Everlastin' Book 1

by Mickee Madden

  A wounded look softened Lachlan's face as he looked at Beth. “For the record, Carlene wanted to stop you from comin'. I wouldna let her. David was tired o' the whole business and went on. I forced Carlene to remain till efter you'd arrived. I'm no' proud o' tha', but she left me no choice. The day she brought you here, she returned to David, and left you in ma inestimable care.”

  “You betrayed their friendship.”

  “Fegs, Beth! I was desperate to hold you!”

  “Why didn't you tell me I was dying?”

  Lachlan gestured his frustration. “I couldna bring the words ou', love. I tried. I knew the hemorrhagin' was worsenin'—”

  “Hemorrhaging?”

  “The coroner told Agnes there were indications o' cerebral embolisms—wha’ever tha' means—but the cause o' yer death was a cerebral hemorrhage.”

  “The embolisms were the cause of my headaches?”

  “I believe so. Agnes remarked the doctor said it was a miracle you didna suffer a stroke.”

  “Right...a stroke,” Beth huffed. “I guess I was just damn lucky that it killed me, instead.”

  Lachlan took three long strides to bring himself directly in front of her. Hesitantly, he rested his hands on her shoulders then gave them a tender squeeze. But Beth continued to stare dully at his chest, awarding him a moment to try to steady his legs beneath him. “The scotch is buzzin' in ma head.”

  Her gaze lifted and searched his face through an unreadable expression. “Do you want to sit?”

  Lachlan hesitated then gave a single nod. Beth guided him to one of the sofas and helped him to lower himself onto it. Choosing to remain on her feet, she went to stand behind him.

  “Something happened to me this morning.”

  Cradling his head with his hands, he looked up at her over his shoulder.

  “I was in the attic,” she began in an absent tone. “I found this dress in one of the trunks, and put it on. Not long after, I felt something change—the air or something. I came downstairs and found you in this room.”

  A pain-filled scowl masked his face. “I wasna down here this morn.”

  “You weren't alone.” Beth looked down and locked eyes with him. “Robert and Tessa were with you.”

  Lachlan laughed then grimaced as its sound lanced his aching head. “You have gone daft, womon.”

  “It was your wedding night, Lachlan. Tessa was wearing a purple and red gown, and purple lace gloves. A little hat with feathers was cocked to one side on her head. Cocked on the right side, if memory serves me. All I really remember about Robert is that he had longish, fine brown hair, and narrow eyes. Oh, and a pointy chin.

  “A maid came in. Tessa asked for peach brandy.”

  Despite his pounding headache, Lachlan bolted to his feet and faced Beth. Her unreadable expression chilled him, made him wary of further disclosure. “What witchery be this?”

  “You drew her a bath, remember?” Beth went on quietly. “You left them alone in this room and, when you returned, Tessa was hysterical. Her brandy glass mysteriously flew through the air and smashed on the mantel. I was aiming at Robert, but missed.”

  “It canna be,” he murmured, trembling with shock.

  “Robert escorted her to your room. They made love, in the tub, in front of the hearth.”

  “Stop!”

  “You once told me that Tessa felt this place was haunted. It was. Briefly. By me. Somehow, I went back.”

  “Tis no' possible!”

  “At first I thought you were somehow responsible for the phenomenon, but I know now you had no hand in it. I tried to warn you about her, Lachlan. You sat in that—” She pointed with an isolated finger. “—chair, and I touched your knees. You, too, were aware of my presence, but you chose to ignore me.”

  Shaking his head in confused denial, Lachlan stared off into space.

  “If I managed to go back, then you must be able to as well. Go back, Lachlan. Change the past.”

  “No!”

  “Live your life!”

  “Wi’ou' you?” he asked harshly.

  “We'll go back together.”

  He adamantly shook his head. “Truth be, I've been happier in this existence, than the ither. And truth be, Beth, there's no guarantee you'll be able to remain in ma century. Let it be.”

  “You could find someone else. Have children!”

  “I want naught but you! Why is it so bloody hard for you to accept tha' I love you more than anythin'—especially a flesh and blood existence?”

  “You thought you were in love with Tessa.”

