“Oh, but Mr. Baird—”
“Now, now, Miss Cooke,” Lachlan cooed, releasing Beth and taking one of the old woman's hands between his own. “I'm too happy to be lamentin' the wrongs o' the past. Ingliss here, weel, he and I have made our peace, and Beth and I would like to go on wi' our lives—such as they are.”
Viola's eyes misted with tears. Although she was reluctant to let go of her favorite—her only true ghost—she could never deny Lachlan Baird anything.
“I do,” she sniffled. “What can I do for you?”
Lachlan bent over and planted a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. “Ye're the salt o' the earth, Miss Cooke,” he said, straightening up. “I want this Ingliss to have ma home and everythin' in it.”
“Wha’!” Roan gasped. He came around from the back of the sofa to face Lachlan. “Wha' are you up to, Baird?”
“Keepin' ma word,” Lachlan said matter-of-factly, and clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. A bewildered frown flitted across Roan's face, deepening Lachlan's grin. “Tis all yers, laddie. All ma treasures I'm passin' down to you—exceptin' Beth.” He looked at her and winked. “She's the only one I intend to keep everlastin'.”
“I'm the only one you can't get rid of,” Beth said happily.
“Thank God.” Lowering his arm, Lachlan searched Roan's bemused face. “I only ask tha' you put aside the grievances o' the past and make this yer home.”
Pain throbbed at Roan's temples, adding to his befuddled state of mind. “I-umm, I can’t afford the upkeep.”
“I've already given you some o’ the precious stones. The ithers and the money I have stashed away will mair’n set you for life.”
“I don't want yer damn money!” Roan drew in a deep breath to compose himself. “I'm a builder. I work wi' ma hands. I'm no' the kind o' mon to live in a grand house!”
“Tis grand, all right,” Lachlan said softly, his tone touching upon something deep within Roan. “But tis an empty house, aye? Ye're a young mon wi' prospects for the future. Hopes and dreams...no' unlike how I was afore ma daith. I've wasted immeasurable energies keepin' away yer family, Ingliss. But had things been different, this would have been yer family's home.”
“He's right,” Beth said, coming to stand alongside Lachlan. Linking an arm through his, she rested the side of her head against his arm. But her gaze was upon Roan's pallid face. “Your history is here, too.”
“I don't know wha' to say,” Roan murmured and raked a hand through his hair. He looked into Lachlan's eyes, his own dulled with bewilderment. “I came here to banish you.”
Lachlan grinned and nodded.
“I came here to rid ma family o' you!”
“I know. Roan, tis a wonderful gift I'm offerin' you.”
Words bubbled up in Roan's throat, but before he could speak, he went through numerous hand gestures and shrugs. “Why, though?” he finally gushed. “Ye're willin' to give everythin' up, just like tha'?” he asked, snapping his fingers in emphasis.
“Aye.” Stepping behind Beth, Lachlan wrapped his arms about her. “Wha' I've gained—” He kissed the top of Beth's head. “—is far mair than wha' I've ever had. This place was built for the livin', Roan. A mair worthy mon to carry on, I couldna find if I tried.”
Roan looked from Lachlan, to Beth, to Miss Cooke, his astonishment a cloak about him. “There's a catch here,” he said with a nervous laugh.
Beth and Lachlan exchanged a look of wry amusement.
“There is a condition,” Lachlan admitted.
“I knew it! Come now, you a swine, wha' is it?”
“Weel, Beth and I would like to have the use o' the master bedroom for a wee time mair. A few months or so. Tis the only room I ask you to leave alone and locked. For our privacy, you understand.”
“The master bedroom?” Roan looked at Miss Cooke and frowned. At least she was as confused as he by this request. “You want the room kept locked?”
“Tis all I ask. You've already agreed to see the womon and the boys to Edinburgh.”
Roan gave a shake of his head. “I'm goin' to wake up. I know it.”
“It will make us both very happy to have you here,” Beth said softly. “You have it within you, Roan, to bring hope and laughter back into this house.”
Lachlan held out a hand. “Do we have a deal, Roan?”
