Cain’s eyes narrowed. If his instinct was correct, the woman’s hunger could not be quenched with anything present in the Breckenridge larders, short of partaking of the servants themselves. “Tell me—is she from the family Munro?”
“No.” Miss Breckenridge’s raised brow indicated she now perceived him as more of a dunce than a deviant.
He made no further comment.
Perhaps his leap from the carriage had addled his brain as well as broken his shoulder. What he needed was a nice, warm sip of fresh blood to clear his head and put his shoulder to rights.
“Come to think of it,” Miss Breckenridge said presently, “I’m not acquainted with her relatives. We simply addressed the invitations to Mrs. and Miss Ramsay.”
He came to a dead stop. “Ramsay?”
Miss Breckenridge nodded abstractedly. “She’ll feel worlds better after a good night’s rest. I’m sure you’ll meet her on the morrow, when we break our fast.”
“Is this woman any relation to the Miss Elspeth Ramsay you introduced to me at the Wedgeworth soirée?” he asked, careful to keep his tone light and disinterested.
“Her mother, of course,” Miss Breckenridge replied with a little laugh. “Although she looks more like an elder sister. A bit melodramatic that way, too—reminds me of my own sisters. She was in a perfectly pleasant mood until she realized there were meant to be other guests, and then suddenly it’s oh dear, I must retire from the shock, and off she floats. Her daughter is turned out excellently, though. She’s clever enough to?—”
But here Miss Breckenridge broke off her speech, with a snap to her teeth and a blush to her cheeks. She stared resolutely forward, as if determined not to meet Cain’s gaze.
For his part, silence was just the thing, as his mind was reeling with implications and calculations. If “Mrs. Ramsay” was in actuality Aggie Munro, then of course she’d appear more like a sister than a mother, as her looks had been frozen at six-and-twenty... three hundred years earlier. Perhaps young Miss Ramsay was a great-great-great-descendant thrice removed or some such, but more likely she was simply a human lass, chosen for her superficial resemblance rather than any distant blood relation.
Because his glimpse had been from a distance and his quarry awash in shadows, the cynical side of Cain’s personality prepared for the possibility of mistaken identity. The elder Ramsay might well be human, and Cain not the slightest bit closer to his goals.
His heart was hopeful, however. Too many signs pointed otherwise. That was Aggie, wasn’t it? He was almost sure of it. But what about Miss Ramsay? Since no vampire had ever beget a human child, some deeper game must be afoot. Servitude? Coercion? The thought made his flesh run cold.
The Mac Eoin castle had plenty of human servants, but all of them were perfectly aware of who they served, and how. Any of them were welcome to leave at any time—although they would be psychically Compelled not to breathe a word of the truth and to forget everything they had seen.
So, why was Elspeth Ramsay pretending to be Aggie Munro’s daughter?
Either young Miss Ramsay had known all along whom Cain was and why he was so far from home, or else she was an innocent being dishonorably used by an unscrupulous vampire, either as an alibi, a distraction, or a slave.
What if Miss Ramsay was an involuntary companion, forced into servitude by vampiric Compulsion? Aggie could have abducted her as a child, changed her name, forced her to forget her parents, her past life, her identity.
Being human, Miss Ramsay would have been powerless to resist. She could also have been a food source for as long as she’d been an unwitting prisoner. Cain’s fingers clenched. A harmless nip here and there was one thing, but using thought control to enslave an innocent girl was beyond the pale.
If only there were some way to broach the topic without, well, broaching the topic. Cain frowned and quickened his pace. His desire to taste and touch Miss Ramsay had now been eclipsed by a desire to see her safe and well protected.
He glanced down at Miss Breckenridge. Although she seemed more discomfited than delighted in his presence, she, too, was an innocent and not to be exploited.
Or was Miss Ramsay perhaps a willing participant in whatever scheme Aggie Munro was about? Cain shook his head. A human girl clearly had origins outside of a vampire clan, which meant she came from somewhere, and whatever complicity Aggie had engendered in her young charge had undoubtedly arisen from machinations rather than fair play. It was paramount to discover just how closely Miss Ramsay knew her “mother.”
Upon reaching the dining hall, Miss Breckenridge shot from his arm to join a gentleman undoubtedly leagues more eligible. Grouped in ranked pairs, the guests filed into the dining room to take their seats.
The placard bearing Cain’s name was just far enough away from Miss Ramsay that there was no hope of private conversation, although his removed position on the opposite side of the table did afford him an unobstructed view of her profile.
She was lovely. Easily as comely as the infamous Aggie Munro. But unlike his quarry, whose beauty was legendary, Miss Ramsay seemed wholly unaware of her extraordinary looks. Her soft, red-gold curls framed large blue eyes and a lush rosebud of a mouth. Her gown, although not the first stare of fashion, boasted high-quality tailoring. The aquamarine material complemented that lustrous hair and the creamy perfection of her skin.
How she could believe anyone immune to her charms was beyond his ken.
Cain frowned to realize that the other guests were, in fact, incomprehensibly unaffected. No one glanced in Miss Ramsay’s direction, much less engaged her in conversation. Despite her being seated between two friendly lads and directly across from a notorious flirt, none of the three seemed aware of her presence... nor did she attempt to engage their attentions.
Instead, she kept her eyes focused on her plate, where she spent the entirety of the meal nudging each course with the tip of her fork without consuming any of it. Did she seem paler than last he saw her, or was it a mere trick of the light? Perhaps she had taken ill. Bending his head to concentrate, Cain isolated the sound of each guest’s heartbeat until he recognized hers. Faint, but steady.
He lifted his gaze and considered her down-turned profile.
She seemed to be having an absolutely miserable time. If she were not here of her own free will, such enslavement would drive another nail into Aggie Munro’s coffin. But first, he needed to be certain.
Look at me, he commanded her with his mind.
