"I never said to corner her."
"Laura deserves a mon capable o' tenderness, no' some horny fool ou' for a quick fix."
Lachlan shot to his feet, a savage expression darkening his face. "Listen to me, Ingliss. You've got yerself mired so deeply in self-pity, ye're slowly suffocatin'!
"Fine. Throw it all away! The house, anither chance to love, and the opportunity to be a faither, again! Throw it all away, but mark ma words, laddie, it'll return to haunt you one day."
In the blink of an eye, Lachlan vanished, but his heated words continued on. "The past is exactly tha'. Gone! Irretrievable! I'm ashamed to call you a kinsmon!"
Roan closed his eyes until several minutes passed in silence. When he opened them, desolation shadowed their depths. Were he not prone to rejecting genuine friendship, he might have welcomed the laird's support. But Roan Ingliss had distanced himself too long to easily seek counsel. Besides, for whatever reason, Lachlan was determined to match Roan and Laura, and Roan was known by family and acquaintances to defy anyone who dared to pressure him into something he felt he was not ready for.
Shuddering with cold, he drew up the coat collar around his reddened ears and headed toward the house.
His house.
Stopping short of the front doors, he gazed over the facade of the Victorian structure. His heartbeat quickened, and a rush of liquid warmth passed beneath his skin. A smile curved up the corners of his mouth. Brightened his eyes. Pride filled his chest.
In awe of what he was experiencing, he heaved a wavering breath.
Despite its dark history, Baird House was an undeniable accomplishment. Every stone and inch of mortar remained as a trophy to the man who'd built it, a testament to a century-and-a-half old dream. Lachlan Baird's trophy and dream, now passed down to a member of the bloodline responsible for cutting short his life.
It struck Roan, at this most peculiar moment, that Baird House was more than just walls enclosing three stories. It represented hope.
Turning in place, he marveled at the grounds and the view of Loch Ken.
For generations his clan had endeavored to banish the stigma of Tessa and Robert's sin against Lachlan Baird. Why was he, a direct decedent of Robert Ingliss, offered such a magnanimous gift?
Beth had brought up the possibility of a 'greater force' at work in his life. It was becoming more difficult for him to credit the present series of events as mere coincidences.
He'd been a loner prior to the double tragedy three years ago, a man always quietly searching for something he could never define. Adaina had more than once accused him of being distant, unwilling to work on their marital relationship. She'd left him for a fast-talking con artist. A man, she claimed, capable of satisfying her sexual drives.
Burying his hands in the pockets of his coat, Roan's gaze lazily swept the landscape.
He'd let his wife leave him without a fight, without so-much-as a word to change her mind. She'd been a good mother to their son. He hadn't even thought to try to save his marriage for the sake of the boy. His father hadn't fought for him. It seemed natural to step back and accept the meager visitations that Adaina had granted him with Jamey. At the time, it had made his life less complicated.
"It's hard to forgive yourself," said a whisperlike voice.
Cutting his gaze to the right, Roan stared at Beth's diaphanous form hovering just above the ground. The sight of her like this caused him to fill his lungs with cold air. He coughed, coughed again then inhaled sparingly through his nostrils.
"I didn't get to spend much time with Laura," she said, her image wavering.
"She's upset wi' me."
Beth smiled. "That's an understatement. How did you manage to put Lachlan in such a foul mood, too?"
Broad shoulders feebly shrugged beneath the lambs wool coat. "I lost ma temper."
"He's fond of you, Roan."
"Why? Why me, Beth? I don't understand."
"He admires your inner strength."
His troubled gaze drifted to the loch. "I've lived maist o' ma life in a comfortable dream. Comin' here...." He look at Beth, a wry grin twitching on his mouth. "You don't leave much for a mon to hide behind, do you?"
The phantom faded until she was barely visible. "I was wrong to interfere last night, but I don't regret it. Roan, free yourself. Please." Although she vanished completely from his sight, her voice remained clear and strong. "Your so-called 'comfortable dream' has only served to isolate you from life.
