Everlastin' Book 1

by Mickee Madden

  “Would help if I knew wha' a twerp was,” he said absently. “Let me fix you a cup o’ tea.”

  “I'll fix my own, thank you.”

  Passing Lachlan, Beth trained her gaze on the front of the house some fifty feet away. She was nearly to the outer doors, believing the puzzling man had given up, when he dashed in front of her and opened the entry for her. Bowing at the waist, he motioned her into the house.

  He was again at the second set of doors before her.

  “Lachlan,” she sighed, a foot up on the bottom of the three stone steps. “I'm too tired to play cat-and-mouse.”

  “Darlin’, I gave Carlene ma word I'd watch efter you. Besides, it wouldna be right to let you suffer a moment's boredom here now, would it?”

  A smile strained to appear on Beth's lips. “Is this what I have to look forward to until Carlene and David return?”

  With a mock wounded look, he reached down, clasped her hand then drew her into the house. Beth closed the door behind her. She was beginning to wonder if the man understood the word “no”, or had ever been denied a thing in his life. He was the most carefree person she'd ever met.

  He pulled her down a narrower, secondary hall that ended at the kitchen. As if thoroughly enjoying himself, he urged Beth to sit at a two-chair table in the corner of the spacious room, then swaggered to the antique stove and flamboyantly swung a kettle up into a hand. Beth watched him, a smile straining to resist her efforts to subdue it. He had somehow made her experience more emotions in one day than she had in years. Resting an elbow on the table, she lowered her chin onto the upturned palm, and watched him.

  He certainly was a character, someone who could have easily just returned home from pirating on the high seas.

  Pirate.

  Yes.

  His shoulder-length, dark auburn hair. The powerful breadth of his shoulders and back, accentuated by the white shirt he wore, a shirt very much like what the pirate-types had worn centuries ago. Black, snug pants covered his slim hips, rounded backside, and muscular thighs, and tapered into shiny black, knee-high boots. But minus an earring. Although if she woke in the morning and found him wearing one, she doubted she would be surprised.

  “How do you take yer tea?”

  Beth reluctantly withdrew from her reverie. “Excuse me?”

  “Your tea, lass.”

  “Straight's fine.”

  Lachlan cocked a brow in her direction and smiled. After a few seconds, he walked to the table and set down two steaming cups, one in front of Beth, one where he was lowering himself onto a chair across from her.

  “I knew we had somethin’ in common, lass. Straight tea and kissin’ in the moonlight.”

  “Just what do you do around here?” Beth asked, forcing lightness in her tone to camouflage her nervousness.

  He shrugged. “A bit o’ this, a bit o’ tha'.”

  “Have you worked here long?”

  “Depends.”

  Beth stopped in the process of taking a sip of tea and lowered her cup. “On what?”

  “Some say I dinna work at all.” He shrugged again. “Are you hungry?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “So tell me then, wha' do you think o’ Baird House?”

  Beth took several leisurely sips of her tea before answering. “It's magnificent.”

  “Aye, tis tha', but I've a feelin’ you've mair to say abou' the place than wha' yer eyes tell you.”

  Beth frowned and smiled at the same time. Whether it was the man's presence, or his cryptic statements, he possessed the uncanny ability to raise the hairs on the back of her neck and arms. “What a curious thing to say.”

  “No' really.”

  Setting down her cup, she folded her arms atop the table. “What do your other senses tell you about this place?”

  A secretive grin touched upon his mouth. “Well, there's a good feelin’wi’in these walls. If you close yer eyes and keep yer fears at bay, you can hear the heartbeat o’ this house.”

  “Oh, pl—ease!”

  “Dinna laugh, Beth,” he said with a sad smile. “Some say this house is alive. It has a soul, as everlastin’ as tha' o’ a mon or a womon.”

  “That's eerie,” Beth said quietly, staring into her cup.

  “No. Tis the thinkin’ o’ a man who loves this place.”

  She looked up, her gaze instantly drawn to his eyes. Again she had that feeling that he was reading her mind, somehow looking inside her. It was disconcerting, and yet, comforting in some odd way.

