To Roan's further astonishment, his aunt beamed a smile at the laird, and gave a bob of her head in greeting to Beth.
"So, you didn’t high-tail off," she cackled to Lachlan, her high spirits taking years off her age. "Ma worst luck!"
Lachlan smiled then bowed graciously to her. "Good to see you too, you old corbie."
"Nice way to talk to the lady plannin' to see yer grand house restored," she huffed humorously.
"Aunt Aggie, what's goin' on?"
Ben, his gaze remaining riveted on Lachlan, spoke up. "Aggie's come up wi' a plan. Crossmichael and Castle Douglas are joinin' togither to rebuild this place."
Color returned to Roan's face, and he laughed unsteadily. "You serious?"
"Never mair serious," Agnes sniffed.
"The power of the people," Beth murmured, her eyes misting with tears. When Lachlan's arm went about her shoulders, she pressed closer to him. "Thank you, Agnes."
The old woman proudly thrust back her shoulders. "Merchants are willin' to supply everythin' we need. Baird House is a landmark. And we Scots are no' 'fraid o' hard work, are we, Roan?"
"Aye," Roan grinned. "We're strong o' back and spirit."
"Tis a debt I'll never forget," Lachlan said to Agnes, his tone thick with emotion.
"It’s one I will never let you forget!" she exclaimed.
Roan unexpectedly walked away. When he stopped, his back was to the group. With a gesture for the others to remain where they were, Beth went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"The dress does make you look like a spook," he said unsteadily, avoiding directly looking at her.
"She'll be back."
"Who?"
Beth slapped him on his uninjured arm then stepped directly in front of him. This time he looked into her eyes, although it took all of his willpower to do so.
"You may be able to fool everyone else, but Lachlan and I know you're in love with Laura Bennett. She will return, Roan. And with the boys."
"Ye're sure o' tha', are you?"
"As sure as I know I was always meant to be here," she replied softly. "Don't ever forsake love, Roan."
"She never said goodbye."
"Maybe because she knows she's going to return."
Roan digested her words then looked up at the charred ruins with an enigmatic light in his eyes. Drawing in a fortifying breath through his nostrils, he searched Beth's lovely face.
"I owe you ma life."
"Then live it to its fullest." Placing an arm about his middle, she urged him to walk alongside her toward those waiting patiently for their return. She retained her hold when they stopped, and smiled at Lachlan when he stepped to Roan's other side and draped an arm over the man's shoulders. The scene bespoke of the trio's strong bond of friendship, and a single tear escaped down Agnes' weathered cheek.
Suddenly it occurred to Roan what Lachlan had meant the night of the fire when he'd said, "Dusk afore dawn, laddie."
One phase of life had to end before another began anew.
Roan wasn't sure if Laura and the boys would return, but if they did, Baird House, restored in all its glory, would be waiting for them.
In the meantime, he once again had a dream, and family and friends to take the edge off his loneliness.
One thing he was sure about: Beth and Lachlan would remain for a very long time. For as long as he needed them. Which, in his heart would be until the dusk of his corporeal life.
His heart swelling with joy, he searched the faces around him. "C'mon, you motley bunch!" he laughed boomingly, gesturing widely with his good arm. "We've a house to restore!"
Ben surveyed the building and comically rolled his eyes. "Aye. Tha' we do."
Lachlan sobered unobserved. He walked around to the east side of the house, to the frozen fountain, and seated himself on the rounded lip of the lower basin. All around him, snow glistened. It was a sun-bright day, the air crisp and clean and, despite the charred remains behind him, smelling of newness.
He'd thought of visiting Roan at Agnes'. He'd thought over a lot of things since the fire. In part, he was glad Laura was gone. After the incident in the attic, when she'd taken the dirk to him, he'd been forced to open his eyes to Tessa's presence. Robert was one thing, but—
"You're a chauvinist."
Beth's soft tone gave him a start. Looking guiltily over his shoulder, he watched her amble to his side, her hands clasped behind her.
