"I'm an American! I don't have one iota of Scottish blood in my veins."
With a growl of contempt, Roan grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the door. Before she could regain her balance, he'd slammed out of the house, leaving her to gape in stunned incredulity at the closed door. It was seconds later before her temper doused the fiery empty ache in her heart.
"Damn you, Roan Ingliss!"
Reincarnation. It was the most ridiculous concept she'd ever heard, especially since she'd taken the time to reflect on the countless paths involved in bringing her to this particular place and time. She couldn't explain the haunting dreams of the blonde and the man the woman called Robbie.
There were a great many things that defied any explanation, but that didn't mean she was willing to accept that she was Tessa reborn.
The mansion was somehow the key.
There were times when she'd experienced an inexplicable hatred of Lachlan Baird. She'd been forced to accept the existence of ghosts—very real ghosts—and the idea that another presence had influenced her, made more sense than reincarnation.
Her mind seemingly afire, she removed her coat and gloves from the closet and put them on.
The answers had to be at the house. Perhaps even the spectral laird was being manipulated by something more powerful than he could perceive. Whatever was behind the series of bizarre events, she was determined to get to the bottom of it.
She exchanged her slippers for knee-high black boots, left the house, and plodded through the calf-high snow to the red Ford Escort she'd rented in Edinburgh.
Fear lingered at the periphery of her mind. She would have preferred to return to Baird House with Roan, but he was beyond emotional reach these days, at least where she was concerned. He openly showed his affection for the boys, however, he became rigid whenever she entered the same room he was in. Sometimes, she caught him watching her from beneath his sandy-blond thick eyelashes, watching her with something akin to sorrow, and other times, something akin to disgust. She fostered the hope that if she unraveled the mystery behind Tessa and Robert, she'd win Roan's heart once again. Too much was at stake for her not to try. At this point in her life, she couldn't imagine a future without him.
"I love you," she murmured, starting the engine.
She backed out of the driveway, inwardly fighting to banish her fears, her trepidations. She didn't relish the idea of summoning Lachlan Baird. His eyes.... She dreaded confronting their intensity again. He possessed a way of looking through her that left her feeling as though he'd branded her soul.
Heading down the main road to the mansion, she thought of Beth. She was an ally. At least Laura felt sure that the woman owned of enormous compassion and understanding.
Woman.
Ghost.
She wondered what the living Beth Staples had been like. And she wondered how such a mild-tempered woman endured a man as stubborn as Lachlan.
Man.
Ghost.
It was hard to differentiate.
And why wonder, anyway?
Roan possessed a stubborn streak that rivaled the yellow-brick road!
Too soon, she spied the regal silhouette of Baird House to her right. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, pain shot through her wrists. Her heartbeat accelerated. Despite her determination to hold back her fears, they rose into her throat and threatened to shut off her oxygen.
She cut the wheel and turned onto the driveway, accelerating steadily to make the incline. The pavement proved icy in patches, but not as slick as it'd been that first night. She crested the top, pulled up to the carriage house, and shut off the engine. Before her courage completely deserted her, she climbed out on the right side of the car, absently slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Her gaze never wavering from the structure, she approached the greenhouse, her gait determined, her shoulders held tautly back.
Her first attempt to call out Lachlan's name, caught in her throat. She'd never felt so cold, so isolated and alone. The house loomed over her, a sentinel of the supernatural. She could feel it watching her, probing her inner awareness.
She shuddered uncontrollably.
Run, her mind cried, but she refused to obey the warning.
"Lachlan! Lachlan Baird, it's Laura!"
Her shaky voice softly echoed in the night. The three-quarter phase moon cast the house and grounds in silver-blue, glimmering soft light.
"Please, I must talk with you!"
Silence.
"Beth...Beth are you here?"
Within seconds, the beautiful woman materialized to Laura's left, once again wearing the white gown with the flowing sleeves. Beth's eyes lacked their usual luster. Her cheeks were gaunt, her curly hair in disarray.