  “Have you ever been to the United States?”

  “No.” He sipped his tea then lowered his cup. “I've never had a mind to leave Great Britain once I settled here.”

  “That's a shame. There are lots of places in the States I think you would enjoy.”

  The mischievous laughter returned to his eyes. “Especially on moonlit nights wi' the right womon, aye?”

  “You have a one-track mind.”

  “A wha'?”

  Standing, Beth lifted her cup. “Never mind. Look, I-umm, I hate to be a party pooper, but I really am tired.”

  “O’ course. Forgive me.” He rose to his feet, leaving his cup on the table. “I'll walk you to yer room.”

  “I can find my way, thank you.”

  “In the dark?”

  Beth experienced a chill of a start. She'd just realized the gas lamps in the kitchen and main hall had been lighted. She wasn't sure why this bothered her, but a suspicion was nibbling at her outer consciousness, trying to surface something to the fore of her brain. “Did you light the lamps?”

  “Aye.”

  “When?”

  “A while ago. Why do you ask?”

  Beth released a nervous chuckle. “Don't mind me. Jet lag.”

  “Jet lag?”

  “You know...crossing the ocean by plane? The time difference?”

  A frown puckered Lachlan's broad brow. “I'll have to take yer word for it. Let me get a candle to light our way.”

  Beth didn't feel the nervous twitching within her stomach again until the ascent of the stairs. By the first landing, it was all she could do to keep her hand steady enough to keep her tea from sloshing over the gold-rimmed lip of her cup. The golden glow of candlelight gave the staircase a completely different look. With Lachlan by her side, she watched the surrounding shadows through troubled eyes. She'd always hated the dark, but she had discovered the soft, dancing glow of the candle did more to feed her imagination than any inky night.

  Things moved.

  Shadows stretched eerily, creeping up the walls.

  As if sensing her unease, Lachlan's strong fingers closed over her free hand and gave it a squeeze. She didn't look at him. Without relaying how comforting she found his gesture, she steeled herself not to give in to the jitters.

  He opened the door to her bedroom and walked in ahead of her. Placing the candle on the mantel of the fireplace, he turned to face her. His features cast in shadow, she found herself straining to discern his expression as she walked up to him.

  “Thank you. I can manage now.”

  Lachlan looked down and quickly entwined his fingers through Beth's. Before she could gather her wits about her, he lifted one of her hands and pressed the back of her knuckles to his mouth. A sensual shiver moved through her as she locked eyes with him.

  “You have long fingers. Beautiful hands,” he said in a low, amorous tone.

  “You're certainly not shy about flirting,” she said nervously, withdrawing her hands and crossing her arms against her chest to give her a place to tuck them away.

  A solemn smile touched his mouth. “I admire beauty in all forms, darlin’. Inner beauty as well. Would you like a fire to warm the room?”

  “No. No, I'm sure I'll be warm enough.”

  “A warm body to snuggle up ta?” he grinned.

  The heat of her blush reached her toes. “G-good night, Lachlan.”

  He sighed. “Good night, Beth.” He started toward the door then turned a
nd searched her face for a long moment. “Dinna ever be afraid in this house. There's naught here tha' would harm you.”

  “I'd like that in writing, please,” she said with a nervous little laugh. “Oh, is there a portrait of Lannie Baird in the house?”

  For a moment, Beth thought he would not answer her. He was staring at her with something akin to impatience.

  “Hangin’ above the mantel in the room across the hall.”

  “The locked room?”

  Lachlan smiled and a flurry of excitement swirled about her heart. Whatever she expected next, it was not for him to close the distance between them and plant a gentle yet lingering kiss on her lips.

  “Pull tha' cord if you need aught,” he said, straightening up and pointing toward the bed. “I'm across the hall, too.”

  Beth gave a visible start. Why did that piece of information thrill her, and yet cause a sinking feeling deep within her?

  Lost to self-consciousness, she asked inanely, “You sleep in this house?”