Roan stared at the outstretched hand for a long moment before clasping it. With difficulty, he looked into Lachlan's dark eyes. He was sure there was an ulterior motive, but he was too rattled to try to sort through his fevered thoughts at this time.
He had never wanted the house or Lachlan's treasures. He had never thought about any of it one way or the other. What would he do with a place like Baird House?
“That's up to you,” Lachlan chuckled.
Roan numbly gave a shake of his head. “I've got to think abou' this. It's a lot o' responsibility.”
“You keep in touch wi' Miss Cooke. When ye're ready, let her know.”
Looking at the old woman, Roan gulped past the tightness in his throat.
“Miss Cooke?”
Viola's features were glowing with awe as she looked up into Lachlan's face. “Yes, Mr. Baird?”
“Do you foresee any problems wi' Ingliss havin' legal possession o' ma property?”
“No.” Her sagging bosom heaved with her watery sigh. “I'll have the deed transferred to his name.”
“You have ma undyin' gratitude, dear lady.” To Roan, Lachlan added, “In the future, how abou' knockin' on ma bedroom door?” He paused a moment. “The little womon and I have a lot to make up for.”
“Right,” Roan said, but in a sound that resembled a strangled breath.
* * *
Beth opened her eyes. The room was cast in inky darkness. The hearth was cold. She was on her side, a cheek cradled in the hollow of Lachlan's bare shoulder. One of his arms was beneath her. The other was draped over her waist.
Running her fingertips through the curly hair on his chest, she asked, “Are you awake?”
“Hmm.”
“I'm so proud of you.”
“We're a good team, lass.”
“When we're not arguing.”
Lachlan's deep chuckle vibrated beneath her fingers. It made Beth smile until she became conscious of a familiar tingling throughout her body.
“We're fading again.”
Lachlan turned his head and kissed her on the brow. “Dinna be sad, love. We'll be back in a few hours.”
“Lachlan?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
“And I love you, darlin'.”
“Lachlan?”
He grinned in the darkness. “Hmm?”
“You have something planned for Roan, don't you?”
“Planned?”
“You always wanted children in this house,” Beth sighed as she snuggled closer to his diminishing solidity. “I like Roan. He has a good heart.”
“Aye. He's a fine mon. And he'll be a good husband to Laura.”
Beth groaned. “You're not....”
They faded into the night, their essences wrapped about one another. “I am,” came a deep chuckle.
The sound lingered in the empty master bedroom, echoing eerily for some time. But the rest of the household was unaware of it, sleeping soundly.
Chapter 15
A scream wrenched Roan from his deep sleep. Groggily stumbling out of bed and to the door in the dark, he muttered choice invectives. He was sure one of the boys was at it again. Two days had passed since the laird's declaration the house was to be turned over to him. Two of the longest days of his life.
Laura was a bundle of nerves. Roan, himself, was at his wits end. The house was simply too large to keep track of three willful lads. One way or the other, he had to get the family to Edinburgh before he lost what little sanity he had left.
The instant he opened the door, an acrid smell assailed his nostrils. Then something stung his eyes, making it impossible for him to look into the
dimly lit second floor hall.
The scream came again, but this time he realized it was Laura crying out his name.
Then it dawned on him what was happening and something in his mind snapped.
Taking three paces into the hall, the heels of his hands pressed against his closed eyelids, he mistakenly attempted to call back to Laura.
Searing smoke filled his lungs. His hands dropped away as a curtain of blackness threatened to descend on him. He staggered blindly. Hitting one of the walls, he keeled over face down on the floor.
“Roan!”
The voice penetrated his daze with the effectiveness of a sharp blade. But it was Adaina's voice he'd thought he'd heard as he had seven years ago when she'd screamed his name moments before he'd helplessly witnessed her being swallowed up in a billowing rush of flames.
“Jamey,” he choked, struggling to get up onto his hands and knees. “Hold on, son!”
An explosion rocked the house.
One of the paintings on the wall came down. A wooden corner of the frame struck him on the temple. Pain radiated through his head and neck, eliciting an immediate sense of vertigo to overwhelm him.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, he inched on hands and knees in the direction of the boys' room. At the far end of the hall, flames lapped up the walls, and curled across the ceiling.
