by Lydia Dare
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.”
“Kettering?” Aiden raked a hand through his hair, all the while looking at her as though she’d sprouted a second head. “Ye canna be serious. Ye doona ken the first thing about the man.”
“Ye’re the one, Aiden, who has been beggin’ me ta try and catch a man’s eye. That’s all I’m tryin’ ta do.”
“Blaire—”
She so wished that she could cry on command as Sorcha could. She blinked her eyes rapidly, the way she’d seen the youngest witch in their coven do many a time. Apparently it was good enough.
“Are ye gonna cry?” Aiden leaned back against the squabs, completely appalled.
Blaire shook her head and huddled further under her plaid, hoping he couldn’t see through her ruse. “Aiden, promise me ye willna toss Kettering and Blodswell from Briarcraig. Or I’ll never get the chance ta see if somethin’ could come of this.”
At that moment, the carriage rumbled to a stop. Aiden frowned a bit as he reached for the door. “I willna throw them out. No’ yet anyway, if it’s so important ta ye.”
She didn’t trust her voice not to give her deception away, so she nodded instead.
“Just doona cry, all right?”
Blaire nodded again.
Aiden opene
d the carriage door and stepped out into the bright Highland sunlight. Blaire followed his lead. She shaded her eyes with her hand to take in the sleepy village before them. Strathcarron seemed desolate, not quite as desolate as Briarcraig, but bleak just the same. The clearances must have hit the region hard. Of course, they had hit most of Scotland hard. Living in Edinburgh, the Lindsays hadn’t been affected too badly. But they’d seen an influx of Scots looking for work and shelter in the city, and those people had all come from villages such as this one.
Aiden pointed to a tiny pub and inn at the end of the street. “Why doona ya start over there, and I’ll head over ta the blacksmiths.’”
It was as good a place as any. Blaire started down the frozen street, clutching her plaid closer about her shoulders. A frigid wind from a loch at the southern tip of the village threatened to freeze her in her steps. She shuddered and increased her gait until she reached the safety of the taproom.
Blaire rushed inside the building. A small group of locals sat around a couple of dingy tables. Their mouths dropped open when their eyes landed on her, and one man dropped his pint into his lap. Apparently it was never too early to start drinking in Strathcarron. Then again, a pint might keep the chill from one’s bones.
She smiled tentatively at the assembled men whom she’d taken by surprise. “Mornin’.”
A short, ruddy faced man pushed his seat back and rose to his feet. “Hello, lass. Are ya lookin’ for someone?”
An old man beside him chuckled. “I could be someone.”
Blaire stepped forward, ignoring the last comment. “I am lookin’ for someone. A great many someones. My brother, Captain Lindsay, has inherited Briarcraig Castle, and we are hopin’ ta hire locally.”
“Mother o’ God,” the old man’s eyes rounded in horror.
“Briarcraig?” another muttered.
The ruddy faced man shook his head. “No one goes near the castle, lass. Place is haunted.”
Silly, superstitious Scots. Blaire smothered a laugh with her fingers. “Come now,” she began again. “I’ve slept in the castle the last two nights and have neither seen nor heard any evidence of ghosts. Surely, ye big strappin’ Highlanders are no’ squeamish of a couple old tales.”
No one said a word. It had to be the most quiet this taproom had ever seen.
“Or do ye think a lowland lass is more brave than the lot of ye?” she goaded the villagers.
“Hirin’ locally, ye say?” A young, smooth-faced man stood up from one of the nearby tables. “What positions are ye lookin’ ta fill, Miss…Lindsay, is it?”
Blaire nodded to the youngest man of the group. “It is. And we are in need of…well, everythin’. Maids, footmen, a butler, a cook, a housekeeper, a groom or two.”
“I’m Malcolm, and my Glenna and I would be happy for the opportunity.” And he meant it. Blaire could see a bit of optimism in his eyes.
Her heart soared as though it had wings. With the amount Aiden had come into, they could help others who were in need. The people of these parts could use some good fortune themselves. “Can ye be by this afternoon?”
“Aye.” Malcolm nodded. “And my mother can cook.”
“Wonderful.” Blaire smiled at the taproom at large. No more of Aiden’s mutton stew. The smooth-faced Malcolm was fast becoming her favorite Highlander. “Anyone else?”
Behind her, the door opened again, bringing with it the icy Highland air that had nearly chilled her to her bones. Blaire glanced over her shoulder and shouldn’t have been surprised to see Aiden standing in the threshold. “The blacksmith isna there.”
The ruddy faced man stepped toward her brother. “I’m Hamish. Do ye have need of my services, lad?”
“Ye’re the blacksmith?” Aiden’s eyes widened. He clearly hadn’t expected the smithy to be drinking so early in the day and not at his place of work. But this was not Edinburgh, not in the least.
“Aye. And ye are?”
“Captain Lindsay.” Aiden’s gaze swept across the room, taking it all in.
“Well, Captain,” the old man began, “do ye really have the funds ta staff that castle of yers?”
A hundred times over at least.
Aiden nodded his reply. “As long as there are men and women lookin’ for honest pay for honest work. The castle has been vacant for so long that there’s a lot to do.”
