by Lydia Dare
“Like my watch fob?”
She knew a blush stained her cheeks. No, not like his watch fob. Whatever he’d lost this time, she hadn’t absconded with it. “I could help ye look,” she offered.
A charming smile graced his face, and Blaire felt warmth wash over her. “Would you truly help me, Blaire, if I asked it of you?”
Look for whatever he’d lost? The opportunity to discover his secrets? She nodded.
“Hmm. I wonder.” His eyes took on a far-off gleam.
Blaire wasn’t at all certain they were talking about the same thing. “I’ll be happy ta help ye find whatever ye’ve lost, James.”
“What if I want you more than what I was looking for? What then, Blaire?” he asked as he took a step toward her. “Would you still be as amenable?”
***
His intent had been to disarm her, to remove some of the guardedness that was her constant companion. But James found himself just as stripped. She gazed up at him with those shimmering grey eyes, open and trusting. And James wanted nothing more than he wanted to take her in his arms.
Yet she spun away from him after a moment. “What is it that ye’re looking for?” she asked. He heard the tiny quaver in her voice, the hesitance. Her back stiffened. Obviously, she heard it, too.
Initially, he’d been looking for a way to enchant her. But once again he was the one suddenly and completely disarmed. “Blaire,” he began softly as he stepped up behind her. He hovered within an inch of her body, knowing full well that if he pushed too far, he wouldn’t get to inhale her scent, to enjoy her.
“James,” she whispered softly, still facing away from him. Then her body backed into his, almost as though a magnet drew her to him. She fit him. Her forehead nestled beside his chin, her back against his chest.
He slid one of his hands around her waist, where he opened his fingers wide and pulled her bottom even tighter into the saddle of his hips. God, she smelled so good. Felt so good. With his free hand, he brushed aside the tiny tendrils of raven-black hair that had escaped the knot at her neck to cascade over her shoulders. And then he placed his lips against her tender skin.
She tasted like all the things he’d forgotten because he’d gone so long without, like freshly baked tarts. Like sugar in one’s tea. She smelled like sunshine and the clean air after a quick spring rain. Her gasp sounded like the winter wind, quiet but cutting. She looked as delicate as a flower in spring, yet she felt like firm, hot, human flesh in his arms. Willing human flesh.
He nearly cursed aloud when his incisors descended. He couldn’t help it. His body associated all pleasures of the flesh with a meal, the ultimate sharing of one’s self. But if she knew, she wouldn’t be so warm or willing.
There was no doubt in James’ mind that she was in his arms because she wanted to be there, rather than because he’d enchanted her. She liked him. She wanted him, too. He could nearly taste her desire.
Her hand came up to cover his upon her belly but not to push it away as he momentarily feared. Instead, she threaded her fingers with his and gripped him tightly. Her hand shook slightly as she leaned her head to the side at the insistence of his questing lips. He groaned against her skin, his incisors gently abrading the sensitive skin.
James fought his most basic instinct to take from her. He fought it for as long as he could. He could bring her pleasure. He would cause her no pain. He would seal his mouth over her pulse point, take all of her pleasure inside himself, and give her his own in return. It would be most wonderful. He nipped at her with his teeth. Then sucked gently. A prelude of what was to come.
“James,” she cried as she spun in his embrace, her arms rising to wrap around his neck. Her lips sought his. He lifted his head for no more than a moment and took her offering, sipping at her lips gently and then nipping her lightly. The metallic taste of copper flooded his tongue, and he froze. What had he done?
James caught her face between his hands and stared down at her. Her eyes were limpid pools of silver, dark as a storm-laden day. With her eyes half-closed in pleasure, she barely saw him. “Doona stop,” she whispered, her lips seeking his again.
He’d bitten her. He’d nipped her hard enough to draw blood, and she was coming back for more?
“Did I hurt you?” he breathed against her lips.
She shook her head quickly, affirming the negative.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t intend to do that.” At least not there. Not like this.
