Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2

by Mickee Madden

  "Laura!" Roan barked, his hands cinching her wrists and holding her arms above her head. "Drop it! "Laura, drop the dirk!"

  Lachlan stepped aside, a hand covering the wound over his phantom heart.

  Translucent blood gushed between his spread fingers. He couldn't take his eyes off Roan, whose struggles with Laura were becoming more fierce. Despite his size, she was driving him back...back toward the narrow, steep staircase, driving him back with inhuman strength.

  "Tak tent!" Roan wheezed. Take care. Using all of his strength to stop his momentum, he growled, "Laura, tak tent no' to kill me!"

  She wrenched from his hold and slashed outward with the dagger. Roan jumped aside, the tip of the blade grazing him just below his left pectoral. Blood trickled down his bare torso, but he hadn't the time to pay it heed for she swung at him again. This time, he grabbed her right wrist with both hands, twisted the arm, and forced her to release the dagger. The same instant it hit the floor, she collapsed. Roan softened her fall, going down on his knees as he scrambled to get his arms around her. Then, mentally and physically drained, he sat on the floor and placed her head atop his lap. His eyes dulled with pain, he looked at Lachlan. The light from the lantern he'd carried and placed to one side at the top of the stairs, casting the laird's features in unsettling shadows.

  "Wha' happened?"

  Staring down at the fading blood covering his hand, Lachlan gave a bewildered shake of his head. "She's back."

  "Wha?" Roan asked testily, cradling Laura's head in his arms.

  "Tessa."

  Lachlan's piercing eyes riveted on Roan's face. Roan glimpsed something evil in the laird's expression before the ghost visibly donned a guarded mask.

  "Tessa is back," Lachlan said sardonically. His gaze dropped to impale Laura's delicate features. "Get her ou' o' this house, Ingliss!"

  Gulping past the raw tightness in his throat, Roan searched Laura's peaceful face for several moments. When he again looked up, Lachlan was nowhere to be seen.

  "Wha' is goin' on?" he whispered, caressing Laura's cheek with the back of a hand. He didn't like her ashen color or the coldness of her skin.

  "I've got to get you to bed, lass," he grunted, lifting her into his arms and getting to his feet. He looked down at the lantern. The flame within the glass flared up then quieted. He didn't want to touch the damn thing. What if the flame somehow escaped the glass and ignited her nightgown?

  "Damn me," he choked, rolling up his eyes. He closed them with a mute prayer for stamina.

  He was bone tired. The cut she'd dealt him was hurting like hell. A dull ache throbbed at his temples.

  Fire.

  The cursed element possessed the power to reduce him to a quivering coward.

  "Roan?"

  Beth materialized, nearly causing him to drop his burden.

  "What happened?" she asked, dazedly taking in the sight of him holding Laura in his arms. "Lachlan came back to the room looking like death warmed over."

  Roan grimaced. "Don't make me laugh," he groaned, shifting his burden to a more comfortable position. "Could you bring the lamp along, please? Ma hands...they're a wee full."

  "Of course." She immediately palmed the lantern's looped handle. "What on earth were you two doing up here?"

  "I went to check on her—" He grunted and shifted her again in his arms. "—and found her gone. Then I heard a noise up here." A sickly pallor washed over him. "Damn me, Beth, she was stabbin' Lannie when I arrived. It turned ma blood to ice. And Laura fought me. For a wee time, I thought she would plunge the dirk into ma heart!"

  "Dirk?"

  Beth's troubled gaze lowered to the floor and found the dagger. Taking it into her hand, she closely inspected the jeweled handle. "Is this the same one Tessa used to murder Lachlan?"

  "I don't know. Possibly."

  Beth turned her head sharply and stared at the opened trunk. After a moment, she walked to it, dropped the weapon inside, and closed the lid. "No wonder he was in a state," she murmured. She spied the portrait and icy invisible talons squeezed her phantom heart. Stepping to the painting, she bit into her lower lip. Tessa's image remained untouched, while Lachlan's depiction was obliterated.

  "Ma God," Roan breathed behind her, his horrified gaze glued to the destruction. "Laura must have done tha'. But why, Beth? And why is she wearin' this...this black thing?"