"That unknown you've been searching for, Roan? You've found it. Open your eyes. Roan...stop...hiding...from...yourself."
To Roan's disbelief, he sensed Beth's retreat. For several seconds, he stared in wonder at where she'd been. A shiver coursed through him and he drew in his shoulders. He turned again to the front doors. A frown deepened the grooves across his wide brow. Impulsively, he withdrew a hand from his pocket and placed the palm against one of the brown rocks comprising the wall. The surface was surprisingly warm.
A tickling sensation shot down his arm, moved across his chest, and swirled around his heart. Smiling, he looked at the iron plaque above the doors which read: 1843. A mystical force surrounded the place, but he was beginning to realize that Lachlan and Beth were only a small part of it.
The house itself was a gateway for the lost. The lost. The lonely. The introverted.
A plan burst within his brain, accelerating his pulse and filling him with such elation, he found it impossible to breathe. He ran through the greenhouse and into the hall, and was about to shout for Laura when Viola Cooke emerged from the library. The electrical aura of his excitement took her aback. Recovering, she hobbled to him and brandished a sweet smile.
"So, it's finally hit you that you're soon to be the master of the house," she beamed, affectionately squeezing his hand. "I envy you, Mr. Ingliss. I've loved this place a long time."
"You'll always be welcomed here."
"Thank you." Sighing deeply, she glanced back at the front doors. "I should be heading home."
"Are the roads safe enough?"
She beamed him another smile. "I drive like a snail, Mr. Ingliss. I'll be fine. However...." She regarded him for a long moment. "Laura's edgy. Perhaps you should give her a little space. I don't mean to stick my two cents in where it's not wanted, but she has a lot on her mind."
"Where is she, now?"
"She took the boys upstairs. Such darling boys."
A secretive grin curved up one corner of Roan's mouth. Viola walked to the umbrella stand by the doors. Helping her into her three-quarter length coat, he walked outside with her.
"I guess there'll be changes at Baird House now," she said almost sadly, leaning heavily on Roan's arm. "Nothing wrong with change, I guess."
"Depends on wha' it is."
Viola didn't respond until she'd opened the driver's door to her blue and white Simca. Her pale blue eyes somberly searched his face, as if trying to glean a clue as to his plans for the estate. "Do you plan to reside here, Mr. Ingliss?"
"I think so."
"Good. Good." The corners of her mouth turned down in a halfhearted smile, she climbed in behind the steering wheel.
Roan stepped back and watched until the car disappeared down the road around the far side of the snow-laden rhododendrons. He re-entered the house, gloom threading the periphery of his awareness. It had been a strange day all around, and it wasn't even noon.
His stomach growled. Removing his coat and hanging it on a brass hook on the umbrella stand, he headed toward the kitchen.
* * *
Nightfall arrived with surprising swiftness. Not once had he crossed Laura or the boys' paths. The jewels and money Lachlan had offered him were removed from their hiding places and, placed in an embroidered pillowcase, tucked into the bottom of the lowest drawer of his dresser. He'd puttered around the house, fine-tuning his plans for what to do with it. Before he would do anything, though, he'd first clear it with Lachlan and Beth.
He ate dinner alone at the d
ining table, taking his time, in hopes of Laura showing up. When she didn't, frustration prodded his temper. He cleaned the dishes, strolled through the first floor rooms again, then headed up the staircase.
The house was unnervingly quiet. Bursting with silence. Extinguishing most of the gas lamps along his way, he went to his room and closed the door.
Several hours later, he lay naked beneath the bed covers, his arms folded beneath his head, his gaze absently watching the shifting patterns the firelight made on the ceiling.
Unbidden, Laura entered his thoughts. Tightness invaded his groin. His eyebrows drawing down in a frown, he looked to the hearth.
A sensation of warmth coursed through him, yet he shivered. Too vividly, he recalled the image of her face in the firelight while they were making love, and the lightly perfumed scent of her skin. His palms tingled, eliciting the impression that he was stroking her incredible body again.
