by Lydia Dare
“The powers pass from the mother to the eldest daughter, though not fully until the mother’s death.”
James groaned aloud. “You’re saying the witches who imprisoned me are…dead?”
“More than likely, all of them,” Matthew confirmed. “Unless I am mistaken, I have already met their current seer, a Miss Macleod. Breathtaking lass, like her mother. Her powers were amazingly strong. They’d have to be considering the company she keeps.”
None of this made any sense to James, but he listened and nodded his head for his maker to continue.
“It’s only that way when the coven is complete,” Matthew explained. “Not a mix of one generation with the next, but with the women who are supposed to be linked together. In fact, when the first witch goes, the others are often not far behind.”
What horrible news. James scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ll never know why they did it then.”
Matthew shrugged. “Not necessarily. Miss Lindsay can fill in the missing details. One generation of witches trains the next.”
“But the lass acts as though she doesn’t know a thing.” Was it an act? She didn’t seem the sort. Subterfuge didn’t seem to be in her nature; she was much more direct than that.
“Looks can be deceiving, my friend. I’m certain you didn’t expect her beautiful mother to be all that she was when you encountered her, either.”
“Obviously,” James snorted.
“We need to get you fed, or you’ll soon wilt like a flower in a glass.”
“My options are a bit limited just now.” He once again held up his hand and wiggled his fingers at his friend. “So, we’ll hunt tonight? When darkness falls?”
“I saw some sheep in the valley.”
James made a face. Mutton was bad enough in stew. He still couldn’t shake the awful smell of Captain Lindsay’s cooking.
“A spotted calf?”
“Would be better than sheep.”
“Miss Lindsay had an enticing scent,” Matthew muttered.
“She is not on the menu.”
“Something tells me you could easily add ‘not yet’ to the end of that statement and have it still be true.”
“I’ll be done with Miss Lindsay today. Find out what she knows, and then we can leave for England as soon as we’ve dined.” He turned toward the door to exit the room, but Matthew sighed and grabbed his friend’s shoulder.
“I see two problems with your plan, James.” That sigh did not bode well for James’ ambitions.
“Which are?” Matthew was almost as bad as the witches with his riddles and open-ended statements.
“Your ring is nearby. Without it, you’re doomed to a life of darkness. It must be found.”
“You haven’t any others, have you?” James hoped aloud.
“You know I haven’t. I was given three. Thrice blessed and all that.”
“One of which you wasted on Sarah.” If only he could get his hands on it. But to do so, he’d have to cross her path, and life in darkness was preferable.
“It wasn’t wasted, not at the time anyway. And everything was perfectly fine for decades upon decades until you finally broke her heart.”
James scoffed. “One must have a heart for it to break.”
Matthew heaved an unnecessary sigh. “Not this again.”
James didn’t relish the argument, either. Matthew insisted they still possessed hearts, but James disagreed. The subject had been discussed to death, and neither of them would ever change his mind. “No, not now. I don’t have it in me.”
Matthew nodded, a look of relief on his face. “But speaking of Sarah, she’s your second problem.”
She always had been a problem. But that wasn’t what Matthew meant, James was certain. “Beg your pardon?”
“If I can sense you, James, so can she.”
“She’ll come here and wreak havoc upon anyone in the vicinity.” James smacked himself with the heel of his hand on his forehead out of frustration. Would he never be free of the vindictive wench?
“Hell hath no fury and all that,” Matthew answered his unasked question. “And there’s another problem.”
“I thought you said there were two problems?” James didn’t know how much more he could take. Sarah, for God’s sake. “One more makes three.”
Matthew tugged a piece of lint from his jacket. “Well, actually the last two are connected. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that Sarah had thrown her lot in with Padrig Trevelyan before your little nap?”
James honestly tried not to think of either of them. Ever.
“They are still in one another’s pockets. They’ll be traveling together.”
James winced. Perhaps it would be best to go back to sleep for another decade or two. “Too late to stop them, I suppose.”
