.

“Bran!” she groaned. “What are ye doin’ out of bed?” It had taken the better part of an hour to get him calmed down and tucked under his counterpane. She didn’t think she had the strength to start the process over.

“I’m worried about the kitty.”

The dratted cat again. Blaire cursed the thing for ever crossing her brother’s path that evening. “The cat lives here. There’s no reason ta be worried about it. We’ll try ta find it in the mornin’.”

The lad sighed, and Blaire finally sat up in bed to look at him. He clutched the red Lindsay plaid tightly around his shoulders and shivered. “Blaire, can I…” his voice trailed off.

“Can ye what?”

“I doona want ta stay in my room. I think it’s haunted.”

He looked so pathetic, quivering in the doorway, that she took pity on him. “All right. Ye can stay with me tonight.” Before she even finished her sentence, he’d launched himself onto her bed. She couldn’t help but smile at the lad, and she ruffled his hair. “But tomorrow ye need ta stay in yer own chambers.”

Brannock quickly nodded his head in agreement.

Within a moment, he settled in beside her and rested his head on her shoulder. “What do ye think about Briarcraig?” he asked.

“I think we have our work cut out for us.”

“Do ye think Mama ever lived here?”

Blaire shook her head. “Mama only ever lived in Edinburgh.”

He sighed wistfully. “I saw a portrait that looked like the miniature Papa had of her.”

“A portrait?”

“Hmm.” He toyed with the cord around her neck. “I thought maybe it was—Ouch!” He yanked his hand from her and stuck his fingers in his mouth.

Blaire bolted upright. “What happened?”

“Burned,” he managed around his fingers.

“Burned?” Blaire glanced down at the ring hanging around her neck. It wasn’t her imagination. The stone was most assuredly glowing. She gingerly touched a finger to it, and though the ring was much warmer than normal, it didn’t burn her.

Brannock pulled his fingers from his mouth. “What’s wrong with it?”

Blaire shook her head. “Honestly, I doona have any idea.” Had her mother not told her on her deathbed to never remove it from her neck, Blaire would have thrown the ring across the room. But it would keep her safe, her mother had promised. It could very well save her life one day. And it was behaving so oddly, she was more afraid not to have it on her person.

She moved the cord away from her brother and then inspected his hand. There was a faint red mark on his index finger, and she pressed her lips to the area. “There, all better.”

From the glow of the ring, she saw Brannock roll his eyes. “I’m no’ a bairn, Blaire.”

Of course not. He was a strong, brave lad who’d jumped under her blankets rather than face the night alone. She winked at him and smiled. “Just try ta get some sleep, will ye?”

The lad settled deeper under the covers and was asleep within moments. However, Blaire wasn’t quite so fortunate. Just as her eyes drifted closed, she heard a loud crash from belowstairs.

“Damnable cat,” she muttered as she rolled over and punched her pillow in frustration. Between the snores that were already erupting from Brannock’s mouth and the crashing objects that fell when the cat ran through the dining hall, Blaire would be incredibly fortunate to get even an hour of sleep.

Just as the castle quieted and the cat finally lay down to rest, a loud bellow came from the bowels of the castle. Blaire glanced quickly over at Brannock, who still slept soundly. Her imagination must be playing tricks on her. Out of nowhere, her brother kicked her shin with all his might. Damn it, she’d never get to sleep at this rate. She slid from beneath the counterpane, shrugged into her wrapper, and then slipped out the chamber door.

The ring around her neck caught her attention momentarily, as the glow seemed to fade and brighten like the cadence of a beating heart. She tucked the ring back beneath her night rail and started down the stairs.

She’d brew a cup of relaxing tea to help her sleep. That was all she needed; an enchanted sleeping draught ought to do the trick.

***

A tingling began first in James’ toes and fingertips. He cried out in pain because the tingle was more like being jabbed by the sharpened points of hundreds of needles as his limbs came to life. He hadn’t felt pain in decades. Actually, in over two centuries, not since he’d been human. But he was feeling it now. And it was none too pleasant. He’d like to think that he had blood rushing to his extremities, but that was highly unlikely. Damn if he wasn’t unusually parched. A thirst tugged at him like none other had before. He needed to feed. And he needed it soon.

He glanced around himself, unsure of where he was. The dark room that held him was so black within that he couldn’t even see his hand when he was finally able to raise it in front of his face. He tested his limbs gingerly as they slowly came to life. He blinked his eyes open and closed. Of course, the darkness was all he could see. But it felt good to open them, which was more than he could do earlier. A definite improvement.

