It Happened One Bite (9 page)

“Of course.”

“An attachment for one of the witches isn’t wise. Enchant her, and be done with it.”

James winced.

“What’s the meaning of that look?”

He might as well tell him that unfortunate bit. Matthew wouldn’t let up until he knew the truth, all of it. “I tried.”

“I beg your pardon?” His friend stepped closer to him.

“You said to enchant her. I tried. This very evening. It didn’t work.”

“Well, now
that
I’ve never heard of.” Matthew’s brow furrowed with deep concern. “I wonder…”

The way his friend said those two words sent an icy chill down James’ spine. “You wonder what?”

Matthew shook his head. “I wonder what sorts of spells the
Còig
might have cast upon you in your dormant state.”

“Preventing me from being able to enchant, you mean?” Had James needed to breathe, all the air would have rushed from his lungs. The witches had said something about victims, hadn’t they? Were they trying to level the playing field? What else might they have done while he slept?

Then again, if a spell cast could disarm him… “Perhaps Miss Lindsay could be persuaded to restore my abilities.”

Matthew shook his head only slightly. “She’s not their healer. But even if she were, you’re not ill. Your inability to enchant others is the result of magic, not a natural occurrence.”

Which again led him back to Blaire Lindsay. “Then magic can reverse the spell.”

His friend smiled weakly as though he was a simpleton. “If the
five
of them did this to you, it’ll take all five to undo it. Miss Lindsay alone is not enough.”

The entire coven. The daughters of the five women who’d wronged him. He felt a bit hollow at the prospect. “Then we’ll have her take us to them. I can’t go around ’til the end of time unable to enchant humans. I’ll starve.” Or take up an unseemly diet of spotted calf and sheep. He still couldn’t get rid of the awful taste in his mouth. Sustenance was sustenance after all, but he couldn’t imagine living on such things forever.

Matthew nodded. “But we’ll need your ring first. It’s here somewhere. We have to find it.”

Morning sun filtered in through Blaire’s beveled windows. She opened one eye to stare accusingly at the light as though it alone was responsible for her lack of sleep. But alas, she had no one to blame but herself. And him. She mustn’t forget him.

James
. He’d asked her to call him James. She shook her head at her own foolishness. James indeed!

Lord Kettering
had actually kissed her! How was she expected to sleep after that kiss? Brief as it was, she’d felt it all the way to her toes, like a burst of warmth that washed over her entire body, leaving her breathless in its wake. And then he’d disappeared before she could regain her composure and properly thrash him for it.

Blaire groaned again. Why had she allowed such liberties? Though she didn’t think she could have stopped him. Then there was the niggling little feeling deep inside that whispered she hadn’t wanted to stop him. Even worse, she’d relived it in her mind all night. His strong, sculpted lips pressed ever so gently to hers.

She turned on her side and crashed her fist into a stray pillow. What a complete dolt she’d turned out to be. “Dolt” was the correct word on so many levels. Not only had she allowed liberties to a man she barely knew, but what she did know about him wasn’t at all reassuring. He was dangerous. He was some sort of villain, or he’d never have been imprisoned here. Her mother had helped trap the man, for heaven’s sake. And she’d let him kiss her. No doubt about it, she was a dolt.

The intelligent thing would be to stay as far away from the man as possible, since she didn’t seem to have any self-control where he was concerned. But that was impossible. If she stayed far from him, she couldn’t learn why he’d been locked away here. And she couldn’t let him go gallivanting off about the Highlands until she knew exactly who or
what
she was dealing with. What a conundrum.

That was it then. She simply
had
to gain control of herself. There was no other way to get the answers she needed. The blood of generations of battle-born witches who’d come before her coursed through her veins. They had been strong. She could be strong, too. And no matter what, she couldn’t allow him to kiss her again. Ever.

Her mind made up, she rose from bed, tore open her wardrobe, and retrieved the dowdiest dress she owned. Grey wool. Not alluring in the least. Kettering wouldn’t want to kiss a woman wearing scratchy grey wool. It would remind him of a washerwoman. The grey dress was perfect.

Blaire quickly dressed and fixed her hair in a simple chignon, which wasn’t the least bit complimentary. That should do well. She looked like an impoverished governess. Splendid.

She was finally ready to start the day with enthusiasm, despite her lack of sleep, but she desperately needed answers to her questions. She threw open her door and then took an immediate step backward and gasped.

Standing before her, waiting for her, it appeared, was Lord Kettering, who was holding Bruce, the feral cat, in his arms. “Good morning,” he crooned, his deep voice touching her soul.

Blaire shook the effect off. She was
strong
. At least she was going to be today. “What are ye doin’ with that beast?”

“He was hiding out in my wardrobe. I thought he might belong to you.”

“No. I meant ta ask what ye’re doin’ with the beast all cuddled up in yer arms like that. He’s wild.” Although Bruce didn’t look very wild at the moment. In fact, he looked into Kettering’s eyes with an adoring gaze.

