His attempt to laugh the matter off fell short. “Some believe so.”
“Do you?”
“Och, aye.”
“Lannie? Is it Lannie Baird?”
Placing a hand at the back of her head, Lachlan urged her to rest a cheek against his chest. For a time, he stared off into the shadows of the room, his gaze troubled. “He wouldna hurt you.”
Beth shivered before winding her arms about Lachlan's middle. “I...I really didn't think he would. It just...took me by surprise.”
A sad smile moved along his mouth. “First time Carlene encountered him, she nearly screamed the walls down.”
“Carlene?” Beth looked up into his eyes. “She's seen him?”
“Aye.”
“David?”
“He was a bit mair steady abou' Lannie.” His smile deepened, drawing Beth's focus to the seductive fullness of his mouth. “Once Carlene got used to the idea, she took a likin’ to the old boy.”
“When I told her the cabbie had said this place was haunted, she denied it.”
Lachlan shrugged. “She probably didna want to spook you.”
Spook.
A laugh gurgled in Beth's throat as she pressed her brow to his chest. “Very funny. I feel like such an idiot.”
“Tis a shock at first. He was probably lookin’ in on you.”
Beth searched his face with a question in her eyes.
“Wha' is it, love?”
“Why would he look in on me?”
With a low laugh, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Ye're new here. He was probably curious. No' much else for a ghost to do, you know.” He gestured with his right arm as he went on, “Besides roamin’ the halls, moanin’ and groanin’.”
“He moans and groans?”
“No' really. Though he's reputed to have a fine temper.”
Suddenly overly conscious of Lachlan's proximity, Beth withdrew her arms from about him and walked to the bed, where she kept her back to him. Nervously running a hand through her hair, she said as lightly as she could muster, “I'm all right, now. Thank you.”
“Tis a cool night,” he said, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “We could snuggle by a fire.”
“I'm really tired.”
“Wary,” he countered evenly. “Canna blame you. Me. Then Lannie. Tis a lot to adjust to.”
Smiling, Beth turned and met his teasing gaze. “You probably more than Lannie.”
“Och,” he chuckled, a hand over his heart. “And here, darlin’, I was offerin’ to hold you through the night.”
“I know exactly what you were offering,” Beth said, the heat of a blush rushing up her face. “Thank you, again. I'm glad you're just across the hall.”
“Small comfort, aye?”
Taking her hand, Lachlan was about to kiss the palm when she jerked it away.
“Beth?”
“Oh God, I'm sorry! Your hand was so cold, it startled me. I'm sorry.”
Lachlan's gaze lowered to his hands. He flexed them, an unreadable expression shielding his thoughts from her. Beth reached out and touched his arm. When he looked up, she lowered the hand to her side.
“This is so embarrassing. I'm not usually this jittery.”
A half smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Strange land. Strange house. Strange mon. And strange occurrences. I would say ye’re owed a bit o’ the jitters. And I am cold. I was ou’side. Tis rainin’.”
Whatever Beth expected, it was not to find herself being drawn into his arms, drawn into a kiss that easily melted her fears. Even his lips were cold, but the kiss was warm, heating with every passing second, lulling her into a state of blissful security. It felt natural to be in his embrace, mastered by his kisses, as if somewhere deep in her subconscious, she'd fantasized about just such a man.
When he ended the kiss, she looked up at him with disappointment in her expressive eyes.
“I may no' be here when you wake in the morn. I'll get back to you as soon as possible.”
“You're not going away!”
He smiled disarmingly and brushed the back of a hand beneath her chin. “No, darlin’. I've things to do abou' the place. I wouldna leave yer side for a moment unless need be.”
Beth nodded. “Hopefully, Carlene and David will return early.”
“Hard to say. Sleep, lass. Tis been a long day for you.”
“Certainly one I'll never forget.”
