Everlastin' Book 1

by Mickee Madden

  “Now you see why I wanted to keep it,” Carlene said softly. “I think I must have known there would one day be a place like this to display it.”

  Although Beth was embarrassed by the blatant carefreeness depicted of her in the painting, she couldn't have been more pleased with it having a place in such a house.

  “It looks pretty good up there,” she admitted, her cheeks glowing with a rosy blush. She looked at the shorter woman and shrugged. “It actually looks damn good hanging there. Hey, so when am I going to meet this dashing husband of yours?”

  Masking her hesitation, Carlene turned toward the door. “He's in Edinburgh on business. This is lousy timing, kiddo, but I'm going to have to take off in a little while to get him.”

  “How far is Edinburgh?”

  Carlene reached for the heaviest of the two suitcases in the hall, but Beth was quick to take it in hand. Lifting the smaller one, Carlene started up the stairs.

  “It's a long drive, so we'll probably stay at a B&B for the night—”

  Speaking as she turned her head to look at Beth, another sight caused her gasp.

  Beth was on the second step when she glanced over her shoulder. The instant she looked into the face of the man standing at the bottom of the steps, she felt icy fingers of fear clutch at her heart. She didn't know exactly what caused this reaction, but a glance revealed Carlene frozen on the sixth step.

  “You're just in time to carry Miss Staples' bags to her room,” Carlene said, her authoritative tone strained. “Beth, this is the groundskeeper I told you about.”

  Beth looked again at the man and detected a glint of expectancy in his nearly-black eyes. It took her aback. He had a remarkable face, angles and ruggedness that possessed a powerful magnetism to the female eye, hers no exception. But when he tried to take the suitcase from her hand, she stubbornly tightened her grip.

  “I can manage, thank you,” Beth said self-consciously.

  “Swallow yer pride, lass,” he chided, his eyes staring into hers with uncanny boldness.

  A vague sense of familiarity touched Beth, planting the notion in her mind that she had known this man in another life—which was absurd, since she didn't believe in reincarnation, or anything remotely like it. But when he reached out again for her suitcase, his hand brushed against her fingers, causing a fey sensation of electricity to slither up her arm and become lost behind her breasts. She somehow knew the contact had been deliberate, his way of heightening her awareness of him.

  With a slow grin, he tugged the suitcase from her grasp.

  Beth looked down at her empty hand then glanced up to see him crossing the second floor landing to another set of stairs.

  “You did say he was gruff. Is he always so pushy?”

  Carlene continued to look up the stairs after the man. “At times he can be infuriating, but he'll take good care of you after I leave.”

  Beth's curiosity was resigned to a lesser plane of importance by the time she reached the third floor and followed Carlene through a set of French doors, down another hall, and into one of the rooms on the right.

  Just beyond the threshold, Beth stopped.

  There was no sign of the groundskeeper. Her suitcase was set atop a canopy bed of cherry wood, carved with leaves and cherubs. Heavy, dark green velvet draperies were tied at the posts. Through the matching drapes hanging on two large windows, a colorful peacock, perched atop an adjoining roof, craned its neck to peer at the occupants through the French panes.

  “This is my room?”

  “Yep. Unless you don't care for it.”

  Entering the room, Beth laughed and dropped her purse atop one of the oriental throw rugs scattered on the highly polished wooden floor. “I love it!”

  Which was an understatement.

  Beth's face glowed as she took in her surroundings. Two dressers and a wardrobe were also made of cherry wood and stained a burnished red. Leaves and cherubs were lavishly carved on each piece, as well as on an elaborate vanity by another door leading to a private bathroom. All of the pieces had marble tops. The wainscoting matched the furniture, the wallpaper a rich cream tone with raised dark green velvet print. On the wall across from the bed was a fieldstone fireplace with a Victorian marble mantel. Set by the hearth was a picture frame embroidery stand, a fire screen, bearing an unfinished cloth of a country scene.

  “It's so...beautiful,” Beth beamed.

