no missing her cutting remarks about his clothing. How long had he been asleep? How long had he lain in that cellar?
He’d have to sort it out somehow. He certainly couldn’t ask Miss Lindsay; she was already suspicious by her very nature and would seize any opportunity he offered her to reveal a weakness. The lad, Brannock, never seemed to stop talking, however. Perhaps he could wheedle the necessary information from—
A searing pain broke James from his plotting. “Agh!” he cried as he rushed into a shadowed corner of the corridor, away from the sun that threatened his very existence. He bent forward in an attempt to block out the pain, which thankfully was fading. The blasted sun! He’d never had to avoid it. Until now, he’d always been in possession of his ring. He rolled the pad of his thumb against the inside of his ring finger, missing not only the weight of the relic but also its protective properties. Never had he felt less human.
James winced one last time and looked up to find both Blaire and Brannock Lindsay before him, concern and confusion evident on their faces. He shook his head, hoping to find the power to speak. “The sun,” he muttered, as he straightened his bent frame. After all, what else could he tell them? He couldn’t walk through the sunlight, and he couldn’t stand in the corridor all day waiting for night to settle in. “I must have become adjusted to the darkness of the cellar, because the sun hurts my eyes as it never has before.” That much was true.
“Shut the drapes, Bran,” Miss Lindsay ordered.
As her brother ran off to do her bidding, she turned back to James. Her silver eyes raked him from top to bottom. He was certain she’d piece the puzzle together. Especially if she was connected to Blodswell’s blasted coven in some way. And then what would she do with him? He was already weaker than he’d ever been. Well, at least weaker than he’d ever been in this life.
“How long have ye been in the cellar?” she asked, her head tilted at an angle as she regarded him quietly. And closely.
James shook his head. If only he knew the answer to that question himself. “Time is relative, is it not?”
Thankfully, the corridor grew dark at that moment and James pressed forward, following the youngest Lindsay toward a circular set of stone steps.
“No, time is no’ relative,” the witch called from behind him, quick on his heels. “It’s the same every day. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Twenty-four hours in a day.”
James didn’t respond. What could he say? She was, of course, correct. “How much farther?” he asked the lad.
“Almost there.” Brannock bolted up the steps and turned down yet one more corridor.
Less than a minute later, James found himself standing on the threshold of a good-sized chamber. The lad rushed to the drapes and pulled them closed, and then turned around with a wide grin. He was endearing in a strange way. James liked the boy despite himself.
Captain Lindsay was dumping a bucket full of water into a tub in the middle of the room. “I’ll get ye some more hot water.”
James nodded. “I do appreciate your generosity, Captain.”
The Scotsman inclined his head. “We’ll find ye some clean clothes, and once ye’re all squared away, I’d like ta hear how ye ended up in my cellar.”
James smiled. He’d have the length of his bath to come up with a plausible story. Miss Lindsay wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth, but he’d do what he could to convince her brothers for the time being. At dusk he’d be off. Before then, however, he needed to discover when and where hewas—and how the devil he could find Blodswell.
“I’ll find somethin’ for him ta wear,” the pretty witch muttered, and then she escaped the chamber. A moment later, Captain Lindsay followed her departure.
James turned his attention to the youngest Lindsay and winked at the lad. How fortuitous to be left alone with the weakest
He’d have to sort it out somehow. He certainly couldn’t ask Miss Lindsay; she was already suspicious by her very nature and would seize any opportunity he offered her to reveal a weakness. The lad, Brannock, never seemed to stop talking, however. Perhaps he could wheedle the necessary information from—
A searing pain broke James from his plotting. “Agh!” he cried as he rushed into a shadowed corner of the corridor, away from the sun that threatened his very existence. He bent forward in an attempt to block out the pain, which thankfully was fading. The blasted sun! He’d never had to avoid it. Until now, he’d always been in possession of his ring. He rolled the pad of his thumb against the inside of his ring finger, missing not only the weight of the relic but also its protective properties. Never had he felt less human.
James winced one last time and looked up to find both Blaire and Brannock Lindsay before him, concern and confusion evident on their faces. He shook his head, hoping to find the power to speak. “The sun,” he muttered, as he straightened his bent frame. After all, what else could he tell them? He couldn’t walk through the sunlight, and he couldn’t stand in the corridor all day waiting for night to settle in. “I must have become adjusted to the darkness of the cellar, because the sun hurts my eyes as it never has before.” That much was true.
“Shut the drapes, Bran,” Miss Lindsay ordered.
As her brother ran off to do her bidding, she turned back to James. Her silver eyes raked him from top to bottom. He was certain she’d piece the puzzle together. Especially if she was connected to Blodswell’s blasted coven in some way. And then what would she do with him? He was already weaker than he’d ever been. Well, at least weaker than he’d ever been in this life.
“How long have ye been in the cellar?” she asked, her head tilted at an angle as she regarded him quietly. And closely.
James shook his head. If only he knew the answer to that question himself. “Time is relative, is it not?”
Thankfully, the corridor grew dark at that moment and James pressed forward, following the youngest Lindsay toward a circular set of stone steps.
“No, time is no’ relative,” the witch called from behind him, quick on his heels. “It’s the same every day. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Twenty-four hours in a day.”
James didn’t respond. What could he say? She was, of course, correct. “How much farther?” he asked the lad.
“Almost there.” Brannock bolted up the steps and turned down yet one more corridor.
Less than a minute later, James found himself standing on the threshold of a good-sized chamber. The lad rushed to the drapes and pulled them closed, and then turned around with a wide grin. He was endearing in a strange way. James liked the boy despite himself.
Captain Lindsay was dumping a bucket full of water into a tub in the middle of the room. “I’ll get ye some more hot water.”
James nodded. “I do appreciate your generosity, Captain.”
The Scotsman inclined his head. “We’ll find ye some clean clothes, and once ye’re all squared away, I’d like ta hear how ye ended up in my cellar.”
James smiled. He’d have the length of his bath to come up with a plausible story. Miss Lindsay wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth, but he’d do what he could to convince her brothers for the time being. At dusk he’d be off. Before then, however, he needed to discover when and where hewas—and how the devil he could find Blodswell.
“I’ll find somethin’ for him ta wear,” the pretty witch muttered, and then she escaped the chamber. A moment later, Captain Lindsay followed her departure.
James turned his attention to the youngest Lindsay and winked at the lad. How fortuitous to be left alone with the weakest
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