With a grunt, he testily yanked one of the pillows from beneath his head and clamped it over his face.
It was all he could do not to go to her room and pull her into his arms.
Desire tortured him; mocked his restraint.
A voice in his head asked him why was he so damned afraid to approach her.
Throwing the pillow across the room, he shot into a sitting position. "Because ye're leavin', dammit!"
The sound of his own voice saying the words, stunned him. It was true he didn't want her to leave. For that matter, he'd also grown attached to the boys.
Now that was truly a shocker.
His anger lessening, he glanced forlornly about the room.
"Wha' could I possibly offer you to get you to stay just long enough to see if we have a chance?"
A low bitter laugh escaped him. "No' love, aye, Roan? Ye're a bloody coward in tha' respect, and I'm gettin' tired o' livin' like this!"
Reclining, he rubbed his hands up and down his face then slapped his arms to the mattress. "Aye, I'm tired o' livin' and sleepin' alone. Come morn, lass—"
A blood-curdling woman's scream bolted him from the bed.
Chapter 6
An ache in the lower part of her back woke Laura from a sound sleep. She peered into the pale grayness of the room, wondering for several seconds where she was. Gentle shifting movement cleared her mind. Smiling contentedly, she slipped a hand from beneath the bed quilts and touched the fingertips to Alby's cool brow. He squirmed again in his sleep, nestling closer to her. On the opposite end of the massive mattress, Kevin turned onto his right side, placing his back to his siblings and aunt.
Laura contemplated the three enigmas for a time. She'd known her nephews for about a week, and yet, despite her apprehension of her newfound responsibility, she daily grew closer to them. Until now, she'd been afraid to face what the future held for them. It was mindboggling how much there was to consider. Changing her residence—there wasn't enough room in her apartment for one child, let alone three. Daycare. Mentally adjusting her precious 'spare time' to accommodate their needs. Drastic changes in her grocery shopping. Clothing. Readying Kevin and Kahl for school. Finding a reputable pediatrician....
Silently moaning, she eased out of bed.
She made her way to the bathroom, rubbing her upper arms to ward off the chill caressing her exposed skin. A dull glow of embers was all that remained in the fireplace. After relieving herself and washing her hands, she went to the hearth and moved back the chair supporting Roan's shirt and pants, and boxer shorts. She took in hand the box of matches on the mantel. Kneeling, she placed twigs, balled paper, and two logs on the iron grate. She removed a wooden match.
And frowned.
Was Roan sleeping?
She'd avoided him all day, but he'd never left her thoughts.
The voices of reason hadn't yet banished him from her heart, nor had they offered her a modicum of insight as to how she'd fallen so hard for him in so short a time. Attraction was one thing. What woman wouldn't appreciate his raw masculinity? But what she was suffering was far more than a fleeting interest. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she wondered about his past, his family, his likes and dislikes. She found herself listening to hear him even so much as mutter to himself. The timbre of his voice, his bearing, his mere presence, were all locked into her awareness. He had a way of watching her that always caused fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Even when she was frustrated and angry with him, mental images of his soft brown irises had a tendency to weaken her. They were expressive eyes, often exposing his gruffness as nothing more than a defense mechanism.
She'd known her share of men who couldn't show open affection. Her father and brother had been like that. It was unmanly to expose their emotions. Men. They had to be a genetic screw-up. Emotions were a vital part of a human being, and yet the masculine half of the species was determined to hide their feelings.
What was so difficult about out-and-out honesty?
A man could say 'I want you', and mean, 'I want sex'. With exception, when a woman said those same words, she meant she wanted the whole commitment. A woman could smile at a man, signaling that she was interested in getting to know him. A man deciphered that communication as, 'this woman wants sex'. It always boiled down to sex. And yet, Roan had seemed embarrassed after their lovemaking. He'd even become angry and ordered her out of the room.
Now, unless she had totally misread the situation....