  Carlene abruptly swept past Beth and went to the door. “Explore the house. Help yourself to anything you want.” Turning at the threshold, she offered Beth a tremulous smile. “There's plenty of food in the ice box and larder.” She reached up to indicate a light fixture on the wall. “All the light fixtures operate on gas. The matches are on the mantel. Light one then just turn this key. When you want the light out, turn the key counter-clockwise and the gas shuts off.”

  “Do you have to leave right away?”

  “Yes. Lachlan will see to the fires until David and I get back. Pull the cord by the bed and he'll come right away.”

  Beth felt a moment's panic but smiled nonetheless. “What time do you think you'll get back tomorrow?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  As Carlene began to close the door, Beth asked, “Would you like company on the drive?”

  “N-no. You're tired, and British cars are cramped.”

  Beth opened her mouth to tell Carlene she didn't mind the cramped quarters, or another drive, but the door closed, cutting her off from her friend.

  Although caught up in a moment of panic, she stopped herself from running after Carlene. There was definitely something wrong.

  Unless David and Carlene’d had a squabble. Maybe Carlene was hoping the drive home would give her the opportunity to smooth out matters before Beth became aware of any problems between them.

  It was a logical enough possibility. But Beth could not shake a burgeoning sense of foreboding.

  Chapter 2

  The hours faded by unnoticed. Before Beth realized it, dusk was settling about Kist House. She had explored nearly every room on the top two floors, with two exceptions. The door was locked to the room directly across from her bedroom, and fatigue stopped her from looking beyond the stone newel staircase to the tower.

  Descending the main staircase in slow easy strides, she thought about making herself a hot cup of tea and enjoying it while soaking in a hot bath—in her private, Victorian claw foot tub. This brought a smile to her face until she stepped down from the last stair and the absolute stillness of the house closed in around her. A thin sheen of perspiration broke out on her brow. An all too familiar tightness settled in the back of her neck.

  Not a migraine now, she mutely groaned, gingerly massaging the ache.

  A shrill cry unlike anything she had ever heard, razored the air. A squeal of surprise erupted from her, and in the silence that followed she could feel the wild thrumming of her heart rise in her throat. The front doors at the end of the hall seemed to zoom in on her vision, then as quickly, fall back into the far distance.

  Pain drummed at her temples. Once again she became overly conscious of the stifling stillness within the walls. Air weighed heavily in her lungs. Her body temperature rose. Breathing in hoarse spurts, she walked toward the doors. Her passage through the greenhouse lessened the fever in her. Passing through the last outer door, she stepped into the cooling air of dusk, and slowly filled her lungs with it. Surprisingly, there was a mist of rain, and she raised her face to welcome its reviving chill.

  The cry rang out again.

  She was about to dash back into the house when a hand settled on her shoulder. Another squeal was wrenched from her throat before she could stop it, and on reflex, she slapped the broad chest coming around to her left. The groundskeeper's face finally came into focus through the haze of her vision.

  “Don't ever do that again!” she shrilled, shucking off the man's hand and stepping back two paces.

  Lachlan chuckled low as he raked his fingers through his thick should
er-length hair. “Didna mean to frighten the wits ou' o’ you, lass. I saw you give a start at the call o’ the bird.”

  “That horrible sound came from a bird?”

  “Old Braussaw.” Lachlan pointed to a tall hedge. “There he is. See him?”

  Beth strained to discern something within the shadows of the closing daylight, but couldn't. “I thought someone had run over a cat.”

  “He's a paughty one, he is,” he chuckled. “Peacocks truly have a terrible cry. You'll get used to it.”

  “How can anything so beautiful, sound so awful?” she asked, still trying to locate the bird.

  Lachlan gave an airy shrug. “They're maist vocal in the wee hours o’ the morn.”

  “Wonderful. My blood feels like ice.”

  With a slow, utterly charming smile, he tilted his head to one side and unabashedly studied her features. “Tis no' so bad when you've been around them a while.”

