Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2

by Mickee Madden

  Uncharacteristically calm, Lachlan spared Roan a glance. "Tell her to stop afore she hurts herself."

  Roan jerked back in surprise. "The only harm to her, is you!"

  Casting Roan a disgruntled look, the laird released her. No sooner was she free, she swooped down, lifted something into her right hand, and lunged upward. Roan's blood turned to ice. For several seconds, he could only gape as she drove the jeweled dagger into Lachlan's chest, again and again, each thrust more purposeful.

  Beth's horrified expression zoomed into Roan's focus. Tearing his gaze from her, he blinked at the heinous scene in front of him then rushed forward. Grabbing Laura's arm, he yanked her toward him, and away from Lachlan.

  In a lightning move, she turned on him, driving the dagger toward his heart. A hair'sbreath from the gleaming tip piercing his chest, Lachlan's hand sailed out and caught her wrist. Then as swiftly from behind her, he swept an arm about her middle, lifted her off her feet, and wrenched the dagger from her grasp with his free hand.

  Roan's legs threatened to buckle beneath him. He was dimly aware of Beth at his side, of her fingers digging into his right biceps. His hearing was filled with Laura's hissing and Gaelic curses.

  Gaelic curses?

  Roan forced himself to stare into the dark eyes intensely watching him.

  "Look at her, Roan," he demanded in a deep, hypnotizing tone. "See beyond the packagin'."

  Roan was confused. What was Lachlan talking about? Packaging? This had to be a nightmare—

  Time swept past him, moving so fast, lightheadedness threatened to keel him over. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he struggled to maintain his footing, and keep his knees locked. The motion slowed. The room, he realized, looked exactly as it had prior to the fire.

  No!

  There was a difference.

  To the left of the fireplace was a vanity, its top covered with feminine toiletries and a gold hairbrush set neatly placed upon a filigreed, mirrored tray. Vases filled with freshly cut roses graced the mantel and bedstands.

  More deeply perplexed than he'd ever been in his life, he looked at Lachlan questioningly. It was then he noticed a superimposed visage of another woman on Laura's face. Her hair, too, was different. Parted down the middle. Long banana curls fashioned with ribbons in front of her ears.

  As though from far away, he heard Beth cry, "He's not ready for this!"

  Not ready for wha’?

  Insanity, was his guess.

  "If you love me, Robbie, you'll help me to kill him!"

  Laura's lips—the double-version image of them—had mouthed the words, but it had not been her voice.

  Although he had heard her speak in that exact voice before.

  "Kill him!"

  Suddenly, Roan was back in the fire-ravaged room. Numbness weighted his limbs.

  "Robbie!" Laura wailed, tears streaming down her ashen face.

  Roan dropped to his knees. He felt as if the life had been drained from him. Images flashed through his mind. He desperately wanted to blame Lachlan for them, to believe the laird was projecting the images, but to deny the truth now would be to deny his very own existence.

  Lachlan released Laura as if the touch of her now, sickened him. She dropped to her knees in front of Roan, her arms winding about his neck and holding onto him for dear life, while her hate-filled gaze dissected the laird.

  "I gave you both every chance to right the wrongs o' the past," he said, his tone laced with contempt and pain combined. He gestured expansively. "Tis all yers once again, but I vow, you'll no' know a day's happiness."

  With a wretched cry, Laura sprang to her feet and faced him, her fists clenched in front of her.

  "You pathetic excuse for a man!" she cried, the Scottish accent not present. "You came to my village and seduced me with promises of wealth! You created the monster in me!"

  "Look into yer own soul," he said scathingly.

  Roan slowly rose to his feet, standing directly behind Laura.

  "My soul?" she laughed bitterly. "If you dangle a piece of meat in front of a starving man's face, he's going to grab it, whether it's rancid or not. You have never known hunger. How it eats away at the lining of your stomach! Or cold that settles into the marrow of your bones until it's an effort to get out of bed each morning!

  "Nine of us girls watched our mother die a slow, agonizing death! Nine of us! The one true light in my life was my Robbie. We pledge to each other when we were nine years old, then you come along, Mister-I'm-Your-Savior, and you never once asked if my heart belonged to someone else!"

  "You wanted it all," Lachlan growled.

