by Lydia Dare
James spoke up, “Blaire is at the Fergusons’. The youngest witch had need of them, and they asked to be left alone for a bit.” They had demanded it, actually. And Blaire had even threatened his manhood in order to make him leave. But there was no need to apprise Captain Lindsay of all the details. “Where is Master Brannock?” The man had been left in charge of the lad. And there were no servants about to care for the boy.
“I sent the lad ta bed quite some time ago,” Lindsay said with a wave of his hand. Even that appeared to go astray, however. “Come and join me in a drink, Westfield.” His eyes narrowed at James. “Can ye drink whisky, Kettering? Or is my sister the only refreshment ye can tolerate?”
James scrubbed a hand down his face, and stalled by taking the time to slowly remove his coat. “I told you. I have no need for blood anymore.” He couldn’t throttle the foxed brother of the lass he intended to marry, could he? Well, he could, but that would be bad form. Very bad form.
“Don’t worry,” Westfield said quietly. “He’s harmless when he drinks.”
James raised his eyebrows at the Lycan.
“He doesn’t do it often. Their father was a bit of a drunkard, so he tends to avoid it most of the time. He must be fairly out of sorts to get this bad, particularly on this night.”
James took the glass the captain held out. He hadn’t had spirits in a very, very long time. He could barely remember what they tasted like. He looked directly at Captain Lindsay. “I can’t change what I once was. The only thing I can control right now is my future. And my future is with Blaire. Even if you can’t accept my past, your sister can. And I’ll have her as long as she wants me. I’d love to do it with your blessing.”
Westfield coughed into his hand. “What he means, Aiden, is that he doesn’t plan to have your sister for dinner, but he does plan to have her for his wife.”
“With your blessing, of course,” James added. The blessing really didn’t matter. But it sounded sincere and might appease the man.
“Nice finish,” Westfield murmured to James.
James inclined his head at the Lycan. He liked him more and more as the night went on. He raised the whisky to his lips and let the smoky flavor of it wash over his tongue. It had been a very, very long time since he’d enjoyed such an indulgence.
“Careful there. Or you’ll be deeper in your cups than Aiden, my friend,” Westfield warned as he tossed back a glass himself and reached for the bottle.
“I never had a problem holding my drink before. You, on the other hand…” He made a motion to Westfield’s second cup.
“Westfields have a higher tolerance for spirits.” The Lycan shrugged. He noted that the man didn’t say Lycan. So, the captain didn’t know what he was. Interesting. There were some secrets within this circle after all.
Captain Lindsay chuckled. “Or could it be that ye drink them like water so yer body is used ta them?”
“That, too,” Westfield admitted with a wolfish grin.
“So, what happened tonight? Why do I have the feelin’ there’s a story ta be told. Probably one I willna like.” The captain adjusted his body marginally in the chair. But even that appeared to be too much for him.
Westfield glanced up at James and muttered, “Proceed at your own risk.”
James took the time to toss back his glass of whisky, grimace, pour another, and think about the situation. “Honestly, Captain, we met up with a rogue vampyre with a debt to settle. Unfortunately, it was my debt, but Blaire got dragged into the middle of it.”
“But Blaire and the others are all right?” the captain asked. He looked marginally more sober. But only marginally. And the look was gone so quickly that James could have sworn he’d missed it. James wasn’t in the mood at all to recount the events of the night, but the captain was, evidently. A fighting man himself, Lindsay devoured the details of the battle as quickly as James and Benjamin Westfield consumed the man’s whisky. James found himself pouring his heart out to the man, something he never would have done ordinarily. Soon the captain knew all there was to know about James’ feelings for Blaire. The Lycan did as well, but James suspected he was well caught by his own witch so it didn’t bother him over much.
Before long, James raised his hand to point something out to the captain and found out his own motions weren’t as well coordinated as they once had been. He tugged his watch fob from his pocket and flipped open the lid. It was getting awfully late. “I wonder where Blaire is. I thought she’d be home by now. Maybe it wasn’t safe to let them travel alone.”
