Everlastin' Book 1

by Mickee Madden

  She felt her body jerk in a spasm of shock as an image of herself catapulting on impact blared before her mind's eye. Air was sucked sharply into her lungs, then galed back out when she felt the car pass through her.

  Not over her.

  Not around her.

  Not touching her in any usual sense of the word.

  It passed right through her as though she were nothing more than thin air. She could feel an icy rush go through her at the precise moment it happened—a rush and a turbulent several seconds of her atoms dispersing in every direction, then regrouping.

  Terror swelled within her stomach and rocketed upward, but lodged within her throat. Her head bent back, she frantically clawed at her neck to release the agony within her. When the sound finally erupted, it was in the form of a blood-curdling wail.

  The peacocks in the distance raised their voices in a cacophony of shrill calls.

  Unbeknown to her, Beth's newly acquired telekinetic properties were released from her empyreal subconscious. A wind materialized, increasing in strength until its howl became a fierce, piping sound through the branches of the trees. High in the night sky above her, an enormous vortex yawned to life. Beth felt herself slipping upward and away, beyond the reach of the raging elements she had unknowingly evoked. She didn't try to stop her flight. She was too frightened, too confused, too exhausted to care what awaited her.

  “Hold on!” The voice was omnipresent. “I've got you!”

  Beth was only conscious of moving with great speed. Her body and mind were buoyant. It was a horrible place, this endless nothingness. There was nothing to see or feel. Utter obscurity in its most horrifying form.

  The fall went on and on, but she was dimly conscious of an element of control in her momentum.

  Lachlan.

  He was guiding them through the gray void.

  Their semi-transparent figures, wrapped tightly about each other, passed through the roof, the attic, and came to fall upon the bed in the master suite. Beth lay beneath him, her glazed eyes staring into space. Lachlan, panting out of reflex, propped himself up on his elbows and peered down into her face.

  It had been too close a call, and this frightened him.

  What had she done to cause that opening between the two dimensions?

  What would have happened to them if he hadn't had the willpower to whisk them free and return them home?

  Not to mention the faculty to stop their plummeting at the right moment!

  A storm played across his features when Beth closed her eyes. She had scared the wits out of him—put him through the worse hell he'd known, and hoped to never experience again! He had worried about the spontaneous poofing she would endure in the beginning, but he was beginning to discover that was the least of his troubles. She seemed to have a readier access to the energies than he. And that could lead to some dire complications.

  “Beth?”

  Her only response was a strong shudder.

  Lowering himself, Lachlan buried his face within the soft curls at side of her neck. “If you would only listen, I could have spared you this.”

  Worming an arm and a leg beneath her, he drew her onto her side and cradled her against him, his cheek pressed to the crown of her head.

  “You've got to give it some time. Poor, darlin', ye're shiverin'.”

  “I want to go home,” she sobbed.

  Pain racked Lachlan's face as he fought back a threat of tears. “This is yer home, now. Good lord, Beth, come to terms wi' wha' I'm offerin.”

  He kissed the top of her head and snuggled her closer. “This is ours, forever. When the shock o' yer death wears off, you'll start to understand how verra much we have thegither.”

  He released a cry of pain at something harshly pinching a section of his midriff. His arms slackened. To his disbelief, Beth wrenched free and sat up on her bent legs with a swiftness that stunned him.

  “How much we have?” she cried, yanking his exposed earlobe. “You did this to me!”

  With a grunt, Lachlan scrambled to a sitting position, cupping his throbbing ear with a hand. “Have you gone daft, womon? I may be dead but tha' hurt like hell!”

  “You're not dead, because I haven't killed you...yet!”

  She took a swing at his face, caught him on the jaw and sent him tumbling over the opposite side of the bed. Her eyes wild with anger, she watched as his peeked over the edge of the mattress. She lifted a pillow and whipped it down on his head. He made a feeble attempt to grab it from her as he jumped to his feet, but she was quicker and hit him in the mid-section with it.

  “Enough!”

  But Beth was too fired-up to stop.