  "Yes," she hissed.

  Realization slammed home in Laura's duo-occupied brain. She fell back into Roan's arms, her face devoid of color, horror defining the contours of her eyes.

  "No," she whimpered, shaking her head in disbelief. "It's not possible."

  Roan could say nothing, only stare at Lachlan and wonder what was going through his mind. At long last, the pieces of the puzzle fit together. The truth was finally out.

  "Lachlan," Beth said achingly, her eyes pleading with him to show compassion to the stricken couple.

  The laird's hard gaze softened on his woman, softened beneath such a depth of pain, he didn't have to tell her that it would take some time before he could forgive her lack of faith in him. He faded away.

  Weeping, Beth melted into the floor, the sound of her misery echoing for seconds later.

  "It can't be," Laura wept, turning and flinging herself into Roan's arms.

  Roan closed his eyes, murmuring, "Aye, lass, we're back. And we're no better than we were a century and a half ago."

  * * *

  Agnes and Borgie Ingliss were buried side-by-side in a small cemetery in north Crossmichael, where three other family members lay to rest.

  A dark cloud of gloom hung over the town. Not much had been said aloud about either's death. Borgie had died in his sleep, roughly about the same time it was believed that his mother had suffered a heart attack. Some folks thought it a shame. Agnes had been well-liked, while her son had been only tolerated for her sake. A growing number of others harbored deepening superstitions. The renowned curse of Lachlan Baird fed their fears, instilled beliefs that to even think of it, was to possibly bring it upon themselves.

  Roan, Laura and her nephews, Ben, and Silas, had been the only ones to attend the double funeral. In the four days that followed, three neighbors had come to the cottage to offer their condolences.

  In three days, it would be Christmas.

  Laura's hand trembled as she held out a red glossy bulb to place on the Douglas Fir Roan had purchased the previous night. Alby and Kahl had strung popcorn and cranberries. Kevin sullenly sat on the couch, not really watching or listening, or caring one way or the other about the pending holiday. A hole existed where his heart had been. He'd been the one to discover Agnes, and now his small shoulders were burdened with a secret.

  He desperately wanted to tell his aunt and Roan. But they wouldn't believe him.

  A strained smile appeared on Laura's lips when Kahl began to hum 'Silent Night'. However, it vanished the instant her gaze fell upon Kevin. Her heart grew heavier. The boys had been through so much. She couldn't look at her oldest nephew without wanting to pull him into her arms and chant that everything would be all right. If only she could. Not only had he refused to let anyone touch him since finding Agnes, he also steadily grew more withdrawn. Nothing she said seemed to reach him.

  "Alby!"

  Kahl's sharp, scolding tone brought her gaze to the youngest boy. At the same moment she saw him trying to insert a plastic candy cane in his left nostril, the front door opened and Roan entered carrying an armload of firewood. She snatched the candy from Alby and ignoring his wail of protest, pulled aside a carton of decorations that was sitting in front of the wood rack.

  "Gimme!" the youngster demanded, stomping a foot.

  Kahl grimaced. "You're such a baby."

&nb
sp; "Am not!"

  "Enough," Laura said wearily, half her attention on Roan as he transferred his burden to the rack. "Would you like some tea?" she asked him, over-sensitized to the detachment he'd shown her since the funeral.

  "No...thank you."

  He pulled off his gloves, shucked out of his coat, and ambled to the small closet across from the door. Absently, as if it were an afterthought, he closed the front door with a nudge of his boot heel.

  "Are you hungry?"

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, his dull gaze seeming to stare through her. "No...thanks. There's some soup left. I can heat it up for you and—"

  "We had some a little while ago."

  "And pancakes," Alby informed, staring at the candy cane clutched in his aunt's hand.

  Kahl snorted. "I'm still hungry."

  Raking the fingers of a hand through his hair, Roan faced the group. He glanced at his watch. "How abou' if we make a batch o' Christmas cookies."

  Kahl wrinkled his nose. Alby released a squeal of glee and dashed to the kitchen.

  Roan sadly regarded Kevin for a few seconds. "Kevin, care to give us a hand?"

  For a time, Kevin stared off into space. Then his despondent gaze swung to Roan.

  "Kevin?" Laura prompted.

