It Happened One Bite (3 page)

“No such thing as ghosts,” she barely whispered, but he heard the words clearly.

Her footsteps clipped back up the stone steps. James cursed beneath his breath and begged her to come back, but she didn’t answer him. He heard her move across the floor above him. Then silence. She’d vanished as quickly as she’d arrived.

Why had she run off? What had she said? He tried to remember her exact words. Did she think he was a ghost? Was that what she meant? He scoffed to himself. He was the furthest thing from a harmless specter. But, he’d be whatever she desired, right up to the moment she freed him.

Blaire ripped off a piece of crusted bread and popped it into her mouth. She glanced around Briarcraig’s dismal dining hall, which was not much improved in the light of day. Her eyes were tired and aching, and there was an insistent pounding in her head. Sleeping draughts always had that effect on her. Not that she’d had much of a choice the night before.

It was her own fault for allowing Brannock to remain with her during the night. How could she have forgotten that the lad kicked in his sleep? She must be covered in bruises all along her left side. Making matters worse, he also snored like an old man, making the bed rumble all night long. No, she hadn’t had a choice about the sleeping draught. But she did wish it didn’t make her mind feel quite so foggy.

Her dreams had been fitful. Trapped ghosts and glowing rings. Though the ring wasn’t a dream, was it? She tugged the cord from beneath her serviceable dress and held the ring up for inspection. Under the daylight, it didn’t seem to possess the otherworldly glow from the night before. If it still weighed more, she’d grown accustomed to the difference and didn’t notice it now. She ran her fingertip along the griffin etched on the side. The symbol of the valiant soldier. Passed from one warrior witch to the next for generations. Never had she seen it behave so strangely.

It was a shame Caitrin wasn’t here. As the seer of their coven, Cait would understand the situation with a close of her eyes and a few magical words. Thinking of her sister witch brought Blaire’s attention back to her own hasty departure from Edinburgh. Perhaps she’d send her all-seeing friend a note explaining her absence. Truly, she should have done so before she left Lindsay House.

Blaire tore off another hunk of bread and started to compose the letter in her mind. Before she finished her thoughts, Aiden strode into the dining hall as if he owned the place. Blast him for looking so well rested and bright-eyed this morning.

“Why are ye scowlin’?” he asked, sliding into a place at the table beside her.

“Difficult night,” she grumbled.

“Indeed?” Aiden’s eyes widened in surprise. “I slept like the dead. Was the bed uncomfortable?” He broke off a hunk of cheese and bit into it.

She shrugged. “Brannock knocked on my door last night, scared half ta death of ghosts and other such nonsense. I let him stay with me.”

“Ah, rotten luck there.” Aiden winced. “The lad kicks.”

“I’m well aware.” She somehow managed to keep the growl from her voice. “And his paranoia is infectious. I had the strangest dream last night of a ghost.”

His silver eyes lit up. “I dinna think ye believed in ghosts.”

She shook her head. “In the light of day, I doona believe in such nonsense. But the dream felt so real in a strange way, Aiden. I canna describe it properly.”

“Ye should go back ta bed for a while. Ye doona look quite right.”

Blaire laughed. “A lady of leisure I’m no’. Besides we have quite a lot ta do today.”

“There’s no rush.”

Of course, he wasn’t rushed. He’d gladly spend the rest of his days in the crumbling castle, which was not appealing in the least to Blaire. “I’m goin’ ta jot off a quick note ta Cait and then start ta work on the first-floor parlors.”

Aiden sighed. “If ye insist.”

“Well, I wouldna insist, but ye did promise ta entertain some sheep farmer this afternoon.”

***

Blaire climbed to her feet and wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. “I canna believe Aiden talked me inta comin’ ta this filthy place,” she mumbled under her breath as she carried a bucket of dirty mop water and rags to the door. “Brannock!” she bellowed.

She tilted her head to listen for the sound of footsteps. She knew Aiden was busy with chores, but the littlest Lindsay had to be constantly guided back to the task at hand, which was cleaning years’ worth of dust from the interior of the main rooms. The boy was underfoot when she
didn’t
want him to be but was nowhere to be found when there was work to be done.

Blaire took the stairs two at a time and then called for Brannock as she walked the corridors.

“In here, Blaire,” his quiet voice finally said. She followed the sound, which led her to a long corridor adorned with one large portrait after another. There at the far end sat Brannock on the floor, looking up at the last painting in the gallery.

