“It still sounds like a command, and it'll be a cold day in hell when I start taking orders from you,” she huffed, unconsciously responding to the negative emotions vibrating from him. “We're going to talk. Now.”
“When I'm through wi' this Ingliss—”
“I've said all I came to say,” Roan interjected. He cast his aunt a look that told her to stay where she was by the van. “The rest is up to you, Baird.”
He was turning away when Lachlan's hand shot out and cinched his broad neck. Taken aback by the strength in the specter's hold, he looked helplessly into the brooding dark eyes before him.
At that moment, something swept into and filled Beth completely, choking off her senses. Panic lanced her. For several seconds, she could not understand what was happening to her. Then it dawned on her that the terrible feeling trying to overcome her was rage and it was coming from within Lachlan.
“Let him go!” Beth warned. “Lachlan! Do it now, or I swear I'll follow Carlene and David!”
Releasing Roan, Lachlan dropped his arm swiftly to his side. Ignoring the man who now stood bent over, his hands gingerly massaging his neck, the laird turned an incredulous, wounded look on Beth. “Carlene and David?”
Beth forced her revulsion down and managed to appear reasonably calm. “I just had a talk with Carlene.” She swung a sympathetic look at Roan, who was straightening up with a furious glint in his eyes. “Mr. Ingliss, I think you should go.”
“Are you ready to leave?” he asked Beth, casting Lachlan a defiant look askance.
“Stay ou' o' this!” Lachlan hissed. “Her place is here wi' me!”
Chagrin shadowed Beth's face. “Lachlan, you don't own me.”
“Roan,” Agnes croaked as she closed the distance on unsteady legs. She met Beth's unreadable gaze, then shrugged deeper into her oversized coat. “Roan, come away wi' me now.”
“Agnes, is it true you attended my burial?”
The answer was clearly written on Agnes' weathered face.
Beth swallowed hard past the tightness in her throat. “Thank you. That was very kind.”
“Ye're the dead woman?” Roan whispered, looking at Beth with raw astonishment. “The American woman who died a few months back?”
A few months back?
Beth gave a furtive glance at the landscape. Yes. It was definitely winter.
“I've regretted ma words to you, Missy,” Agnes sniffled. “I've regretted them a hundred times and mair. I'm so sorry. So sorry this happened to you.”
There was no longer any doubt in Beth's mind that she had actually passed on. What puzzled her was the serenity she felt at having finally accepted the truth.
“She's the dead one, Aggie?” Roan rasped, his gaze volleying between his aunt and the American, his face ashen and taut. But then he blinked numbly at Lachlan's features, and it occurred to him that if the old master of the place could appear so real, why wouldn't the woman?
“Aye, we'll talk,” Lachlan said gruffly, taking Beth by the arm and turning toward the house. “Ingliss, I'll no' consider yer ou'rageous offer. Be here in the morn to start work, or I'll be payin' you a visit you winna soon forget.”
“Hold it, Lachlan.” Beth wrenched free of his hold and fixed her attention on Roan. “Why did you come here, Mr. Ingliss?”
“Tis business done!” Lachlan snapped.
Beth shot him a warning look then settled her gaze on the other man's face. “Well?”
“I offered him a proposition.”
“You insulted me!”
“You old bag o' wind!” Roan roared, jabbing an isolated finger at Lachlan. “Yer threats don't frighten me, Lannie. Visit me? I'll laugh in yer face!”
“Stop it!” Beth demanded, placing her hands on each of the men's chests to keep them separated. “Mr. Ingliss, exactly what was your proposition?”
“Och—”
“Shut up, Lachlan. I'm talking to him.”
Roan drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I've been laid off ma job. I work construction. Aggie told me abou' Borgie's trouble, and asked me to take over until some ither arrangement could be made.”
With a pause, Roan raked a dark look over Lachlan's stormy face. “I need to work this winter. Wi' the masonry needin' repairs on two o' the chimneys, and the rotted boards to be replaced in the carriage house, I offered to work here till spring.”
“For board and pay!” Lachlan hissed.
“For use o' the cot in the carriage house, and a fair wage. Nothin' in this world would get me to set foot in yer damned house.”