The shrill cry of a child gave him the stamina to force him-self on. When he finally arrived at the bedroom door, a violent coughing fit trying to expel the smoke in his lungs, he turned the knob and fell across the threshold. After a moment, small hands gripped his wrist and began to tug, but he could not stir himself beyond the gray haze of near-unconsciousness.
“Scared,” three-year-old Alby whimpered, tugging again and again in a futile attempt to revive Roan. “Want my mommy, mista. Want my mommy!”
With a moan, Roan turned his head in the direction of the voice.
Coughs racking his thin little body, Alby buried his face in Roan’s neck. He didn't like the big, gruff Scotsman, but he desperately needed an adult to cuddle him. He was afraid, yet knew not why. His brothers were gone. His aunt hadn't heard his cries. His eyes burned and it hurt to breathe.
“Jamey, boy,” Roan rasped, struggling to draw a breath into his aching lungs. “I'll save you, son.” Sitting up, he drew the trembling boy into his arms. “Don't look back,” he murmured, lost to another time, another similar disaster.
Somehow, Roan managed to get up onto his feet. He carried Alby into the bathroom. Placing the child into the tub, he climbed in and turned on the cold water tap. Alby furiously cried, swinging out his fists at him as Roan proceeded to thoroughly soak them both. Then, Alby thrashing and whimpering within his weakening arms, Roan blindly stumbled back into the large bedroom.
He stopped, teetering on his rubbery legs, his bloodshot eyes widening at the sight of flames filling the doorway.
Not again! he mutely cried, cradling Alby tightly against him. “No' ma son, again!” he shouted then fell to his knees as coughs agonizingly pummeled his chest area.
Where am I?
Adaina and Jamey were dead.
He'd seen them die.
He'd identified their burnt remains.
So where am I?
“Roan!”
The feminine voice seemed omnipresent.
“Adaina.”
His head bobbing on his weak neck, he squinted about his surroundings. “Take Jamey. I'm dyin'.”
“I'm caught between the two worlds. Get up, Roan! Dammit, get on your feet!”
Despite the pain in his eyes, Roan managed to glimpse a transparent image in front of him.
“Beth?”
“The lower floor's consumed. Get up, Roan. The best I can do is give you a little help. You must go out one of the windows. It's the only way out.”
After several attempts, Roan managed to get onto his feet again. “The window?” he choked.
Swiftly, a dark cloud materialized above Roan's head then expanded across the room. Thunder roared. Lightning flashed.
Befuddled, Roan folded himself over the child in his arms. Alby's sobs and gasps for breath tried to breach the stranglehold of death's waiting arms, but Roan was declining quickly, weakening with each passing second. The gash at his temple had stopped bleeding but the side of his face and neck were a dire testament to the blood he'd lost.
Another explosion came from below.
“The gas lines,” Beth whispered in his head.
“Gas,” he croaked, jerkily attempting to straighten up. A flash of lightning pained his eyes.
Gas....
At first, his fevered mind was only aware of coldness. Then it began to dawn on him that he was standing amidst a deluge. Lifting his face to the hovering cloud, he lapped at the blessed relief the rain offered.
Then he felt a blast of air pass through him. The sound of glass exploding turned him in the direction of the windows. One of them was completely missing. Only an orifice to the night remained.
“Hurry, Roan. I don't know how long I can keep this up.”
Flames tried to cross the threshold, sizzling and hissing as they became caught beneath the driving force of the rain.
“Beth, I'm too scared to chance carryin' the lad—”
Roan looked down at the wan face of the unconscious boy in his arms.
Alby.
Jamey was forever lost. And whatever it took, Roan vowed, he would not let this child be taken by fire as well.
But when he went to the spot where the window had been, he could not see to gauge an escape.
“Jump!” someone shouted from below. “Hurry, mon! We've a catch!”
“Roan, you have no choice. Drop Alby. Roan! Do it now!”