“Do I look ta ye like someone who might break, James?” she whispered, a grin turning up the corners of her kiss-swollen lips. A tiny drop of blood beaded up on her mouth, and he bent to kiss her, to draw it into himself.
“You look like someone who wants to be loved,” James admitted.
That made her draw back.
“This has nothin’ ta do with love.”
“It doesn’t?” He probably looked like the worst sort of fool, but in his experience, women wanted to be loved. That made his seductions easier to conduct.
“It was just a kiss,” she said as she stepped out of his grasp. James felt the loss immediately. He reached to draw her back to him. But she stepped farther away and then raised her hands to tuck the stray tendrils of hair back into a loose chignon.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs above them. “Blaire!” the youngest Lindsay bellowed from the top of the servants’ stairs.
She stepped into the doorway and called back to him, “What do ye want, Brannock?” She sighed.
Was she disappointed? In him? That their brief interlude was over? Never had James felt such warring emotions, not since he was a green lad.
“Ye’ll never believe who’s here!” the boy called back.
Blaire started up the steps. But James wasn’t about to let her go alone. He followed so closely behind her that his view all the way up the stairs was her sweet little bottom. She ignored his presence. When they reached the kitchen, Brannock was standing at the top.
“Who is it, Bran?” she asked with a sigh.
“What happened ta yer neck, Blaire?” the boy asked. “Do ye need some of Mrs. Fraser’s ointment?”
“My neck?” she mumbled, covering her neck with her palm. Her frantic eyes met James’.
He turned her toward him and gently uncovered her neck. He’d left a purple love-mark upon her skin. It shone like a bright beacon on a clear night. He was a damned idiot. He quickly tugged the pins from her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders, and then drew some of it forward to cover his marks.
“It looks as though that spider did bite you after all, Miss Lindsay,” he said to appease Brannock, who looked on with a worried tilt to his eyebrows. “I’m so glad I was there to kill it for you.”
Brannock snorted. “Blaire needed a man ta kill a spider for her? I find that hard ta believe.”
Blaire cuffed his shoulder. “Mind yer manners, Bran,” she hissed. “And ye shouldna go around bellowin’ anymore. What will the servants think?”
“Sorry,” the boy muttered, though he looked far from it.
“Now what were ye yellin’ about? Did ye say someone is here?”
The boy nearly bounced on the edge of his toes. “Ye’ll never guess who.”
“Oh for pity’s sake. Please tell me it’s no’ those Fyfe twits already.” She rolled her eyes, which made James bite back a smile. Amazingly, she had no idea how charming she was.
“No.” Her brother shook his head. “Ye’ll never guess who it is.”
“If ye willna tell me who, then will ye tell me where our guest is?”
“He’s in the great hall. I told him I’d get ye. And it’s no’ a secret. I just wanted ye ta guess again.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Ye want me ta guess again? And ye doona think I’ll ever figure it out?”
Brannock bounced on his toes.
Blaire sighed, but there was devotion in her eyes. “Well then, is it Wellington come ta bestow an award for Aiden’s bravery at Quatre Bras?
”
The boy choked on a laugh and shook his head.
“Elspeth and Caitrin and the others?”
Again the lad shook his head.
“For the love of God, who is it, Brannock?” James asked, realizing his tone was a little too sharp as soon as the words came out of his mouth.
The lad sobered a bit and looked at his sister. “It’s Mr. MacQuarrie.”
Blaire looked puzzled. “Alec MacQuarrie is here? Why on earth would he come ta Briarcraig?” She stormed down the corridor with her brother in tow.
Who the devil was Alec MacQuarrie? James followed closely behind the pair. But he came up short, a tiny pain erupting in his chest when he saw Blaire fly into the arms of another man just inside the great hall.
The dark-haired gentleman caught her close to him, a huge smile upon his face. James tried to tamp down his feelings of imminent destruction.
The man was tall, his eyes shining with something James had lost decades ago—a kindhearted soul. It shone through in every move the man made, from his impromptu hug with Blaire to his ruffle of Brannock’s hair.
