Chills of delight rocketed through his body. His hands cupped her breasts, her hardened nipples pressed to his palms.
"Brace yourself," she whispered by his ear. "I'm about to take you on a ride through heaven and hell...and everything in between."
Straightening back, she gripped his wrists and guided his arms to each long side of the tub. Braced in this manner, he closed his eyes and dipped back his head. He desperately wanted to feel good. Good about himself, the day, anything that could make sense out of his life.
Her hands moved down his chest, her fingertips kneading the muscular planes. She massaged his waist, his hips, his outer thighs then, more slowly, purposefully, his inner thighs. The tension he'd been carrying for weeks mercifully drained away. Her hands worked magic, lulling his weary body and mind to another world.
He didn't realize that he was nearly asleep until he heard a scratchy voice call out, "Roan, lad, are you home?"
"Oh, God!" Laura whispered, staring wide-eyed at the open bathroom door.
"Aggie!" Roan gasped. For a man his size, he nimbly scrambled from the tub, threw on the white robe hanging on the back of the door and, tying the belt, closed the door as he left the room.
"Roan!"
"Aggie, wha' are you doin' home?" he asked more brusquely than he'd intended, entering the parlor to find her wringing her hands in the middle of the room. He stopped in his tracks, suddenly struck by how old she looked. How old and shriveled and...frail.
She'd never been frail in her life!
His next words came out in a barely audible croak. "Is it Borgie?"
Agnes began to crumble. By the time Roan had helped her to sit on the couch, Laura emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the jeans and baggy sweater she'd earlier worn.
"What is it?" she asked anxiously, sitting to Agnes' right. Roan went down on a knee in front of his aunt, his hands cupping one of her own.
"Aggie, is Borgie...?"
A tenuous rein on her sobs, she shook her head. She sniffed then heaved a breath. A tear spilled down her pale cheek. "His heart.... It stopped. They...brought him back."
"Is he still in a coma?"
"Aye, lass." She sniffed again and swiped her sweatered arm beneath her moist nostrils. "I'm so scared for ma boy."
Laura affectionately placed an arm about the woman's hunched shoulders. "Don't give up hope."
The watery, pale blue eyes filled with such despair, Laura felt a chill run up her spine.
"He'll make sure ma boy doesn't make it."
Roan scowled. "Wha are you talkin' abou'?"
"Tha' devil!" Agnes hissed. "I was tellin' Borgie he had to get better for Christmas, remindin' him o' last year when he made tha' huge snowmon in the front garden. You weren’t here, Roan. Truly, it was the finest snowmon I've ever seen, and I've seen a few in ma day.
"Anyway, I was talkin' to him when suddenly the room got cold. No' chilly, mind you, but cold. It took ma breath away. Ma bones ached so, I wanted to cry. Then I...I felt him in the room."
"Lannie?"
"Aye, Roan." Tears fell in abandon down her cheeks. "His darkness filled me. I've never felt it so strong. So...overpowerin', I couldn’t cry ou'. I couldn’t do anythin'! He would have done Borgie dead right there, if no' for Dr. Waikens comin' in to check on me.
"You think Lachlan Baird was at the hospital?"
Agnes' eyes held a wild gleam in them. "I know wha' I know, Laura! He came to finish ma boy!"
Roan squeezed her hand to draw her attention to him. "Aunt Aggie, I don't think it’s wi'in Lannie's power to go tha' far from Baird House."
"He comes here!"
"Aye, darlin' but the hospital is too far. Besides, I can't believe he'd—"
"He's washed yer brain!"
"Brainwash, Aggie, and no, he hasn't."
"It’s true wha' I hear." Recoiling from him, she pulled her hand from his grasp. "It’s tha' bastard you defend! Yer own cousin lies near daith, and it’s tha' bastard you protect!"
"Roan is concerned about Borgie. We all are."
"It was the vilest evil I felt in ma boy's room," Agnes wept. "He'll take ma son from me. He'll take ma Borgie!"
"I won't let him."