  Standing on the bed, she repeatedly swung and pummeled him with the pillow until its feathers began to spill into the air. Swearing a stream of Gaelic, Lachlan made every attempt to anchor her arms. He was getting very close when she jumped down from the bed and slammed her foot into his groin. Feathers sailing on his expelled breath, he slowly sank to his knees and bent over with a groan.

  Beth stepped back within the flurry of feathers. Her anger was winding down. Logic vied to take over her labored emotions.

  “I haven't figured it all out yet,” she panted, absently brushing aside the annoying feathers hovering in front of her face, “but I will!”

  When he lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow at her, she completed, “In the meantime, stay away from me!”

  With a guttural, unintelligible oath, Lachlan cranked himself up onto his feet. The fury in his face matched that of Beth's. He exhaled theatrically and made a grand gesture with his arms. “Perhaps you'd like me to stay in the carriage house? Or would you prefer the top o' a tree?”

  “I would prefer you crawled into a doghouse!”

  “Doghouse!” Crimson flooded his face. “This is the thanks I get for carin' abou' you, you ungrateful—”

  “You never cared for anything in your miserable life, you scheming...womanizing...twerp!”

  “Twerp,” he muttered. He closed one eye and glared at Beth with the other. “Ye're too fond o' tha' word.”

  Beth gave a toss of her head and backed up toward the door. “Everything's a joke to you, isn't it? Stay away from me, understand?”

  “Aye, but I'm a wee confused as to why you think I'm deaf all o' a sudden. Correct me if I'm wrong, sweet...lovely...thing... tha'...you...are, but tha' is the reason you've been shoutin' at me, is it no'?”

  “You're a sick man.”

  “I'm beginnin' to think so, maself. Why else would I love such an unreasonable—”

  “Love? You haven't an inkling what love is! You're an obsessive sociopath, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to get far away from you!”

  When the door slammed behind her, Lachlan threw his hands up in sheer frustration.

  “Ah, sweet Jesus, you couldna have blessed me wi' a bonnie mute lass, could you now! Is this ma payment for ma troubles, I ask you?”

  He glowered at the door across from him. “Obsessive. Bah! And wha' be the meanin' o' 'sociopath'?

  “Twerp. Sociopath. Jerk? Nice language...if her tone is any indication as to their meanin'.”

  Placing his hands on his hips, he fumed, “This has got to stop, Beth. I'm a reasonable mon.”

  Flinging the door open, he shuffled into the hall, one hand cupping his sore testicles.

  “Tis time you learned to respect me!”

  Her bedroom door was open. He knew without checking that she was not within.

  “This is no way to treat yer husband to be, womon!”

  Every door in the house began to slam open and shut.

  Lachlan stood frozen, his nerves jumping at every sound.

  When the house became as still as death a few seconds later, he pressed his brow to the wall adjacent his bedroom door.

  “Now I've a bloody megrim.”

  A last door slammed and scared the wits out of him. He glared down the hall. In his mind's eye, he could see Beth descending the staircase. She was still itch
ing for a fight, but now, so was he.

  In his time, women knew their place. The man was lord and master of his home; the provider.

  Women of good breeding were basically of a gentle kind. Soft. Needy of masculine authority. Reared to respect and please the men in her life.

  So Tessa was an exception.

  Or was she?

  Lachlan's brow furrowed thoughtfully.

  How much did he actually remember about his era?

  Fegs, what does it matter!

  Of one thing he was certain.

  Proudly squaring his shoulders, he called out, “Beth, I know you love me!”

  Silence greeted his proclamation, and it chinked his confidence. Longingly peering down the hall, he made a wry face and shifted his shoulders.

  “Reasonably sure. I only hope you come to yer senses some time in this century,” he went on in a low tone. “The waitin' is makin' me a wee...” He sighed with exaggerated self-pity. “...testy.”

  Chapter 9

  Time had lost all sense of boundary for Beth. Minutes, hours, days, possibly weeks passed by while she flitted in and out of consciousness, between the gray world and the walls of Baird House. To hold on to what little sanity she had left, she told herself she would eventually come around from the after-effects of whatever drug Lachlan had used on her. She had to be patient. Nothing could last forever.