  “I was a fool,” he grumbled.

  “A virgin, you mean.”

  Her words shocked him, and he gaped at her.

  She sighed. “I'm sorry. I guess men don't care to be tagged virgins, do they?”

  “Bestill yer tongue, lass,” he said darkly, ill-at-ease with her knowledge.

  “You have the infuriating habit of talking to me as though I were a subservient nineteenth century woman. I don't like it, Lachlan. I have as much right to speak my mind, as you do.”

  “Aye.” Wearily, he seated himself again on the sofa. “You've thrown yer independence in ma face often enough.”

  “I don't like decisions being made for me.”

  Lachlan grunted in agreement. “Tis yer decision to stay or pass on,” he said, the words stilted, as if to say them took great willpower. “You've accused me o' keepin' you here against yer will. Truth be, lass, I havna the power to stop you. Yer conscience and yer heart have kept you here.”

  He was right, she knew now—perhaps had known all along. “If I do stay, Lachlan, then we must agree to a companionship of equal status; not what Lachlan wants, Lachlan gets.”

  “I've heard o' women's lib,” he grumbled, and cranked himself around to look up at her. “But I've a suspicion ye're talkin' specifically abou' the Inglisses.”

  “I am.”

  “No. No way.” Lachlan forced himself up on his feet and faced her, the sofa between them. “Some things remain a mon's business, Beth. The Inglisses—”

  “Tell me something,” she interrupted blithely, her lofty mood setting off a warning signal in Lachlan's mind. “How do you manage to keep this place in repairs? Who pays for the gas, and the food? Do you have a water bill?”

  Lachlan looked about him, wondering where this line of questioning was going to land him. “Aye, there are bills and repairs.”

  “Don't tell me the Inglisses pay them.”

  Impatience stormed across Lachlan's face. “Yer pity for them wounds me deeply.”

  “Just answer me, please.”

  “I give Viola Cooke money to take care o' the bills.”

  “Who is she?”

  “A dear, old soul wi' a love for the supernatural. Her grandmither was the founder o' the 'Call Way' in Castle Douglas many years ago. She was a staunch believer in the efterlife, and funded the preservation o' estates blessed wi' the spirits o' the long dead. She came here durin' the last decade o' her life, and we had a hearty talk, we did. I was quite surprised when she told me I was the most vibrant spirit she'd come to meet.

  “Fancy tha', Beth. Many o' our kind dinna have the energy to pop in and ou' between the two worlds as you and I do. She told me willpower had a lot' to do wi' ma abilities.”

  “Wonderful,” Beth muttered.

  Ignoring her, Lachlan went on, “When Violet passed on, her daughter, Rose, took over. Now, Viola, a third generation, is helpin' us.”

  “Do you materialize to her, too?”

  “Aye. Viola's a sweet old lady. Every All Hallows Eve, she has a séance here wi' her group. A few groans and the like keep her happy for anither year.”

  “That's degrading.”

  Lachlan grinned and gave a lift of his shoulders. “She takes care o' the legal work to keep this place ou' o' the Crown's hands. She also took care o' the arrangements to inter Carlene, David and you,. There are some things we spirits canna do.”

  “How did you get this
woman to pay for my taxi ride here?”

  Hiding a grimace at the accusation in Beth's tone, Lachlan gave an airy shrug. “I asked. She's a kind womon.”

  “Does she know I'm....” Beth rolled her eyes as she mentally fumbled for the right words. “One of the 'vibrant inhabitants' now?”

  “Weel, no' exactly. I dinna want you exposed to the public, so to say.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Ah, darlin', I hear yer temper simmerin' beneath the calm o' yer stance. The meanin' be, I'm Scotland's maist notorious ghost. Ma name's in books all around the world.”

  “You're saying that if I do decide to stay, I'm to be your secret lover?”

  Lachlan frowned. He didn't like Beth's breathy tone, or the vibes she was sending out. “Tis for yer own good. Would you really care to have strangers gawkin' at you?”