James didn’t like him. Not one little bit. In fact, if he didn’t remove his arm from around Blaire’s shoulders, James would remove it for him. Right off her shoulders. Off his body, in fact. James took a step toward them.
“MacQuarrie!” the captain bellowed from behind him, where he and Matthew had entered the great hall. The captain rushed forward, his voice full of friendly camaraderie. “What brings ye ta Briarcraig?”
“It’s quite a long tale, actually,” the man hedged, his gaze sliding across James and Matthew in a most peculiar way. The newcomer apparently had a secret, something he didn’t want everyone to know.
James coughed into his hand, which earned him a scowl from Matthew. Did Blodswell think he would just stand by while someone put his hands on Blaire? Without even learning the man’s identity? How ridiculous.
“I believe we’ve met once before.” Matthew spoke up from beside him.
They had? What the devil?
“Blodswell?” the man asked, surprise lighting his face. “What a coincidence.”
“You were traveling with a woman the last time I saw you,” Matthew remarked.
That blasted MacQuarrie nodded and gazed down at Blaire. “I was with Caitrin.”
Blaire’s eyebrows drew together, but she squelched the gesture when he blinked hard at her. Oh, that was not good, whatever it was. A red rage clouded the corners of James’ vision.
Blaire chimed in, “Lord Kettering, I’d like for ye ta meet Alec MacQuarrie, a dear friend from Edinburgh.”
“I’d love to meet him, if he could take his arm from around your shoulders long enough to shake my hand.”
A tinkling laugh that wasn’t the least bit genuine escaped Blaire’s lips. MacQuarrie didn’t remove his arm from around Blaire’s shoulders, but he reached to take James’ hand anyway. James wanted to knock it away, but he clasped it in his own. “Nice to make your acquaintance,” he muttered.
“My lord,” the Scot replied, eyeing him suspiciously.
Jealousy bubbled within James like steam in a cast-iron kettle.
“Kettering, let’s allow them some privacy, shall we? I’ve something I’d like to show you.” Matthew’s hand on his shoulder brooked no argument. If James didn’t have such respect for his maker, he’d have refused.
He bowed lightly to Blaire and turned on his heel. “What the devil did you want to show me that’s so bloody important?” he hissed as they walked down the corridor.
“Not a damn thing,” Matthew answered calmly. “I just wanted to keep you from thrashing the poor man. It would not suit your purpose to be removed from Briarcraig, not at the moment anyway. The sun is high in the sky, or have you forgotten?”
Frustrated, James raked a hand through his hair. Who the devil was this MacQuarrie fellow, and why had he come all the way from Edinburgh? He pulled Matthew into the closest parlor and shooed a new maid from the room. As soon as they were alone, he glared at his maker. “All right, let’s have it. Where did you meet MacQuarrie? And what do you know about him?”
Matthew cocked his head to one side, a small frown forming on his face. “You’re not behaving like yourself in the least. Is this all due to Miss Lindsay? Or is something else wrong with you?”
“MacQuarrie!” James gritted out, his patience trickling away like sand in an hourglass.
“Very well.” Matthew shook his head and then slid into an old high-backed chair. “I was near the border, and I bumped into Mr. MacQuarrie’s traveling companion, Miss Macleod, or rather she bumped into me. You remember I mentioned her, the Còig’s current seer?”
One of the other witches. James rubbed his temple. Was that important? Then he remembered the rest of Matthew’s tale. “You said the seer keeps dangerous company?” And he’d just left Blaire with the blackguard. He started back for the door.
“Wait!” Matthew ordered. Then he gestured to an old threadbare settee. “Sit down before you go mad.”
“But you said—”
“I didn’t mean MacQuarrie.” His friend sighed. “Miss Macleod’s beast was not with her when our paths crossed. But I saw evidence of him on her neck.”
“One of us?” James finally dropped into the seat across from his friend.
Matthew shook his head. “No. Something different. The mark was not one of ours. I’m not certain what it was.”
“But you have a guess?”
“If I had to guess, I would say it was Lycan.”
A werewolf? The coven was consorting with werewolves! “And MacQuarrie?”