  Beth tried to smile through her taut facial muscles, but found she couldn't. The man's perusal of her made her uncomfortable. When she had met him earlier, standing two steps above him on the staircase, she hadn't noticed how tall he was. She did now. He was well over six foot. The top of her head barely reached his chin, and his broad shoulders were nearly twice as wide as her own.

  Heat swept from her soles to her crown. It was all she could do not to fan herself with a hand.

  “Feelin’ the walls close in on you?”

  “No...well, a little.” Beth tried to relax the tension in her body. “It's a bit spooky being alone in such a large place.”

  Lachlan nodded. To her disbelief, he clasped one of her hands with his and gave her a gentle tug. “Tha', too, will pass, in time. Come, lass. Tis a full moon this night. I've a place to show you as it rises.”

  “Well I....”

  Beth's legs began to move of their own volition, keeping in stride with the man's long gait. As he led her away from the house, along a pathway to the east that was thickly canopied by tree branches, she couldn't help but dwell on his warm grasp. He had large, powerful hands. She'd noticed that earlier when he'd taken her suitcase from her. His hold was gentle, not the least threatening, but nonetheless, she felt intimidated by the masculinity of him—and the ease by which he had stepped into her life. He responded to her as if they had known one another for a very long time.

  The way through the hedges and brush was growing ever darker, but he walked with a confidence that bespoke of his familiarity with the property. He kept her close to his side, like a protective lover. Traversing the path, she couldn't help but ponder the anomaly of walking at night with a man she didn't know. It made her realize how sheltered a life she'd led. The years had simply passed by. She was almost thirty, and hadn't dated since college.

  “We're here,” Lachlan said softly, almost in a reverent whisper. He came to a stop by a white, four-foot corral-style fence, and drew Beth closer to his side. “The moonlight blesses this field.”

  Beth felt a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. The field, a farmhouse in the far distance and the hills beyond were bathed in ethereal silver light.

  “Tis a sight to soothe the soul, aye?”

  “It's beautiful.”

  “Aye. It has never had competition, till you came.” Noting with wry amusement Beth's quick glance of disapproval, he went on, “The Lauders live in the farmhouse you see across the way. Eleven or mair generations have lived on and worked this land.”

  “Did they once own this property, too?”

  “Aye. Baird's offer to purchase these forty-five acres came at a time when the Lauders were in dire need o’ money.”

  Lachlan smiled as he dipped his head and his gaze caressed her features. “They liked the old boy, appreciated his love and plans for this piece o’ their history.”

  The chill of the evening's drizzle caused a shiver to pass through her. She was prepared to ignore it when Lachlan stepped behind her and draped his arms about her upper torso.

  She stiffened out of instinct.

  “Hold yer indignancies,” he chuckled by her ear. “I'm only tryin’ to keep the chill ou' o’ you.”

  “I'm f-fine.”

  “Aye, and the chatterin’ o’ yer teeth is really fairies dancin’ on the rocks yonder? Relax.”

  “I'd relax a lot better if you weren't wrapped around me,” she bristled.

  Lachlan sighed and rested his chin atop the crown of her head. She thought to shove him away, but his closeness did award her much needed warmth. And truth be told, his closeness felt right. Wrong...yet somehow...right.

  Jet lag.

  “Wha' do you see when you look across tha' field?”

  She took a few seconds to regulate her breathing. “Moonlight.”

  “And?”

  “Space. Openness.” She sighed and she unknowingly leaned into him. “Incredible beauty and serenity.”

  “Aye, tis all tha' and mair.

  “The herrin' loves the merry moonlight,

  The mackerel loves the wind,

  But the oyster loves the dredgin' sang,

  For they come o’ a gentle kind.”

  Beth pondered the words for some time before asking, “What does it mean?”

  “I'm hungry, and thinkin’ o’ fish, I guess.”

  The laughter in his tone brought a smile to her face.

  Despite his unnerving proximity, the tension in her body ebbed. Something she couldn't define tingled along her skin. With it came a sense of loftiness, as if she were absorbing his ease and contentment, his confidence.

  “Wha' do you think o’ Scotland?”