  He saw the rigidness in her body slacken, and he smiled with satisfaction. It was seldom he won a point with her—

  A tingling sensation began in his toes and swiftly coursed through his body as all his beloved treasures in the room soundlessly rose in the air. Beth's eyes were calm, but the floating objects told another story. The air about her was crackling with something akin to hostility.

  “Darlin'....” He laughed unsteadily. “No' ma treasures again.”

  “Oh? And why not?”

  He laughed again, low and choked with emotion. “You have a cruel streak in you, womon.”

  “I'm just thinking of what's best for you.”

  “For me, you say?” Phantom perspiration broke out on his brow. “Darlin', I prefer yer temper on the fore. This...calm o' yers is scarin' the hell ou' o' me. Now please, lass, carefully return ma treasures to their places and stop tormentin' me wi' the threat o' their demise.”

  “Tormenting is a mighty strong word,” Beth sighed in mock sorrow.

  Lachlan's features grew sicklier. “Wha' have I done? At least tell me tha' much!”

  “I'm not a child, Lachlan. I'm a woman with a mind of my own. I understand your chauvinism stems from your upbringing in the wrong century—”

  “Is tha' an insult to me or ma century?”

  “If I were to smash all your treasures to free you from your material obsession, would you be upset?”

  A deadpan look came down over Lachlan's features. “I'd blow me a rooftop.”

  “Then stop making decisions for me.”

  To Lachlan's relief, the artifacts settled back in their places. A long sigh escaped him. He'd certainly gotten that message, although he would have been happier had she simply stated her feelings.

  “Weel....” He gave Beth a wink. “Now tha' we've the hardships behind us, there's a nice warm bed waitin' for us, and a fire in the hearth to warm our bones.”

  He held out his hand to Beth but lowered it as she stood silently watching him.

  “Beth...darlin'. I've been patient, have I no'?”

  “You'll have to be patient a while longer.”

  “Give me one bloody good reason—”

  “I'm not in the mood.”

  “A little gentle persuasion—”

  “I have a lot of thinking to do.”

  “You've had months!”

  “I need more time,” she said quietly, and started toward the door to the main hall.

  “Beth!” He waited until she had stopped and looked at him. “I do love you.”

  “I know you do. And I love you.”

  “Then wha's the problem?”

  Beth looked longingly in the direction of the door to the hall. It would be so simple to walk—or pop—away and leave this discussion for another day. But when she looked again at Lachlan, she realized the extent of his despair over not understanding her continued emotional distance with him.

  For him it was a simple matter: He loved her. She loved him. The bed was upstairs.

  But before she could commit herself to eternity with him, they had one last hurdle to surpass.

  “Your bitterness toward the Inglisses.”

  “Darlin', tis no' a subject we'll ever agree on. Let it be. You canna change how I feel abou' those people.”

  Despite her determination not to break down in front of him, tears swiftly brimmed her eyes. “And there lies the problem.”

  “Tis none o' yer business—”

  “It most certainly is! I feel your hate and bitterness as if it were a part of me, Lachlan. It's like having a cancer eat away at me. Our...link...does not permit me to shut out your emotions.”

  “Beth—”

  “No! No platitudes, please.

  “Look, Lachlan, I’m sorry for all the hurtful things I said about believing you were drugging me and...well, everything. I wish you and Carlene would have told me about my condition, and at least had given me the option to see a doctor here.”

  “Beth,” he moaned.

  “I understand, Lachlan. When Carlene and David came to get me, I finally understood everything. I’m not throwing out blame, Lachlan. Even if I hadn’t died, I’m not sure I really could have left you or this house behind. Okay?”

  “Ye’re no’ angry wi’ me?”

  Beth sighed, and massaged her throat for a moment.

  “No I’m not.”

  “Then why...?”

  “My mother became angry and bitter after my father died, and angrier and more bitter after she became ill. For all those years, Lachlan, I felt like I would never escape the gloom those emotions cast over my life.

  “Until I came here, I don’t recall ever raising my voice or losing my temper, and certainly never hitting anyone. Your anger and rage far exceed what my mother experienced. It was hard enough existing in the same house with her. I wasn’t linked to her, Lachlan.”

  “I know wha’ ye’re sayin’,” he said in a small voice.