“One good thing abou' Lannie's visit,” he said, a teasing lilt in his tone, his eyes sparkling. “Now I know tis no' the moonlight tha' makes you glow.”
Again Beth blushed, and she gave a light shove to his chest. “Good night, Lachlan.”
“You sure this time?”
She nodded with a gleam of mischief in her own eyes. “I think you've chased away the boogie man.”
“Might be, lass, I could call him back.”
“Ha-ha, cute. Good night.”
With a low laugh, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Dream o’ me, darlin’.”
After the door closed behind him, Beth got beneath the covers and lowered her head to the pillows. Wrapped in a dreamy state, she stared unseeingly up at the ceiling, unaware the candle on the mantel was nearly burned out. Beyond the windows, she could hear a breeze swaying the tree tops, branches scratching against the side of the house, against the single-glassed panes.
Her lips tingled in memory of his kiss. The blood flowing through her veins was very warm.
Thick eyelashes lowered on her flushed cheeks.
“No...it wasn't the moonlight,” she murmured with a faint smile. “Thank you, Lannie. But next time, give me some warning.”
Rolling onto her side, she nested a cheek into one of the plump pillows. Sleep fell upon her quickly.
Unbeknown to her, the mist returned, hovering by her bedside, watching, ever vigilant.
It had never been Lannie's intention to frighten her.
Quite the opposite.
Chapter 3
A restless night's sleep had Beth up before the crack of dawn. She took a hot, leisurely soak in the tub, dressed, and opted for a cup of tea for breakfast. After fidgeting about the kitchen for some time, she took an apple from a basket on one of the counters then left the house.
Bright sunlight greeted her, as well as several cries from the peacocks. The air was cooler than it had been upon her arrival yesterday, a slight breeze frolicking amid the manicured grounds. Everywhere she looked, the birds sat perched, watching her, eyeing her as if wary of her presence. It would always amaze her how such extraordinarily beautiful creatures could be so gratingly vocal, especially in the early hours of the morning.
It was late morning by the time she tired of meandering the grounds and inspecting the gardens to the south. She was on her way back to the house when the smaller structure captured her notice.
The carriage house proved to be delightful, owning of a cot, small dresser, and a two-seater carriage, the design of which told her it was definitely of the last century, although to look at it, she could not find a scratch or worn spot.
The white-washed walls of the opened room sported all sorts of harnesses, whips, and reins. She took down one of the whips and gingerly tested it. She couldn't imagine anyone actually using such a thing on a horse. It felt heavy in her hand. Almost sinister. But as she flexed her fingers on the leather-bound handle, she felt a thrill of power. Daringly, she gave a firm snap of her wrist. The tip of the lash cracked ominously close to her chin.
Replacing it on its hook, she chose instead to run her fingertips over the other items.
The musky smell of leather filled her nostrils. Inhaling deeply, she made a slow appraisal of the room then headed out the double doors.
She looked up at the cry of a peacock. Perched on the highest peak, it looked down at her and ruffled its feathers. A smile turned up the corners of her mouth. Then she sighed as she glanced at the front door of the main house. There was so little to do to pass away the t
ime more quickly. Certainly not housework. Everything in the place was spotless. The gardens were weed-free. Perfection. She wasn't used to being idle, not after eight years of catering to her mother's every need. Then, there had hardly been time to curl up and read a book. Always so much to do.
A pensive frown creasing her brow, she strolled to the east side of the property, where the largest of the rose gardens created a low-walled maze. Bees zipped from flower to flower, their seemingly over-zealous buzzing giving her pause to get too close. Until one particular section zoomed in on her awareness.
Pale purple roses.
Folding her legs beneath her, she settled comfortably on the ground.
Memories surfaced.
Shortly before her mother's death, Beth had planted a row of similar rose bushes along the fenceline across from her mother's bedroom window. The roses, Rita's favorite flower, had been intended for her to enjoy. But she had died before the first blossom had opened.