"Beth...?"
"He's nowhere to be found," she dully replied, looking off in the direction of the driveway.
"I'm sorry." Laura swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Is there anything I can do?"
The blue eyes swung to search Laura's. "It must be hard for you to...accept everything that's been happening."
"Do you really believe in reincarnation?" When Beth didn't answer for several seconds, Laura went on, "It's impossible, Beth." She laughed low, nervously. "I'm an American. As far as I know, I don't have any Scottish ancestors."
"I don't think lineage has anything to do with it," Beth said kindly, her expression one of deepening pain.
"I-I could never k-kill anyone, Beth."
A soft smile appeared on the specter's shapely mouth. "Lachlan told me that some souls return and return until they've atoned for their sins. I'm not sure if I believe that or not, but you and Roan were once Tessa and Robert."
"How can you be sure?"
"Your aura."
"My what?"
"Your aura. No two are alike."
"I-I don't understand all this hocus-pocus stuff. I'm just an ordinary woman, with ordinary hopes for the future. If...if I had been someone else in another life, someone as cold and calculating as this Tessa, wouldn't I be the same now?"
"Are you?"
"No!" Laura cried, appalled that Beth would even ask such a question.
Beth morosely regarded the facade of the house. "You were once the mistress of this house. Coming from poverty, I can almost imagine how you must have felt." Her unsettling gaze searched Laura's pale features. "Almost imagine, but I'm still having trouble understanding how you could have—"
"I didn't! I couldn't kill anyone!" Laura cupped her head with her gloved hands. "How can I convince you of something that bears no evidence!"
"Denial has always been your weakness, Laura. And Roan's, until he finally opened his mind to the truth."
Tears escaped down Laura's cheeks. "This is insane!"
"Is it?" Beth folded her arms against her. "I'm not trying to cause you more pain."
Laura hesitantly made a turn toward her car then faced the ghost again. "If you find Lachlan, please tell him I must talk to him."
"You've seen what he's like when he's...upset."
Laura numbly nodded. "I'm more afraid of not knowing the truth. Beth...? Where were you the night of the fire?"
Beth stiffened defensively. "Why are you asking?"
"Did you know there was someone else in the house? Someone dressed in a dark cloak with a hood?"
Beth frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. He was in the servant stairwell, and reared up. I was so startled, I fell down the steps. Then he hit me on the back of the head with something, kicked me, and dragged me outside. When I came to, the house was in flames."
For a long moment, Beth remained thoughtfully quiet. "Lachlan and I were playing with the boys. They wore us out. By the time they'd finally gone to sleep, we were forced to retreat into the grayness. We barely gathered enough energy to return during the fire."
"The boys claim someone grabbed them. I don't know how it could have slipped my mind, but Kahl swears that he was deliberately locked in one of the bedrooms. K
evin mentioned something about being locked in a closet, but I couldn't get him to elaborate. Beth, what's going on? Why would someone drag me out of the house, and try to trap the boys inside during a fire?"
Beth looked in the direction of the main road. "Did you or Roan report this to the police?"
"I didn't. I'm not sure if Roan knows anything about it. Why?"
"Earlier, I materialized in time to see several police cars, and a black van, pulling out of the driveway. It's hard to see in the dark, but there's a section of Rhododendrons that have been cordoned off with yellow bands."
Shivering, Laura turned in the direction Beth was pointing.
"Two men were searching the ground. I couldn't catch anything they were saying."
"Roan said the fire investigation had been completed," Laura said tightly, looking at Beth. "Do you know what was determined?"
Beth gave a solemn shake of her head.
Laura shivered again. "Maybe it was arson, and maybe something was found to point the finger at the culprit."
"I don't know. All I could see was a deep depression in the ground."
Laura sighed through her nostrils, and winced. "What's that odor?"
In lieu of answering, Beth snapped her head around and glared in the direction of the rhododendron hedges lining most of the driveway. Laura's gaze rapidly swept the area, detecting nothing unusual. But her inner sense warned that something was about to happen.