“Most assuredly. I’ve not seen her in years, but I can still feel her well enough. She comes in this direction.”
And was bringing with her the most vengeful vampyre of James’ acquaintance. He shook his head. If anyone should have been imprisoned, Padrig Trevelyan was the one the five blasted witches should have captured and hidden away for safe keeping. He was a creature who killed not for sustenance or survival but to ruin as many lives as he could touch. He cursed himself anew for having created the monster.
“But since she and Trevelyan are together, she can only travel at night. So we do have a bit of time to find your ring and be gone.”
“I don’t suppose either of them have decided they hate me less since I vanished?” Wishful thinking, he knew, but he couldn’t help but ask.
Matthew shook his head. “Sorry, old friend. More annoyed that someone else had dared to end your existence before they got the chance.”
Perfect. His two-decade nap had done nothing to solve his problems. He was exactly where he started when that damned coven had encountered him, except now he didn’t have his ring.
***
Blaire paced her chamber back and forth, listening for any sounds from their guests’ quarters. But there’d been none for the last hour. The two gentlemen had actually gone out. Who went out at night during the winter in the bloody Highlands? The wind alone was enough to freeze a man. Nothing the two of them did made a bit of sense. She blew the hair out of her eyes in frustration. What she wouldn’t give to have her coven sisters with her! Together they could sort out this mystery.
But they weren’t there, and they wouldn’t be coming to help her. Elspeth was in Hampshire, and Cait was either with her or on her way back to Edinburgh. At the most, she could beg Rhiannon and Sorcha to attend her, but unless the five of them were together, it wouldn’t do any good. She had no one’s power to depend on but her own.
She was all alone in this, and she’d never felt so powerless. Why would her mother and the others capture Kettering? There had to be a reason. Since the previous Còig had apparently done something of this magnitude, why didn’t she know of it? Why hadn’t her mother passed on the knowledge and information like she had everything else?
Well, she didn’t know for a fact that her mother had passed everything on, did she? Blaire hadn’t even known Briarcraig existed a fortnight ago. Yet it was the ancestral seat of the battle-born witches. Her birthright. What else had her mother kept secret, and why? How was she to know what to do if she didn’t know what she was up against?
Blaire sat down on the edge of her bed and tugged Kettering’s gold watch from her pocket. It was a beautiful piece with an ornate griffin engraved on the case. She ran her fingers over the regal beast, the symbol of the valiant soldier. After a moment, she clicked open the spring-hinged cover and stared at the dial adorned in rubies, so red they looked like blood against the white face.
She’d stolen the man’s watch. What the devil was she thinking? She couldn’t perform a discovery ceremony alone. She’d need the others to be successful. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Blaire dropped the watch onto her bed and then moved across the room to open her trunk. She tossed a few old chemises and a tatt
ered Lindsay plaid out of the way, and then retrieved a small, black cauldron. On her hands and knees, she scrounged around the bottom looking for the necessary ingredients and began to collect little glass bottles.
Alfalfa. No. She tossed it aside.
Rum. She shook her head, searching for another bottle.
Bayberry leaves. She growled, never having been the most patient member of the coven.
Pomegranate seeds. Perfect. One down, two to go.
After emptying the contents of the trunk, she finally had everything she needed. She poured a spot of water from her pitcher into the cauldron and then added the pomegranate seeds and a healthy amount of dried witch grass and pepper. Blaire lit a beeswax candle and trickled the wax over the rim of the cauldron.
She dusted her hands on her dress and doubted Elspeth could have done it better. So far, so good. She hung the cauldron on a handle above the fire in her hearth and planted herself beside it.
“Lorg freagair timcheall Kettering.” She chanted as she dipped the baron’s gold chain into the cauldron, letting it bond with the concoction. “Lorg freagair timcheall Kettering. Lorg freagair timcheall Kettering.” With her free hand, she dropped a moonstone into the mixture, which bubbled. Her heart soared. She just might get her answers yet.