"Neither will I," Laura also vowed, exchanging a worried glance with Roan. "You need to rest, Agnes. You won't be much good to Borgie when he comes to, if you've made yourself ill."
"I can’t sleep."
"I thought Dr. Waikens was goin' to have you stay at the hospital tonight."
"I thought it wise to come home. Thought...maybe Lannie would follow me and leave Borgie to his rest."
"That's it, Aggie," Roan said sternly as he stood. Taking her hand, he drew her to her feet. "Ye're goin' to bed and ye're goin' to rest. No argument! I'll go and have a talk wi' Lannie. You have ma word, he'll no' bugger anither member o' this family!"
Hope cleared the aging eyes. "How, Roan?"
"Beth," he said tightly, watching Laura rise to her feet. "She'll help us to stop him. Laura, will you give Aggie a hand to bed? I need to get dressed."
"Roan, promise me you'll be careful around him."
He kissed the wizened cheek, grimacing when pain reminded him of his bashed lips. "I know how to handle Lannie Baird."
Laura wasn't so sure. Dread coiling within the pit of her stomach, she forced herself to smile for Agnes' sake. "You'll feel a lot better in the morning after a good night's sleep," she said, coaxing the older woman toward the hall. Before turning the corner to Agnes' bedroom, Laura cast Roan a worried look. His gaunt features told her that he also wasn't sure about approaching the laird.
By the time she'd helped Agnes to change into a flannel nightgown, gotten her into bed, and had talked the woman to sleep, nearly an hour had passed. Laura returned to the parlor to find Roan completely dressed, his coat and gloves on, and pacing the floor.
"Let it wait until the morning."
Roan stopped short at the sound of her voice. His haunted gaze riveted on her. "She restin'?"
"She finally fell asleep." Closing the distance between them, Laura placed a hand against his chest. "I'm worried about you, Roan. If Lachlan turns on you...."
With a groan of anguish, Roan capped his skull with his hands. "I can't think straight!"
"What's tearing you up?" she asked in a whisper of a tone. "Roan, I know something's eating away at your gut."
Lowering his hands, he gestured his deepening sense of futility. "Sometimes...I swear I know the mon as well as I know maself. Laura, I'm havin' the bloodiest time believin' him crazed enough to go to hospital."
Laura shivered. "I think he's capable of anything."
"Aye, tis true, but...." Releasing an exasperated breath, he walked in a complete circle. "I know it sounds ludicrous, but I need to believe in him!"
"Roan...." Draping her arms about his neck, Laura held him close to her trembling body. "I'm scared, and I'm not even sure why. Don't go near that house tonight. Not in the dark."
"Day or night," he sighed, brushing the back of a gloved hand across her cheek, "doesn't make a difference. I have to know wha' he's doin'."
"Then I'm going with you."
"No. Stay wi' Aggie."
"I'm going, dammit!"
He lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "All right, but it means I'll have you to worry abou' there, as well."
Hastily donning her boots and coat, she snatched up her shoulder purse from the couch, and followed Roan out the door and to the van. He held the passenger door open for her, shut it then walked around the front of the vehicle. Laura trembled violently, from the cold, and her trepidation of returning to Baird House. She clung to a slim hope that she could somehow keep Roan from losing his temper with the laird.
The laird. Lachlan Baird. A ghost.
The driver's door opened. Roan climbed in behind the wheel. Laura was about to ask him once again to reconsider, when searing cold slammed the length of her body. For several seconds, her heart stopped, her brain shut down. Her external s
enses became trapped in an inexplicable dark void.
A spectral breath spilled from the core of her being. Life returned to her eyes. Life in the guise of rage.
Turning her head from Roan, she opened her door and slid off the seat. "I'll be right back."
* * *
Agnes woke with a start, a hoarse gasp spilling past her dry lips. Pain radiated throughout her chest. She attempted to sit up. It was as if a massive weight had been placed atop her torso. Her arms and legs felt eerily buoyant.
She stared wildly into the darkness, her mind trying to will a scream. Movement stirred the cool air by the right side of her face.
Roan!
The bottom of her two pillows was pulled free.