“I'd tear ou' yer heart if you tried!”
“Enough!” Beth bellowed. “The two of you are carrying on like children!”
“An Ingliss issuin' me ultimatums!” Lachlan ranted. “Beth, darlin', you know I'm a patient mon—”
Beth impatiently flagged a hand to silence him. “You have a blind spot where the Inglisses are concerned.”
“Wi' reason!”
“I think a hundred and forty-nine year grudge is carrying things too far,” she countered impatiently.
Lachlan began to spout off in Gaelic. Beth allowed him several long seconds to spend his outrage then lifted a hand in a demand for silence. To her immense relief, the man beside her quieted, although he impaled Roan Ingliss with his dirtiest look, one resembling that of a hovering vulture waiting for its meal to draw its last breath.
“What's unfair about hiring him?” Beth asked Lachlan calmly. His gaze shot to her own, questioning her sanity.
“Is there masonry work that needs to be done?”
“Aye, but—”
“Is there rotted wood in the carriage house?”
“Aye, but—”
“Then it seems to me you would want someone you could trust to do the work.”
Lachlan's spilled breath frosted about Beth's face. “Trust an Ingliss?” he asked shrilly. “Are you daft, womon! Dinna you listen to a word I said—”
“Tessa drove the knife into your heart,” Beth said, “and it was Robert who walled you up in the tower. These people haven't done anything to you!”
“Tis in their blood ta—”
“Oh, give it a rest,” Beth sighed with exasperation. “You keep telling me this is my home, too. Well personally, I'd like to know the repairs were in the hands of a man I trust.”
“You trust?” Lachlan said in a barely audible voice, and slapped a palm to his brow. “Weel, why should you no' trust the mon, eh? It was no' yer blood the Inglisses spilled, was it?”
“When could you begin the work, Mr. Ingliss?”
Roan couldn't help the laugh that shot from his throat. The woman might be a ghost, but her spirit was mightier than any living person's he'd ever met. “Monday.”
“Monday, then,” Beth said resolutely.
“A dirk in ma eye!” Lachlan exploded. “I'll no' have this Ingliss workin' ma home!”
“You're not. I am.” Beth looked at Agnes. “I'm sorry all of this has been so upsetting to you. I give you my word, nothing will happen to your nephew.”
“I hope no', Missy,” Agnes said nervously, her gaze trained on Lachlan's stormy countenance.
“Assure her, Lachlan,” Beth said, giving Lachlan's arm a jab with an elbow. Then, leaning to, she whispered in his ear in warning, “Darling, must we get ugly about this?”
Lachlan frowned as he looked into Beth's eyes.
Ugly?
He could hear her thoughts as clearly as his own. She was threatening his treasures again. “Ye're an unscrupulous womon,” he grumbled.
Beth offered a smug half grin to Roan and Agnes. “He'll behave, I promise. Agnes, it was good to see you again.”
Agnes allowed a smile to slip past the tautness of her face then linked her arm with her nephew's. “Come now, Roan. The cold is settlin' in ma bones.”
Beth turned her attention to Lachlan. “We have a few matters to discuss, don't we?”
Before Lachlan could respond, Beth linked an arm through his and gave him a
pull in the direction of the house. Roan remained as still as a statue until the couple was beyond the front doors then he turned and looked down at his aunt with wry amusement dancing in his eyes.
“You could have warned me the lady was a ghost.”
“She took me by surprise,” Agnes murmured, staring forlornly at the front of the house. “Do you think she'll stay wi' him?”
Roan glanced at the house. “Hard to say. She sure keeps him on his toes.”
A frown doubled the wrinkles on Agnes brow. “Why would she stay, though?”
Placing a hand on her back, Roan directed his aunt toward the van. “Just keep in mind, auntie, our purpose in comin' here.”
“But she's a kind lass, Roan. It's so unfair she's stuck wi' the likes o' Lannie Baird.”
“Careful gettin' in,” Roan chided as he helped his aunt onto the passenger seat.
“I'm no' so old I can’t buckle maself in!”
With a low chuckle, Roan kissed Agnes on the cheek. “Sorry, love.”
“Sorry enough you'll forget yer silly plan?”
