He'd lost his wife and son.
Now he was torn between accepting a ready-made family, and turning away from the pressures that presented.
"Ye're in no shape to travel," said a gruff voice.
Slightly turning her head, she saw Roan standing in the open doorway. Paleness accentuated his gaunt features. Despite the defensive thrust of his shoulders, the rigidity of his bearing, and the grim set of his mouth, his eyes betrayed deep sadness.
Are you hoping I'll make up your mind for you? she thought achingly.
Gingerly straightening, she allowed her gaze to linger on the cast covering his left arm from the wrist to the elbow. He refused to use the sling. He refused to take the pain pills the clinic had given him.
"I'm in better shape than you are," she said finally, softly. Unable to bear looking at him any longer, she lowered her gaze to the luggage. "Have you gotten any sleep?"
Roan paused a few seconds longer then, as if reluctant to do so, walked to the foot of the bed.
"You don't have to go, Laura," he said huskily.
Turning her back to him, she placed a hand over her abdomen and heaved a fortifying breath. No, I don't have to do anything, Roan. But you haven't convinced me...seriously tried to convince me that you really want me to stay. I'm sorry about the house, and everything you lost."
"I'm no' a material mon."
His bitter tone cruelly lanced her control. Tears swiftly welled in her eyes and spilled down her ashen face. "Will the fire be investigated?"
He nodded then murmured, "Aye."
"I...I think I might have—" Her voice caught. "—have left the gas on."
"Wha' are you talkin' abou'?"
"In the kitchen." She lightly sank her teeth into her sore lower lip. "I vaguely remember something about the stove. I-umm, think I left one of the burners on."
"The first explosion was on the third floor."
"No, I'm sure—"
A scowl of impatience darkened his face. "Laura, it started on the third floor."
"Oh, no," she choked, turning to face him. "Oh God, please tell me the boys were in no way responsible!"
Roan's demeanor softened. "It doesn't matter how it started. Wha' does matter is tha' we all made it ou' safely."
Tears spilling from her eyes, she gave a stilted shake of her head. Her drawn-in shoulders quivered. "It matters to me."
"Weel, I don't know how it started, so let it go."
Again she shook her head. "Promise me you'll let me know what the investigation reveals."
"Dammit, Laura, quit harpin' on the bloody fire!"
Although her face was piteously wet with tears, her posture was undeniably hostile. "If I'm responsible—or my nephews—I have a right to know. I pay my debts, Roan! I-I'll make arrangements to pay you back every cent!"
A mantle of warring stubbornness enfolded Roan. "I don't want yer money or yer pity!"
"Tough! I'll inquire about the investigation, myself!"
Roan clenched his teeth, unlocking them when he heaved a breath to quiet his temper. "Ben's in the parlor. It’s no' polite to keep him waitin'."
Turning on a heel, he briskly left her staring after him. He entered the front room where Agnes sat on an overstuffed couch with the boys, and Ben and Borgie were talking by the front door. All eyes turned on him. Ignoring their questioning looks, he sat in the rocker by the hearth, and tersely informed, "She'll be ready, shortly."
Alby scrambled from the couch and ran to Roan. He climbed onto Roan's lap and, pouting, his chin quivering, wrapped his arms about Roan's neck.
"Don't wanna go," he sobbed.
Roan's heart painfully constricted. He looked at the others in the room before circling the boy's back with his uninjured arm. "I'll miss you, too, you little booger," he said huskily, a forced smile on his mouth. Alby's arms held tightly, the back of his head pressed against Roan's jaw. Despite his inward struggle to deny himself the slightest emotional release, tears misted Roan's eyes. "Can you promise me somethin', lad?"
Alby nodded.
His hand massaging the boy's back, he said, "Take care o' yer aunt. And help yer brithers to settle into yer new home."
Drawing back, Alby's dark blue eyes somberly searched Roan's face. "Where's Lachlan and Beth? Can't we say goodbye to them?"
Roan heaved a ragged sigh. "Weel, Alby, it’s hard to say where they are. I know they'll miss you."
"Really?"
A genuine grin brightened Roan's features. "Aye, really."
"Do ya think it hurts to be dead?"