Roan, help me!
A thought lanced her brain.
Is ma Borgie in trouble?
Why else would she feel such fear?
Is he slippin’ away? Leavin’ me?
What would she do without her only child?
She'd secretly hoped for grandchildren.
If he died, all her dreams would die with him.
Roan...what's wrong wi' me?
To lift her head but a few inches off the remaining pillow proved an enormous strain.
A burning sensation began above her heart. She focused all her concentration on it. Was she losing her mind, or was a phantom hand burrowing into her chest, clutching her heart in an unmerciful grip?
Countless brilliant white stars danced in front of her eyes.
Was her heart failing her?
She wailed within the confines of her skull.
Doctor Waikens had warned her to avoid any more stress.
Was she going to die? Would Borgie come out of the coma to learn that she had left him?
She managed to release a choked sound.
A guttural laugh echoed within the room, and it was then, she realized that she was not alone.
Laura...?
Every nerve in her became inflamed with awareness. Her brain homed in on an ominous presence. Terror tightened its strangulating fibers around her reasoning, tightening and tightening, teetering her on the brink of madness.
Lannie! You devil! Get away, you devil!
Something soft fell over her face, but the softness waned beneath tauntingly-slow increased pressure. By the time she realized that her other pillow was the object cutting off her air supply, it was too late.
Spasms seized her oxygen-starved body. Her lessening heartbeat hammered against her eardrums.
Lannie was killing her.
She would die and his vaporish presence would forever taint her soul.
He would deny her everlasting peace.
Damn yer...black...heart.
Chapter 12
Roan couldn't take his gaze off the chasm as he made his way across the field, toward the headstones beneath the oak. A little voice in his head warned him to flee the laird's land, abandon his plan to elicit Beth's help.
Even the night air held an element of foreboding. Whenever his imagination began to get the better of him, he forced himself to remember how close he'd come to making love to Laura in the bathtub.
Unfinished business.
When he arrived at the headstones, he was mildly surprised to find them righted. Had Beth or Lachlan attended to them? It really didn't matter. The chasm was all the reminder he needed.
Had Lannie's temper been as uncontrollable when he'd been alive?
Shuddering, he crammed his hands into his coat pockets and frowned at Beth's headstone.
He didn't understand why he felt guilty at the prospect of asking for her help. She was the only one who could remotely control the laird—except for the night Borgie had been injured.
But Lachlan seemed reasonably calm, now. That could change in the blink of an eye, especially if he came to resent Roan going to Beth for advice.
"Beth, I need to see you," he whispered, his heart seeming to rise into his throat.
Several seconds passed before she materialized on the far side of her headstone. He stepped back, stunned by her desolate, ragged appearance.
"You look...a wee jaggy," he said unsteadily.
Her hand absently smoothed back the hair at the top of her head. She sighed and came around the monument, leaned against it and speculatively eyed him.
Roan gulped past the tightness in his throat. He suddenly wanted to leave, to walk away and leave the poor woman alone. What right did he have to further implicate her in the Baird/Ingliss battle?
"Beth...." Withdrawing his left hand from the pocket, he made a feeble gesture. "This isn't right. I shouldn't be here."
"You came about Lachlan," she stated dully, her gaze seeming to stare through him to some far-off place.
"Are you all right, lass?"
A weary smile ticked across her lips as she met his worried gaze. "It ain't easy avoiding him," she quipped. "I nearly passed on, Roan."
"I'm surprised you didn't."
"Hmmm. I certainly thought about it." She released a sigh, her breath vaporizing in front of her face. "But I have two very good reasons why I have to remain."
Roan cocked his head inquiringly.
"You and Laura," she explained. "Actually, make that five good reasons."
"The lads?"
She nodded. "I miss them, although it hurts like hell when I'm around them for too long."
"I don't understand."
For but a moment, her chin quivered. "I'll never have a child of my own."
"I'm sorry. I didn't think."
She released a low laugh. "Because, Roan Ingliss, you still have trouble thinking of me as a ghost."