  Most of the time, she felt oddly at peace. The headaches had not recurred. Physically, she had never felt better.

  Carlene and David would return and apologize for leaving her in Lachlan's unscrupulous care, and Beth would forgive them for their part in this most bizarre matchmaking attempt.

  Her parent's house was waiting for her. The plants would have to be watered and moved about. Dusting and vacuuming. Laundry. There were a lot of details she had to take care of before she began college in the fall. Maybe she would even take some of her inheritance and buy a few new pieces of furniture. Maybe even paint the rooms in bright cheery colors.

  On one of her more lucid days, she found herself in the attic. It was as if she had poofed there without the slightest understanding as to how she'd arrived. Not that she attempted to understand. She refused to allow herself to dwell on the unexplainable. It was much safer to simply accept each occurrence as it happened. Pretend everything was as it should be.

  Humming, she whiled away the better part of the day rummaging through a host of trunks and boxes. The discarded treasures of the past fascinated her, a proliferating means by which to preoccupy her mind. Nineteenth century clothing and accessories, old books, newspapers, toys and knick-knacks, uncannily preserved, as if time and its ravages had never trespassed within the walls of this house.

  She tried on several long dresses, high-button shoes, corsets and loops and pantaloons, and various men's dress and smoking jackets.

  Then, in a trunk hidden away against the wall beneath the slanting roof, she found something of immense interest. Her heart fluttered wildly until she finally brazened to touch the object. Electrical pulses tickled her palm then raced up her arm, eliciting a musical laugh to caress her throat. Her eyes brightened in her flushed face.

  Carefully unfolding the garment from its musty bed, she carried it to the sole port window in the attic and wistfully inspected it. The long, empire-style gown was made with layers of delicate white, rosette lace. Someone long ago had favored wearing it, for the satin belt was yellowed and frayed along the edges in sections.

  Beth closed her eyes and took a moment to draw the gown across the bare skin of her left forearm. The soft lace whispered against her flesh, beckoning to envelop her.

  Stripping down to nothing, she slipped the gown on. To her delight it fit her perfectly in length and through the bustline, but the bell-shaped sleeves hung to the knuckles of her hands. With the satin belt tied in a neat bow beneath her breasts, she lifted the skirt and pirouetted on an unlittered strip of floor, the full skirt belling out with each turn.

  A fey sense of air shifting wound down her light-hearted mood. Standing in stark immobility, she tried to analyze the deeply rooted impression that something had changed in her surroundings. Her fingers kneaded the skirt of the gown as her gaze repeatedly scanned every inch of the attic. Crawly sensations moved along the back of her neck and arms.

  Again the shifting occurred.

  A haze of movement.

  Almost imperceptible.

  A tingling feeling moved along Beth's hands. Looking down, she released a gasp. The lace gown was fading, becoming invisible with each passing second. Then her eyes rolled up as if drawn by a magnetic force, and her gaze riveted on the second anomaly.

  The trunk from which she'd removed the gown was no longer there.

  Heat rushed through her as she backed toward the door. Naked, trembling, she mutely noted other discrepancies in the room. Boxes and traveling trunks, mirrors of all sizes, a large rocking horse, two bins of toys, were gone.

  And what remained in the attic was coated with a thin layer of dust. Something she had not seen since her arrival in the house.

  Swallowing a scream, she dashed down the narrow, steep stairs, and didn't slow her pace as she made her way to the main floor. Mindless of her nudity, she was about to turn in the direction of the front doors when a woman's laugh, rich and vibrant, brought her to an abrupt halt.

  Blood seeming to pound at her temples, Beth gaped at the closed parlor door.

  The same woman laughed again.

  Beth was hesitantly opening the door when a male voice said, “She seldom tires, as you can see. Maist women would be nursin' a case o' the vapors efter such a long journey.”

