It Happened One Bite (28 page)

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 hips. 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.

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.

We know what we are, but not what we may be
.

He smiled to himself, realizing that the sentiment meant so much more now than it ever had before. He had never imagined that he could be something different than he was. He had never imagined that a pretty girl who could hold fireballs in the palm of her hand could change him, make him more than he had ever dreamed possible.

“Woolgatherin’?” His wife’s voice from the threshold interrupted his thoughts.

James shook his head and leaned back in the chair. It was becoming more comfortable by the minute. “Just waiting for you, my love.”

A dazzling smile lit her lips as she shut the door behind her before crossing the room and dropping onto his lap. James chuckled. He could get quite used to this.

“It was so nice of Benjamin ta offer us a place of our own for the night.”

“Nice,” James agreed. Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll be forever in his debt.”

“Lindsay House isna that bad.” She frowned at him.

“Oh, I beg to differ, my darling witch. Lindsay House has your two brothers in residence. One of them can shoot better than I, he once told me. So, when I make love to my wife this evening, I’d rather not have the good captain within hearing or shooting distance.”

“If he was goin’ ta shoot ye, he would have done it last night when ye confessed all yer sins ta him.”

She might have a point. Still, he’d rather not take any chances just yet. His heart was beating once more, and he wasn’t in any hurry for it to stop again.

“Lookin’ at your watch again?” Blaire asked. “Ye do seem a mite obsessed with it.”

“I’m only obsessed with you.”

She rolled her eyes in a way he found most endearing. “Can I see it?”

“Are you going to steal it again?”

She smacked his chest lightly. “I never stole yer watch.”

James snorted.

“All right, I did steal it. I used it for a spell when I was tryin’ ta figure out what ye were.”

“And now you know what I am?”

“My husband, for now and always.”

“For now and always.” He brushed his lips against hers. Then he sat back against the seat and handed her his watch.

She clicked it open and read the inscription. “We know what we are, but no’ what we might be.” Blaire looked over at him. “Shakespeare.”

He shook his head. “Why are you always trying to attribute sayings to William Shakespeare?”

Blaire blew a strand of hair from her eye as though he was the most troublesome creature known to man. “I ken the line, James Maitland. It’s from
Hamlet
.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But Shakespeare didn’t come up with it.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Blodswell tried to pound the sentiment into my head. He finally took my watch, which was a gift from the Queen, by the way, and had the phrase engraved inside. He said if I looked at it long enough, it might someday seep in.”

A look of pure joy settled on her face. “And Mr. Shakespeare?”

“Asked for the time one night in a pub. I flicked open the watch to show him, and the blackguard ended up stealing my line—or Matthew’s line, really. Can you believe it?”

Blaire giggled. “I find, my love, that when ye’re involved, I should believe almost anythin’.”