  “Do you? Until you can resolve your anger with the Ingliss clan, I'm going to put as much distance between us as possible. It's the only way I can dim the emotional transmissions I'm getting from you. It's the only way I can bear this quasi-existence.”

  Lachlan stood as still as a statue, misery lending him an air of stark vulnerability.

  “I'm sorry,” Beth said in an aching whisper. “I don't like hurting you.”

  “But you do it so weel.” His attempt to come across as flippant fell short, and he quickly turned away to hide his mounting pain from her inspection. “Och, go away, Beth. Do wha’ever makes you happy. I'll never kiss up to an Ingliss, but I will be here waitin' for you when you come to yer senses.”

  A flicker of anger glistened in Beth's tear-filled eyes. She tried to speak but the words would not leave her throat for several seconds.

  “You love me, but it's a conditional love, Lachlan.”

  “Conditional?” he volleyed bitterly, casting her a disparaging look. “Ask and I'd move heaven and earth for you!”

  “All I ask is that you free your hatred of the Inglisses.”

  “Never.”

  A hand pressed over the thudding remembrance of her phantom heart, Beth said in a trembling tone, “You love me but your hatred of them takes precedence? I refuse to experience it through you again!” She ran from the room.

  As soon as she was gone, Lachlan furiously sliced the air with a hand. Unbeknown to him until it was too late, a minute portion of his energy slipped from his control. Two porcelain figurines to his left flew off their shelves and crashed to the floor behind him. He solemnly stared at the damaged pieces.

  “Wait, she says. Wait, and swallow ma hatred for tha' murderin' clan!”

  Lifting a crystal dove in his hand, he laconically tossed it behind him. He was walking toward the same door Beth had used when the valuable piece shattered on the coffee table. Muttering, “Obsessed with ma treasures, ma bahookie,” he shuffled out of the parlor and into the hall.

  “And as for those Inglisses....”

  * * *

  Roan was sleeping fitfully on his cousin's bed. Borgie was in St. Ives, England, visiting a friend—hiding from the gho
st was more accurate, but Roan couldn't think his cousin such a terrible coward anymore, not after having finally met the family's nemesis himself.

  A window was open, letting the chill of the night embrace his breathing passages. Two wool blankets were pulled up to his ears, and his thermal-clad body beneath was almost curled in a fetal position. He was dreaming of an ugly confrontation with Lachlan in the tower. But he had the upper hand. The razor- sharp tip of his sword was edging the laird back toward the wall where he'd been interred.

  A little more—

  It felt as though liquid ice had washed over him.

  Bolting upright in the bed, Roan made a scramble of throwing the covers aside. Gasping, blustering, he shot from the bed and closed the window then, hugging himself, danced from foot to foot on the cold, planked floor while he tried to figure out what had happened to him.

  He was dry, but his skin felt an icy sluice of water washing over him still, repeatedly, until the terrible coldness began to coil about his bones.

  A nasty omnipresent laugh filled the room.

  With the realization that the ghost was nearby, Roan felt the coldness lose its integrity.

  “Baird!” he whispered through clenched teeth.

  The laugh grew louder.

  “You uncarin' bastard! Aggie needs her rest! Show a little respect for her age!”

  The laughter cut to a smothering silence. Furtively glancing about him, his hands rubbing his arms for warmth, Roan took several hesitant steps toward the center of the room. When Lachlan abruptly appeared, Roan nearly fell back.

  “Steady, now, laddie,” Lachlan taunted. His large hands gave a firm squeeze to Roan's shoulders.

  Shucking off Lachlan's touch, Roan padded to the foot of the bed and turned to glare at his unwelcome visitor. “Wha' do you want?”

  “Ta leave you wi' a word o' warnin',” Lachlan said ominously. “Dinna ever try to pit ma womon against me again.”

  “You managed tha' yerself.”

  Lachlan calmly walked up to the dresser mirror and lightly touched his fist to the cold surface. Soundless, countless cracks spread throughout the glass.

  “Dinna try ma patience, little mon. Watch yer own when Beth's around, and be careful o' wha' you say to her.”

  “Or wha', old mon?”