Roan blinked in bewilderment. "Wha' a thing to ask."
"I want to know."
Roan's comical gaze swept to the others before meeting the boy's again. "Weel, Alby, I think it’s safe to say they don't feel pain."
"But Lachlan made a bad face when I kicked him."
Roan chuckled. "Could be, he didn't like you kickin' him."
The small shoulders moved noncommittally.
"We didn't start the fire," Kevin said adamantly, his hard gaze riveted on Roan.
"No one's accusin' anyone, laddie."
Kevin left the couch and went to stand a short distance from the rocker. "You think one of us did it. Don't you?"
"Lass, I'll take tha'," Ben said, breaking the spell of tension in the room when he hurriedly rushed to Laura and took the luggage from her grasp. He cast Roan a look of warning as he headed out the front door, to load the case into his truck.
Roan searched Laura's guarded expression for a time before returning his attention to Kevin. "I'm no' accusin' anyone, Kevin. I told yer aunt, it doesn't matter how it started. I'm just grateful no one was seriously hurt."
"You're glad we're going," Kevin said hatefully.
Quickly reaching out with his right hand, Roan cupped the back of Kevin's head and drew him toward him. "Listen to me verra carefully, Kevin. I care a lot for you lads and I'm no' happy ye're leavin'."
"Yeah, sure. That's why you're always nagging at us, right?"
A stab of guilt prompted Roan to lower his gaze for a brief time. When he next looked into the boy's beguiling eyes, he read in them a desperate need for the boy to be convinced otherwise.
"When ye're right, ye're right, lad. I've been a grump, and I apologize. Trouble is, I was o' the mind we'd have some time to really get to know one anither. But fate kinda threw us a curve, aye? Had I known we would be partin' company so soon, I would have been more patient."
He went on when Kahl came to stand alongside his brother, his gaze sweeping the boys' drawn faces. "You've a new life waitin' for you in the States. A new adventure ahead o' you. I'm envious, laddies."
"Come with us," Kahl said, a quiver in his tone.
A sad smile played across Roan's mouth. "Truth be, I wish I could, but I've too much to do here."
"Like what?" Kevin asked.
"Weel, like healin', and checkin' on the house."
"Is the house all gone?"
"Maistly, Alby. Some thin’s might have survived. I don't know."
"Will you write to us?"
Kahl's question further aggravated Kevin. "Course he won't. He's just being nice cause we're getting outta his hair."
Roan's gaze kindly lingered on Kevin's flushed face. "I never say wha' I don't mean. Aye, I'll write, and I'll be lookin' forward to hearin' from the three o' you."
"You promise?" Alby asked in a soft voice.
In response, Roan planted a lingering kiss on the boy's brow.
"It's time," Laura said abruptly, tightening the loaned wool coat about her. If she didn't leave now, she knew she never would. "Say goodbye to Agnes, and thank her for all her kindness."
Roan's gaze impaled her while the boys hugged and thanked the older woman. Her insides coiling into knots, she forced an outer calm. Next year, she vowed. If they were meant to be together, then the separation wouldn't prove a mistake. He'd have time to think. Time to consider all the ramifications enmeshed in the responsibility of taking on a woman and three boy
s. He'd have the time to forgive and cleanse himself of the past.
Laura headed for the front door, which Borgie held open. The boys dashed ahead of her, waiting on the stoop. Agnes rushed into the kitchen, returning with a small sack. Handing it to Laura, she tearfully explained, "Some snacks to get you by on the trip."
Reaching for the sack, Laura realized her hand was trembling.
"Ye're no' goin'," Roan said angrily.
Suddenly aware that he was standing behind her, Laura turned to face him. Her heart sang out with joy. He was telling her that she was going to stay. He wasn't going to let her slip away.
Crimson stole into her cheeks when she realized that he had spoken to Borgie. Her insides shriveling, she made a half turn toward the door.
"I spoke to Ben," Roan went on, his hard gaze riveted on Borgie's face.
"Tha' so?" The white-haired man smirked. "No one said shit to me."
Roan's posture became instantly hostile. "Weel, I'm sayin' it now. Besides, I'll be needin' yer help at the house."
"Kist House?" A scoffing laugh burst from him. "Over ma dead body will I ever go near tha' place again!"