  He shook his head.

  "Come along, Kahl," said Roan, holding out his hand to the boy.

  Kahl militantly stood his ground. "That's sissy stuff."

  Roan arched a brow. "I guess tha' means you don't want a cookie when we're through."

  It only took a second for the five-year-old to change his mind. Running ahead of Roan, he disappeared into the kitchen. Roan followed with a leaden gait, leaving Laura with Kevin.

  "Want to help me finish decorating the tree?"

  Kevin remained silent, staring off into space. Despite the sensation of tears filling her throat, Laura sighed and seated herself next to him. Hesitantly, she placed an arm about his thin shoulders and drew him against her.

  "We all miss Agnes, Kevin," she said softly, then kissed the top of his head. "Especially Roan. I know it's hurting him to see you so withdrawn."

  "Why do people have to die?"

  His raspy voice painfully yanked on her heartstrings. "It's part of life, hon. We're born, we live, and we die. The world would be awfully crowded if no one died, wouldn't it?"

  After a moment, he swung his despondent gaze up to study her face. "I never got to say goodbye to her. Not my dad, either."

  Tears welled in Laura's eyes. "I know it must hurt terribly, Kevin."

  He nodded.

  "But you know, you and your brothers gave Agnes a lot of happiness during the short time we were here. That counts for a lot."

  "It does?"

  A wavering smile graced her mouth. "She adored you."

  Kevin's dreamy gaze shifted to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. "She didn't look happy. She scared me."

  A chill speared Laura's heart. "When didn't she look happy, hon?"

  "Last night."

  "Ah...you must have been dreaming."

  Kevin soberly met her gaze. "Naw. I woke up and she was standing at the foot of the bed. At first I couldn't see her face too clearly. She was kinda green and like fog."

  Swallowing painfully past the lump in her throat, Laura prompted, "Go on, Kevin."

  "Well, she was trying to say something. I couldn't understand her. She started to cry. Real hard. And she reached out to me, but I was afraid to let her touch me."

  "Of course you were."

  "Her face got a little clearer, and she looked like she hurt a lot, Aunt Laura. It made me feel awful." He tapped his fist to his chest. "I hurt here real bad, but I didn't cry. I was afraid if I did, she'd try to hold me."

  His chin quivered. Tears misted his eyes. "I should have let her. I shouldn't have been afraid of her."

  Laura's arms wrapped about him and held him dearly to her. Tears spilled down her pale cheeks. "Honey, I'm sure she understood. You're just a little boy."

  "You believe me, don't you?"

  Holding him back, Laura searched his ravaged face for a long moment. "Yes, I do. She was probably trying to say goodbye, Kevin."

  "Why couldn't she look normal, like Lachlan and Beth?"

  "I don't know. But how about if we concentrate on making this Christmas special for your brothers and Roan?"

  "I'll try."

  "Oh baby," Laura wept, hugging him again. "You boys have been so brave through all the craziness. I'm so grateful I have you in my life. I'd be lost without you."

  "Me, too," he sobbed, hugging her as tightly as he could. "And I promise to be real good for now on. I promise."

  Framing his face with her hands, Laura laughed. "Always be yourself, Kevin. Don't change for anyone, or anything."

  He thought over her words then earnestly stated, "If I had one wish, Aunt Laura, I would wish to be magic."

  "You are magic, Kevin."

  "Real magic, Aunt Laura. I would fix Baird House, and make us all happy again."

  "As long as we're together, we'll always have magic."

  "Enough to fix the house?"

  Laura sighed. "You really liked that place, didn't you?"

  He nodded and swiped the back of a hand beneath his moist nose. "I miss it. Even the bad man couldn't make me not want to stay there."

  The bad man?

  Laura stiffened. So much had happened since their return from Edinburgh, she'd forgotten the series of events prior to the fire. Someone had loomed up on the servant stairwell. And someone had hit and kicked her and dragged her outside.

  Now that she thought about it, why?

  Why drag her outside and leave Roan and the boys in the house?

  Borgie?

  Had he been the one terrorizing the boys?

  Had he been the one she'd seen pass by the window in the bedroom?

  A knock at the front door gave her a start. Jumping up, she crossed the room and opened the door. Viola Cooke stood primly on the stoop, a smile of greeting appearing on her thin lips at the sight of Laura.