“Some beings find me to be quite enchanting, in case you didn’t know,” he said slowly, the corners of his lips turned up in a smile as he leaned his weight against her doorjamb.

“I had no idea,” she murmured. Oh, she knew. She knew the man was mesmerizing. Poor Bruce seemed almost as besotted as she was herself. “Some creatures are no’ so bright.” She rested her index finger on her chin and pretended to think it over. “Are they blind? Deaf?” she tossed in for good measure.

The man had the good grace to chuckle.

“Are ye plannin’ ta tell me that ye like me again, Lord Kettering?” If her dowdy garb didn’t turn him off, perhaps her flippancy would.

“I thought we were past the ‘Lord Kettering’ business, Blaire. I asked you to call me James.” He stroked across Bruce’s head, and the cat leaned in to him. He was missing half of his left ear, but Kettering still crooned to him as though he was the most beautiful of beasts.

“Aye, ye did. I dinna accept.” She pushed his shoulder to move him out of her doorway and then closed her door behind her.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Kettering asked from one step behind her. The man moved as fast as she did.

“Breakfast,” she muttered.

He hovered like a gnat. Which made her want to swat him. “Then what are your plans?”

She spun quickly to face him. So quickly that he nearly ran into her. He reached out to catch her, dropping Bruce to the ground. The cat sent her a caustic glare. She bumped the feline gently with her foot to shoo him away, and got a hiss and raised claws for her trouble. “Blasted cat,” she hissed back.

“Your plans, Blaire?” Kettering asked again.

“I am headed inta the village of Strathcarron ta hire whatever staff can be found. Why are ye so interested in my plans, James?” she asked, then winced aloud as she realized she’d used his first name. It couldn’t roll around in her head through the wee hours of the morning and not come out of her mouth at some point, she assumed.

“The sound of my name on your lips is one of the sweetest I’ve ever heard, darling girl.” He reached out to caress the side of her face, but she brushed his hand aside. In truth, she wanted to be just like Bruce and lean into him. And almost caught her eyes closing as she did so. She shook off the thoughts.

“Doona get used ta it,” she tossed at him as she shoved his arm away.

“I like your hair like that,” he said as he caught her hand in his and squeezed it gently, his eyes searching hers.

Now she was certain. The man
was
daft. Or foxed. She reached up to touch his forehead with the back of her hand, like she might if Brannock was feverish. “Are ye ill, Lord Kettering?” She caught his face between her hands and looked into his black-as-night eyes. They weren’t bloodshot. And he looked right as rain. He wasn’t foxed. “Or does madness run in yer family?” She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. Blast him to Hades! Kettering still wore that annoying grin.

“You think I’m daft because I like your hair?” He cupped the side of her neck against his palm, with his thumb moving toward her collarbone. “I like the way it shows your neck.” He leaned in and said very quietly by her ear, “So graceful and strong. And your pulse pounds at the base of your throat. I think it’s beating like a drum right now. In fact, I can see it.” He touched his lips to the side of her throat.

Blaire gulped. “Ye have lost yer bloody mind, Kettering.”

He lifted his lips long enough to whisper the word, “James.”

Blaire clenched her jaw and fought the flutters in her belly. “Ye’re about ta lose yer bloody hand, Kettering, if ye doona remove it from my arse.”

***

How the devil had that happened? One moment, he was trying to enchant the witch. The next, his hand was on her lovely little bottom as he clutched her to him and set about devouring her whole. Yet, he hadn’t entranced her at all. At least not in the way he’d attempted.

Oh, James had affected her, but it was on a very primal level. The witch was aroused. He could tell by the way her heart beat at a runaway rhythm. The way her pulse jumped beneath the delicate skin at the base of her neck. But he hadn’t entranced her at all.

James froze. His hand that was so gently kneading her ass stopped its movement. Blaire reached behind her and took his wrist within her grasp, pulling his hand away from her derriere. He felt a tremendous sense of loss at that removal. Like that pitiful cat might feel if someone stole a juicy mouse from him.

He was hard against her belly and knew she’d take note of it if he lingered. She was an innocent, for pity’s sake. James took a step back, bowed quickly to her, and said, “Miss Lindsay,” as he left her standing there in the corridor.

She mumbled something that sounded a lot like
Blasted groping man…should keep his hands to himself before I chop the bloody things off.

James shook his head, running back through the events that had just taken place as he returned quickly to his bedchamber. He’d made eye contact. Established contact with her hands, a powerful connection when trying to enchant someone. Then he’d caressed her until he was certain he had her attention. Every other time he’d done so, the woman in question would drop at his feet if he’d willed it, ready to bend her neck and ready for…anything else he desired.

But not this time. Not with her. He’d touched his lips to her skin. And that was when
he
was lost. The witch had somehow entranced
him
instead. He cursed beneath his breath as he stalked into his chamber.