“Oh, no. I've sworn to banish tha' mon from our lives, and I intend to see it through.”
A look of despair dulled and clouded Agnes blue eyes. “You've seen how human he can appear at times, Roan. No' an exorcist in all o' Great Britain could banish him. His hate for us runs too deep.”
Roan's eyes hardened as he looked again upon the house. “He has a weakness, Aggie. Tha' womon. If she decides to leave here, he'll follow her.”
Closing the door, Roan walked around to the driver's side and climbed in behind the wheel. He started the van before Agnes spoke again.
“You have three days to change yer mind.”
Roan gave a determined shake of his head as he started the van forward. “Nine generations o' sufferin' is enough, Aggie. I'll no' fail. Have a little faith.”
“Faith, ha! Lannie's got poor Miss Staples trapped here, torturin' her for all we know.”
Releasing a groan, Roan pulled out onto the main road. “She doesn't strike me as the kind o' womon to be strayed from her own mind. If anything, she gave me the impression she's runnin' the show.”
“Maybe,” Aggie murmured thoughtfully.
A soft thud outside brought Roan to roll the van to a stop. He hastened out the door, Agnes anxiously watching for his return. When he appeared at the open door, she stared in open-mouthed horror at what he held dangling upside-down in his hand.
“Good lord!” she squealed, a hand placed over her racing heart. “You've killed one o' his birds!”
Climbing back onto the driver's seat, Roan nonchalantly tossed the dead peacock on the back seat.
“The damned thin’s have the run o' the place,” he said, turning the ignition. “He won't miss one.”
“Oh lord, oh lord, you dinna know him! His precious bird, Roan! He's names for every one o' the flock!”
Roan grinned wanly as he steered the van off the access road. “So we have Roger stuff the damn thin', and we'll put it in plain sight. Baird will never know the difference.”
Agnes hurriedly blessed herself. “Now ye're thinkin' he's a fool? We're doomed.”
Casting his aunt a sideward glance, Roan scowled. “No we're no'. Aggie. We're soon to be emancipated.”
She would be sixty-eight in a few weeks. She had worked at Kist House for, on-and-off, thirty years. Most of her life had been spent fearing and trying to outsmart the devil whose presence cast such a terrible pall over her family.
Yes, she had thought Roan's plan a viable one at first, his convictions and strength of character rekindling the hope she'd thought was lost long ago.
Her clan was still sizeable. There were others who would work at the Baird House with a little nudging from her. They all feared the threat of visits from the ghost, the intrusions into their personal sanctuaries—their homes and work places. But Roan....
Now out of work, with too much time to think, her nephew had somehow gotten the crazy notion that he could alter their lives for the better.
Dear Roan, who had lost his wife and young son to a terrible fire in their home last year. Roan, who, whatever his personal feelings toward a family member, could always be counted on in a pinch.
And now she was going to lose him to Lannie Baird's wrath.
She was so positive of that, she wept from within.
Chapter 11
Although her mind was elsewhere, Beth handled a number of the brass collection on the shelves by the fireplace in the parlor. Several hours ago, after leaving Roan and Agnes, Lachlan had beelined for the bar, telling Beth he wouldn't be long. Overly conscious of his dark mood, she'd decided it was best she gave him a little time to collect himself.
She'd made the decision to hire Roan Ingliss out of pure spite, although she hadn't a clue how she was going to actually pay the man. There was still a modicum of anger in her toward Lachlan for his unorthodox method of procuring himself a lover and companion. He should have told her the truth right away, given her the option to decide what to do with what life she had left, and where she would die.
Oddly, she felt no animosity toward Carlene. She had felt her friend's anguish, and heard the fear clear enough in her tone when she'd spoken of Lachlan.
“I didna think you'd deny me a guid-willie-waucht,” Lachlan slurred, lifting a half-emptied glass of scotch in a shaky salute as he weaved into the room.
After a moment of offering up a prayer for patience, Beth slowly turned to face him. There was no doubt in her mind that he was very near to falling flat on his face.
Resting an elbow on the mantelpiece, he noisily chugged down the rest of his drink. He grimaced as the fiery liquid made its way to his stomach then he gave a theatrical shudder and tossed the glass into the blazing hearth.