"Suit yerself, but ye're no' goin' to Edinburgh wi' Ben."
An evil sneer marred Borgie's already unpleasant face. "Who died and left you boss?"
Ben showed up at the door, his gaze pinging between the two men. "Ah, Borgie, ma truck will be crowded as it is. I appreciate yer offer, though."
Glaring at Ben, Borgie then turned and took a threatening step in Roan's direction. Agnes' hand flew over her heart. Responding to the suffocating tension in the room, Laura placed a hand to Roan's chest, and hurriedly suggested to Ben, "Please, take the boys to the truck. I'll be along in a minute."
She looked at Roan. His fierce gaze continued to bore into his cousin. "Roan, may I speak to you alone...in the kitchen?"
Agnes took hold of her son's arm and gave it a tug. "Come along, Borgie."
"I'm no' movin', mum," he gritted out.
"The hell you say," she fumed, giving his arm a slap. "Come to the kitchen!"
Glaring at Roan, he permitted his mother to lead him out of the room.
Alone with Roan, Laura sighed theatrically. “What's wrong with you? Are you trying to start a brawl in your aunt's house?"
Tearing his gaze from the direction of the kitchen, his unsettling eyes stared into hers.
"I've no love for the mon."
"I would have never guessed," she said flippantly, anger brightening her eyes. "The trouble with you is, you always want everything your way. Grow up, Roan! This 'poor me' attitude of yours, stinks."
"I don't have an attitude."
A disparaging sound rattled in her throat. "I don't have the time to waste standing here arguing with you."
She turned to leave. A hand on her arm stayed her.
Her heart painfully drumming, she disparagingly looked at him. And it struck her at that moment how much she loved his face.
"You've got tha' look again," he said sourly.
"Beg your pardon?"
"Ye're beggin' to be pree'd."
Again, crimson stole into her cheeks, accentuating the greenness of her eyes. "You arrogant—"
He quickly placed the fingertips of his right hand against her lips. His glowing look faded to one of regret and such sadness, Laura felt her blood rush to her head. She trembled, staring at him, praying for him to take her into his arms and kiss away the remains of her faltering determination to leave.
To her profound disappointment, he lowered his hand to his side and stiffened.
"Take care, Laura."
Gulping back the tears building in her throat, she dejectedly walked out the front door, closing it behind her without sparing him a last glance.
The instant she was out of sight, Roan lifted his misting eyes heavenward. He clenched his hands, ignoring the pain shooting up his broken arm.
For four days, he'd struggled with the notion to convince her to stay with him, but the uncertainty of his future had won out. He was without a job. Without a home. Without hope of turning his life around. He refused to lean on her through the trying months to come. It was a man’s duty to support a wife and children!
"Damn me," he choked.
He'd never expected anyone like Laura or the boys to come waltzing into his life.
"Damn me!" he repeated belligerently, and returned to the rocker in front of the hearth.
* * *
It was there days later before Roan returned to the remains of the manor. The seven days that had passed since Laura and the boys had left were but a blur to him. His casted arm rested in a sling about his neck. He'd lost weight. His rugged features bespoke of the trials he'd endured that terrible night of the fire. He'd grown quiet and remote, a man existing under a perpetual cloud of hopelessness.
He stood at the front of the cottage, staring at the blackened exterior of the main house. Very little life was visible in his usually expressive eyes.
"Lannie? Beth?"
He didn't expect them to answer. Since the night of the fire, he hadn't seen or heard from them. The manor was destroyed, and its lord and mistress had completely vanished. Not too long ago, he'd plotted to rid his clan of the laird. And yet, the idea now of never seeing Lachlan or Beth again left in him a void that was almost unbearable.
"Laura and the boys have returned to the States." He sighed, ignoring the ache that remained in his lungs. "Tha' promise has been carried through, you old swine."
Emotional pain became deeply etched in his features. "It shouldn't have ended like this. Yer home, mon." Tears brimmed his eyes. "Aggie says good riddance. She doesn't understand. You and yer grandfaither's scotch, aye? We bonded all right. You took a piece o' me wi' you, you bloody pain in the arse."
