It Happened One Bite (5 page)

James followed Miss Lindsay and her impish little brother up the darkened stairwell and then down one corridor after another. Briarcraig Castle was one big tangle of corridors and stairs, yet he tried to pay attention to his surroundings so he could find his way out, if the need arose. It was difficult with the lovely Miss Lindsay walking beside him. Her heart beat like a soldier’s drum within her chest, and he could very nearly hear the wash of blood as it moved through her veins, as though it called to him.

The boy chattered like a magpie and tugged on his sister’s arm. Though James tried to keep up with the conversation, the heavy brogue back and forth didn’t make it easy. The real problem, however, was trying to sort out where and, perhaps more importantly,
when
he was.

Blaire Lindsay’s words still echoed in his mind. His clothes were sadly out of fashion. He should have noticed the differences between what he was accustomed to and Captain Lindsay’s attire, but he’d missed it, focusing on the lovely witch before him instead. However, there was no missing her cutting remarks about his clothing. How long had he been asleep? How long had he lain in that cellar?

He’d have to sort it out somehow. He certainly couldn’t ask Miss Lindsay; she was already suspicious by her very nature and would seize any opportunity he offered her to reveal a weakness. The lad, Brannock, never seemed to stop talking, however. Perhaps he could wheedle the necessary information from—

A searing pain broke James from his plotting. “Agh!” he cried as he rushed into a shadowed corner of the corridor, away from the sun that threatened his very existence. He bent forward in an attempt to block out the pain, which thankfully was fading. The blasted sun! He’d never had to avoid it. Until now, he’d always been in possession of his ring. He rolled the pad of his thumb against the inside of his ring finger, missing not only the weight of the relic but also its protective properties. Never had he felt less human.

James winced one last time and looked up to find both Blaire and Brannock Lindsay before him, concern and confusion evident on their faces. He shook his head, hoping to find the power to speak. “The sun,” he muttered, as he straightened his bent frame. After all, what else could he tell them? He couldn’t walk through the sunlight, and he couldn’t stand in the corridor all day waiting for night to settle in. “I must have become adjusted to the darkness of the cellar, because the sun hurts my eyes as it never has before.” That much was true.

“Shut the drapes, Bran,” Miss Lindsay ordered.

As her brother ran off to do her bidding, she turned back to James. Her silver eyes raked him from top to bottom. He was certain she’d piece the puzzle together. Especially if she was connected to Blodswell’s blasted coven in some way. And then what would she do with him? He was already weaker than he’d ever been. Well, at least weaker than he’d ever been in
this
life.

“How long have ye been in the cellar?” she asked, her head tilted at an angle as she regarded him quietly. And closely.

James shook his head. If only he knew the answer to that question himself. “Time is relative, is it not?”

Thankfully, the corridor grew dark at that moment and James pressed forward, following the youngest Lindsay toward a circular set of stone steps.

“No, time is no’ relative,” the witch called from behind him, quick on his heels. “It’s the same every day. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Twenty-four hours in a day.”

James didn’t respond. What could he say? She was, of course, correct. “How much farther?” he asked the lad.

“Almost there.” Brannock bolted up the steps and turned down yet one more corridor.

Less than a minute later, James found himself standing on the threshold of a good-sized chamber. The lad rushed to the drapes and pulled them closed, and then turned around with a wide grin. He was endearing in a strange way. James liked the boy despite himself.

Captain Lindsay was dumping a bucket full of water into a tub in the middle of the room. “I’ll get ye some more hot water.”

James nodded. “I do appreciate your generosity, Captain.”

The Scotsman inclined his head. “We’ll find ye some clean clothes, and once ye’re all squared away, I’d like ta hear how ye ended up in my cellar.”

James smiled. He’d have the length of his bath to come up with a plausible story. Miss Lindsay wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth, but he’d do what he could to convince her brothers for the time being. At dusk he’d be off. Before then, however, he needed to discover
when
and
where
he
was—and how the devil he could find Blodswell.

“I’ll find somethin’ for him ta wear,” the pretty witch muttered, and then she escaped the chamber. A moment later, Captain Lindsay followed her departure.