“No worries,” Westfield said as he crossed one foot over his knee. “Sorcha will have them sent them home in her carriage.” He shrugged.
A soft snick sounded at the front door.
“There they are now, I’d imagine,” Westfield said as he rose to his feet. Even the Lycan was so deeply in his cups that he weaved as though the floor moved beneath him. James knew any effort on his part to stand would be for naught. So, he remained sitting quietly and hoped Blaire wouldn’t notice how foxed he was. He had a feeling he’d never live this one down if she did.
James smiled at the love of his life and the fiery-haired witch who belonged to his new friend as they came through the door.
“We were about to send a search party out to find you,” Westfield said slowly.
Both the witches stopped in the doorway. The red-haired one crossed her arms over her chest as her toe began to tap against the floor. “What have ye been doin’ while we were out?” she asked, eyeing her husband. “Though I have a fairly good idea.”
Westfield merely shrugged unapologetically.
Blaire folded her arms across her chest, her gaze boring into James. “Talking,” he replied, although it felt like he had a mouth full of cotton. “I was getting to know your brother, here.”
Blaire crossed the room and picked up the empty whisky decanter. “Gettin’ ta ken him?” she asked. “Is that what ye call it?”
The captain sat forward and brushed his hair back from his brow. Bloody hell, the man had gone from being a bumbling idiot one moment to sober as a vicar the next. “Actually, Blaire, I just had a nice discussion with yer betrothed. The man canna hold his liquor worth a damn.”
“Are ye foxed, James?” Blaire asked as she placed a hand upon his shoulder.
James tried to fight the insane smile that he knew spread across his face. He failed. Terribly. “Quite foxed, love,” he grunted.
Westfield chimed in. “It appears as though the good captain was on a fact-finding mission and he duped us both.” Thank God, Westfield wasn’t sober as well. Otherwise, James would have been so angry he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. But the Lycan appeared to be nothing more than a pawn in Lindsay’s game.
“Aiden, I canna believe ye got him like this,” Blaire complained.
The man smirked. “Well, what was I supposed ta do? Ye were keepin’ things from me, Blaire. And I dinna like it. I still doona like it. But at least now I ken what’s goin’ on with my own sister.” He bent quickly and kissed her cheek. “I’m goin’ ta bed. Big day tomorrow.”
Blaire thought it over for a moment. “Wait,” she called to his retreating back. He stopped and turned slowly toward her. “What happens tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow ye marry Kettering. The man canna hold his spirits worth a damn. If ye ever want ta ken what’s goin’ on in his head, just ply him with whisky. It worked for me.” He gave Blaire a telling glance that made her blush. “We’ll no’ be waitin’ for the banns, no’ after the tale I heard tonight. So ye’ll marry tomorrow, and Kettering can pay the fine for the irregular marriage. He’s fairly plump in the pockets, or so I hear.”
James grunted loudly. But it came out more as a belch. “Apologies,” he murmured. “Still not quite used to this human body.” Mortifying it was.
Westfield chuckled loudly. The man found everything to be humorous when he was foxed, evidently.
“What did ye tell him?” Blaire demanded, her hands on her hip
s. He wanted to replace them with his own. He reached for her, but he grabbed at air as she stepped away from him. “Bloody hell, Blaire. Would you be still?” he grumbled. That earned another laugh from Westfield. Blast the man.
“Plan yer day around a weddin’ tomorrow, Blaire. The good baron will take ye as his wife. We’ll see it completed before the sun sets on another day.” Captain Lindsay turned and whistled a little tune as he disappeared down the corridor.
“But ye said we’d call the banns!” Blaire cried. “I was supposed ta have three weeks.”
“Tomorrow, Blaire!” Aiden yelled back. She could tell from his tone that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Speaking of weddings,” James called after the Captain. “I bumped into a certain Miss Fyfe as I was fleeing Strathcarron. The lass seemed quite distraught at your sudden departure.”
