It wasn't as though she could walk away from this situation. Where would she go? The American Consulate, yes, but how, and how soon?
Bluntness and groveling had miserably failed. What was left? If she screamed at the top of her lungs, would anyone but the boys hear her?
Roan again scowled, but there was a softness behind it that further confused her.
"Perish the thought. I've never forced maself on a womon."
"Forced—" Heat suffused every part of her body. Oddly enough, she hadn't considered the possibility of rape. Her fear had stemmed from her doubting her ability not to seduce him! It was several seconds before she could continue, "I never—"
Grimacing, he cut in, "Tha' explains it." Misunderstanding what she'd intended to say, he drew her back up onto his lap. To prevent her from turning away from him, he threaded the fingers of one hand through the pale, soft hair at her nape. "How old are you?"
The emerald eyes flashed. "Old enough. Look, it never crossed my mind that you would try to—"
"Molest you?"
"Y-yes."
A cynical grin spread across his mouth then he sobered. After a moment of looking into her eyes, he shuddered, then brusquely ushered her off his lap, and rose to his feet. The blanket lay forgotten, haphazardly draped on the back of the settee.
"Lannie'll make arrangements for you to be taken to Edinburgh. He's good at takin' charge, tha' one."
"Why are you so hateful?" Laura asked in a tone lacking emotion.
"Life, Miss Bennett. Contrary to belief, it’s no' for everyone." He abruptly headed toward the door to the foyer. "I've no great expectations but to mind ma own till I leave this bloody world."
He was nearly across the threshold when Laura's voice arrested him.
"You're an impossible, pathetic man."
After a pause, he turned and delivered her a look of utter boredom. "Aye, so I've been told." He pointed to the door on the opposite wall. "Go through the dinin' room and you'll find the kitchen. Help yerself to wha'ever you want."
"You're so kind."
Her icy tone prompted a genuine smile on his lips. "Good night, Miss Bennett."
"Mr. Ingliss?"
Roan turned again to look at her.
"Where will you be sleeping?"
He frowned. "I guess in one o' the bedrooms on the second floor. Why do you ask?"
"No particular reason."
"Yer virtue's safe. Besides, ye're a sight. Put some cold water on those bruises."
Laura haughtily stiffened. "Good night, Mr. Ingliss."
Roan stared at her for a moment longer then walked into the foyer.
Suddenly emotionally drained, she watched him ascend the staircase. Now that she no longer felt desire-heated by his proximity, she puzzled his psychological makeup. His temper had a short fuse. And yet, during their brief encounters, she'd more than once gotten the impression that his past harbored a great deal of pain. It was possible she'd only imagined sensing a conflict warring inside him.
If he was a man on the edge, how safe was she and the boys?
"Whoever hurt you Roan Ingliss, left some very deep scars," she murmured.
She glanced about the Victorian room and deeply sighed. "This beats sleeping in the car." Her voice took on a sarcastic edge. "But isn't it comforting to know my knight in tarnished armor is sleeping under the same roof?"
Her gaze happened on the portrait above the mantel. A poignant sadness surged in her heart as she wondered if that woman was the one Roan Ingliss had said had died in this house.
Had she been the one responsible for his bitterness?
Laura studied the carefree depiction of the woman and gave a bewildered shake of her head.
Why should she care what spurred Roan's sour disposition?
There were enough complications already in her life.
* * *
As quietly as he was able, Roan stoked the hearth in the boys' bedroom. For a time, he remained crouched in front of the fire, his troubled thoughts etched deeply across his brow. He hated being in Baird House. And he resented the laird's convenient absence concerning the Yank and her nephews.
Standing, he went into the bathroom. He removed the towel and dripping sweater then draped them over the back of a chair he'd earlier positioned close to the hearth. Approaching the foot of the bed, he stared at the young boys who were spooned together in the center of the large feather mattress.