“I've come to a decision. I'll no' stand for the arrangement wi' the Ingliss,” he said, choosing to stare up at the portrait rather than meet Beth's gaze. “Tis no' yer place to dictate ma feelin's toward tha' pack o' wolves.”
“Let's discuss your feelings toward me.”
He cast her a worried look, frowned, then peered up at the portrait again. “I've tried a hundred times to explain—”
“So, try again.”
With a sound of woe rattling in his throat, he turned to face her. But the movement was too quick, making him sway, and he braced a hand on the ledge of the mantel to steady himself.
“Try again?” He ran his free hand down his face and tried to shake the proverbial cobwebs from his mind. “Might be I'm no' in the mood. Yer paughty actions wi' the Ingliss cut me deep—as well you knew it would.”
“Yes, I would have defied your decision no matter what it had been,” Beth admitted calmly. “But I do believe your grudge against that family has gone on long enough.”
“Tis ma grudge.”
“Tis your grudge, your house, and your treasures. You're a self-centered, spiteful little man, Lachlan—”
“Hold it!”
“—and I'm fed up with the world—and beyond—revolving around what you want.”
His face shockingly pale, Lachlan clapped an open hand over his pseudo heart. “You would choke on a kind word to me, wouldna you?”
“No. You do have your moments.”
A cracked cry burst from his throat. Looking up at the portrait, he wagged a forefinger at the depiction of his love. “There's no' a cruel line in yer face, darlin'. How was I to know you wouldna be as sweet in the flesh as you are on the canvas?”
“Talk to me.”
Lachlan's head bobbed as it turned toward Beth. “Talk to you?” He jabbed an isolated thumb up at the portrait. “She's far kinder. I can take ma lickin's, lass, but yer tongue has a fierce sting to it.”
Beth sighed with a hint of annoyance. “You're drunk.”
“Nearly on ma lips,” he grinned crookedly. “Fortification, darlin'.”
“Lachlan, why am I here?”
The soft sound of Beth's tone caused a shiver to pass through L
achlan's numbing body. Turning away. he braced his elbows on the mantel's edge. He buried his face in his palms and tried to will away the disorienting effects of the alcohol he'd consumed.
“When Carlene and David first came here as prospective renters, I was excited,” he began dully, straightening away from the fireplace, but keeping his profile to Beth. It was easier to stare up at her portrait than anticipate anger or disgust flashing in her real eyes. “It had been a while since a young couple had considered the place. Oh, many had come wi' the notion to reside within these grand walls, but I ran them off for one reason or anither. Carlene and David were different than the rest. They talked abou' havin' children within these verra walls tha' first day. I could sense they felt a strong love for this place.
“It was abou' a week later afore I made maself known to them. David took ma presence calm enough. Carlene....” He smiled wistfully. “Weel, efter a time o' hysterics, she decided I was a bonus. It was the first time since ma death I felt comfortable around the livin'. It was nice, Beth. Real nice. And David could play a sportin' game o' chess.
“A month efter they moved in, Carlene asked if she could hang up yer portrait here. The first time I laid eyes on it, I felt this...punch in ma gut. As days slipped into weeks, Beth, I found maself comin' here all the time to talk to you. There were times, I swear, you talked back to me—but wi' a kinder tongue than I've heard since you arrived, I can tell you!”
Delivering Beth a petulant look, he went on, “I'm no' sure when I began to link wi' you. Suddenly, I was receivin' yer thoughts, and feelin' the workin's o' yer body as though they were ma own. I endured the headaches wi' you, and terrible they were. I kept tryin' to will you to have the problem checked wi' a doctor, but you never seemed to pick up ma thoughts in tha’ regard.”
Lachlan fell sullenly quiet for several long moments. He was tired and feeling out of sorts. And drunk. The scotch was doing crazy things to his system, but he nonetheless went on.
“I told Carlene I was sure you were dyin', and I feared you had no inklin' o' wha' was happenin' to you. We agreed you should be brought here. David wanted naught to do wi' any o' it. We'd planned to tell you everythin' right away, but then Carlene and David were killed in their motor carriage.”
Everlastin' Book 1 Page 20