"Aye, it’s true. Beth—" Scowling, he looked down at his feet. "Aggie believes Lannie has been to hospital." He met her steeled gaze, his brow smoothing. "She's convinced he wants to finish Borgie off."
"What do you think?"
Roan shrugged. "Part o' me believes it possible."
"And...?"
"Ma heart doesn't buy it. I know...I know...we all saw wha' he became in the house tha' night, but...."
"But what, Roan?"
"Damn me!" he fumed, running a hand over the top of his head. "I came here to ask you to help me banish the mon, but it’s no' goin' to come ou' tha' way!"
"Indecision has always been your worst fault," she said softly, staring off to one side.
"The mair I think abou' tha' night, Beth, the less sense it all makes!"
Her gaze swung to his face. "What doesn't make sense?"
"Everythin'! I know he was angry—enraged because Borgie had come into the house, but you were there, too. I've seen him back down just to please you, Beth."
Walking a few paces past Roan, she glared at the remains of Baird House. "He was too out of control to care what he said or did that night. I'll never forget his eyes—" Her voice caught on a sob and, squeezing her eyes shut, she folded her arms against her middle.
Roan drew in a deep breath of the freezing air. "Sometimes I imagine he's in ma head, Beth, makin' me feel and say thin’s tha' I wouldn't ordinarily. I can't get somethin' off ma mind." He walked around the statuesque figure, faced her, and placed his hands upon her drawn in shoulders.
"When I found him and Laura in the attic, he said tha' Tessa had returned."
Pools of despair filled Beth's eyes as she looked at him.
"I've been toyin' wi' this crazy notion, Beth. Suppose...." He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the house. "...Tessa's spirit was here. And wha' if she was behind Laura tryin' to stab Lannie, and Borgie goin' ou' the window."
"Why would—" Beth irritably sighed. "Why would Tessa stay around? I think Lachlan would have sensed her if she had."
"But he said she'd returned. I remember tha' clearly. Lannie has but one thin' left to lose, Beth. You!"
"I'm not sure what you're trying to get at."
Roan lowered his hands then pensively massaged the underpart of his chin. "Ye're the key, somehow. I may be confused by a lot o' thin’s these da
ys, but I know tha' mon loves you mair’n anythin'. So I keep askin' maself, why would he risk losin' you over somethin' as stupid as ma cousin trespassin' in his bloody house? He doesn't remember actually causin' Borgie to fly ou' the window."
"He has a selective memory," she said bitterly.
"He's never kept his feelin's or faults to himself in the past, has he?"
Beth testily shrugged.
"Now...if Tessa were around, Beth, wha' better revenge could she perpetrate on Lannie than to destroy yer love for him? Wha' could hurt him mair than to lose you?"
"There's something you're not aware of, Roan. Tessa is back, but it's not for revenge."
The blood drained from his face. "She's here?"
"So is Robert."
Roan swore under his breath.
"Roan—"
A blood-curdling scream razored the night.
Roan turned, a horrified gaze riveted in the direction of the house. "Laura! God, Laura, I left her in the van!"
He lit into a run, unaware that Beth vanished. Twice he fell, further bruising his battered body. His brain was afire with fear. Laura. She'd insisted on remaining in the van, despite his pleas that she stay close to him.
Damn me!
He was beelining for the van when another scream rang out. This one possessed a feral quality, nearly overpowering his instinct to find her. Changing direction, he burst through the greenhouse door, then the one leading into the hall. Guided by nothing but his honed sixth sense, he stormed up the staircase to the third floor and turned right.
At the end of the hall, light beckoned him from the master bedroom. He charged into the room, oblivious to the dozens of lit candles, oblivious to Beth's translucent form standing by the blackened fireplace. All he could see was Laura struggling with Lachlan, whose hands cinched her raised wrists.
Animal sounds emanated from her. Roan felt bewildered and lost. Her face was a contorted mask of hatred. She kicked fiercely at the laird, and ferociously tried to twist from his hold.
Finally, Roan found his voice. "Take yer bloody hands off her!"
Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 Page 22