Aiden Lindsay actually blushed. “I, uh, have plans ta return ta Briarcraig at my earliest convenience. Well, as soon as I see my sister well and truly united in matrimony ta ye, Kettering.”
“I’m certain the lass will be glad to hear of your return.”
Westfield’s witch crossed the room and tugged him to his feet. “Let’s go home, ye fierce beast,” she teased as he leaned into her.
“Bloody good time it was, Kettering,” the Lycan murmured at him. But he followed his wife to the waiting coach without looking back. If James wasn’t mistaken, he was watching the sway of her bottom as she walked in front of him. Smart man.
“Thinking of arses,” James muttered as he reached out as quickly as he could and grabbed a handful of Blaire’s skirts. “Bring yours over here.” He tugged her down into his lap and locked his arms around her waist.
“Who was thinkin’ of arses?” his witch asked.
“All good men think of arses, Blaire. Don’t you know that?” He grinned what he knew was a foolish grin at her.
“I do now.” She rolled her eyes. Then she sighed deeply and tucked herself into his arms. “Married tomorrow?” she asked. “How could ye let Aiden fool ye like that?”
“He seemed so sincere,” James admitted.
“He might no’ be a battle-born witch, but he was raised by one and he’s fairly wily. Ye should have kent he was up ta somethin’.” She punched James lightly in the shoulder. He still held the watch open in his lap. “Why do ye have this out?” she asked.
He’d show her the inscription inside his watch fob after they were married, and not a moment before. He tucked it into his pocket before she could become curious. “You were out awfully late. Did you get everything settled with Sorcha?” The lass had been quite distraught when he’d left them.
“That might take some time,” Blaire hedged.
“The secret room?” he pressed.
“Aye, it exists.” She bent and touched her lips to his.
“And why I was locked up? It’s in the journals?”
She was awfully distracting when she wanted to be.
“Ye were imprisoned in the bowels of Briarcraig because ye’re my destiny, ye fool.” She kissed him again, ever so softly, and he wrapped his arms around her.
But then a bellow sounded from the corridor. “Go ta bed, Blaire!” Aiden yelled.
James sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “Tomorrow, you will be mine.”
“And ye will be mine,” she reminded him.
“Bed, Blaire!” the bellow sounded again.
“Bloody hell, I’m goin’!” she cried as she kissed James quickly and scurried from his lap. He watched her cute little arse until she turned the corridor. Tomorrow, indeed.
Twenty-Nine
What was taking so bloody long? Blaire would have been pacing the aisle of the church if Rhiannon and Sorcha hadn’t forced her into a pew and then sat on either side of her to keep her still. Their presence, their support, did nothing to quell the anxiety stirring deeply within her. Blaire’s eyes strayed back to the door at the end of the chapel that led to Mr. Crawford’s office.
“What can they possibly be talkin’ about?” she grumbled under her breath.
A warm hand settled on her shoulder, and Blaire glanced up at Benjamin Westfield standing behind her. “Do you really want an answer to that?”
He could hear them! Thank heavens. She silently vowed to refrain from any more dog jokes at his expense for at least a fortnight. “Aye,” she whispered.
Rhiannon and Sorcha leaned in closer, and Elspeth crossed from the far side of the church to stand beside her husband. None of her sister witches wanted to miss one word, either.
“Well,” Benjamin began and tucked his wife’s arm in the crook of his arm, “the good vicar is not happy with the number of irregular marriages he’s performed this last year. He says it won’t look good for him with his superiors.”
“He doesna mean ta refuse?” Blaire gasped, now resigned to her fate of becoming Baroness Kettering. And now that she’d accepted it, she wanted to get on with it. After all, she’d never been the most patient witch to begin with, but now… Well, now she couldn’t wait to say before God and her friends how much she loved James Maitland and wanted with all her heart to be his wife. “There are other ways. We can make our declarations if Crawford willna perform the ceremony.”