He wished he knew how he’d come to be in this bizarre place. He rolled to a seated position and groaned loudly as he unbent his long body. He leaned against the frigid stone wall behind him and laid his head on his knees.

After a time, his eyes began to adjust to the surrounding darkness, and James smiled when he was able to make out a door. Freedom. Thank God.

James rose to his feet but nearly stumbled under his own weight. He clutched the wall to steady himself. Had he been drugged? Just one more sin to add to the mounting list of injustices the coven had placed upon him.

On weak legs, James slowly made his way across the cold floor and grasped the door handle. He tugged, only to find it locked. That shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was disheartening just the same. Not that a locked door could keep him trapped. All he had to do was pull it from its hinges.

He yanked on the handle, but it didn’t move an inch. He slammed his shoulder against the wood, but he didn’t even hear a satisfying crack. For God’s sake, how weak was he? Then the most glorious sound he’d ever heard reached his ears. Footsteps came from the floor above him. He looked up. “Hello?” he called. The footsteps stopped. “Hello?” he said again, resting his head against the door. If he was loud enough, perhaps the person could hear him. “Please!” he yelled one final time. “I’m trapped. Please let me out.”

The faint voice of the female he’d heard earlier trickled like rain down to him in the darkness. A bump and a muffled curse word reached his ears, which brought a smile to his face. The lass did have an interesting vocabulary. He’d teach her a few more colorful words if she’d just open the door.

Then once the lass freed him, James would be on his way. He felt his ring finger and growled. Damn witches. Hopefully it was dark outside as traveling by daylight would be impossible since one of the magical she-devils had apparently absconded with his ring.

“Come on,” he cried from his prison. “Come and find me. Please.”

When her footsteps slowed, James thought he’d wither away and die. He closed his eyes, willing her to continue. He couldn’t lose the lass. Not when she was so close to finding him. “Hello…” he called, allowing his voice to linger at the end of the word, drawing it out like a song. “Can you hear me?” His throat burned with the force of his words. He reached one hand into the darkness, as though he could grab onto whoever was moving about above him. “Help me!” he called.

The footsteps stopped completely.

“Please!” he begged. “I know you can hear me!”

Her steps moved across the floor again, faster this time. Had James still possessed a heart, it would have leapt at the sound. “That’s it,” he whispered to himself. “Come this way.”

Finally, footsteps, slow and measured, clipped against stone steps, the noise ringing in his ears.

“Hello!” he cried.

She stopped again.

“No! Keep coming. I’m in here, but I’m trapped.”

Another step. She didn’t back away. Thank God. She was still coming toward him. A flash of light crept beneath the door. It was nearly painful to his eyes. He gasped and covered them quickly. Then he cracked one eye open and took in the room, which he could now see much better from the warm glow that slid beneath the door.

He jerked at the door handle once more, but it still refused to budge. He could almost taste his freedom. Until he smelled the scent of blood that pumped within her veins. She smelled of sweet lavender, earth, and strength. He wanted to taste her more than anything. James dropped to his stomach beside the door and spoke beneath it. “Please, free me,” he crooned.

“Are ye real?” The soft Scottish lilt of her words moved through him like thunder breaks a storm-laden night. He shuddered. Scottish lasses would be the death of him.

“I’m real.”

“I doona believe ye.” She sounded odd to his ears all of a sudden, as though she was in a trance of some sort. The tiny thread of hope he had held began to unravel in his hands.

Still he was so close to freedom that giving up seemed foolhardy. “I’m very real, lass,” he promised, pressing his whole body against the door. If he could slide himself beneath it, he would. “Set me free and I’ll show you.” James felt the door move a bit when she tugged on the other side.

“It’s locked,” she said wistfully, dreamlike.

“Of course, it’s locked. I told you I was trapped.”

“Oh.”

“Can you look for a key?” What was wrong with the lass? She didn’t seem to grasp much of what he said, nor the urgency with which he said it. Had the coven trapped and drugged her, too? Was she a victim of their treachery as well? “Blasted witches,” he ground out beneath his breath.

A startled gasp rang out from the other side of the door. “Blasted ghost!” she countered.

Ghost? Clearly the chit wasn’t in her right mind. “Lass, if you’ll just find the key.”

“Find it yerself,” she snapped.

What the devil was wrong with her all of a sudden? James heaved a sigh. “Please,” he begged. But then her footsteps moved away from the door and James’ hope plummeted once again “Don’t go!” he cried.