“Life never goes as we expect it to,” Beth said sadly, running a finger along the edge of one of the soft petals. “I wish....” Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back. “You didn't deserve to suffer, Ma. I did everything I could. But it wasn't enough, was it?”
Her chin quivered.
“As many times as I wanted to end your pain, I couldn't bring myself to.... The anger and frustration I read in your eyes will always haunt me. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”
In place of her heart, an enormous ache thrummed and, despite the control she'd mastered over the years, a sob escaped her.
A movement close by gave her a start.
She looked up. The heaviness that had been building in her chest waned at the sight of Lachlan sitting alongside her.
“Good morning,” she managed with a halfhearted smile.
“Tis a heart-wrenchin’ sound you make, Beth. Wha's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I've a broad shoulder to cry on.”
A strained laugh escaped her. “Why would anyone wish to cry on such a beautiful morning?”
“Hmm. Somethin' tells me you've held in yer feelin's too long.”
Choosing not to respond to his uncanny ability to delve into her psyche, she gazed absently at the purple roses.
“Did you manage to sleep?”
“Yes.” Drawing in a fortifying breath, she added, “The bed is very comfortable.”
“Hmm. And here I thought I'd detected shadows beneath yer eyes.”
Beth swiped the side of a hand above her cheeks. “It's probably a residue of mascara.”
“Tha' black goop women plaster on their eyes?” He chuckled deep in his throat then crooked a thumb beneath her chin and turned her face to his scrutiny. “Ye're a melancholy lass. Tell me wha's troublin' you.”
An attempt to smile failed. “It's nothing. Really.”
“No' jet lag?”
“It could be,” she defended evenly, a twinkle of amusement coming to life in her eyes. But then a cloud of unease passed over her features and she shivered as she scanned the roses surrounding her.
“Wha' is it?”
“The bees.”
“Wha' abou' them?”
“There were hundreds of them moments ago. They're gone.”
Lachlan glanced about him. “Your sobbin' sent them off in a fit o’ despair,” he quipped.
Lowering her head, Beth chuckled. “It wasn't that bad.”
“Took the heart ou' o’ me.”
Beth found herself looking into his eyes. Even out here in the bright sunlight, she could not discern his irises. His fair skin made his eyes appear darker, fathomless. When he smiled crookedly, her attention was drawn to his mouth. The right groove in his cheek deepened.
You are one dangerous man, Lachlan, she thought. What kind of lover are you? Before she could suppress it, a sigh escaped her.
“I understand yer mither died no' long ago,” he said casually, although the intensity in his eyes warned Beth that he knew what had brought on her tears. “You took care o’ her for a long time. Eight years, I understand.”
“Yes.” She pointedly focused on the roses in front of her. “It began with heart problems. Later, she suffered with cancer.”
“Couldna the doctors—”
“No.” Beth spared him a quick glance. “She would have suffered as much in the hospital. She wanted to die at home.”
“Was tha' fair to you?”
Beth stiffened, the fire in her eyes warning him the subject was taboo. “What has fair got to do with anything?”
“Ye're bitter, lass.”
Jumping to her feet, Beth irritably smoothed her calf-length skirt. She stared down at his upturned face, resentment lending her a strained, gaunt look. “I'm not bitter. I took care of her because I wanted to.”
When Lachlan rose to his feet, she continued to glare at him. “I may not have had your carefree life, Lachlan, but I certainly don't regret—”
“Hold it! I said you could cry on ma shoulder, no' take ou' yer frustration on me.”
Beth clenched her hands by her sides. It was rare anything made her angry, but she was now, the emotion like lava behind her breast. “Then mind your own damn business in the future,” she flung and walked away.
Thorny hedges blocked her escape, slowing her, fueling her raw emotions. Although she could see her way out of the maze, her every attempt failed. Thorns snagged her cotton skirt. The fragrance of the roses became sickeningly overwhelming. Becoming blinded by her burdensome frustration, she stopped and clenched her hands once again.