"Ye're readin' ma mind again," he accused with a frown, his dark-eyed gaze sweeping over the contours of her beautiful face.
"There is something that has always bothered me," she sighed, sitting cozily close next to him.
"Wha' is tha', love?" he asked suspiciously.
"Why is most of your anger directed toward Tessa?"
He winced and looked down at his hands, which rested atop his knees. "She was ma wife."
"But Robbie walled you up, knowing that you were still alive."
For a time, he pondered her logic then looked into her eyes. "He was a weak mon, Beth. Wha' he did, he did ou' o' love for her."
"But what she did, she did out of love for him."
Lachlan scowled. "Tis no' the same."
"No?" Heaving a sigh of impatience, she arched an eyebrow. "How long have you known?"
"Too long. Too long, lass."
"Lachlan, you know I love you."
"Aye."
"You also know I draw the line when it comes to you going off half-cocked."
"Tis a bloody—"
"Never mind. Back off. Let them find their own way."
"Tis no' tha' easy."
Taking his chin between her fingers, Beth eased his head around and planted a kiss on his mouth. "Lachlan, back off. I will not allow you to hurt Roan and Laura because of a century-old vendetta."
"Tessa and Robert owe me—"
"Roan and Laura owe you nothing! Now promise me that you'll let everything run its natural course. Lachlan...?"
"Aye."
"Aye, what?"
"I...winna interfere."
Leaning back, Beth frowned. "Why don't I believe you?"
Lachlan's eyebrows shot upward. "Fegs, lass! Should I write it in blood?"
"No, but you better not be planning anything."
Getting to his feet, he threw his hands up in a futile gesture. "You've never trusted ma judgment!"
"Not when it comes to the past." Beth stood and planted her hands on her hips. "You're a stubborn man, Lachlan, and you have a tendency to react before thinking."
Ruddy color appeared in his face, and his near-black eyes snapped with vexation. "Beth ma-lass, ye're no' bein' fair."
"Fairness has nothing to do with it."
A burst of Gaelic ejected from him. "There are some things we'll never see eye to eye on!"
"What's goin' on here?" asked Roan, cautiously walking toward the couple. A scowl mapped his face. "Why are the two o' you arguin'? Abou' the house?"
Lachlan visibly shook off his temper and forced a lopsided grin. "No. Beth's lecturin' me."
Roan was quick to note the dirty look Beth dealt her mate. He looked at the laird, suspicion shadowing his eyes. "Lecturin' you abou' wha'?"
The taller man squirmed. "Ma conduct around yer family."
Although Roan nodded, the suspicion remained in his measuring gaze on the laird. "Tell me, Lannie, do you have a problem wi' me restorin' yer house?"
A look of genuine surprise masked Lachlan's face. "No, mon. Tis fittin'—"
"Fittin'?" Roan asked harshly. "I see. So you do hold me responsible for the fire."
"No' for the fire."
Roan missed the enigmatic undertone in the laird's voice. "Tell me, Lannie, where were you and Beth when you were supposed to be watchin' the boys?" Angrily, he went on, "You don't leave lads their age, alone!"
"I'm to blame," Beth said in a barely audible voice.
"Be damned if we explain ourselves to an Ingliss!" Lachlan hissed.
A breath lodged in Roan's t
hroat. "Ye're good, old mon. Bloody good."
"Wha' are you talkin' abou'?"
"You, you swine! I seriously thought we'd become mates." Roan sucked in a breath through his nostrils. "You've been bloody usin' me, haven't you?"
"It's not like that—"
"This is between us!" Roan snapped at Beth, gesturing to Lachlan and himself. "Hear me weel, you old fool," he went on, glaring at Lachlan. "I'll restore yer bloody house, and break ma back workin' till I replace every possession o' yers. Then to hell wi' you! Straight to bloody hell wi' you!"
Roan stormed off. Beth waited until he was out of sight before drawing back her shoulders and leveling a heated look on Lachlan.