Jabbing at the air with his right index finger, he went on bitterly, "It was simpler when I hated you, Lannie. Damn you, mon, you filled ma head wi' dreams no mon like me has a right to hold dear to his heart!"
Picking up a rock, he walked to within five yards of the front of the house. Angrily, he flung it at the wall, and for his effort to release his anguish, his feet slid out from under him. He slammed onto the icy, graveled yard, and released a stream of Scottish invectives.
"Breakin' yer arse winna accomplish a thing," said a grave voice, as hands hooked beneath Roan's coated armpits and hauled him onto his feet.
Astonished, Roan turned to find himself staring into Lachlan's brooding eyes. Just beyond the laird's shoulder, Beth tipped her head and smiled in greeting.
"Where the bloody hell have you two been?" Roan said in an inordinately high-pitched tone.
"Gatherin' up our energy," the laird said matter-of-factly.
Beth stepped to Lachlan's side. "How's your arm?"
"Fine," Roan grumbled.
"Laura and the laddies have left?"
"Aye." Roan gave a negligent shrug. "She couldn't get away fast enough."
"I'm sorry," Beth said gently.
"For me?" Roan released a scoffing laugh. "She was an impossible womon. I'll miss the lads."
Lachlan and Beth exchanged a dubious glance.
"You'll miss her, too," the laird said gruffly. "Ye're a fool to have let her go."
"Don't stick yer nose into ma love life, Baird."
"I would if you had one," Lachlan grinned, then his gaze shifted and he soberly scanned what remained of his house. "Tis so bleak."
Roan couldn't bring himself to look upon it again. "Aye. I'm sorry. I know how much this place means to you."
"Aye," Lachlan sighed.
Roan shifted self-consciously. "Anither thing. The peafowls are gone. I thought I saw a peahen in the east pasture but it turned ou' to be a wee dog."
"They'll come home," Lachlan assured, his gaze traveling the front of the property. He couldn't remember a time when the peacocks and hens hadn't been around.
"I hope so," Roan murmured.
Beth silently observed the two men, a slim eyebrow arched. Lachlan
had surprisingly accepted the destruction of his treasures, his home, although Beth had been aware of a void within him that he did his best to camouflage.
And Roan. He was so easy to read. He was lost and bewildered. Miserable. For too short a time, Laura and the boys, and the responsibility of becoming laird to the manor had given him renewed purpose. He believed it all lost to him now, as it had been when he'd lost his son.
These two men, who she loved so very dearly in different ways, seemed incapable at the moment of realizing just what the future held for them. So it was upon her, she felt, to enlighten them. But to succeed, she knew she was going to have to resort to something stronger than a mere suggestion.
"You promised Lachlan anything if he saved Kevin, didn't you?" she presented to Roan, who arched a questioning brow at her.
"Aye, but—"
"You're a man who keeps his promises," she added in an airy, cheerful manner, ignoring Lachlan's frown at her.
"Aye, but—"
"Roan, you're wasting valuable time wallowing in self-pity," she sighed.
"Wha's goin' through yer mind, darlin'?" Lachlan asked suspiciously.
Beth's sparkling eyes scanned Roan's features. "You're a carpenter. Right?"
Aghast, Roan shot a look at the house behind him. When he again looked at the couple, a high-pitched laugh ejected from his throat. "I'm no' a miracle worker!"
Dawning lit upon Lachlan's face. "Ah." He smiled broadly then kissed Beth briefly on the lips. "Wha' a devilish mind you have, lass."
"You can't be serious," Roan laughed unsteadily, his eyes nearly rounded with disbelief. "Restore Baird House? I'd need mair lives than a cat!"
Cockily crossing his arms against his chest, Lachlan quipped, "Tha' could be arranged." He winked at Beth then narrowed his eyes on the stunned man across from him. "O' course, you'd be one o' the dead," he grinned.
Roan grimaced. "I'll pass, thank you."
Sounds drew their gazes to the private road. Shortly, four cars and two large trucks parked on the graveled area in front of the carriage house. As people began to emerge from the vehicles, Roan recognized Ben and several other men from the pub. Then to his amazement, Agnes stepped from one of the cars and led the small group to the waiting trio.
Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 Page 17