“You just insulted me,” Lachlan slurred.
“No. I'm pissed. Did I tell you Kevin bit me?” Roan lifted a leg and braced it on the back of the chair. Tugging on the hem of his pants, he chortled, “Right on the calf of ma leg. He's the youngest. Three, I think. He likes to bite. As stubborn as his aunt.”
A grin split Lachlan's bobbing head. “You repeat yerself a lot.”
“Do I now? Did I tell you the lads are real horrors?”
“Aye...you...did.”
“Hmm. Did I tell you Alby, the middle lad, tried to set fire to the rug in the room they're in?”
Lachlan grimaced and shook his head.
“Seems the lad has a fondness for settin' fire accordin' to Laura. Little wonder the stepmither left.”
Now Roan grimaced. “Little wonder Laura is such a sour puss.”
“Pretty, is she?”
Roan looked genuinely befuddled. “Hard to say. She's a little thin'. The top o' her head abou’ reaches ma shoulder. Green eyes. Pretty green eyes, but she frowns and scowls too much. Hey, Baird?”
Lachlan squinted at Roan.
Roan tried to stand, swayed, and plopped back onto the seat. “I think we're really pissed.”
With a throaty chuckle, Lachlan cranked himself up onto his feet. Once standing, he was forced to brace an arm against the wall to stop from keeling over. “I've got to find ma Beth.”
With a grunt, Roan rocked to his feet. He tripped over the legs of the chair and crashed into Lachlan. Spirit and man went down hard, but they were laughing as they wrestled into sitting positions.
“Why would she put me through so much pain?” Lachlan asked, laughter bubbling within him. “They say they love you, then—” He sliced a hand across his throat.
The gesture prompted a burst of laughter from Roan, and raising his hand, he pretended to dirk himself in the heart with an invisible knife.
“They put it in and twist it, Baird. We men have always been at their mercy.”
The laughter escalated.
“For wha', I ask you?”
Roan quickly sobered. “A wee pleasure.”
Now Lachlan sobered, and draped an arm about Roan's shoulders. “God, I miss her.”
“Beth?”
“Aye. But I'm gettin' mad as hell now.”
With the help of the chair and table, Lachlan pulled himself up on his feet. When he looked at Roan, the man was staring dumbfoundedly up at him.
“You know, she could have calmly explained wha' she considered to be ma faults. I'm a reasonable mon.”
He reached down and clasped Roan's outstretched hand. Hauling the man up, he nearly fell over. Their legs rubbery beneath them, both men sat atop the table.
“Fine scotch,” Roan slurred, smacking his lips.
“Ye're definitely in yer cups.”
“No' as pissed as you.”
Lachlan turned slightly toward Roan, his eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “Shall we see which o' us makes it to our room withou' fallin' on our lips?”
A secretive smile played across Roan's mouth. “You have an extra landin' to climb, you old fool.”
“Why do you always call me old this and tha'?”
“You're a damn sight older than me,” Roan chuckled. “By a hundred years and mair.”
“Truth be, Ingliss, I was a wee younger than you are when I died. Ghosts dinna age, you know.”
Roan took a long moment to ponder this information. “When ye're right, mon, ye're right.” He looked Lachlan straight in the eye. “You know, had things gone different back then, you would be ma ancestor.”
Sliding off the table, Lachlan grimaced. “Perish the thought.”
“But then you wouldn’t have had a reason to be hauntin', would you?” Roan murmured.
“Hard to say. C'mon, the morn's comin' in a few hours.”
Roan's eyes widened. “And the boys will be up!”
Lachlan took a hold on Roan's arm and pulled him to his feet. “And the green-eyed lass will be rested and full o' fire.”
Moaning, Roan clumsily fell in step beside Lachlan.
Leaning on one another, the two men staggered from the room.
“If you had a heart, Baird, you wouldn’t hold me to ma promise.”
Stopping at the foot of the staircase, both men wilted to a sitting position on the bottom step.
“Abou' the womon?”