"Nice going."
"He misunderstood."
"Misunderstood? Dammit, Lachlan, sometimes I just want to give you a good, swift kick in the—"
The laird began to fade. "Later, Beth."
He vanished, leaving her alone in the company of her temper. For a long minute, she heatedly tapped a bare foot on the ground. Then she sighed. Sighed again and threw her arms up in exasperation.
"Later, huh? Right. There's nothing worse than a man with too much time on his hands."
Muttering beneath her breath, she faded into the daylight.
* * *
He'll never let go. You failed in the attic, but then, you dinna know he was already dead.
Go back. Tis yer destiny. Unfinished business.
Laura bolted into a sitting position, gasping for breath. Trembling violently, she stared into the semi-darkness, lost and bewildered, terrified of what, she didn't know.
Scrambling off the edge of the bed, she reflexively reached out and turned on a lamp. Light flooded the room. After a moment, her fears began to wane. Her wits returned, and she wearily sank onto the edge of the bed.
She glanced about the room then stared for a long time at the opened door to the adjoining room where the boys slept. It was her own indecision that had suffered her through sleepless nights since her arrival in Edinburgh six days ago. Six of the longest days of her life.
Although her luck had changed, she was hard-pressed to appreciate it. When she'd arrived at the embassy, it was to discover that her purse had been turned over to the police, and they, in turn, had messengered it to the American Consulate. Her credit cards and money were all there.
Anthony Walker, of the embassy, had been enormously helpful in getting her the two rooms at the Prescott Inn, two blocks away from his office. He'd also put a rush on furnishing copies of her nephews' birth certificates, and processing their passports, although the latter wouldn't be ready for several days yet.
One more day cooped up in this room, and Laura was sure she would crack.
She was grateful for all the help she'd received while in this country, but the longer she remained the less she wanted to leave.
Unfinished business.
She could never remember what the nightmares entailed, but for the fourth night, she'd awakened in a cold sweat and unable to breathe. Hour after hour, day after day since leaving Roan, she found herself trembling uncontrollably and always on the verge of tears. A hollow ache seemed a permanent fixture in the core of her heart.
She'd never felt so miserable!
The boys, too, had been uncharacteristically sullen. And although she was grateful for their docile behavior, it also worried her.
Lifting a half-emptied glass from the nightstand, she sipped tepid water.
Is Roan missing me half as much as I miss him?
Choking on a little swallow of water, her shaky hand replaced the glass alongside the lamp. She hugged herself, tears filling her eyes, and gently rocked to and fro.
She would return.
Unfinished business.
She winced when pain lanced her temples.
A cold purposeful breeze passed through the room, sweeping through her. She gasped, freezing in place, her eyes widening fearfully.
Unfinished business.
Forcing herself to shake off the fearful gloom mantling her, she rose to her feet and walked to the adjoining room door. Leaning against the framework, she re-crossed her arms and sadly regarded her nephews. The nightlight of the lamp awarded her a soft view of them. They were huddled together in the center of the queen-size bed, their small forms lost beneath multiple blankets.
For the first time, she wondered what their life had been like with their father. Had her brother ignored them, as Kevin had implied? Or had Jack been so caught up in grief over the loss of his first wife, that he'd simply withdrawn into himself?
Whatever the reason, he had to have known he'd fathered three wonderful sons.
"I promise to do my best by you," she whispered, a catch in her voice.
An unbidden memory of Lachlan Baird flared up in front of her mind's eye. The scene fell back, revealing the attic in the mansion.
Laura found she could not release the breath building inside her lungs. Rooted by terror, she watched her own hand, clutching the handle of a dagger, thrust the gleaming blade again and again into his chest. She experienced his pain, the agony of each slice, the warmth of his blood seeping onto the front of her flannel nightgown. His horror-filled eyes glowed in his incredulous countenance. She could feel his breath on her face. She could feel his energy waning...feel him slowly fading...feel his rage.
