by Lydia Dare
“Please, try ta be a lady, will ye?” Aiden pleaded, his face finally serious.
Blaire frowned. She would like to think that her brother could accept her as she was after all this time. But he was forever trying to change her into a laces-and-fripperies kind of lass, when hunting and shooting ran through her blood. It was a shame those sorts of accomplishments weren’t highly regarded as particularly feminine. Perhaps someday she would find a man who could accept that she would always best him at manly arts and not be afraid of her strength and power. And perhaps all the stars in the sky would turn to diamonds and rain bracelets and earbobs across her path, too.
No, she was doomed to live a solitary existence. She refused to endure the sort of life her mother had had, settling for a bitter drunkard who could never accept her gifts, hiding her true self, and dying a little more each day. They’d all suffered from that situation, and Blaire would never willingly live that way again. Being alone couldn’t possibly be worse.
The coach hit a bump so hard that Blaire bounced from her seat to knock her head on the roof of the carriage. She groaned and pressed a hand to the offending lump that quickly grew at her hairline.
“Are ye all right?” Aiden asked as though he was suddenly concerned for her well-being.
“Aye, I’m well. But I will be quite happy when we arrive so I can stretch my legs.” She lifted the curtain and looked out the small window. “Look at that, Aiden.” She nudged his leg.
“What is it?” he asked as he sat forward.
The golden sun was setting behind a large stone structure, and it looked like a beacon of light that was guiding them home.
“That’s Briarcraig Castle,” Aiden breathed in awe.
“Let me see!” Brannock cried as he edged himself in between them. “That is yer castle?” He sat back with a disappointed huff.
“Well, it’s no’ a pile of rocks,” Aiden said brightly. “At least it’s still standin’.”
“Barely,” Brannock sniffed.
Blaire shot him a look, and the boy immediately sat up and removed the scowl from his face.
The stone structure was surrounded by a low rock wall that opened to a courtyard, and what might have been gardens at one time were now covered in thick weeds and vines, even in the dead of winter. If she returned in the spring, Blaire would need to bring Sorcha with her. The youngest witch could enchant the plants, encouraging them to bend effortlessly to her will and making at least the outdoors hospitable.
The castle itself was a huge monstrosity, probably born of some wealthy laird’s imagination. But even Blaire had to admit it looked quite pretty with the setting sun and shimmering loch in the background. Almost enchanting in its own right.
Their coach rumbled to a stop on the bumpy drive, the stillness of it a bit ominous after such a long journey. Aiden stepped out quickly, followed by Brannock. Neither of them waited to hand Blaire out, and she didn’t expect them to. She was perfectly capable of vaulting out under her own strength.
She stretched tall, extending her arms over her head to lengthen her long body. That she was a half inch taller than Aiden had always been a source of contention for her older brother. And Aiden was taller than the average man. She’d grown accustomed to looking down at most of the men she knew.
The low stone wall that surrounded the property had a rusty iron gate in the middle. Aiden gave the gate a quick push, and it promptly fell from its hinges. Even still, the look of boyish wonder never left his face.
“It’s beautiful, is it no’, Blaire?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Aye, it has a bit of charm,” was all she could manage.
Two
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 h
imself 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 h
er 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.
Three
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.