“Takin’ a break from yer work?” she asked, striding toward him. But as she got closer, the air from her lungs was nearly sucked away. Her mother stood proud and confident in the final portrait, holding a broadsword in her hands.

“I ken ye said Mama never lived here, but it does look so like Papa’s miniature.”

Alpina Lindsay had been gone for ten years, but Blaire would never forget her mother’s regal face. It was most assuredly staring back at her from the portrait. “I do believe ye’re right, Bran. That is indeed Mama.”

He looked up in surprise, and a tinkling of metal hit the floor. “How did it get here?”

Blaire wished she knew. “Perhaps she visited when she was younger?” Not that it made any sense. She’d have to ask Aiden again what the solicitor had said about the place. Perhaps she should have listened better the first time he’d told the tale. She looked back down at her young brother and noticed a small pile of pewter figures. “What have ye found there?” She pointed at the floor.

“Bruce was in a wardrobe with these,” Brannock said absently as his eyes drifted down to the playthings.

“Bruce?” Blaire echoed.

“My cat,” he replied, now arranging the little pewter pieces in lines and circles.

Blaire couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “Ye named yer cat
Bruce
?”

Brannock shrugged. “He was Scotland’s greatest warrior.”

She sunk down to her knees beside her brother and ruffled his hair. “He was indeed.” Though he’d most likely turn over in his grave if he knew he was the namesake of that scrawny cat. She turned her eyes back to the portrait and stared into the past. “Have ye been comin’ here ta look at the paintin’ while Aiden and I have been workin’ our fingers ta the bones?”

“Doona be mad, Blaire,” he begged. “I…I just wish I kent her. Ye canna tell much from the miniature. She looks so strong and brave.”

Blaire kissed the top of his head. “I wish ye’d kent her, too. I wish she was still here with us.” She heaved a sigh. She had at least known their mother, but Brannock had never gotten that chance. “Ye can come and see the portrait all ye want, but we do need yer help as well.”

Brannock nodded. “All right. Can I put my toys away first?”

Blaire winked at him. “Aye. I’ll help ye.”

He held out one pewter piece to her. “I think this one looks like ye.”

Blaire took the shiny object from him and clasped the cold metal in her hand. Indeed, the figure was a woman, the dress she wore making that fact unmistakable. But in her hand she held a bow and arrow. Blaire’s heart clenched. She’d seen a piece like this before in Sorcha’s collection. What would something like this be doing here of all places? “Let me see the others,” she said as uneasiness settled over her.

He scooped up the remaining figures and dropped them into her hand. It was odd indeed to see the set. One lass held her hand over her eyes. One held a bolt of lightning in her hand as though she’d snatched it from the sky. Another held a flower outstretched as a gift, and the last lass held a mortar and pestle. “Humph,” she grunted. It was an exact duplicate of Sorcha’s figures. “Where did ye say ye found these again?”

“In a wardrobe in one of the rooms. Bruce was usin’ it as his house.”

“Can ye show me?” She dropped the figures into her pocket,

Brannock nodded. “There’s nothin’ else there, no’ that I could see.”

Still, she needed to see it. Brannock led her to one of the many bedchambers and opened up an ancient wardrobe. The interior was vast and dark, almost big enough to be a small room of its own. She kicked a tattered pillow from her path, most assuredly the cat’s bed. A fireball sparked to life in Blaire’s hand so she could better see inside. At the back of the large wardrobe, her flame glittered against the brass casings of a dark chest.

“
Havers!
” Blaire muttered.

“It’s like a pirate’s treasure chest.” Brannock tugged at her skirts. “Can we open it?”

Blaire laughed at her adventure-starved brother. Though, truly her excitement mirrored his, if she was completely honest with herself. “Of course.”

The two of them stepped toward the back of the wardrobe, and Blaire lowered her flame to inspect the chest more thoroughly. The brass lock sparkled shiny, as though it had recently been constructed. In fact, it had the same luster as the key Aiden had received from the solicitor. The one that didn’t fit the front door. “Bran, run back ta my chambers. The key from Mr. MacDonald is on my dressin’ table.”

Her brother pouted. “Why doona ye just open it with some magic words?”

She could do that, of course, but doing so wouldn’t answer her question. “Because I want ta ken if it fits the trunk. Now do as I ask.”

Brannock grumbled, though he started for the entrance of the wardrobe. “Doona open it without me.”

“Cross my heart.”