Wrenching herself from the spell, she staggered to the bed and weakly climbed onto the mattress. Breaths roared from her lungs. Trembling seized her hands.
Then she spied something atop the unused pillow.
A jewel-handled dagger, dark red blood pulsing from its razor-sharp edge and staining the glaring whiteness of the pillowcase.
A scream manifested in the pit of her stomach and swiftly rose into her throat. But at the instant it would have escaped, a cry detonated in her skull.
Unfinished business!
Suddenly the room was stiflingly still. She felt as though hundreds of invisible eyes were watching her.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she out waited the violent quaking in her body, out waited the fear which had nearly claimed her sanity.
Then, just when she'd finally convinced herself that it had all been nothing but her imagination, and her pulse rate was slowing to normal, Roan's voice invaded her mind.
"Gang yer own gait, you dochter o' the deil."
Go your own way, you daughter of the devil.
She opened her eyes, once again trembling, and once again in the company of sickening fear.
"How did I know what you were saying?" she asked herself in a whimper, her face deathly pale. "I don't know Scottish."
A soft feminine laugh caressed the inside of her skull.
Clamping her hands over her ears, she tightly closed her eyes.
Leave me alone!
An icy breath passed through her.
Gasping, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes.
She looked down at the dagger on the pillow.
There was no blood.
No stain on the case.
Only the dagger.
After a moment to work up her nerve, she lifted the implement into her hand. At first it felt like ice then grew uncomfortably warm against her palm.
The blade grew brightly crimson, pulsing with the rhythm of a strong heartbeat.
All expression left her eyes.
Clutching the dagger to her breast, she stared off into space and murmured, "Unfinished business."
Chapter 10
The pristine north field stretched out before Roan gave him a sense of smallness. It was incredibly beautiful, moonlight reflecting on blankets of snow, beneath a black velvet, star-speckled sky. Serene. A world unto itself.
Wistfully sighing, he turned to regard the scaffolds constructed around the house. He would never underestimate the force behind human nature again. The volunteers had worked from dawn to dusk for the past four days, clearing out rubble, building scaffolding inside and out, and preparing the house for the renovations.
Du
ring that time, he had refused to dwell on Lachlan's betrayal. He'd been a fool to even think there could be any kind of earnest friendship between them, but he'd come to terms with that. Restoring the house offered him purpose, and he'd also come to realize that, without purpose, he might as well dig himself a deep hole and bury himself alive.
Christmas was only two weeks away. He'd scoffed at Harry Douglas when the man had vowed the construction part of the renovations would be done in time to celebrate Christmas Eve in the manor. But now, reflecting on how much had been accomplished in so short a time, he was beginning to believe in the possibility himself.
Beth had made several appearances, talked with the workers, and chatted with the wives who kept up a camp on the south lawns. She'd helped them cook and pass out blankets. She'd worked alongside Agnes to haul some of the charred things from the house. And watching her, he'd been reminded of how alive she was, and of the love and concern and compassion her ghostly being harbored.
Roan admired her. Always would.
Lachlan was another matter.
The old laird had blessed all with his absence, although there had been times when Roan was sure he could feel those dark eyes watching him, boring into the back of his head.
Making his way through the rest of the wooded area at the back of the house, he climbed the white fence and headed across the field, in the direction of the massive oak.
He took a long moment to read the inscriptions on the four headstones beneath the snow-laden branches, then heaved a sigh and said, "Beth, could I have a talk wi' you?"
A second later, a green luminous mist rose up from the ground in front of her headstone. Beth materialized, a hand smoothing back her hair. "You rang?" she smiled.
Roan grinned and prodded the frozen snow-packed ground with the toe of one boot. "You do make a grand entrance," he said, winking at her. The moonlight enhanced her lovely features. A gentle breeze played through her curly locks.
Unbidden, Laura popped into his thoughts, her green eyes flashing at him, her lips pursed in a pout. Damn! He missed her temper, her chiding...her smile. It was as if a part of him was missing. An important part.
Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 Page 18