James turned his attention to the youngest Lindsay and winked at the lad. How fortuitous to be left alone with the weakest member of the family. “You appear to be a smart boy.”

Brannock Lindsay puffed out his chest proudly. “Thank ye, sir.”

“Show me how smart you are, lad.” He sat in an old high-backed chair and began to tug the high-heeled boot from his foot. “Do you know who the monarch of England is?”

The boy frowned a bit at the question, and James tried not to let on how important the answer was. Was he being too obvious with this tactic?

“Are ye tryin’ ta trick me?”

Damn. He
was
being too obvious. James shook his head, hoping to give off an air of nonchalance. “Of course not. Just a simple question. One must always be up on such things.”

“Well,” Brannock sat at James’ feet and twisted his face up, “King George III is king…”

James sighed with relief. He couldn’t have been imprisoned too long if George III still sat on the throne of England.

“…But,” the lad continued, “since the Prince Regent is the actin’ ruler, I think ye
are
tryin’ ta trick me.”

Acting ruler?
What the devil did the boy mean by that? His expression must have given something away, because Brannock leaned closer to him, worry on his face.

“Are ye all right, my lord?”

James forced a smile to his lips. “You are indeed a clever boy. You are impossible to trick.” Acting ruler. Good God. “But can you tell me
why
the Prince Regent is the acting ruler?” he asked as though he already knew the answer to the question.

The lad appeared as sober as a vicar on Sunday morning. “On account of the King’s madness.”

Madness. George III was mad? James shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact. There’d been rumors to that effect for many years. Still it was a bit shocking to hear aloud. “And how long has the Prince Regent been sitting in for his father?” he continued conversationally. Meanwhile, his mind spun. The Regent must be the Prince of Wales. George III’s inept, debauched oldest son. How the devil was England faring under that oaf’s rule?

Brannock shrugged. “As long as I can remember.”

That wasn’t helpful at all. Perhaps the boy couldn’t remember as far back as last week. “How old are you, Master Brannock?” James tugged at his other boot.

“Ten,” the boy answered. “I just turned ten.”

“Which means you were born…?”

“November 20th.”

The
year
, damn your eyes. “What year?” He hoped he kept the frustration out of his voice. He’d not get any useful information from the lad if he lost his temper.

The boy laughed. “Are ye testin’ my mathematics now, sir?”

“Indeed I am.”

“I was born in the year of our lord 1806.”

And ten years later meant James found himself sitting somewhere in late 1816. He’d slept nearly twenty years. Twenty bloody years! A red rage clouded the corners of his vision. Never in his life would he forget the faces of the five witches who’d trapped him; but if he saw even one of them now—twenty years later—would he recognize her?

Miss Lindsay was his only solid lead. She was a witch, and she knew the five that imprisoned him were witches as well. If anyone could lead him to the bloody coven, it was Blaire Lindsay. How would he ever get her assistance? Of course, he already knew the answer to that question. It was the same way he got what he needed from any woman. Seduction. He smiled to himself. With Miss Lindsay, he would enjoy the journey as much as the destination.

Captain Lindsay barreled through the door with another bucket of water. “I think just a few more will do it, sir.”

***

Blaire listened to the splashing of water as Aiden filled the tub for the stranger. She shook her head in dismay. There could be nothing good about this situation. Nothing at all. In fact, it could be very, very bad.

Kettering had been imprisoned by the
Còig
, by her own coven. Even if a different generation of witches had done the deed, the reason for his imprisonment was still of concern. The group of five would never make such a choice lightly. She couldn’t even imagine a scenario that would inspire her friends to take such an action. He must be the worst sort of villain imaginable, and Blaire’s imagination was fairly vivid.

She searched Aiden’s trunks for clean toweling, soap, and tooth powder. From the smell of the baron, he needed all of that and more. She couldn’t help but wonder if the stench would ever come off him. She’d have to spark a small fire in the grate and burn the clothes he was found in.