Shouts rose from the east yard. After a moment's struggle with fear, Roan held the boy out as far as he could beyond the portal. Then, with a mute prayer for the boy's safety, he released him. Roan trembled violently for what seemed a very long time, until he heard a man shout that the laddie was safe. Then voices were shouting for him to jump.
A whooshing sound came from behind Roan. The rain had stopped. Unbearable heat pressed against his back.
“Roan, I'm too weak to do anymore!” Beth cried. “For God's sake, jump!”
“Roan! Don't be afraid! Jump!”
Recognizing the second female voice, Roan murmured a sickly, “Laura.”
“Roan please! The men down here will catch you in the blanket!”
Blanket?
Roan's head seemed to spin faster and faster.
Wood creaked from every part of the house. Fire roared in his ears.
Planting his bare feet on the remains of the window sill, he precariously balanced himself for several more seconds. He couldn't shake the memory of his wife becoming consumed in flames. He couldn't cut off the remembrance of the sounds of her screams.
Then he was sailing through the air. Instinctively, his arms and legs scrambled to halt the flight, to touch upon something solid. But there was nothing but flight. Terrifying flight.
Something caught the length of him, but his momentum didn't stop. He bounced up and, when he came down, struck hard ground.
“Good lord!” someone cried. “Gentle, now! Get him away from here! Hurry, now! Hurry!”
Barely conscious of being lifted by his arms and legs, of being carried off, he strained to force his lungs to accept air. Then he was on laid upon a blanket on the ground, and was covered by numerous coats.
Another explosion. And another, the force of which elicited cries among the growing spectators gathering on the private roadway. Window panes exploded outward from every side of the house.
“Roan! Roan, did you see Kevin? I couldn't find him! Roan!”
Roan opened his eyes. After several moments, he was able to focus somewhat on Laura's features.
“Kevin?” he rasped, his throat raw.
Laura burst into tears and drew the boys in her arms closer against her. “I couldn't find him. And I couldn't rea
ch you.”
“Stand clear!” a rough-voice man ordered.
A large shape went down on a knee to Roan's other side. “Roan, laddie. It's Ben. Yer pub mate. Can you hear me?”
“Aye,” Roan wheezed. “I'm no' deaf.”
Resisting the hands trying to keep him down, he sat up. Coughs seized him. Ben's hand none-too-gently clapped him on the back several times.
“Take it easy, mate. You swallowed down some smoke, by the looks o' it.”
“Jamey.... My son—”
Reality cruelly returned home to Roan. He stared into the rounded face of his old friend, and felt a swell of tears lodge in his throat.
“Jamey's gone, mate. But you saved the lad here.”
Roan squinted at Laura then at the back of the boys' heads she kept pressed against the hollows of her shoulders.
“Kevin,” he said. He was about to push up to get on his knees when excruciating pain razored through his left arm.
“My arm's broken!” he gasped then doubled over during a coughing fit.
“Lucky it’s no' yer back,” Ben said gravely. He looked at Laura, then again at Roan. “She claims one o' the lads didna make it, mate,” he said solemnly. He glanced up and scowled, and bellowed to the crowd pressing closer for a look at Roan, “Get back! If you can’t lend a hand, go home, the lot o' you!”
Roan. “Roan.”
In front of the curious spectators, Beth materialized and immediately knelt to one knee in front of the new laird of Baird House. “Are you all right?”
Roan nodded. With Beth and Ben's help, he got up onto his feet. Neither he nor Beth noticed the sickly shock on Ben's face, or the awed expressions of the strangers filling the roadway.
“I've got to get Kevin,” Roan insisted, finally beginning to feel like himself again, despite the pain racking his body.
“Lachlan's searching for him.”
Blinking hard, Roan looked deeply into Beth's troubled eyes. “Can he help him?”
“If it's within his power, he will,” Beth said, her voicing cracking with emotion.
“Kevin,” Laura whimpered, rising to her feet with a boy sitting on each of her hips.
With his right arm, Roan reached out and urged Alby to come to him. Surprisingly, the boy clung to Roan's broad neck.
Everlastin' Book 1 Page 28