"What is it?"
"Trouble," Beth rasped.
Within seconds, a widespread series of lights started up the driveway. A symphony of engine sounds disturbed the peace and stillness of the night.
"Beth?"
"Get out of here, Laura," the specter ordered, pointing to the red car. "Don't try to interfere with these people."
"People? What's going on— Oh, God!"
Laura stared at the procession of cars rolling to a stop a hundred feet from where her rental was parked. Car doors opened and slammed shut. Angry voices fell on her ears.
"Oh my God," Laura croaked, backing up until the house supported her back. A crowd of men and women cautiously approached. She tried to focus on their faces, but her gaze was morbidly drawn to the axes, sledge hammers, shovels and rifles they carried.
"Laura!" Beth hissed, floating to her side. "There's been enough bloodshed on these grounds! Don't try to stop them!"
Laura cried out when Lachlan unexpectedly appeared, standing seven feet away, his back to her. Her gaze cut to Beth's stricken face, who obviously also feared what the laird would do to anyone who threatened his home.
"Return to yer families and homes!" Lachlan boomed, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"We'll send you to hell, this night," one man bellowed. Many with him cheered his words, boosting his bravado. "We've enough o' this cursed place!"
Beth melted into the rock and mortar of the house.
"And I've enough o' yer bloody superstitions!" Lachlan roared.
Laura's eyes widened. One man in the crowd raised his arm. She couldn't see what he held up, but she sensed what was about to happen.
Without forethought, she cried, "No!" and lunged forward.
She could hear an object whoosh through the air, saw it gleam but a moment before she dashed in front of the laird, placing herself in the projectile's path.
Something embedded in her chest, the impact reeling her backward into the ghost's arms. She looked down, her trembling hand slowly lifting toward the jeweled handle protruding from the front of her coat.
Cries rang out.
Her world grew darker. She felt herself being lowered to the ground, Lachlan's arm supporting the back of her shoulders. Bewilderment filled his dark eyes. Bewilderment and misery.
The deepest darkest recesses of her subconscious opened. She recalled the very same expression on his face the night she'd driven the dagger into his heart—that fateful night in 1844.
Suddenly, she was terrified of dying before she could cleanse herself of her guilt. But her life was slipping away, seeping out of her body with the steady flow of blood the dagger had undammed.
Where are you, Roan? Take care of my nephews! Love them enough for the both of us.
* * *
Roan languidly tipped the third flute of scotch to his lips and gulped down the contents. The liquid burned his throat on its way to his queasy stomach. He was nearly on the verge of the oblivion he craved, the absolute numbness he needed to get through another night.
Only one other patron was in the pub, an old timer perched on the farthest stool from him. He'd noticed the man glaring his way, grimacing a grimace that puckered his near-toothless mouth. He didn't care. Silas had been uncharacteristically quiet and avoiding Roan, but Roan didn't care about that, either. The roof could fall in on his head right now, and it wouldn't faze him.
Robert Ingliss.
Had his ex-wife and son paid for the sins he'd committed in another life?
The mere notion haunted his sleep and waking hours.
God, how I love Laura!
No wonder.
A century and a half ago, for the sake of their love, they'd taken a man's life and had stolen his house and fortune.
He remembered first meeting the laird. He remembered his kindness before and after he and Tessa had arrived at his home. And he remembered, foremost, admiring the man who had been smitten with the only woman Robert had ever loved.
"Damn you, Tessa," he slurred, his head bobbing as he drunkenly peered into the empty flute.
"Mr. Ingliss?"
The authoritative tone came from behind him. Slowly cranking himself around on the stool, he squinted at a man dressed in a gray trench coat. Short black hair and piercing grey-green eyes were visible beneath the rim of his matching gray hat. Although drunker than he had been in years, Roan got the distinct impression that the man was one of importance.
That...or a thug.
