It Happened One Bite

by Lydia Dare

  “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.

  “A small sip of pleasure? Pray allow me to take—” His voice suddenly came to a halt. His hands extricated themselves from around her waist.

  With a heavy sigh, he held his hands out by his sides.

  “A simple no would have sufficed,” he muttered. His eyes were dark as night, betraying the surfeit of emotions that crossed his face. “You can remove the dagger from my person, Miss Lindsay,” he continued. His voice was much calmer than she’d imagined it would be when she’d pulled the small knife from its hiding place upon her body and pressed it to the side of his manhood, which swelled quite impressively against her belly.

  “Do no’ think ta distract me, Kettering,” she said, happy to hear that her voice was strong and composed. It was not what she felt inside at all.

  “Not a mistake I’ll make again, Miss Lindsay,” he grunted.

  “I certainly hope no’,” she said as she turned back toward the door. She reached for the handle and jerked the door so hard in her haste that it hit her in the head again. Then she tripped over her own two feet as she tried to walk from the room. When she slammed the door behind her, she was mortified to find that the skirt of her dress was caught between the door and the doorjamb. She gave it a healthy tug, pulling it free.

  “Damn it all ta hell,” she snapped.

  A chuckle sounded from the other side of the door, dark and silky, touching her as no other sound ever had.

  Eight

  James chuckled as he heard Miss Lindsay stomp down the corridor. He still couldn’t quite believe the enchanting witch had actually pulled a dagger on him, and threatened to unman him with a flick of her wrist. Taming her would be rewarding in so many ways. He strode across the floor and retrieved the set of clothes the lad had left him. Brown doeskin breeches and a white shirt that felt soft against his skin.

  He pulled the shirt over his head, but he couldn’t get it over his shoulders. Good God. If the shirt was this tight, he wouldn’t have a prayer with the trousers. But he had to wear something, if just long enough to find something else a bit more suitable. Abandoning the shirt, he pulled the breeches up over his hips. He had no hope of fastening the buttons, and the legs almost reached his knees. James tugged the shirt back over his head and held it in front of his nether regions. After all, he couldn’t go traipsing through the castle on display. Miss Lindsay might decide to use him for target practice.

  James opened the door to find Brannock Lindsay waiting for him in the corridor. “Did ye want ta ask me anymore questions ta test how clever I am?” Then the boy took in James’ appearance. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he doubled over with laughter, nearly tumbling to the floor.

  James frowned at the boy. “I hardly find it amusing.”

  Brannock’s merriment brought his sister from her own chamber, and she covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggle. James glared at her.

  “Havers!” she muttered with a mock seriousness James would normally have found charming. “Doona move,” she ordered. Then she flicked her fingers in his direction at the same time she said, “Mòr!”

  In the next instant, his trousers expanded. The legs stretched down to his ankles, and, if she hadn’t been present, he’d have had the room to button the top. Even the shirt in his hands seemed to have grown larger.

  “There, that should work,” she said dusting her hands against her skirts, apparently quite pleased with herself.

  Never one to give up an opportunity to garner a woman’s favor, James winked at her. Flattery always worked. “You are so very talented, Miss Lindsay.”

  Her silver eyes twinkled. At this rate, she’d be his in a matter of days. He could almost taste her.

  Brannock seemed to have control over himself now, and he nodded in agreement. “It saves money when I outgrow my clothes, too. But now we’re rich.”

  “Brannock!” his sister chastised. Then she turned her gaze back to James. “Sorry about the size.” Her husky voice reached his ears. “Ye are bigger than Aiden. It was all we had on hand.”

  “And my clothes?” he asked, walking toward the enchanting lass. “What have you done with my clothes?”

  “Burned,” she nearly sang. “The odor made them beyond repair. I do hope ye doona have a masquerade ta attend anytime soon.”

  The only masquerade he’d be attending was the one where he pretended to be a lost baron in search of answers. Answers be damned. He was in search of vengeance. After he seduced Miss Lindsay into giving up that blasted coven, he’d find Blodswell and things would get back to normal. After he’d made certain those five maddening witches never took aim at another of his kind again. After he returned to his life. “And my pocket fob?”

  She shrugged. “Pocke
t fob?”

  Was he to be robbed by every witch in Scotland? First his ring and now his blasted watch, which had been a gift from Queen Elizabeth herself. “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes on the lass, who was too beguiling for her own good. “My pocket fob was in my waistcoat.”

  She shook her head as though he was speaking Greek. “I have no idea what ye’re talkin’ about, Kettering.”

  The little liar. James could see it in her eyes. But what the devil did she want with his watch? “See that it’s returned to me, Miss Lindsay, or I’ll—”

  “Frith,” she said, flicking her fingers toward him.

  James gasped as his clothes shrunk back to their normal size, squeezing him like a tourniquet.

  “Doona threaten me, Kettering.” She let her gaze travel the length of him. “I doona think ye’d like ta see my other talents.”

  “Blaire!” The boy sucked in a breath.

  She never removed her eyes from James. “Brannock, go see if dinner is ready.”

  “But, Blaire—” he protested.

  “Do as ye’re told,” she replied calmly.

  Hanging his head in defeat, the boy slumped off down the corridor.

  James nodded appreciatively at her daring. Still, he wasn’t about to let her run roughshod over him. “I suggest you put my clothes back to rights, Miss Lindsay.”

  “Or?” she prompted. Her slender brows rose as though she waited for him to threaten her again.

  James had never failed a lady’s expectations. “Or I can drop the shirt I’m holding.”

  Miss Lindsay gulped, apparently just now realizing the bit of cloth he held in front of his trousers was the only thing keeping him decent. Of course she’d already seen all of him today. Perhaps she wanted another look. James was happy to oblige her if that was the case.

  “Try it and see what happens,” she said, her spine stiffening before him.

  “Is that a dare? How many daggers do you carry, Miss Lindsay?”

  “Blaire!” Captain Lindsay called out before she could answer. His quick footsteps sounded on the steps.