  "It was probably Tessa's." Beth turned and searched Roan's taut face. "Have you sensed anything...weird in the house?"

  "Fegs! Wha' isn't weird abou' this place?"

  Beth shivered and cast a furtive glance about the attic. "Something's going on, Roan. I've been aware of...something, but I can't put my finger on what it is."

  "Beth...." Roan swayed on his feet. "I don't feel too weel."

  "Don't faint!"

  "A mon faint?" he gasped indignantly. Then, "Aye. Aye, I guess I could."

  "Follow me."

  A hand on his shoulder, Beth urgently coaxed him across the attic.

  * * *

  Laura awakened alone in Roan's bedroom, the fire in the hearth awarding her surroundings a soft orange glow. She made two attempts to sit up. Dizziness felled her each time. Tears sprang to her eyes and slipped from the outer corners. She stared at shadows dancing on the ceiling, and tried to shake off the willies the nightmare had left her.

  It had all been far too real. She could even remember the feel of impact each time she'd driven the dagger into the laird's chest. And his eyes. She'd never forget the look of raw devastation she'd seen in them. Although it'd been just a dream, she couldn't believe her dreamself had been capable of taking a life, especially the life of a man who'd shown her nothing but kindness. He'd opened his home to her and the boys. She'd eaten his food. Kept warm beneath his blankets.

  Forcing herself into a sitting position, she whipped back the covers. A cry lodged in her throat. Dream? How could she be wearing the black and purple nightgown?

  What have I done? she silently lamented, grief threatening to crush the life out of her.

  She'd been in the attic. She'd put on the nightgown. If that much was real, had she found a dagger, and turned it on the laird?

  And Roan? He'd been there. She'd fought him.

  She had wanted to kill him, too!

  An abrupt sound of something striking wood, sent fierce chills through her. Another sound followed. It took her a moment to define what it was she was hearing.

  Someone was moving between the walls.

  A scream building in her throat, she flung herself from the bed. Holding up the nightgown so as not to trip on the hem, she ran across the room. She was nearly to the opened door when she blindly collided with a solid form. The scream emerged with a strangled sob. She began to fall backward. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her then giving her a firm shake.

  "What's wrong wi' you?" Roan snapped.

  Looking into his livid expression, Laura shakily asked, "Where are the boys?"

  Releasing her, he raked a hand through his unruly hair. "Wi' Beth and Lannie."

  "I was in the attic—"

  "Aye, and damn near lost me ma wits, I can tell you." Placing his hands on his hips, he ran an appreciative glance over her nightgown, and sighed. "Wha' are you doin' in tha'?"

  Suddenly self-conscious, Laura folded her arms across her breasts. "I-I found it in a trunk. I must have b-been sleepwalking."

  Roan eyed her skeptically before his stern look melted to one of compassion. Gently drawing her into the security of his arms, he kissed the crown of her head. "Ye're beyond jaggey, lass."

  Turning her head, she stared forlornly at the far wall. "I heard something moving between the walls."

  "No."

  "I did, dammit!"

  Sighing with impatience, he held her out to search her pale features. "Laura, yer nerves are on edge—"

  "Don't placate me! There's a passageway behind the bookcase in the library, remember?"

  "Aye—"

  "Well there's prob
ably secret passageways throughout the house! Why won't you believe me?"

  "I believe you believe," he said with a hint of a smile. He clipped her affectionately beneath the chin with a crooked finger. "I asked Lannie abou' the one behind the bookcase. It’s no' a secret anythin', Laura. When Lannie designed the house, he had two-foot workways made between maist o' the exterior and interior walls."

  "Workways for what?" she asked testily.

  "Pipework, maistly. You see, Laura, he never wanted the walls to be altered to accommodate renovations."

  "All the rooms have this two foot space?"

  He nodded.

  "Then why can't you admit that there's a possibility that someone has been lurking between the walls!" Furious, she stormed to the foot of the bed, keeping her back to him. "The boys swear someone has been going into their room. And I know what I heard a little while ago." She turned, glaring at him. "Wait a minute." Her posture stiffened. "You said Lannie designed this house, right?"

  "Aye," he sighed.