  “Aye. In a big...looonely bed. Does tha' distress you?”

  “N-no. Why should I care if you sleep lonely—in a lonely—never mind.”

  In an absentlike gesture, Lachlan brushed aside a curl at Beth's temple. “I could sleep in the carriage house. There's a cot—”

  “N-no, of course not. I don't mind you sleeping in the same house with me. It's just that I didn't know groundkeepers slept in their employers' houses,” she added lamely, heat rushing through her body at the mere idea of him sleeping so close to her.

  “Depends on the importance o’ the mon.”

  “Are you always so...” Beth frowned for a moment until the right word came to her. “...outgoing?”

  Tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers, he gave a slow shake of his head. “Only when I'm verra comfortable around someone. This can be a lonely house at times. Your bein’ here is like a ray o’ sunlight.”

  He smiled inwardly when Beth shyly looked off to one side. “There's extra blankets in the cedar chest at the foot o’ the bed. Our nights can get a wee chilly.”

  Beth stiltedly nodded in acknowledgment, and Lachlan sighed deeply.

  “Lass?”

  She looked into the disquieting depths of his eyes and experienced a fluttering sensation low in her abdomen.

  “Sometimes I can be a blusterin’ fool. Some say I have no' a single social grace abou' me, and tis true for the maist part. But I am a mon who knows wha' he wants.”

  “What is it you want?” Beth asked in a whisper of a tone.

  Lachlan gave a slow roll of his eyes before answering. “Ever elusive happiness. For the mon who hesitates, it slips through his grasp and becomes nigh impossible to reclaim. Do you understand?”

  “I don't believe it's ever too late to go after a dream.”

  “Spoken from yer heart, as weel it should,” he murmured. He bent to kiss her again, but she placed her palms to his chest and gave him a nudge.

  “Good night.”

  An impish gleam lit up his eyes. “It could have been. Sweet dreams, Beth.”

  When the door closed behind him, Beth went to the bed and stretched out on her stomach, propping up her chin on upturned palms.

  It was too incredible to believe a man like Lachlan was truly interested in her. He was handsome, charming, and witty. And surprisingly tender and profound at the most peculiar moments. She hadn't given a thought to a man in her future—let alone her near future—until she'd met him.

  Rolling onto her back, she stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. She knew she was vulnerable, especially to a man like him. It just seemed too incredible his attentiveness could stem from anything more than his flirtatious nature.

  Tyler Jackson.

  “Don’t go there,” she said in a soft voice.

  The memory surfaced nonetheless.

  Too painfully shy to date, she was nineteen when she finally gave in to Tyler asking her out. After two years of fantasizing about him, the date went badly. The evening consisted of a greasy hamburger and fries, a movie that had more sex than plot, followed by a parking adventure that left her tasting soured popcorn butter on his breath and struggling against his roaming hands and rushing fingers.

  What few young men she had dated, seemed interested in only one thing. It was always about sex. No romance. No getting to know each other.

  Then dating was no longer an option.

  It disturbed her to realize her heart was primed to fall in love, but at least her mind was prepared to wage resistance.

  She understood only too well what isolation and loneliness could do to the psyche.

  “One day at a time,” she whispered.

  Drawing herself up into a sitting position, she gazed absently about her surroundings. She couldn't help but wonder how she was going to feel in the morning.

  Waking up in such a magnificent house.

  In Scotland.

  Alone.

  She frowned at the latter and rose from the bed. A chill moved along the skin of her arms. Hugging herself, she sighed deeply.

  Never would she have imagined being lonelier than those weeks following her mother's death. But she felt it now. An isolation so intense it almost possessed substance.

  Her throat tightened.

  She wasn't particularly fond of the shadows accompanying her. Candlelight did not hold the renowned romantic ambiance when one was alone, in a manor, in a strange country.

  “Or abundant in imagination,” she murmured.

  Massaging the back of her neck, she cast a look of despair in the direction of the door.

  “I wonder if he plays cards. Knock, knock. Oh, Lachlan, would you care for a game of Gin Rummy? Oh. Okay. How about Go Fish?”