Roan nodded. “You know, the boys keep talkin' abou' the ghost they saw efter the accident. Laura scoffs, but they're as sure as rain they saw wha' they saw.”
“Have you given them an explanation?”
“Abou' you?” Roan laughed, belched then made an airy gesture with a hand. “I told them you were a horrible figment o' their imagination. Damn me, mon, I'm no' sure maself ye're no' a figment o' mine.” Frowning, he added, “I prefer to deal wi' you than Miss Laura Bennett.”
“Take a wee bit o' advice.” Lachlan began with a crooked grin, his eyelids growing heavier by the moment. “When she starts to wear on yer nerves, laddie, kiss the fight ou' o' her. It works every time.”
“Kiss her? But wha' if she has tha' bitin' gene in her? I don't fancy losin' a lip.”
“Where's yer spine?” Lachlan grimaced. “You can kiss a womon proper, canna you?”
Roan snorted and scowled into Lachlan's face. “I've never had a complaint.”
“Weel practiced, are you?”
Lachlan's questioning was beginning to wear on Roan. “Aye, I've had ma share o' women.”
“Then you can handle a wee thing like Laura.”
Roan grinned sardonically. “Probably wi' as much aplomb as you've handled yer Beth.”
“Careful, Ingliss.”
“Ah! Now it's no' so funny, is it?”
“You gave me yer word — and over ma grandfaither's scotch!”
“I know.” Roan groaned and lowered his face into his palms for several seconds. When he looked up, he added, “But she's a green-eyed nightmare, Baird. All starch and vinegar.” He feigned a shudder. “It's hard to help someone when they harp on you for every...wee...wee suggestion.”
“I've ma straits, and you yers. Agreed?”
“I think I'm gettin' the short end o' the stick, here,” Roan grumbled.
“Just remember who wears the pants.”
“Meanin' wha'?”
“Women like to be dominated, laddie. Ooh, they put up a fuss abou' it, but they expect i' no less. Tis a matter Beth and I did come to terms on.”
“Really? She doesn't strike me as the type to want to be dominated.”
“Aye. And she—”
Lachlan's eyes rolled to the side and up. His jaw went slack, and a pitiful moan rattled in his throat. Roan, too, looked up. A smile readily beamed on his face, but as quickly died at the sight of the woman's austere look.
“Beth!” Lachlan rasped.
“Just in the nick of time,” she said, an edge to her tone. She looked directly at Roan and arched a censorious brow. “If you listen to him, you're going to find yourself in a world of hurt. Women are not mindless possessions.”
“Ah, sweet darlin,” Lachlan crooned, shooting to his feet. “I never said you were mind–”
As straight as a board, Lachlan passed out and facedown struck the floor. Beth stared down at him for several long moments then looked at Roan.
“His grandfaither's scotch,” Roan grinned ludicrously, and passed out himself, sprawled on the floor beside Lachlan.
Beth stared at the men for a moment longer and rolled her eyes heavenward.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Thank you, Laura,” she whispered.
Chapter 14
Lachlan was first aware of a grueling headache. It squeezed his temples, crimped the back of his neck, and was making an earnest attempt to seize his shoulders. He cracked open one lid to find that he was lying face down on his bed. Sunlight filled the room—painful light that jabbed unmercifully at his exposed eye. Something had crawled
in and died in his mouth. Working it to try to alleviate its terrible dryness, he made a feeble attempt to raise himself up on his elbows. He collapsed and released a pitiful groan.
The sound brought Beth's head around, and a smile touched her lips as she regarded Lachlan. He was truly a sad sight, lying there atop the bed as if he hadn't an ounce of strength.
Little wonder, she thought ruefully.
After he and Roan had polished off the bottle of scotch, a two-day sleep and hangover was expected. For all his bluster, the master of the manor was not a drinking man.
Beth had fully come to realize the extent of his vulnerability. Her ruse had been successful, but Lachlan had suffered more than she'd intended. But the animosity between Lachlan and Roan had been broken. Of course she hadn’t caused Laura’s accident, but she had taken advantage of the situation and the payoff exceeded her expectations. The moment Roan appeared on the scene—which she had instigated that part—Lachlan’s desperation and gratitude had diminished that insidious rage he had harbored for the Inglisses. She wasn’t sure if he was even aware yet that he was free of it. And so was she.