Labored breaths roared in her ears.
Panic lodged in her chest.
It was all she could do not to scream for all she was worth.
“Ye're one stubborn womon,” Lachlan bit out as he snatched up one of her hands in a steely hold. He expected her to protest as he led her out of the maze, but she only followed him, giving his grasp an occasional tug of defiance.
Crossing the graveled front of the house, and a section of lawn, he stepped up into the largest gazebo and directed her to one of the white, wooden chairs. Beth sat, planted her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands to hide the heat of indignation in her face. Lachlan seated himself across from her, a look of stormy impatience on his face.
“You're no' one to accept help graciously, are you?”
“You don't know anything about me.”
“Mair than you know.” When Beth lowered her hands and looked at him, he smugly arched a brow. “Ye're pretty easy to read.”
“Oh, really.”
“Aye, lass. Strong-willed. Independent, but you take care o’ ithers afore yerself.”
“How very observant of you.”
He fell silent for a time, watching her attempt to brush back her riotous curls with her hands. “Watchin' yer mither languish—”
“Why do you keep harping on her?”
“—as you did, I can weel imagine you no' wantin' to ever be dependent on anyone.”
Anger returned like thundering waves. “What are you...a closet psychiatrist?”
“I've a reliable sixth sense.”
“How nice for you,” she grumbled.
“You must have resented her—”
“Give it a rest!”
“—hold on you.”
Bolting to her feet, Beth turned to escape the gazebo. Lachlan swiftly went to her, the fingers of a hand cinching one of her wrists in a vicelike hold. He jerked her around to face him.
“She took away yer life for—”
“Let me go!”
“—eight years!”
“Stop it, please!”
Lachlan steeled himself against the tears misting her eyes. “You wanted to free yerself o’ those emotional shackles.” Beth's struggle to escape him intensified. “But it was impossible. Right, lass?”
Gripping her upper arms, he gave her a shake. “Who told you, you couldna demand a life o’ yer own? Good God, Beth, no one expected you to sacrifice y
er all for the woman!”
“She sacrificed for me!”
“Adopted you, aye.”
“You don't understand anything!”
“I do. And tis a weighty burden to bear.”
Trembling violently, Beth stared at him in bewilderment. She didn't want him or anyone else prying into her business.
Lachlan sighed as a semblance of calm befell him. “Guilt is a wicked tool, lass. The hangman's hands.” He smiled sadly. “Tis a means we use to keep others in toll.”
“I don't understand.”
“I know you dinna.” He drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You've always been beholden to the couple who chose you. They were good people, Beth. Kind and lovin'. They gave you the emotional and financial security you needed.”
“Yes.”
“You were there to help yer mother efter yer father died, and there years later when she was befallen wi’ illness.” Framing one side of her face with a hand, he prompted her to look up at him. “But she had no right to take away those precious years. No right at all.”
“She was terrified.”
“Aye. Tis understandable. But how could she look at you and no' see wha' the isolation was doin' to you?”
“I was all she had,” Beth murmured, staring unseeingly at his chest.
“No.”
“Yes. Within a few months after she was bedridden, her friends stopped calling and coming over. What little family was left simply ignored us.”
“Leavin' you to believe it was all upon yer shoulders?”
Beth's dull gaze lifted. “I don't regret taking care of her.”
For a long moment, Lachlan became lost in her eyes. When she started to look away, he brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. “Wha' else did she ask o’ you?”
A gasp escaped her. She tried to step from his hold, but his hands again anchored her upper arms.
“Beth?”
“I need to lie down for a while.”
“Wha' did yer mother ask tha' still troubles you?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Some gentle persuasion, perhaps,” he murmured.
Anger fueled Beth's struggles to escape his hold. He was asking the impossible of her, to reveal something so painful she could hardly think of it, let alone confide in someone else.
Everlastin' Book 1 Page 5