As a flash of light lit up the room, Blaire tossed the pocket watch to her bed, wrapped a rag around her hand, and retrieved the cauldron from the fire. She placed it on the hearth and peered inside. But no vision appeared, and no answers leapt to her mind. All she was left with was a mixture that looked disgustingly like a vat of blood.
Damn it to hell. She crossed the room, raised the window, suppressed a shiver from the frigid air, tossed the contents of the cauldron to the ground below, and cursed herself for being a fool. She’d known the ceremony wouldn’t work when she was alone, but what other choice did she have? It wasn’t as though Kettering was going to tell her all his secrets.
Just then she heard the two Englishmen’s voices filter down the corridor as the pair apparently made their way toward their borrowed quarters. Then their footsteps slowed outside her door. “Do you smell that?” Kettering asked. Had she not had her ear pressed to the door, she’d have missed his comments completely.
“Blood? In Miss Lindsay’s room?” the earl replied with a question of his own.
“They’re not here yet. You’d feel them, wouldn’t you?” Another quick murmur from Blodswell that she couldn’t make out. “Then what is that smell?” Kettering asked.
Certainly, they couldn’t smell her concoction. It was simply by chance that the earl thought there was blood in her room. Who could smell blood? What did blood smell like, anyway? She’d hunted for years and often found herself dressing the animals. Yet she couldn’t remember any strong odor that came with the letting of blood. It was highly unlikely that Kettering could pinpoint an odor like that either, especially through her closed door.
Before she could take a step, her door burst wide open. She was forced to dodge it to avoid being knocked over in Kettering’s haste to enter her chambers. She landed on her bottom with a grunt.
“What the devil…?” Blaire complained as she came to her feet. She shook her nightrail and wrapper so that her legs were covered and dusted her hands together.
Kettering stopped inches from her and tipped her chin up until she met his eyes. Like a ninnyhammer, she froze. The powers-that-be should take away her supernatural abilities, the ones she received simply by being battle born, because she was completely and totally unworthy. That much was quite obvious. She bit back a curse.
“Are you all right?” Kettering asked, his voice rumbling across her like a caress.
Blaire shook her chin loose from his hold. “Of course, I am. Why would I no’ be?” She noticed the earl as he raised one hand and quietly squeezed Kettering’s shoulder. The baron relaxed, but not by much.
“I’ll be along in a moment,” Kettering said quietly to his friend, still not removing his gaze from her person. Had she not known better, she would have again thought he could look directly into her soul. The man’s dark eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen, and Blaire fought back a shiver.
She vaguely noted when Blodswell stepped out of the room, bowed a quick farewell from the doorway, and vanished down the corridor. Her attention was centered on the man who still stood much too close for comfort.
Ten
James looked down into the most liquid eyes he’d ever seen and tried to force himself to concentrate. How unfortunate that he failed so miserably.
“Is there a reason why ye’re in my room, sir?” the mesmerizing witch asked, with a tilt of her head. But she nearly vibrated there standing in front of him, so she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. To a casual observer, she would have succeeded in her desire to portray ambivalence. But Miss Lindsay was very much aware and at the ready.
“I thought there might be a problem,” he said as he stepped back and allowed his gaze to slide down her body. “You’re not injured?”
She held out both hands. “No’ that I’m aware of,” she snipped at him.
He took her hand in his and turned it over in his palm, searching for wounds. He’d smelled blood. He was sure of it. He never mistook the coppery scent of the life-giving essence. Yet she appeared to be unharmed. She jerked her hand from his grasp. He reached for the other one, but she put it behind her back and took one step away from him.
“Are you hiding something from me, Miss Lindsay?” he asked. “If you’re injured, I may be able to help. It appears as though your brothers are asleep.”