Blaire ran her fingers over the brass casings. How strange that the chest retained its luster when everything else at Briarcraig seemed dusty and dull. The wardrobe must have kept it safe from the elements, but one would still think a little dust would have settled on the chest, especially if that damn cat had been in and out of the space.

In less than a moment, Brannock was back inside the wardrobe, huffing and puffing as though he’d run a footrace. She never ceased to be surprised at how quick he could be when he wanted something. “Here.” He held out the key for Blaire’s inspection, still trying to catch his breath.

Blaire bounced the key in her upturned palm, as though testing its weight. “Hmm.” It did indeed appear to be the same brass. She slid it into the lock and smiled when she heard a very satisfying click.

Blaire gasped.

“What’s inside?” Brannock complained, bouncing up and down on his feet as he tried to look over her shoulder. “Let me see.”

Blaire moved to the side, allowing the warm light from her flame to illuminate the contents of the trunk. She couldn’t even speak. Never in her life had she seen so much money. Not shillings nor farthings but real golden guineas filled the trunk to the brim. More than she could ever count, she was sure.

“It
is
a treasure chest!” Brannock gushed, awe lacing his voice.

“Aye,” Blaire barely managed.

“We’re rich! We’re rich!”

The lad bolted from the wardrobe and out of the room before Blaire could even call for him to stop.

“We’re rich! We’re rich!” he bellowed through the corridor and down the stairs, his exuberance bubbling over.

“Brannock!” she called after him. “Wait.”

“Aiden!” the boy wailed. “We’re rich!”

Blaire chased after her younger brother, nearly stumbling on the last stone step in her pursuit. She righted herself just in time to see Brannock dart into the great hall. That lad was going to be the death of her one way or the other.

“For the love of God, Bran!” Blaire stopped in the threshold of the vast room to find Brannock barreling toward Aiden who was reclined like a king on the settee. Unfortunately, her oldest brother was not alone. Across from him, two golden-haired lasses in cheerful homespun sat in matching high-backed chairs, and an older man of stoic disposition stood near the blazing hearth.

“We’re rich!” Brannock blurted out.

“Brannock!” Blaire hissed.

The two lasses exchanged mercenary glances with each other and then turned their attention to Aiden. “Captain Lindsay,” the first one began, “have we come at a bad time?”

Aiden shook his head and gestured to Blaire, still standing in the corridor. “No’ at all. Allow me ta introduce my sister. Blaire, this is Miss Heather Fyfe, Miss Crissa Fyfe, and their father, Mr. Fyfe. I told ye they’d be payin’ a visit.”

Both Miss Fyfes raked their gazes across Blaire and she suddenly had the urge to bolt. “Pleasure,” she lied.

“Well, come in, come in,” Aiden ordered, patting the spot beside him on the settee. Then he gestured to the older lass. “I was tellin’ Miss Fyfe how ye love ta sew.”

In other words, he’d been lying through his teeth. “Ye shouldna have said so. Truly.” Blaire forced one foot over the threshold and then managed a tight smile as she took the place beside her prevaricating brother.

“Aiden!” Brannock stamped his foot. “Will ye listen ta me?”

Her older brother sent a scathing glance at the lad. “My apologies, ladies. The lad’s governess has been derelict in her duties.”

Governess? Blaire almost choked. What Banbury tales had Aiden been spinning? And why did he care about impressing the golden-haired Fyfe sisters anyway? “Aye. Ye really should have a word with Miss…Gulverness. She has been so lax of late.”

“Gulverness?” the younger Miss Fyfe, Blaire wasn’t certain which was which, piped up. “Yer governess is called Miss Gulverness?”

Blaire sat up straight, daring the woman to call her on her lie. “Aye. Gulverness. I think that is why she went inta this line of work, Miss…uh.”

“Crissa,” the lass added, her light blue eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Aye, Miss Crissa. I think Miss Gulverness became a governess because the name suited her. Much like a blacksmith named Smith. No one thinks that odd, now do they?”

Crissa Fyfe’s blond brow furrowed. “I suppose no’.”

“Of course no’,” Blaire agreed.

“Why doona ye go find
Miss Gulverness
, Brannock, and I’ll meet with the two of ye later?” Aiden ground out.

Brannock thrust out his lower lip, glowered at their older brother, and then stalked from the room. The poor lad. He had such delightful news and was being disciplined by having to seek out the nonexistent Miss Gulverness for his punishment. If Blaire wasn’t so annoyed with Aiden, she would have laughed.

“Now, then.” Aiden shifted in his seat. “Blaire, ye’ll be happy ta ken that Miss Fyfe loves her needle and thread.”