  Even before Beth fully opened the door, she knew the voice had not belonged to Lachlan. The instant she spied the laird standing beside a short, well-built man, and a stunning blond woman sitting on one of the sofas, Lachlan spoke.

  “No' ma darlin' bride,” Lachlan boasted, bending and planting a kiss on the woman's fair-skinned brow. He lingered bent over for a moment longer to look deeply into her eyes then straightened with a grin splitting his face.

  Beth experienced a painful stab of jealousy, and her temper flared at the idea of Lachlan going through this performance to punish her for avoiding him. But if such were the case, why were his eyes soft with undeniable love as he stared down at the woman like a love-sick adolescent?

  “Lannie,” the blonde cooed, her low tone seductive. “Might I trouble you for a brandy?”

  Lannie?

  Breathing heavily, Beth stepped into the room and slammed the door behind her at the same time Lachlan called out, “Merra!”

  Not only did everyone ignore Beth's presence, but the slamming of the door went unnoticed as well. A moment after Lachlan's shout, a young woman dressed in a long, somber dress, a white apron and cap, entered the opposite side of the room from the dining room door.

  “Aye, Master Baird?”

  “Fetch yer mistress a brandy, please.”

  “Peach, if you have it,” the blonde said to the second woman.

  “Aye, ma'am.” She looked at the men standing shoulder to shoulder at the blonde's side. “Anythin' for you, sirs?”

  Lachlan flagged a hand of refusal. The other man flashed his teeth in a grin before replying, “Scotch.”

  With a bow of her head, the dark-haired woman hurried off through the door.

  “Lannie?”

  Lachlan smiled down at the blonde.

  “I would dearly love a bath.”

  “I'll have—” He stopped and puffed up his chest. “I'll tend to it, maself, darlin'. Robert, keep an eye on her?” Lachlan winked at the man. “I canna have ma bride gettin' lost, can I?”

  Robert gave a shake of his head. “I'll guard her wi' ma life.”

  Lachlan began to walk toward Beth, who stood frozen in disbelief. She stared at him through widened eyes. Although she had no doubts that this was Lachlan, he looked very different. Younger, somehow. His skin was no longer pale, but deeply tanned.

&
nbsp; He was nearly upon her when she remembered her state of undress. Folding her arms against her breasts, she stammered, “I'm s-sorry. I didn't know—”

  He stopped, reached through her, and swung open the door in the space she was occupying. Before she could gather her wits, he walked through her and closed the door behind him.

  A mist of tears filled Beth's eyes as she bewilderingly gazed at the couple several yards away. They were staring at her, or at least she believed so until the man said with unmistakable animosity, “He'll no' be easy to put off.” Coming around to stand in front of the blonde, he scowled. “Tessa, I canna bear the thought o' him touchin' you.”

  A slow, evil smile spread across the woman's mouth as she reached out with a gloved hand and boldly cupped the man's crotch. She gave a tug, urging him closer. Then she leaned to and pressed her lips to his lower abdomen.

  Beth gave a shake of her head as it dawned on her what was happening. She was caught up in another hallucination. Why else would the man and woman be dressed like something out of the mid nineteenth century?

  “Tessa,” the man groaned, dipping back his head, his features deeply carved with need.

  “The poor sod will never have me, Robert.” Running a hand over the rigid erection concealed beneath his fawn-colored trousers, she peered up through thick, pale lashes. “Tis you I love. His paughty hands will never touch ma skin, I promise.”

  Robert Ingliss sank to his knees and hungrily pulled the blonde into his arms.

  For several long seconds, Beth watched them passionately kiss then stormed across the room.

  “You slut!” Beth wailed, stopping alongside the couple. “Stop it! Stop it!”

  Tessa straightened back, her head turning in each direction, her eyes wide with suspicion.

  “Wha' is it?” Robert asked, vainly trying to kiss her.

  “I thought I heard somethin',” she whispered.

  Robert released a nasty chuckle and pinched her chin between a thumb and forefinger to force her to look at him. “It'll take his lordship a while to run yer bath. Dinna tease me, Tessa. I winna stand for it. I need your mouth on ma cock.”