“I am no’ afraid ta wake my brothers if I need assistance.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, where it hung like a dark curtain down her back. James wanted nothing more than to bury his face in it and inhale her essence. He shook away the errant thoughts. One would think a meal like he’d just enjoyed would have quelled this insatiable thirst for the girl. One would, apparently, be wrong.
“Why are you still awake?” he asked quietly.
“I could ask ye the same question,” she said without hesitation.
He couldn’t fight the smile that her comment provoked, but he crooked a finger and tugged at his nose, hoping she wouldn’t notice the corners of his lips tip up. He appreciated her gumption. But there was no need for her to know that. “I was out with Blodswell,” he explained, watching her face as he spoke. He lowered his voice, softened his expression, and set out to entrance the witch. But she was having no part of it. She spun to face the other direction, the edges of her nightrail spinning around her legs. He nearly groaned aloud. “We went for a walk.”
She spun back to face him quickly. Every movement showed a good bit of her ankles. When did ankles become so erotic? “Where did ye go?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Just out by the loch. Does it matter?” he asked her, just as plainly. If he couldn’t entrance her, perhaps his forthrightness could put her off the scent of the chase.
“Just curious,” she replied as she flopped into a chair and tucked her legs beneath her. Well, almost. The big toe of her right foot stuck out from beneath her hem. James had an instant and absurd desire to kiss it. Yes, it was official. He’d lost his bloody mind. He scrubbed a hand across his forehead and tried to wipe the errant thoughts away. If Blodswell knew, James would never hear the end of it.
“Did ye at least have a nice time?” she asked quietly, resting her chin on the heel of her overturned hand. She looked absolutely adorable.
“I haven’t seen Blodswell in quite some time. So, yes, it was very nice to become reacquainted. Thank you for allowing him to stay for the night.”
She waved a hand breezily in the air. “A day, a fortnight… Stay as long as ye like. Both of ye.” She paused briefly and then smiled at him. “Please,” she offered last.
“You are a conundrum, Miss Lindsay,” he murmured to himself.
Her eyebrows lifted as she grinned. “I doona believe women are supposed ta be easy cr
eatures ta figure out. I’m simply upholdin’ my end of nature’s bargain.”
He chuckled. The witch could make him laugh, something he needed just now with his mind focused on his problems. There was something about the woman before him. Something magical, and not the fact that she was a witch. He stared at her for the longest while, just soaking in her stunning silver eyes and delectable figure. When she cleared her throat, he shook his head, regaining his composure. “I’ll bid you good night,” he said then.
“Is that a question? Or a statement of fact?” the witch asked as she came to her feet.
She was a cheeky little thing. “You’re certain you’re well?” James asked again. He knew he’d smelled blood. It was unmistakable. And he didn’t want to go. He wanted to take her place in that chair and pull her down into his lap.
She lifted her arms out to the sides and sighed heavily. “Do ye need ta search my person for wounds so ye can get a good night’s rest?”
James immediately hardened at the very thought of running his hands all over Miss Lindsay’s body. “I trust that you would tell me if you needed assistance,” he said instead.
“Do ye, now?” she asked quietly.
“No, actually I don’t,” he scoffed. “But it sounded good in my head before it came out of my mouth.” He turned away from her to hide the evidence of his desire. Despite her bravado, he’d scare the life out of the little innocent if she had any idea how much he wanted her. When he turned to face her, his gaze immediately landed on the bed—and on his gold pocket fob, which lay atop her counterpane. “That’s my watch,” he said as he approached the bed and reached for it.
“Aye, I found it doin’ the wash,” she said quickly.
“Shouldn’t you have someone else do the wash for you?” He wasn’t quite sure where that came from. She was a brazen little thing, one who clearly made her own decisions; but there was still a prideful air about her. She might not be a typical lady, but she was a lady just the same. One who shouldn’t be reduced to menial household chores. “I have it on the highest authority that the Lindsays are quite rich, after all.”
His statement had the satisfying effect of making her stammer. “A-aye, well we’re hirin’ a staff tomorrow. But for now ye’re left with me.”