“Harmless,” Matthew supplied. “A scholar, would you believe it? Told me the tale of Sir Matthew Halkett, the very first Earl of Blodswell. Quite a knowledgeable fellow, actually.”
So all it had taken was MacQuarrie waxing poetic about Matthew’s feats of bravery to win the earl to his side. James scowled at his friend. Traitorous vampyre.
“Enough of this. MacQuarrie is not your problem,” Matthew continued, leveling his most serious look on James. “Did you have any luck with Miss Lindsay?”
The best sort of luck. James remembered holding her against him, the taste of her on his tongue. Though he wasn’t anxious to divulge such things to Matthew. “Miss Lindsay?”
The earl looked at him as though he was the most inept creature. “I hauled Captain Lindsay away so you could try to engage her assistance in finding your ring. Does any of that sound familiar?”
Of course, that’s what he meant, but just Blaire’s sweet scent had wiped his mind of all purpose. “I didn’t get a chance to ask.”
Matthew leaned forward in his seat. “I’ve never seen you lose your head like this before, James. And you’re going to need it, if we’re to find your ring and depart before Sarah and Trevelyan arrive.”
Sarah Reese and Padrig Trevelyan. How could he have forgotten them? Because Blaire made him forget everything except for her.
Blaire…
Panic shot through James. “We can’t leave.”
Matthew sighed impatiently. “I know you’ve developed an attachment for the chit, but—”
“What do you think Trevelyan will do if he arrives here to find us departed?”
Realization dawned on Matthew’s face. “The Lindsays and everyone else at Briarcraig.”
“We can’t leave,” James repeated. “I won’t leave everyone here to face the two of them alone.”
Thirteen
When James and the earl quit the great hall, the breath rushed from Blaire’s lungs. She turned her gaze to Alec MacQuarrie, whom she still couldn’t believe stood beside her, his arm draped companionably around her shoulders. Having him there was surreal in so many ways. There were places one expected to find Alec—a cozy study, a well-lit library, or chasing after Caitrin’s skirts. However, seeing him at Briarcraig seemed completely out of place.
She slid from his hold. “Did ye say somethin’ about Cait?” Had something
happened to her friend? Blaire’s pulse began to race at the thought.
Alec winced a bit and then looked at both her brothers. “I need to speak with you.”
Mo chreach, it was worse than she’d thought. Blaire clutched at her heart. “What is it, MacQuarrie? Just tell me.”
He met her eyes but spoke to Aiden. “Lindsay, do you mind giving me a moment with your sister?”
“Whatever it is, MacQuarrie,” Aiden began, “we Lindsays doona have any secrets from each other.”
Blaire nodded in agreement. “Please just tell us what’s wrong.”
He frowned. “No secrets?”
“None,” she confirmed. Well, she hadn’t told Aiden the truth about James, but that was an entirely different matter than whatever this was.
“They know what you are?” he whispered.
The better question was how did Alec know what she was? “And just what am I?”
“Caitrin confessed the truth of it.”
That didn’t make one bit of sense. Coven members didn’t discuss their powers or admit to being witches except to their own families. It just wasn’t done. It was too dangerous otherwise. But Cait had apparently told all to MacQuarrie. “Did she finally accept yer proposal?” That was the only thing Blaire could come up with to explain his sudden knowledge.
But as soon as the words left her lips, she knew she was wrong. Poor Alec looked as though he’d been hit in the stomach. He managed to shake his head.
“Then I doona ken what ye’re referrin’ ta.”
Alec sighed. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Blaire Lindsay. The only thing that surprises me is that I didn’t realize it earlier. The Còig was in front of my own nose for years, and I never put it together. You with your archery and sword fighting. Elspeth and her healing touch. I never did understand Rhiannon, who doesn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain. Sorcha and her plants. And Caitrin…”
There was that look again, as though he’d lost his very best friend in the world. “Has somethin’ happened ta Cait?” Why was the man being so tight-lipped? She’d never professed to have patience, but MacQuarrie’s equivocation was enough to drive her mad.