“I am almost ashamed to call you my creation,” Matthew said quietly from his seat beside the bed.

James stopped and glared at him. “In my quarters again?”

“Well, I
was
in the corridor.” Matthew sighed. “But then I stumbled upon you with Miss Lindsay, when you were begging her to call you James.”

James folded his arms across his chest. It was bad enough that he’d failed to enchant Blaire, but having Matthew witness the debacle was more than a bit embarrassing.

His friend rose from his seat. “So, I assume it didn’t work, or you’d be in a much better mood.” He crossed the room and clapped a hand to James’ back. “Not to worry. We’ll get everything set straight.”

“I hope so. I don’t feel like myself.” Which was an understatement.

A small smirk appeared on Matthew’s face. “Did my ears deceive me, or did the lass actually threaten to chop off your appendages?”

James held in a groan. “She’s formidable.”

Matthew laughed. “You certainly picked an unusual woman with whom to form an attachment. In the future, you might consider a more malleable lady.”

But a more malleable lady didn’t seem remotely appealing. James loved Blaire’s fire and bravado, combined with her innocent blushes and the way she warmed at his touch. But he’d rather not go into all that with his old friend. “Let’s just focus on finding my ring, shall we?”

“Whatever you wish,” Matthew placated him.

James scowled. “Miss Lindsay is headed into the village to hire staff for the castle. She’s already suspicious of me. We should wait until she departs before we start tearing the place apart.”

“All right,” his maker agreed.

Where did one go about searching for a ring in a castle this size? It must have a million different hiding places, and those were the ones out in the open. A priest hole behind a false chimney or a bookcase would be nearly impossible to find.

***

“I wish Brannock had come with us,” Blaire complained as the carriage jostled her forward. But he’d insisted on chasing after that blasted feline, and they’d had no choice but to leave him to it.

“The lad’s fine,” Aiden replied dismissively. Then he speared her with a piercing glare. “I doona like those Englishmen stayin’ in my castle though. I’m waitin’ for ye ta tell me why ye insisted they do so.”

If she told Aiden the truth, that their mother had trapped Kettering a decade ago, her brother would think she was out of her mind. No one could survive that long without food or drink. It wasn’t possible. But somehow it was, and she needed to find out exactly how Kettering had survived, and, more importantly, why her mother had imprisoned him.

A howling wind rocked the carriage from side to side, which broke Blaire from her reverie, and she pulled her plaid closer around her shoulders. Across from her, Aiden folded his arms across his chest. He clearly wanted his answer, and he wasn’t about to be diverted until he got it. Damn his Lindsay persistence.

Blaire pasted on her most accommodating smile, though she wasn’t certain she could pull it off. “It’s the middle of winter. Ye canna toss them out inta the Highland chill.”

Aiden snorted. “Blodswell has a fine travelin’ carriage. A few bricks for their feet and a lap blanket or two, and they’ll be perfectly fine.”

And he meant it, too. Blaire couldn’t let that happen. “Doona be rash,” she protested.

Aiden uncrossed his arms and leaned forward on his bench, peering into her eyes with his soft grey ones. “Tell me the truth, Blaire.”

“I want Kettering ta court me,” she blurted out, before thinking it through. Then she added in a softer voice, “I think he intends ta.” Or at least that was what she would think if a normal
man
had kissed her the way the baron had the night before.

Had a speck of dust landed on Aiden, he’d have collapsed in a pile on the floor of the coach. As it was, his mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide with surprise. “Beg yer pardon?”

Well, she had to make it work now, didn’t she? “I think he’d make a fine match for me.”

“Aye.” Aiden shook his head. “A fine match indeed. English lords doona marry Scottish lasses with no connections, Blaire.”

She sighed and glanced out the window to avoid his ever-knowing eyes. “Well, wealthy Scottish lairds doona marry daughters of shepherds either, but the Fyfe sisters have clearly set their caps for ye.”

“I’m no’ really wealthy,” he began and then stammered, “well, I suppose I am now, but I wasna before yesterday.”

“Well, ye certainly put on a performance for the lasses, tryin’ ta convince them of the fact. Servants and governesses. If Bran and I hadna discovered that trunk, we’d have had ta work our fingers ta the bones tryin’ ta prepare dinner and get the blasted castle presentable for the enterprisin’ Misses Fyfe.”

Aiden grumbled something under his breath, and Blaire turned her attention back to her older brother.

“Did ye say somethin’?”

“I said,” he gritted through his teeth, “they were nice lasses, and I wish ye’d try ta be a bit more like them.”

Blaire rolled her eyes. “The day I spend my time with needles and thread will be the day ye can admit me ta Bedlam. I doona ken how many times I have ta tell ye that I’m no’ a lace-and-fripperies kind of lass. And I never will be. What’s more, I think Kettering likes that about me. I just wish my older brother did.”