He was a complex man, that was for sure. More complex than most, and she was falling in love with him. That was the real zinger! Not only had she inherited three boys to raise, but she was now caught up in a hopeless relationship with a man she literally knew nothing about.
That wasn't exactly true. She knew he'd had a son. But how he had died and what had happened to his ex-wife, remained a mystery.
Casting a bleak look in the direction of the bed, she sighed.
Perhaps, she alone was not the cause of his turnabout last night. It had to have crossed his mind that his involvement with her also had three small considerations. Ready-made fatherhood was not something a lot of men could accept. The responsibility of the boys scared the hell out of her, and she was their aunt. It was very possible that Roan was not prepared to take on a family.
Her heart grew heavy with despair while anger simmered in her blood.
Men.
A woman could go stark raving mad trying to second guess their reasoning. She had to get Roan out of her head, out of her heart. With any luck, she would leave Scotland soon. She'd say goodbye, and never look back. She'd forget Roan, and he'd forget her. Her future belonged to the boys.
Resolutely, she struck the match against the strip on the side of the box. The sulfur tip flared. The flame flickered, danced at the insistence of a draft. Shuddering, she stared absently into the luminance.
Who was she kidding? She would never again be able to look at a fire and not recall the pleasure Roan had given her. That hands so large could be so gentle and soft.
Stop it!
She was about to lower the match to the kindling when she glimpsed something move to the left of her. Her awareness noted an alarming stirring of cold air against her skin. Her head swung around. She unwittingly dropped the match as two factors slammed home.
She'd closed the drapes before going to bed.
Now, something swiftly passed the moonlit window.
A scream ripped from her throat. She jumped to her feet. Instinctively, she ran to the foot of the bed to guard the boys against the intruder. Her heart slammed against her chest with each beat. Suddenly, the shadowy recesses of the room multiplied, and darkened to an impenetrable depth.
The boys began to cry and call out to her, but she couldn't force herself to move. Then something else beckoned her attention. Her fear-ridden gaze cut to the hearth, where a small fire was bleeding across the Persian carpet.
In the next instant, the chair and Roan's clothing was engulfed in flames.
She screamed again when the door burst open with such force that it slammed th
e perpendicular wall. One of the boys released an ear-splitting wail. Flopping over the foot of the bed, she blindly scrambled to gather her nephews into her arms.
An expletive rent the air. Laura became aware of someone dashing across the room, but the haze of smoke rising up from the floor, prevented her from seeing clearly.
"Boys!" she cried, frantically coaxing them to leave the bed. They wouldn't budge. Her fear deepening to hysteria, she jumped off the edge of the mattress and made a feeble attempt to pull her nephews toward her. Huddled together, clinging to one another, they resisted.
"Kevin, help me!"
Alby screamed.
Movement again shot her head around. In the distorted light of the elevating fire, she saw a large figure throw something atop the flames. Smoke stung her eyes. The boys coughed. She coughed. Amid the frantic movements of the figure came a deeper, harsher hacking.
"Roan?"
A grunt followed her weak call. The large figure crossed to the front of the left-side window, and opened it. Icy air rushed into the room, riling the smoke into a swirling mass.
Laura's nerves sparked when something nudged her aside.
"Hurry," came a feminine voice to her left.
Fingers cinched Laura's arm and gave her a nudge toward the door. She resisted until she dimly saw Lachlan Baird swing two of the boys up into his arms. The instant he crossed the threshold, Beth Staples drew Alby up onto her hip.
"Laura," Beth said sternly, pausing a moment before entering the hall. "Follow us to the parlor." Then she hastened into the hall.
The boys safe, Laura turned to see where Roan was. Panic knifed her until she saw him kneeling in front of the hearth.
Coughing and placing a hand over her mouth, she crouched alongside him. Resisting a powerful urge to touch him, she linked her arms across her shins, and stared down at the wet towel he'd used to smother the fire.
"I-I dropped the match."
Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 Page 11