So the lasses were bragging about their accomplishments to the handsome new owner of the local castle, were they? Not that Blaire thought Aiden was handsome, but she’d heard others in Edinburgh lament the fact nearly all her life. And now the enterprising Fyfe sisters had just heard Brannock announce they were “rich.” How the devil would they ever get rid of the pair now that Aiden was a handsome, wealthy Army captain in possession of a castle? “Ye doona say?” she asked in a sickly sweet voice. “That is positively fascinatin’, Miss Fyfe. Needle
and
thread, ye say?”

Heather Fyfe narrowed her green eyes at Blaire in a most calculating manner. “I say, Miss Lindsay, ye have,” she gestured to Blaire’s head, “somethin’ in yer hair.” Then she shuddered for dramatic effect.

Blaire’s hand flew to her hair where she discovered a rather stubborn cobweb interlaced with her locks.
Havers!
That was a bit embarrassing under the circumstances.

“My sister is so excited about seein’ every inch of Briarcraig that she must have been investigatin’ a place the servants have yet ta clean.”

The servants meaning Blaire and Brannock. “Oh, aye,” she agreed quickly. “So many corridors and alcoves ta see.”

“Are ye no’ afraid of the ghost?” Crissa Fyfe asked, sliding forward in her seat.

“I doona believe in ghosts,” Blaire informed her.

“Blaire is a brave lass,” Aiden added.

“Well, Captain,” Mr. Fyfe pushed away from the hearth, speaking for the first time since Blaire had entered the room. “My girls and I had best be off. I hope ye will enjoy yer time here in Strathcarron.”

Both girls shot quelling looks at their father as Aiden rose to his feet. “It was such a pleasure meetin’ ye both. I do hope ye will visit Blaire again while we’re in residence.”

Neither Heather nor Crissa Fyfe spared Blaire a glance, as they were too busy batting their eyelashes at Aiden. “We’d love ta,” Heather Fyfe gushed.

“Well, why doona ye all join us for dinner tomorrow?” Aiden asked, offering his arm to Heather. “Then ye can become better acquainted.”

Blaire resisted the urge to grind her teeth together. “I’m no’ sure if the servants will be quite ready, Aiden. We’ve been workin’ the poor dears ta their bones.”

Her brother waved her off, as though they truly did have a castle full of servants. “Such a tenderhearted lass,” he confided to Heather Fyfe.

He was a tenderheaded dolt.

“Thank ye, Captain.” Mr. Fyfe and his younger daughter followed Aiden from the great hall. “We’ll look forward ta it.”

Blaire settled back against the settee, waiting for the imbecile that was her older brother to return from seeing the Fyfes out. What the devil was wrong with Aiden? She sighed.

She didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, her brother entered the great hall, a grin spread across his face. “They were delightful.”

“Our ideas of delightful differ wildly.”

He rolled his eyes. “So do our ideas of what constitutes a decent name. Gulverness? That was the best ye could do?”

It wasn’t the best name, but she wasn’t about to admit to it. “Apparently my talent for prevarication isna as well developed as yers.”

He had the audacity to chuckle.

Blaire rose from her spot. “We have ta talk, Aiden.”

“I ken ye dinna care for the Fyfe lasses. Just give them a chance. That’s all I ask.”

She couldn’t care less about the Fyfe sisters. “Aiden, I have somethin’ ta tell ye. Brannock and I—”

“What the devil was wrong with the lad? Where is he?” Aiden started for the door. “Brannock!” he called.

Havers!
Getting the man’s attention was next to impossible. “Aiden Lindsay!” Blaire barked. “Will ye shut yer trap for a minute and listen?”

Her brother’s brow furrowed. “There’s no reason ta talk ta me that way.”

Oh, there were plenty of good reasons to talk to him that way. Dragging them all into the Highlands. Inviting the Fyfe twits for dinner the next evening. The stream of lies that had flown from his mouth to impress the magistrate and his daughters. But that was neither here nor there at the moment. “Brannock and I found a chest, Aiden. It’s filled with guineas.”

“Guineas?” Aiden finally looked interested.

“More than I’ve ever seen,” she confessed. “The key from the solicitor. It opened the trunk.”

“Indeed?”

“And there’s more. Brannock found some little pewter figures.” She tugged the pieces from her pocket and dropped them in her brother’s hand. “Just look at them,” Blaire ordered.

He did take a good long look, and the color from his face drained away. “The
Còig
.”