  She grimaced.

  “I'd settle for a deck to play a game of solitaire—not that I could see much in this lighting.”

  Something intruded upon her awareness.

  Turning her head sharply to look at the windows, she tried to swallow down the feeling of her heart rising into her throat. Impressions bombarded her. A strong sense of not being alone filled her completely. Straining to see in the dim, flickering light, she held her breath.

  The air about her stirred. Gooseflesh broke out all over her skin.

  “Lachlan,” she called, but the sound was little more than a hoarse whisper.

  He had told her he was across the hall. She could cry out and hope he didn't believe she was a hopeless weakling who was spooked by a mere draft.

  Or...she could go to his door.

  Shivering, she gave her head an adamant shake.

  Scratch that. You don’t need to encourage him, Beth.

  If she approached him now, he would construe it as her wanting more than a little company to temper her jitters. Old houses were infamously drafty. Baird House was no exception.

  But it did no good for her to repeatedly tell herself this.

  Hastily changing into her nightgown, she left her day clothing on the floor and scrambled beneath the bed covers, which she cowered beneath. Pain throbbed at her temples. Tears pressed behind her eyes.

  “Dammit, get a grip on yourself,” she whimpered as something air-light moved against her exposed cheek. She yanked the covers over her head, her deathlike hold cramping her fingers. After several long minutes, the ridiculousness of scaring herself like this elicited a dry chuckle from her.

  A cry rang out.

  For a horrible moment, she feared she had released the unearthly wail.

  Those damn birds! she thought.

  Unclenching her hands, she turned onto her side and folded her arms against her chest. Although the covers remained over her head, she found herself laughing.

  “Beth Staples, it's pretty bad when you cringe at the cry of a bird.”

  She continued to laugh, flexing her legs between the warmth of the bed and covers.

  “Mary had a little lamb, its fleece as white as snow; and when Mary lost her little lamb, it came back to haunt Baird house.
Ha-ha.”

  She drew in a deep breath. This was no way to spend her first night in Scotland. Determined to prove to herself that she was alone in the room, she bolted up, tossing back the covers.

  For the first second, relief washed through her. Then she spied movement at the foot of her bed. She watched as a greenish mist shifted as if in response to her unexpected action. The flame atop the candle flickered, almost extinguished, and righted once again. Her gaze cut briefly to it, then back. The mist was now positioned to the left of her bed. Its soft glow dimmed. Seemed to fade before brightening and moving closer.

  “Lannie?” she choked. “No. No, go away. I don't believe in ghosts. Go away.”

  The mist inched closer. Jumping from the bed, Beth ran for the door. She turned and yanked on the knob but the door would not budge.

  “Lachlan!” she cried, pounding her fists against the recessed wood panel. “Lachlan, please!”

  At the same instant she looked over her shoulder, the mist was upon her. Utter coldness seized every part of her. A wheezed gasp of breath rushed from her lungs. Turning her back to the door, her mouth agape, she fought against the panic swelling within her. The mist had completely enveloped her. Green. Sparkling, the intensity of which increased with every passing second. Despite her terror, she sensed a presence within the anomaly.

  Sensed something trying to communicate.

  A scream ejected from her throat.

  In the next second, the mist evaporated. A weeping Beth sagged against the door and lowered herself to a sitting position on the floor. Another cry escaped her when a loud rap on the door startled her.

  “Beth!” The door cracked open, ramming her back and shoulders. “Lass, get away from the door. Beth, do you hear me?”

  The concern in his tone snapped her from her shock. Getting unsteadily to her feet, she stepped back several paces as Lachlan pushed wide the door and crossed the threshold. Although she wanted to fling herself into his arms, she stood as still as a statue, her eyes seeming too large for her face.

  Lachlan went to her, his arms readily drawing her stiff body into them. “Wha's wrong, lass?”

  “Something...touched me.”

  Framing one side of her face with a hand, he peered deeply into her glazed eyes. “Touched you?”

  She nodded stiltedly. “Lachlan...is this place haunted?”