Benjamin chuckled. “Anxious, are you?”
“Ben,” his wife chided.
He sighed as though all his fun had just been taken away. “No, Blaire, he will not refuse. But he’s giving Aiden and Kettering the devil of a time about it. He doesn’t understand why you can’t just wait for the banns to be read.”
“Well, what did they say?” Blaire gulped.
Benjamin winked at her. “Kettering gave a rather impassioned plea. Said that when you’ve waited your whole life for the right woman to come along, waiting three more weeks to make her your wife is a special kind of torture.”
Blaire’s heart skipped a beat. What a beautiful thing to say. “Did he really?”
At that moment, the office door opened. Aiden and the vicar, Mr. Crawford, entered the chapel, but she paid them no attention as she could see James’ large frame behind them. He stood in the threshold, the picture of confidence and arrogance. She wouldn’t have him any other way. His light blue eyes twinkled as he followed the other two men into the chapel.
“Well.” Mr. Crawford cleared his throat. “I suppose all is in order. Miss Lindsay, if ye’ll please join us.” He gestured to the altar at the front of the room.
She was on her feet in the space of a single beat of her heart, more than ready to embrace her future.
Then the vicar’s eyes narrowed on her friends still sitting on the pew. “But while I have the rest of yer attention, let me make myself very clear. I doona ken what has gone on in my parish recently, but I’ve had quite enough of it. Miss Sinclair, Miss Ferguson, if either of ye come ta me wantin’ an irregular marriage, I’ll turn ye right back around and I willna listen ta another word. Do ye hear me?”
“And then you can either make your declarations or have the always popular anvil wedding at the border,” Benjamin Westfield joked.
Mr. Crawford’s face turned as red as an over-ripe tomato. “Lord Benjamin!” the vicar sputtered. “As ye were the one who started this unfortunate trend, I will ask ye ta hold yer tongue in my church!”
“Sorry, sir.” Benjamin replied, though he didn’t sound sorry in the least.
“Well, then…” Mr. Crawford opened his Bible. “Let’s move forward, shall we? Miss Lindsay, Lord Kettering.”
Then they were standing before the vicar, and James took Blaire’s hands in his. The rest was a blur. She didn’t hear a word Mr. Crawford said and didn’t realize she even needed to say, “I do,” until she saw the panic in James’ eyes.
“Blaire,” he urged.
How could she have missed her cue? “Aye, of course. I do.” And she did, more than she ever could have imagined.
James’ expression relaxed, and he squeezed her hand.
“Do ye have a ring, my lord?”
the vicar asked.
“I’ve had it all my life.” James reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved his ring, the one her mother had stolen from him all those years ago. A lump formed in Blaire’s throat. “Are ye sure?”
“Without it, I would never have found you, my love.” Then he slid the ring on her finger. It was so big and heavy that it nearly slipped back off. James folded her hand in his to keep his heirloom in place. “We’ll get it fitted.”
All Blaire could manage was a nod.
“Lord Kettering, ye may now kiss yer bride.”
Still holding his hand over hers, James tugged Blaire closer to him, very slowly lowered his head, and brushed his warm lips across hers.
***
In all the days James had lived, none had ever seemed as long or tiring as his wedding day. After the marriage ceremony, he and Blaire had been rushed off to a wedding breakfast at Benjamin Westfield’s opulent estate outside the city, along with everyone else in Edinburgh, it seemed. James had never seen so many Scots. They’d filled nearly every corner of the manor, and they hadn’t seemed inclined to leave. Ever.
It was late that evening before he was finally able to retire to the room Westfield had graciously offered for their wedding night. Now if only his bride would join him.
He collapsed into a high-backed chair that was more stylish than comfortable, but he didn’t move from it. He’d wait until he had a reason to get up. He’d wait for Blaire.
How long would it take for her to extricate herself from her sister witches? James flipped open his watch fob. He’d meant to check the time, but the lamplight caught his inscription, and his eyes retraced the words he’d read for more than two centuries.