by Lydia Dare
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.
“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.
Four
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 bel
ieve 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.”