"Mr. Ingliss," the man repeated, removing a wallet from an inside pocket of his coat. He flipped it open to reveal a gold badge with the engraved lettering, Shields Agency, and the numbers, 116, which Roan had to squint to focus on. "I'm Detective Connery o’ the Shields' Agency."
"How bloody terrific for you," Roan grumbled, facing the counter once again. "Silas! A bitter if you please!"
"Mr. Ingliss, I'm afraid I must ask you a few questions."
Roan grimaced, then grinned lopsidedly at the old man several stools away and lifted his empty flute in a mocking salute.
Behind him, the detective's expression remained deadpan, except for a hardening glint in his eyes. "Mr. Ingliss, a frozen body was found on the Baird Estate this efternoon. Wha’ can you tell me abou’ it?"
Roan eyed Silas as the man edged his way back behind the bar, his wary gaze remaining glued on the stranger.
"A body, he says," Roan chuckled, pushing the flute toward Silas. "Don't spare the scotch, ma mon."
The detective locked eyes with Silas and gave an adamant shake of his head.
Silas made a poor attempt to smile at Roan. "Ye're already in yer cups, lad."
"Mr. Ingliss."
Sighing petulantly, Roan swiveled around and leveled an impatient look on the man. "Tis ma name, but I'm gettin' bloody sick o' hearin' it."
"Then answer ma question, Mr. Ingliss."
Roan winced. "I forgot the question...whoever the bloody hell you say you are."
"At three fifteen this efternoon, Jacob McCoy discovered a body in a shallow grave on the Baird estate. Wha' can you tell me abou' the corpse?"
"Damn me, I can't think," Roan muttered, striking his brow several times with the heel of his hand. "A corpse?" He chuckled then slowly stiffened atop the stool. "A corpse." His eyes cleared of their dullness. "Jacob McCoy discovered a corpse. Wha' the bloody hell was Jacob doin' on Lannie's property!"
"Mr. Ingliss—"
The detective stepped back a pace when Roan unexpectedly slid off the stool and wobblingly straightened.
"Silas," Roan
growled, his gaze repeatedly scanning the room, "where is everyone? Where the bloody hell are the regulars?"
The detective steeled a questioning look on the nervous man behind the counter.
"Silas!" Roan boomed, turning so quickly in the direction of the man, he nearly lost his balance.
"They went to Kist House, lad."
All color drained from Roan's face. He swayed. "Wha'?"
"I tried to talk sense into them, but they were too fired up to tear the place down."
"Lannie," Roan breathed, bending over to fight back a wave of dizziness.
"I did ma best to stop them," Silas said anxiously.
"Aye, aye I'm sure you did." Forcing himself to straighten, Roan turned to face the detective. "You've got to take me to the estate. I'm in no shape to drive."
"It's wi'in ma rights to haul you to the nearest station for questionin', Mr. Ingliss."
"You bloody fool! Wha' abou' the rights o' those idiots plannin' to storm the estate?" Roan hissed. "Lannie's ou' o' control! He'll no' hesitate to protect wha's his!"
A look of skepticism marred the detective's face. "You're referrin' to the infamous Lachlan Baird?"
Roan's face grew dark with anger. "Don't mock me, you bloody arse!"
"You're drunk, Mr. Ingliss."
Roan released a boom of a laugh. "No' drunk enough! Lannie's as real as you or me. And if you find tha' too much for yer poor mind to grasp, listen up!
"I'm the reincarnation o' Robert Ingliss, the mon who walled up the poor bastard efter his wife plunged his dagger into his heart!" He staggered toward the exit, flinging over his shoulder, "And tha's why it’s ma responsibility to stop ma mates before it’s too late!"
Winston Ian Connery exchanged a harried look with the pub owner then headed out of the building after Roan.
Chapter 13
The scotch and ale he'd consumed made it almost impossible for Roan to keep his footing on the slick ground. Fear alone kept him going, kept him scrambling back onto his feet. He was aware of the detective staying close at his side, but his main focus was riveted on the cars and trucks lining the driveway.
Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 Page 24