Flattening her palms to one of the semi-frosted window panes, she looked below once again. Roan Ingliss was shouting at Laura Bennett, his arms moving wildly through the air, punctuating his frustration. The woman was standing defensively still, her arms folded across her chest. The boys were nowhere to be seen, but Beth sensed they were in the kitchen having a snack.
Lachlan moaned again as he propped himself up on his elbows, his head hanging between his slack shoulders.
“Would you like some coffee?”
It took the laird's muddled brain several seconds to identify the softly-spoken voice. He cranked his head to the right, but the sunlight pouring in forced him to close his eyes.
“Or would you prefer another bottle of scotch?”
Dropping his face to the pillow, he released a string of muffled Gaelic. The heart sensations were there swelling in his chest, the joy, the relief, the elation of knowing that his love had not gone on. But he was in physical agony. He couldn't recall being subjected to such misery prior to his untimely death.
He felt the mattress sink beneath an added weight. Groaning again, he drew a second pillow over his head. He couldn't think without the pseudo-sound knifing him.
With a grim shake of her head, Beth got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom. She placed a wooden stopper over the tub drain before she turned on the marble taps to a desired water temperature. The sound of running water filled the spacious bathroom. Going to a carved-door cabinet over the sink, she removed a bottle of bubble bath she'd brought from the States. Two capfuls were poured into the water, which instantly began to foam with iridescent bubbles. She returned the capped bottle to the cabinet then sat on the edge of the porcelain claw foot tub and pensively waited until it was three-quarters full.
She was still wearing the gown that had so piqued Lachlan. Standing, she untied the belt, shimmied the garment past her hips and stepped out of it when it fell in folds to the floor. First one foot was lowered into the steaming water. Blessed warmth swirled about her ankle and she sighed in sheer satisfaction. Ignoring Lachlan's moaning in the other room, she sank into the embracing bubbles until only her head could be seen above them.
She had always preferred a long hot soak to a shower, but it continued to amaze her how many of the old pleasures she could delight in although she had been dead for five months. There was no longer a need in her to have explanations for her state of existence. Life went on in one form or another, and she was content to end the self-grieving stage that had nearly spoiled her companionship with Lachlan.
Closing her eyes and wallowing in the liquid fire of her bath, she pondered the term 'companionship' in regard to what she shared with Lachlan.
They were not husband and wife—likely, they would never know a true connubial state. There would never be a flowing white gown of shimmering, layered material, a train of lace and tiny white roses that would trail behind her as she paced her steps down the aisle to the man she would vow to love forever more, to honor and cherish. The obey part, however, would give her pause.
Sighing, she brought the sides of her hands together to fill her upturned palms with bubbles. She blew them into the air. Lowering her arms back into the water, she absently admired the iridescent flecks of colors on the tiny air balls as they drifted in descent.
“Ye're a cruel womon, Beth Staples,” moaned a voice.
Beth turned her head and calmly ran a slow perusal over Lachlan. The door frame was supporting him upright. His clothing was wrinkled, the unbuttoned shirt hanging off his shoulders. Wisps of his mussed hair hung in his face, which was pinched and owning of his misery.
“No' a wee comfort from you, you wicked womon.”
She turned her face away from him to hide the smile vying to light up her features.
“How could you leave the mon you love alone...sufferin'...in his cups wi' misery.”
Keeping a tight rein on her amusement, she leveled on him a look of wifely censure. “In his cups with a hangover, you mean.”
“Hangover?” he gasped then grimaced and gingerly capped his pounding skull with his hands. In a softer, whisperlike voice, he added, “It was no' the scotch wha' dirked ma tender heart again and again these past weeks. You disappeared withou' a care for me, or for wha' I would suffer withou' yer company.”
One gurgle of laughter escaped Beth before she could stop it.
“Mock me, womon,” he growled low, straightening away from the door frame. “I deserve—”
A muffled bang startled him.