“Exactly.” She heaved a sigh. “And there’s a portrait gallery, Aiden. A paintin’ of Mama is among the collection.”

Aiden collapsed back onto the settee, but he said nothing. He just stared blankly at the pewter figures in his hands.

“Tell me again what the solicitor said. How did ye inherit the castle?”

Slowly, his gaze rose to meet hers. “It was Mama’s,” he finally said. “Her dowry, her birthright. The home of the battle-born witches. An entire trunk of guineas, ye say?”

But that didn’t make any sense. Again uneasiness settled over Blaire. “Mama would have told me about it, Aiden.”

He winced. That didn’t bode well. Exactly how talented was Aiden at prevarications?

“What is it ye’re no’ tellin’ me?” She sank into a chair across from him.

He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Honestly, Blaire, I doona ken.” Aiden sighed. “I remember Briarcraig from when I was a child. That’s why I was so excited ta see it again.”

“Ye remember it?” Why the devil hadn’t he said so?

Her brother shrugged. “No’ a trunk full of guineas.” He sighed. “But we spent a lot of time here, Mama and me. It was a sanctuary of sorts from Father. He never came with us.” Aiden shrugged. “Then we just stopped comin’. I asked Mama about it, and she said I was never ta mention it again.”

“How old were ye? Did I come here, too?”

He shook his head. “Nay, it was before ye came along. Mama was expectin’ ye though, the last time we visited.”

Blaire looked around at the tattered walls and tried to pull the essence of her mother from the place. “The home of the battle-born witches? Why dinna she tell me?”

“I was just a lad, Blaire. I doona ken. For the longest while, I thought this castle was a figment of my imagination, in fact, until I met with Mr. MacDonald last week.”

The solicitor who had finished going through the last of their father’s papers, Mr. MacDonald had seemed glad to be done with the Lindsays. “Why dinna ye tell me this in Edinburgh?”

He hung his head. “I suppose they were my memories, the best of my childhood, and I dinna want ta share them. I forgot about the portrait. She had it commissioned when she knew she was expectin’ ye. I played out by the loch while the artist painted her, day after day. Ye should see the place in the summer, Blaire. Loch Calavie sparkles like glittering diamonds under the sun.”

Blaire barely heard his words. She was sitting in the ancestral home of the battle-born witches. Her mother and grandmother and every generation of warrior witches before that. For some reason her mother never told her about the place. Why? Did she think Blaire was undeserving of her birthright? Had she disappointed her mother in some way?

Her mind spun with memories, trying to sort out the reason. Why would her mother have kept the castle from her? It didn’t make sense. Was that why her ring had reacted so strangely upon their entrance? As though it was being returned home to its rightful place? It had certainly returned to normal since. No more glowing, no more radiating heat.

“Are ye all right, Blaire?” She looked up to see Aiden hovering over her. When had he left his seat?

“Fine,” she mumbled.

“Ye doona look it.” Her brother frowned, worry etched across his brow. He touched his hand to her head. “Ye dinna sleep well. Perhaps ye should lie down for a bit.”

She must truly look bad if Aiden was concerned about her well-being. “I just canna understand why she wouldna tell me. Why she would stop visitin’.” Blaire stared into her brother’s eyes looking for any sign of deception. “She said ye were never ta mention Briarcraig?”

Aiden sighed. “It was so long ago, Blaire. I was so young that I thought I’d imagined the place. When I saw the name on a piece of foolscap on Mr. MacDonald’s desk, I couldna believe my eyes. I had ta see it again, see if it was what I remembered.”

“And it is?”

“Some of it. Will ye take me ta the trunk ye found with Bran?”

She nodded. “It’s in a large wardrobe.” Blaire started for the corridor.

Aiden was quick on her heels. “Do ye suppose there are other trunks or chests hidden away?”

Blaire shrugged. “I have no idea what ta think or believe about this place.”

“True,” he conceded as they began to climb the stairs. “I’d like ta be sure, though. I’d like to search the castle over if ye and Bran doona mind stayin’ here a while longer.”

Wild dragons couldn’t drag Blaire away from the castle now. It was her birthright, and she intended to discover all of Briarcraig’s secrets. All the things her mother had neglected to tell her. “I imagine with the money we found ye could staff a hundred castles ten times over. If we’re ta stay here a while and entertain the featherbrained Fyfe sisters, we probably should go about hirin’ a real staff.”

Aiden sighed wistfully. “A real staff. I do like the sound of that.”