A burning sensation rose in his throat. He looked away. A nagging suspicion continued to goad him, to darken his mood. He didn't like Laura Bennett, and it wasn't all because she resembled his deceased wife. Granted, if her story owned of even a bit of truth, she was understandably stressed, but she struck him as being—
And there it was, the suspicion fully surfaced.
The woman was distant. Shallow, detached, and distant.
So it wasn't just her physical resemblance to Adaina that annoyed him.
Their basic characters were alike as well.
She'd confessed she hadn't bothered to attend her own brother's funeral.
Did she resent being saddled with the nephews?
For a time longer, he watched the boys. Emotions he thought to have been long lost, surfaced. The emptiness of his loss reawakened as painful as ever.
"Damn me, I miss you, Jamey," he choked, tears stinging his eyes.
The presence of the boys was bringing it all home to him. Angry that it should still hurt so unbearably, he headed out of the room. He jogged down the staircase, stopping briefly at the landing to pull himself together, then entered the parlor to find Laura staring pensively at Beth's portrait.
A fierce wind of despondency passed through his heart.
For a fleeting moment, he experienced a chilling sense of rightness.
Rightness?
That didn't make sense. She no more belonged in this house than he did.
His mood further soured.
"Aren't you cold?" she asked, not sparing him a glance. After a short silence, she looked askance at his bare upper torso. "Don't you own another sweater—or something to cover yourself?"
Ignoring her testiness, he stood alongside her and looked up at the portrait. "Tha's Beth Staples."
Laura peered at him, fatigue clouding her eyes. "The American woman who died here?"
He nodded. A muscle ticked along his jawline.
Silence ensued while Laura more carefully studied the portrait. "She was very lovely."
"Still is," Roan said without thinking. When her questioning gaze cut to him, heat rushed into his face. Clearing his throat, he ventured, "You don't want the boys, do you?"
She paled despite her outer calm. "That's a helluva thing to ask."
"Wha' do you do, Miss Bennett?"
Confused, she murmured, "What do I do? About what?"
"Yer career."
"I design perfume and cologne bottles for a cosmetic firm."
"Mmmm. You live alone, do you?"
Laura frowned at him. "I know what you're getting at, but I can't understand why it's any concern of yours."
"Humor me."
Throwing her hands up, she stated, "I've been on my own since I was eighteen, Mr. Ingliss, and I live in a studio apartment."
"In ither words, there's no place for the lads in yer life."
"Do you have a grumpy identical twin running around this place, or what?" she asked with exasperation.
A weary smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Grumpy?"
"Well, you haven't exactly made us feel welcomed here, Mr. Ingliss! Look...I know nothing about children. I've never given a thought about sharing my life with one, let alone three. But they are my family and I will do whatever is right for them."
Roan's gaze slowly caressed the contours of her face. "You've no heart for children."
An abrupt laugh burst from her. "If I recall, you were the one threatening to spank Alby when I came to!"
"Aye."
"So where do you get off lecturing me?"
With a quarter turn, he rested a forearm atop the mantel and cocked his head to one side. "Fire kills. It’s tha' simple. But I did overreact and for tha', I'm sorry. However, I'm fond o' children, Miss Bennett—even little devils like yer nephews. I'm curious as to wha's goin' to happen to them once you return to the States."
"I'm beginning to wonder if I've stepped into the Twilight Zone!" She backed up two paces, crimson flooding her face. "I'm sorry I-I intruded upon your damn privacy, mister. Damn sorry! Frankly, I've never met a ruder, more insufferable, inconsiderate oaf in my life! I hate this whole situation, and I hate—" Her voiced dropped low. "—you."
"Careful, lass," he crooned, a sardonic gleam in his mesmerizing eyes as he straightened away from the mantel. "You could be sendin' me the wrong signals."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Love and hate are fast companions."
"Maybe in your dismal little brain," she flung scathingly. "One way or the other, the boys and I are leaving come daylight."
Rolling his eyes heavenward, he considered her statement. Then his enigmatic gaze lowered to her face, and deliberately lingered on her mouth for excruciating seconds longer. "Maybe. Maybe no'."