“Wha' in hell?”
“That was probably Roan.”
Squinting at the light from the window, Lachlan peered below at the ground. A frown drew down his expressive eyebrows. Laura was standing as still as a statue, her arms folded against her chest. Shortly, she kicked at the soft new snow on the ground and began to make wild gestures as she talked to the air.
“Wha's goin' on wi' them?”
“She's determined to get to Edinburgh.” Beth shifted in the tub and dipped her shoulders below the water line again. “I can't say I envy her position. The children are a handful.”
“Ah, but they're only wee lads,” Lachlan murmured.
His guest's obvious frustration bothered him. Why were women so unreasonable? Roan was only trying to help the fool woman. What was it about the fairer sex that drove them to question the inherent logic of men?
“It's that kind of chauvinistic thought that keeps you in the doghouse,” Beth said dryly.
Lachlan glanced at her over his shoulder then looked below again. “Stop readin' ma mind.”
“We're linked, remember? Besides, you've been traipsing through my thoughts long enough.”
“Wi' reason.”
“Says you.”
Lachlan frowned at her but his attention was drawn back to the woman below. “She's in a tizzy, she is. Wha's the rush, I ask you? Today, next year, Edinburgh will no' vanish from the face o' the earth.”
“She's anxious to be done with the legal problems.”
“Wha' legal problems?”
“She can't return to the States until she can locate the kids' stepmother and obtain their birth certificates.”
Again Lachlan turned his head and frowned at Beth. “So wha's the big deal abou' a birth certificate? They're her nephews. Canna she just—”
“The boys need a passport to fly back to the States with her,” Beth explained patiently. “And they can't get passports unless they have birth certificates.”
Lachlan looked below at Laura, who was still venting her frustration in gestures. “Sounds like the modern world has too many precepts.”
“Aye,” Beth sighed, her gaze roaming lazily over his back and shoulders. “Lachlan?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you so interested in pushing Roan and Laura together?”
“By the way, love, have you no
ticed Braussaw, lately?”
“Lachlan.”
“He just sits there by the fountain, starin' off into space.”
“Lachlan, I asked you a question.”
He winced then forced a ghost of a smile on his face before he looked at Beth. “Weel....” He squirmed a bit and looked below again. “Roan and the womon click.”
“Click?”
“Aye, Beth. We...clicked, you know.” He grinned at her now. “You thought it was the moonlight, darlin', but a mon knows these things.” He looked below and released a quick breath. “Finally the damn fool is takin' matters to hand like a mon.”
Something in Lachlan's smug tone set off a warning in Beth. Hastening out of the tub, her body slick with water and patches of bubbles, she went to stand beside him. Below, Roan and Laura were in a heated exchange of words. Beth didn't need to hear them to know their stubbornness was escalating the awkward situation between them. It was easy for Beth to sympathize with Laura's unease at being stuck in a foreign country with strangers. But she also admired Roan's determination to do what he thought was best for the woman and her nephews. Any other man might have said to hell with the whole mess. But if Roan was about to do what she thought he might—
Beth groaned as she observed the man below yank the woman into his arms and kiss her to silence her onslaught of verbal abuse. Looking askance at Lachlan, she saw his expression was radiant with pride. It had been his advice that Roan was acting upon.
However, it was Roan who was about to pay the penalty.
“Tis a smart mon who listens to his elders,” Lachlan crooned, a twinkle in his eyes.
But his expression crumbled to one of disbelief when Laura wormed out of Roan's arms and her knee shot up to nail him in the groin. Lachlan shriveled as if he had been the one left kneeling on the ground. Turning, he shuffled to the toilet and lowered himself onto the wooden seat. Beth watched him, a grin twitching on her lips.
“He said she was a stubborn womon,” he muttered, running his hands over his face.
“I don't think she retaliated out of stubbornness,” Beth said airily, slightly peeved that Lachlan had not as yet noticed her nakedness. “Roan is a big man. She probably reacted out of fear.”
Everlastin' Book 1 Page 26