  "May I come in?"

  "Of course."

  The elderly woman passed Laura, who shut the door and offered to take her coat.

  "Oh no, dear. I can't stay long." The faded blue eyes lit up as they swung to Kevin. "Well, young man, are you ready for Saint Nick?"

  Kevin shrugged.

  Roan came from the kitchen. "Good evenin', Miss Cooke."

  "Dear Roan, I'm so sorry about your aunt. I planned to attend her funeral, but I was a bit under the weather."

  Roan sadly smiled in understanding. "How are the roads?"

  "Quite good, actually. I'm sorry I didn't call first, but I was anxious to see the boys." She cast Kevin a grandmotherly look. "The poor dears have been through so much."

  Roan's troubled gaze met Laura's briefly then cut away. "Aye. But they're strong lads. Aren't you, Kevin?"

  "Yeah."

  A sigh heaving her bosom, Viola folded her hands against her abdomen. "I have a favor to ask."

  "What is it?" Laura asked.

  Viola smiled warmly at Kevin. "I would dearly love to take the boys for the night. Some friends and I have put together a pre-Christmas surprise for them. Gifts and sweets."

  "You want to take them overnight?"

  "Laura dear, you and Roan need some time together—alone—and me, well, I haven't any grandchildren to spoil. I promise to return them tomorrow night."

  The doubt in Laura's expression prompted Viola to rush on, "I will keep my eye on them every minute. Besides, Bertha and Katherine will be there, too."

  "I-umm, I-I guess it's up to the boys," Laura stammered.

  Sliding off the couch, Kevin walked to Viola's side. "Sounds okay. Kahl and Alby will think it's cool."

  Laura looked to Roan for his opinion.

  "The lads could use an upper," he said brusquely, wiping his floured hands on the half-apron tied at his waist.

  "All right. Kevin, go ask your
brothers if they want to go."

  He went into the kitchen. During the seconds that passed, Laura stared at Roan, waiting for him to say something further. He'd barely spoken to her since that last time at Baird House. No matter how hard she'd tried, he avoided almost all contact with her.

  The boys came into the parlor, Alby and Kahl's eyes wide with excitement. Kevin remained somber.

  "You got us presents?" Kahl asked Viola.

  "Lots and lots," she laughed.

  Alby released a squeal of joy.

  "I'll pack them a bag," Laura said to the older woman, and went to the boys' room. When she returned a few minutes later, it was to find Roan squatting in front of them. He zippered the jackets she'd purchased for them in Edinburgh, then gave each a hug.

  "You be good for Miss Cooke," he instructed, erecting himself.

  "We will," Kevin assured.

  Alby eagerly followed Viola to the door.

  "Hey," Laura chuckled, placing the brown luggage on the floor, "don't I get a hug?"

  She sank down and opened her arms. Grimacing, Alby allowed her to embrace him then jubilantly clasped Viola's gloved hand. Kahl's hug was as brief, but Kevin lovingly wrapped his arms about her neck, and kissed her on the cheek before stepping out of her hold.

  Fresh tears misting her eyes, Laura passed the small luggage to Viola then stood at the open doorway and waved to the boys as they followed her down the snow-packed pathway. An icy breeze swept into the house. She closed the door and, bracing her back against it, regarded Roan's hostile posture.

  "We need to talk."

  He hastily untied the apron and tossed it onto the back of the chair to his left. "No' tonight."

  "Why not tonight?"

  He removed his coat, hat and gloves from the closet by the door, and began to don them.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Shortby's for a bit."

  "Roan.... Dammit, we have to talk!"

  "No' tonight!" he barked, his face livid, his eyes condemning.

  "We're not Tessa and Robert."

  "Excuse me," he said tightly, indicating that he wanted to leave out the front door.

  "Think about it, Roan! For a reason I can't begin to understand, Lachlan has planted their memories in us!"

  "Laura...move ou' o' the way!"

  "Have you once considered all the events that brought me to Scotland?" She released a near-hysterical laugh. "Everything that brought my brother to England? His first wife dying, his second wife tricking me into coming to visit with the boys! Can you honestly shrug it all off as the hand of fate?