"Try to stop me!" she hissed and ran past him into the foyer.
Minutes later, Roan remained poised in front of the diminishing fire. Fatigue weighted his eyelids. He felt physically and mentally drained, and out of touch with reality.
I hate you hate you hate you....
Another woman's voice echoed the words inside his skull. A voice from another time, another existence.
Adaina.
Had he known back then that those were to be the best of times, things might have turned out differently. Perhaps he would still have his son.
The terrible void he'd carried for the past three years unmercifully yawned behind his breast. It threatened to swallow him up, but not to carry him off to oblivion as he'd prayed for on countless nights.
Life was the worst of all punishments.
Guilt would ride on his shoulders for as long as a breath remained in his body.
"Treasure them, Laura," he whispered achingly into the shadows.
His movements burdened with despair, he shuffled out of the room.
Chapter 2
Laura leaned over the bathroom sink to have a closer look at herself in the ornately-framed mirror. A rainbow-shaped, black and purple bruise covered most of her chin; a smaller discoloration marred the outer corner of her left eye. The bright morning light coming through two curtainless windows accentuated the shadows underscoring her eyes.
She hadn't slept a wink since leaving Roan in the parlor. She had a belly full of anger she couldn’t rationalize and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to get far away from this house.
Sometime during the night, the storm had stopped. She was more determined than ever to continue on her way to Edinburgh. From a mental list of plans, she'd chosen the simplest: Find a telephone and call the American Consulate.
Surely they would cover her cab fare until she got to a bank and replaced her lost traveler's checks.
"Gimme!"
Kahl's shrill demand made her wince.
"Mine!" Alby cried.
Going to the doorway to the adjoining bedroom, she ordered in a stage whisper, "Knock it off! We'll be leaving in a minute."
"I want breakfast," Kevin declared from his sitting position on the foot of the bed.
"Fine. I'll get you something on the way out. Just quiet down, okay?"
"Kahl mean," Alby whimpered. He lifted a hand and threatened to bring it down on his brother's leg.
"Boys...." Laura entered the room, her gaze locked on the two youngest brothers, sitting across from one another in front of the hearth. "We don't want to wake Mr. Ingliss, do—"
She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening in horror.
"Oh, no. Oh...nooo," she moaned, looking aghast at the yarn clutched in Kahl's hands. "Please tell me that's not his sweater! Oh, boys!"
Kneeling, she coaxed the ragged bundle from Kahl and held it out in both hands. "Why?" she asked him, her voice raspy with incredulity.
"We're bored."
"Real bored," Kevin put in, folding his arms against his chest.
"Why didn't you stop them?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I'm not the adult around here."
Closing her eyes, Laura buried her face into the remains of the sweater.
"Don't cry," Alby said in a small voice, patting his aunt's thigh.
Laura lifted her head. "I'm not crying. I'm upset. I simply don't relish another confrontation—"
"Burgers."
Blankly, she looked at Kahl.
"Mustard, ketchup and relish." He grinned and patted his stomach. "I'm hungry."
"Okay, we're outta here," she said, standing. "Our suitcases are still in the trunk of the car. We'll have to take some extra sweaters and socks...." She looked around the room as if uncertain about what to do first. "Shoes on?"
After a quick inspection, she helped the boys into their coats then went to a birch wardrobe and removed her own. Slipping into it, she watched the boys group in front of her.
"Now we have to be very quiet. We don't want to awaken Mr. Ingliss."
"Where's the ghost?"
Kahl's question took her aback. "While I was sleeping yesterday, did Mr. Ingliss tell you a ghost story?"
"Naw. We seen him."
She looked at Kevin with a frown. "You saw a ghost?"
"Yep," Alby pouted. "He scared me."
"Big ugly sucker," Kevin said with a feigned shudder. "Roan said he would have the ghost kill us if we didn't be good."
"Yeah," Kahl affirmed, glancing at his brothers. "Kill us. And he meant it, too."
Angrier than she'd ever been, Laura took Alby's hand and headed toward the door to the hall. "Stay close behind me. And not a sound. Understand?"