“That,” Malcolm said proudly, puffing out his chest, “willna be a problem, Captain.”
Twelve
Blaire led a troop of new maids over the threshold of the great hall. Gathering the necessary servants had not been as difficult as she’d originally thought. As soon as the villagers realized Aiden and his money were real, fears about haunted castles evaporated like mist from the loch.
After a quick dispersal of duties, Blaire led Mrs. Fraser toward the kitchens, relieved Malcolm’s mother had agreed to come on as their cook and even promised she could have dinner prepared for all their guests that very evening. The old woman so exuded confidence in her abilities that Blaire believed every word from her mouth.
As they reached the kitchens, Brannock burst through the door and barreled right into Blaire. She gasped and put him out from her, shocked at his disheveled appearance and scratches that marred his neck and arms. “What the devil happened ta ye?”
The youngest Lindsay shrugged, as though he had no idea what she was going on about. “I was just hopin’ ta meet the staff Aiden said ye hired.”
“Do ye mean ta tell me Aiden saw ye like this, all covered with slashes, and he dinna do anythin’ about it?” The injuries looked swollen and angry, turning redder by the minute.
“Oh, that.” Brannock glanced down at his own arms. “I dinna have the scratches then.”
“Brannock Lindsay, what exactly did ye do ta yerself?”
“Bruce dinna like the new home I made for him. That’s all, Blaire.”
That damn cat. “Brannock,” she began, but the new cook held up her hand, silencing Blaire’s words.
“I have always said, Miss Lindsay,” Mrs. Fraser put in, “that lads doona feel bumps and scrapes the same way we do. My sons could’ve lost legs or arms, and they’d have kept at whatever held their interest.”
Blaire shared a commiserating look with the new servant and shook her head. “Does it no’ get easier as they get older?”
“Wish I could tell ye it does,” the older woman replied with a shrug, “but I’d be lyin’. But if they catch the ague, ye’d think the world was comin’ ta an end.” She looked Brannock over. “Come along, lad. We’ll get an ointment for yer injuries.”
Brannock’s mouth fell open as the cook began to tow him toward the great hall, and Blaire held in a laugh. She’d never seen the boy handled so swiftly before.
“Blaire, do ye ken why Lord Kettering is crawlin’ around on his hands and knees in the cellar?” Brannock called, trying to extricate himself from the cook’s hold.
“Crawlin’ on his hands and knees?” Blaire echoed, stalking toward the servants’ staircase that led to the lower level. What in the world was the baron doing on his hands and knees in the cellar? She’d scoured the room from top to bottom looking for clues about the man. Had she missed something? What was he looking for? She nearly tripped down the steps in her haste to reach Kettering.
She rounded a corner, and before she could stop, Blaire barreled right into Lord Blodswell’s backside as he blocked the cellar from her view.
The earl spun around in a flash and kept her from falling. “Are you quite all right, Miss Lindsay?” He set her from him.
She paid him no attention but strained her neck to see around his broad shoulders, hoping for a glimpse of Kettering. What was he searching for? Blodswell, however, was again in her way, continuing to block her view.
A moment later, Baron Kettering was at his friend’s side, a look of concern on his ruggedly handsome face. “Blaire?”
“What are ye doin’ here?” she choked out, for lack of anything intelligent to say.
A slight smile appeared on Kettering’s face. “Is it possible you missed me, Miss Lindsay?”
His twinkling dark eyes completely disarmed her. “I-I…”
“Did you have any luck in Strathcarron?”
Blaire gestured toward the empty cellar. “Did ye have any luck in there, my lord?”
Aiden chose that moment to call from the top of the stairs, “Is there a soiree goin’ on in my cellar?”
Blodswell stepped around Blaire and started for the steps. “Ah, Captain, so good to see you this afternoon. I was hoping to speak with you.”
“With me?” Aiden mumbled.
“Yes. I’m quite impressed with your property, what I’ve seen of it anyway. May I impose on you to show me around? I adore the medieval feel.”
Aiden grumbled something unintelligible but finally said, “Very well. Where would ye like ta begin?”
“Oh,” Blodswell gushed as he climbed the steps, “I think I should like to see the library, Captain. Always the most fascinating things are found in libraries, don’t you agree?”
Blaire couldn’t remember the last time her brother had cracked open a book. Not to mention that the library at Briarcraig was in a most horrible state of disrepair. She would have giggled about the situation if she didn’t realize that she was unexpectedly, once again, all alone with James. Suddenly, he seemed to take up most of the space in the small confines. As he stepped closer to her, the smell of citric shaving lotion and a freshly smoked cheroot wrapped around her. She had to stop herself from closing her eyes and simply enjoying his scent.
Strong. She was supposed to be strong today. “What are ye doin’ down here?” She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye.
He watched her for the longest while, and she had the strangest feeling he was gazing at her neck. What an odd place for a man’s eyes to linger. But he had mentioned her neck earlier this morning, as well, hadn’t he? “I, um, I’ve lost something, and I thought perhaps I’d left it in here.”
Nothing was in the room. She’d searched it over more than once. “What are ye lookin’ for? Perhaps I’ve already come across it.”