  She shrugged within the band of muscular arms embracing her. “What I've seen is wonderful, but I really haven't had a chance to see much.”

  “You'll come to love it here. Maybe almaist as much as me.”

  Mindless of what her next move might provoke, Beth innocently turned in his arms and looked into his eyes. “I can't understand everything you're saying. Your accent is very thick.”

  Lachlan's smoldering dark gaze settled on Beth's shapely mouth. He wanted to tell her what her dulcet tone did to him, what her physical presence meant to him. Keeping a tight rein on his desire to possess her on this very spot, he grinned crookedly.

  “I'm speakin’ as slow as I can. Beth. I'm glad ye're here.”

  “Are you?”

  “Aye. I've waited a long time to meet you.”

  Beth felt a sudden compulsion to laugh. She didn't know why, but she could feel a giggle working itself up in the pit of her stomach. The idea of succumbing to this also struck her funny at this peculiar moment—peculiar because every nerve in her body was sensitized by the man's mere presence. A quirky smile was playing on his lips, as if he were able to read her mind, or understand that part of her which was at the outer reaches of her comprehension.

  She was almost thirty. Not a schoolgirl.

  So why did her heart rise into her throat when his hands came to light on her upper arms? A pleasant electrical sensation passed beneath her skin, leaving her a little lightheaded, a little breathless.

  Why was she unable to move or speak when, while staring into her eyes, he began to lower his head?

  Cool, chiseled lips covered hers in a teasing, almost experimental kiss. She stood immobile while her insides were pumping, swelling, twisting and bursting. She experienced a spiritual soaring and swooping then soaring again as the kiss deepened. Sinewy arms enveloped her, molding her against the length of his i hard body. She became lost in a sense of rightness, of belonging as she'd never known—

  Stranger.

  The word detonated in the confines of her skull and she reacted like a startled kitten. Wrenching out of his arms, she braced herself against the fence. Mortification scorched her skin. A streak of moonlight passing through the branches above, ran aslant across his face, illuminating his mesmerizing eyes.

  Beth tried to speak, to say something—anything—to break the suffocating silence between them.

&
nbsp; When she found her vocal cords wouldn't respond, she pushed off the fence and lit into a run along the path. Low branches and brush scraped and clawed at her. Blindly, desperately hoping she was going in the right direction, she continued on. The stillness was all around her once again. If not for the chill of the drizzle—

  She ran into something solid and would have fallen backward if not for steadying hands on her shoulders.

  “Have a heart, lass!”

  Beth's vision cleared.

  “A simple no would have sufficed!”

  Her temper erupted. “Hold it!”

  “Yer hand, you say?” A roguish gleam lit up his features as he reached out, but Beth was quick to slap his hand away.

  “Stop manhandling me, Mr.....”

  “Lachlan. Tis a wee late to be formal now.”

  Blood rushed up into her face. “I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression.”

  “Fegs, lass!” he laughed. “You've a fine temper.”

  “I'm tired and cold. Now, if you'll excuse me—”

  “No' so fast.” Lachlan gave a sober shake of his head. “Tis me to say I'm sorry. I got a wee lost in yer beautiful eyes back there. And I'm afraid I'm an incorrigible tease. I've never been able to resist makin’ a beautiful womon blush.”

  Although every nerve in her body was as tight as a spring, she managed to stare into the man's eyes without wavering. “You've had your fun.”

  “Aye, and I felt yer own appreciation to ma verra soul, sweet darlin’. But I'm modest enough to know it was the moonlight and no' ma kissin’ skills tha' put tha' sparkle in yer eyes. Alas—” He sighed deeply. “—I'll have to practice wi' you in the cold light o’ day to know when tis me stirrin’ yer blood.”

  Straightening back her shoulders, Beth glared at the silent laughter in the man's handsome face. “I didn't come all this way just to entertain you, you twerp.”

  Lachlan's dark brows peaked. “Twerp, you say? Would tha' be a good twerp, or a bad twerp?”

  “Personally, I don't care how you translate it.”