  "The same Lannie—Lachlan Baird, who's with my nephews right now?"

  Scowling, Roan closed the distance, stopping within arm's reach of her. "I've been tryin' to tell you—"

  "Right, he's a ghost!" she flung, her eyes further brightening.

  "He was murdered in the master suite, a century and a half ago. Beth died here, last summer."

  His words, although calmly spoken, raised gooseflesh on Laura's exposed skin.

  "Where were you before conveniently coming through that door?" she asked, pointing to the door in question.

  He glanced over his shoulder then leveled a darkening scowl on her.

  "It's been you, hasn't it?" She shivered uncontrollably. "You've been trying to scare us away from here."

  "Laura," he growled.

  "Just spare us the scare tactics," she sneered, a catch in her voice. "Come morning, I'm taking my nephews and leaving this damn house! Leaving you! We've been nothing but an inconvenience, but I assure you, Mr. Ingliss, I'll send you compensation for your valuable time once I return to the States!"

  "Are you bloody quite through?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  "Aye," she said scornfully.

  "Ma turn. Lannie and Beth are ghosts, although, granted, it’s hard to fathom since they're so...lively, so to say."

  "You're warped."

  He leaned to in a threatening manner, the look in his eyes warning her to be silent. "And I would never stoop to frightenin' anyone, you stubborn, unreasonable womon! And last but no' least, I don't relish the idea o' you and the laddies leavin'. For some reason I can't bloody well understand at the moment, I love you."

  Laura jerked as though he'd struck her. Her eyes seeming too wide amid her pale face, she leaned against the foot of the bed for support.

  "Cat got yer tongue?" he quipped, a flush to his cheeks. Suddenly intimidated by his revelation, he shifted from one foot to the other, his gaze wandering to avoid her own.

  "You're insane," she said finally, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

  He forced himself to look into her eyes. "Is tha' all you have to say?"

  Laura swallowed hard and averted her gaze. "Just leave me alone."

  A slow transformation settled over Roan. Cold, deadly anger hardened his eyes, made taut the skin across his features, and stiffened his posture. His nostrils flared. A chill passed through Laura. As if compelled, she looked at him. The sight of him looming over her, his rage clear, overwhelmed her with the worst terror she'd ever known. Ice replaced the blood in her veins. Her feet became rooted to the floor. She wanted to flee the room, the house, him, but she couldn't bring herself to even so-much-as whimper.

  "Tis always been yer way!" he snarled, his breath fanning her face. "Gang yer own gait, you dochter o' the deil! I wash ma bloody hands o' you!"

  Laura's temper flared, dousing her fear. "Get out! I never want to see you again! If you truly loved me—"

  His hand shot out and cinched her throat, cutting off her air. The fingers tightened, threatening to crush her windpipe. Her eyes wide with fear, she stared into the maniacal pools of his eyes. He meant to kill her and she didn't possess the strength to stop him.

  "Never again," he hissed, then released her as if sickened by the touch of her, then stormed from the room. He was halfway down the staircase when he experienced a wash of weakness sweep through him. His legs grew rubbery. Sitting on one of the steps, he lowered his face into his hands. When he looked up, he stared at his surroundings through a bewildered look.

  "I've got to lay off the scotch," he murmured, giving himself a shake. A chill settled in his bones. His stomach churned. He looked over his shoulder and, deciding he was closer to the second floor landing than the first, he gingerly rose and made it to the top of the stairs. A hand against his middle, his face the color of light gray chalk, he staggered down the hall to the right of the staircase. He entered the last bedroom and closed the door behind him. In the semi-dark, he found an unmade bed and collapsed across it.

  His eyes burned.

  His lungs ached unbearably.

  He coughed, then again, and made a feeble attempt to get back up.

  He collapsed, his fevered brain trying to warn him that something was wrong.

  Within seconds, a long moan was followed by his slipping into unconsciousness.

  Meanwhile, Laura paced the floor space to the left of the bed, a hand massaging her reddened neck. She was no longer afraid. She was angry and hurt, vexed by his harsh words.

  After all they'd been through, how dare he tell her to go her own way. And how dare he call her the daughter of the devil!