Blaire heard the splash of more buckets being brought upstairs as she rifled through Aiden’s wardrobe, choosing clothing for the gentleman. A man of his stature was probably used to better quality clothing, although anything would be a marked improvement over his own. She passed the items to Brannock and sent him to the baron.

Blaire paced back and forth in the room, trying to come up with a solution to her dilemma. She had to find out why he was imprisoned and then continue from there. She had a healthy concern for their safety. Not just her family. Not just the coven. But for all of humanity.

She walked back toward the guest chamber and listened intently at the door. More water pouring into the tub. Heavens, one would think they’d be through with that chore by now, but apparently not. Well, there was no point in wasting any time. Perhaps she could get a few answers out of Kettering while he waited for his bath to be ready.

Blaire rapped quickly on the closed door and stepped inside the dimly lit room.

When she did, she immediately stilled, unable to do anything but sputter as she gazed upon the very strong, very naked body of Baron Kettering. The man stood in the middle of the small tub, a bucket of water in his hands as he poured it slowly over his head. His eyes were closed, his face lifted to the gentle downpour, a smile of pure pleasure tilting the corners of his mouth. Suds slithered down his body, rolling slowly across his sculpted chest and lower. Blaire gasped out loud but, for some baffling reason, could not tear her gaze away from his naked body.

“You’re letting in a draft,” he said slowly, his voice suddenly husky and deep. Blaire jerked her eyes up to his face as heat crept up her own. He made no move to cover himself. In truth, it would be a shame to cover such a beautiful body. The water made his skin glisten, the glow from a candle the only illumination in the room. The single candle created shadows that played across his skin. His shoulders were broad, his chest strong. His hips were narrow, and Blaire’s mouth fell open when she saw the rest.

The baron stepped from the tub, reached over and plucked a towel from atop the bed, and wrapped it snugly around his lean hips. “If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he warned. There was no smile upon his face. The gentle teasing that had been present in his earlier manner was completely gone.

What had possessed her to walk into the man’s room? Blaire spun to face the wall quickly. So quickly that the edge of the door hit the side of her head. “Ouch!” she cried as she reached up to rub it. “I’m sorry!” she blurted out. “I thought ye were still fillin’ the tub. I dinna ken ye would be n-n-n…” She bit her tongue rather than continue.

“Naked?” he supplied as he stepped toward her. “It’s all right.” His voice made her heart skip a beat. “I’m sure you didn’t plan to walk in and find me in the bath.” He paused, his voice deepening if that was possible. “Naked.” He just had to add that last word. He just had to.

“Of course, I dinna plan it!” she hissed, raising a hand to fan her overheated face.

“Relax, lass. I believe you.” His voice was smoky and deep, and it rumbled across her skin like a caress as his hand rose over her shoulder and he very slowly pushed the door closed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered this bit of information, but she overlooked the immediate danger. His nearness made the hair on her neck stand up. His breath across the shell of her ear made her shiver.

Before she could blink, he had spun her around and into his arms, pulling her close against his body. She didn’t even protest. She didn’t even make a sound, aside from the choked little gasp that escaped her throat.

“Ye promised ye wouldna hurt me,” she said, relieved her voice didn’t quaver.

“
Am
I hurting you?” he asked as his hand spread out on her back, his fingers splayed like fans. The clean scent of the tooth powder he’d already used teased her nose.

“Nay,” she whispered in response.

A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes. “I promised not to hurt you. I never promised not to
kiss
you.”

Before she could protest, he claimed her mouth. He tasted of power, sinful and sweet. He softly teased her into opening her mouth so he could sweep inside. Blaire wanted to weep with the sheer pleasure of it. Where her lips were hesitant, his were fearless. He toyed with her like a cat with a mouse, leading her into temptation. His lips left hers to travel across her cheek and then down below her ear. She reached for his shoulders to steady herself when he gently nibbled on her neck.

“A small taste, Miss Lindsay?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper by her ear.

“What?” she asked, the beating of her heart pounding in her own ears so loudly that she couldn’t hear her own thoughts, much less his words. She desperately needed to get control of herself or she’d be completely lost.