"We're not dumb, you know," Kevin snipped.
"You're also not the most obedient children on the planet," she retorted as she drew Alby into the hall.
Kevin slammed the bedroom door behind him, causing Laura's nerves to jump. Delivering all three boys a scolding look, she began to tiptoe down the hall. It wasn't until they reached the top of the stairs did she notice something dangling from beneath Kahl's down-filled coat.
"Why didn't you leave this behind?" she asked in a whisper as she reached up under the coat and withdrew the tangled yarn.
"I want it!"
"Shhh!" She peered down the staircase then frowned at the boys. "Quiet. Stay behind me."
During the cautious descent, Kevin imitated a monkey. Hands clasped over their mouths, his brothers tried not to laugh aloud. When Laura reached the first floor landing and turned in time to witness Kevin's actions, she reached out, took a firm hold on his arm, and drew him to her side.
"Knock it off," she warned in a whisper.
"What about breakfast, huh?" he asked in a hushed tone.
Casting the closed parlor door a worried look, she reluctantly nodded. "Okay, okay. But be very, very quiet."
Not knowing the secondary hall also led to the kitchen, she ushered the boys through the parlor. Midway across the dining room, an appetizing aroma stopped her cold.
"I smell eggs," Kahl beamed.
Laura grimaced. She was about to turn back in the direction of the hall when the kitchen door swung open. Roan ambled into the room, plates of steaming food carried in each hand. He offered the motionless group an abrupt nod of greeting, placed the dishes on the table, and headed back into the kitchen.
"Me first!" Kevin laughed, running to one of the high-backed chairs.
"Naw, you piglet!" Kahl cried, beelining for the chair in front of the second plate.
Numbly, Laura lifted Alby and positioned him on her left hip. She remained perfectly still when Roan returned with two more plates and set them on the table. Then he abruptly walked toward her, his hands held out. Without the slight
est idea of what prompted her action, she twisted to one side, drawing Alby from Roan's immediate reach.
Roan stopped and placed his hands on his hips. His eyebrows drew down in a scowl.
Laura couldn't help but look over his attire.
Same slacks. Same dingy socks. A plain white half apron ridiculously hiked up beneath his armpits.
"Do you mean to starve him?" he asked, impatiently tugging the youngest boy from her arms. He carried Alby to a chair, where he'd earlier stacked two throw pillows. Laura remained in a stupor when he went into the kitchen again, returning with three glasses of milk.
"Do you prefer tea or coffee?" he asked her, the scowl seeming a permanent fixture on his face.
Giving herself a mental shake, she jabbed a thumb toward the kitchen door. "I would prefer a private conversation."
Roan took a moment to look at each boy. "Eat up, laddies. And spare the china, if you please."
He walked into the kitchen, Laura trailing him. When he turned to face her, she closed the wide door and crossed her arms against the front of her coat.
"Good morn, darlin'," he drawled flippantly. "Don't you look smashin' this fine day."
"Drop the sarcasm."
Arching an eyebrow, he crossed his arms against his chest. "Yer breakfast's gettin' cold."
"Is the owner around?"
Roan glanced about the kitchen. "Doesn't seem so, does it?"
"The boys told me something appalling this morning."
He chuckled, "Why aren't I surprised?"
Laura walked up to him and jabbed him in the chest with an isolated finger. "Did you, or did you not, tell the boys a ghost would kill them if they didn't behave?"
Pursing his lips, he released a low whistle. "Those weren't exactly ma words."
"Just what the hell were your exact words?" she asked heatedly, the green of her eyes seeming to hold flames behind them.
"Weel...now.... Ah! I believe I said somethin' abou' a foul breath o' daith." Roan grinned sourly. "I had ma hands full wi' carryin' you. The lads weren't exactly cooperatin'."
"You don't frighten children with—"
A booming shrill cry cut Laura off, frightening her such that she threw herself into Roan's arms and buried her face in the apron. Another rang out.
Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 Page 3