  A strong sense of a presence whirled her to face the door. Standing at the threshold, looking dejected and exhausted, Alby rocked on his feet waiting for her to speak.

  "Alby!" she gasped. Crossing the room, she knelt in front of him and lovingly touched the fingertips of a hand to his cool cheek. "Why are you wandering around this big old house?"

  "Sumpin' woke me up," he pouted.

  "Were you having a nightmare?"

  He shook his head.

  Laura glanced at the bed. "Do you want to sleep with me tonight?"

  He nodded, then abruptly threw his arms about her neck and hugged her. As quickly, he drew away, clasping his hands in front of him.

  "Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

  He shook his head. "I'm thirsty."

  Laura laughed low. "How about a warm glass of milk?"

  He wrinkled his nose.

  "It'll bring the Sandman with his magical sleeping dust."

  "No sa."

  "I guess you're too big for that one," she smiled. Standing, she took him by the hand and led him to the bed. She tucked him beneath the covers then leaned over and planted a kiss on his brow. "I'll warm up some milk and be back in a jiff. Stay in this bed, Alby, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Laura fingered a soft dark curl on his brow. "You promise?"

  He eagerly nodded then his expression crumbled to one of sadness. "What if the ghost comes for me?"

  Straightening, she sighed. "He won't. I'll hurry."

  * * *

  Alby sat up and watched her leave the room. A frown drew down the dark slashes of his eyebrows. "What about the scawy man?" he asked in a small voice.

  "Al, you in here?" someone whispered. Kahl's head popped around the door frame. Seeing his younger brother, he ran across the room and jumped onto the bed with a high-pitched squeal. Alby fell back on the pillows and scowled at him.

  "Go away."

  "No way, man," Kahl grinned wickedly. He glanced about him. "Where's Kevin?"

  "I dunno."

  "Where's the big guy?"

  "Dunno."

  Kahl rolled his eyes. "Okay, where's Aunt Laura?"

  "Making me some milk."

  "Why?"

  Alby snorted and kicked the top covers. "Cause I can't sleep!"

  "Okay, Okay! Chee. Ya know...." The mischievous gleam in his ey
es deepened. "The ghosts are gone. We can go to the tower if we want to."

  "Nope."

  "How come?"

  "Cause I promised to stay here, that's why."

  Kahl grimaced. "You're such a baby."

  "Am not!" Alby shouted, sitting up and taking a swing at his brother. Missing, he petulantly folded his arms across his small chest. "I'm tellin'."

  "I don't care. Hey." Kahl wiggled his pale eyebrows and inched closer to his brother. "I'm hungry."

  Alby, refusing to respond, stubbornly jutted out his lower lip.

  "Maybe there's cookies or something in the kitchen. Wanna check it out?"

  "I'm s'pose to stay here."

  "Aunt Laura won't mind. She's in the kitchen, right?"

  After a moment, Alby nodded.

  Kahl shrugged. "So...what's the problem? Kevin's probably already there. He's probably eatin' all the cookies!"

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  Taking his brother's hand, Kahl pulled him from the bed and led him toward the door. "The ghosts won't be gone long, you know," he whispered as they walked into the hall.

  "Why was Lannie mad?" Alby stopped in his tracks and peered at Kahl. "Did he find out Kevin took his boots and threw 'em out the window?"

  Kahl shrugged, his fingers tightening on his brother's hand. "I dunno. Who cares?"

  "I like Beth." Alby's voice quivered as his brother jerked him toward the staircase. "She's nice."

  "She's dead."

  "And nice," Alby said defensively.

  A soft sound captured Kahl's attention. Pausing at the top of the steps, he looked to his right, in the direction of the curtain covering the entrance to the tower. The heavy fabric swayed. He squinted to see more clearly in the dim gaslit area. His curiosity was hooked.

  Alby, also looking in that direction, tried to pull his hand from his brother's grip.

  "C'mon," Kahl whispered. He dragged the younger boy to the curtain, but before he could further investigate, a sound behind the closed door to his left, gave him a start.

  Alby began to cry.

  "Shh!" His hand trembling, Kahl gripped the knob and slowly opened the door. Beyond was inky darkness.

  "Alby, there's stairs here, remember?"