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

by Mickee Madden

  "Aye, I'm sure it did. You thought you'd lost yer sparrin' partner."

  Again on impulse, Lachlan wrapped his translucent arms about the thin figure and hugged her. Tears filled Agnes' eyes. After a moment, she returned the embrace, although it was difficult for her to fully grasp his semi-solidity.

  "Have you forgotten about me?" Viola shrieked.

  Everyone's attention riveted on her hostile stance.

  "I am here to stay!"

  In the blink of an eye, Beth materialized behind the woman. Her arms swiftly wrapped about the cloaked form and, to insure her hold, she cocooned the woman in a psychic mesh.

  Viola raged. Calmly, Beth took a moment to observe the boys and the couple coddling them then she looked at Lachlan and offered a sad smile.

  "I love you."

  Her words stabbed him in his pseudo heart.

  "Beth, you canna—"

  "There's no other way," she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

  Her eyes closed briefly. When she opened them, a single tear spilled down her cheek. A strong breeze came from out of nowhere and swept around her and her violently squirming captive. "I love you," she repeated to Lachlan and soared upward, carrying Viola into the sky, higher and higher, until she'd become but a speck among the grayness.

  Lachlan alone saw a light appear in the heavens. He felt its draw, but resisted with all the willpower he had left. Despite the vast distance, he saw Beth soar into the light with Viola, until the mysterious orifice closed its door.

  A sob escaped him. He sank to his knees, his face remaining lifted to the sky. The greatest emptiness he'd ever known was threatening to overpower him.

  "Lannie, wha' happened?" asked Roan, crouching in front of the laird.

  "She's passed on," Lachlan rasped.

  "She'll come ba—"

  Lachlan shook his head. "There's no comin' back from tha' place. She did it to assure Viola couldna return. Ma Beth. Ma sweet Beth."

  Roan looked up to find his aunt staring at the laird with deep sympathy. A mixture of warming emotions filled him. It had been a night he would never forget. Glancing at the spectators trying to inch past the wall of bobbies, he knew Baird House had birthed new stories which would roll off the tongues of Scotsmen for generations to come.

  A small hand rested on his shoulder. "Roan, it’s time you and Laura took the lads home. They've had a tryin' night."

  Rising to his feet, Roan timidly touched his fingertips to his aunt's cool, wrinkled cheek. "We'd thought yer heart had failed, Aggie."

  "A pillow over ma face did the trick," she said airily. "Don’t grieve. I've never felt better in ma—oops, never mind."

  Lachlan rose, his usual exuberance missing from his bearing. "Aggie, may I a word wi' you?"

  She walked several feet away, Lachlan following.

  Roan grinned down at Laura, whose eyes smiled adoringly at him from her kneeling position with the boys.

  "Mr. Ingliss."

  Winston Connery stopped Roan from returning to Laura. Facing the man, he arched a challenging eyebrow.

  The detective released a controlled breath, and shrugged. "I wonder if you have a suggestion on how I should write this report?"

  A brief laugh escaped Roan before he could curb it. "I'm afraid I can't help you there." He glanced behind him at the house. "It’s a magical place, this Baird House. Put tha' in yer report, detective."

  "Roan?"

  Agnes returned to his side and linked her arm through his. Lachlan stood behind her, an enigmatic gleam in his eyes.

  "I'll be stayin' on here. For a time."

  "Can't you come home?"

  She nodded, her expression one of happiness. "I could, but I've things to do here, Roan. You'll understand, in time. Go home now."

  Roan looked at Lachlan, a wavering sigh passing his lips. "Is there anythin' I can do for you?"

  "No. Aggie and I...weel, we have a lot to talk abou'."

  Laura prompted her nephews to walk to the foursome. Kevin, his eyes bright with wonder, smiled up at Agnes. "You look pretty good for bein' dead," he quipped.

  "Someone was kind enough to dress me in ma favorite Sunday frock," she said brightly, her hands smoothing the front of the navy blue dress with its lace bib. "But enough abou' me, ma lads. You sleep tonight, and dream good dreams. There's naught to fear no mair. You have ma word on tha'."

  "Viola was the bad man," Kahl said dully.

  "Aye." Bending over, Agnes placed a kiss on each boy's brow. "I love you, lads." Straightening, she sighed wistfully. "And I'm countin' on you three to help ma Roan and yer aunt to make you all a fine family."

  "We'll be good," Alby promised sleepily.

  "Not too good," Laura said with a soft laugh. "I've gotten used to a little excitement in my life."

  "A little?" Roan shook his head then held out his hand to Laura. His strong fingers clasping her hand, he tugged her to him and deeply, although briefly, kissed her. "I see I've ma work cut ou' for me."

  "You have no idea," she grinned mischievously.

  "I'd like to make an announcement afore I completely fade," Lachlan said, his voice carrying in all directions of his property. "Christmas Eve, abou' ten, ye're all invited to gather here wi' yer families. I've a few words to say afore I leave this world, and I promise a gift yer sorry eyes will no' soon forget."

  He disappeared.

  A hush fell over the people. Snow fell more rapidly now, the wet, large flakes clinging to everything they touched. Little by little, the crowd dispersed. Cars and trucks slowly left the driveway. The bobbies remained until the last spectator had left, then they joined the firemen, who had been unable to get close enough to the house to use their equipment. But it didn't matter. The flames were nearly gone. There was nothing left in the structure except charred mortar, stone, glass, and metals.

  The detective eyed the house for some time after everyone else had left. He'd heard tales of the house and laird since his boyhood, and had thought them just that...tales. A practical man trained to respond to reason and not matters of the heart or imagination, he wondered how he would feel about his experience this night, come the cold daylight of morning.

  He was scheduled to fly to Paris, early in the morning on the twenty-fourth. He was half-tempted to cancel that flight.

  "A gift yer sorry eyes will no' soon forget," the laird had promised.

  It was tempting to witness such a promise, but the serial killer known as the 'Phantom', had struck again. He'd been on the man's bloody trail for nearly four years.

  What kind of magic would Lachlan Baird perform on Christmas Eve?

  It certainly couldn't be anything more miraculous than bringing a woman back to life!

  Shrugging deeper into his coat and turning up the collar, he turned away from the house and headed in the direction of his car.

  * * *

  Fatigue slowing her movements, Laura quietly closed the boys' bedroom door, and padded into Roan's bedroom. She slowed her approach, sadly regarding him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head lowered into his hands. Although the room was chilly, he wore nothing but white boxer shorts.

  "Can I fix you some tea?"

  He looked up and smiled tiredly, then patted the mattress beside him. She sat and cuddled close to him, her right hand rubbing his hairy chest. She sighed contentedly. For the first time in her life, she felt lighthearted. Unburdened. She drew up and folded her semi-bare legs atop the mattress, and nestled her temple against the bulging biceps of his right arm.

  "I guess the reporters have finally given up. It's quiet in the neighborhood."

  "Two days o' dodgin' the bloody lot is mair’n enough. But we're part o' the miracle, aren't we?" He sighed. "They'll hound us till they get their interviews."

  "How are you holding up?"

  "Me?" He chuckled softly, draping an arm across her back. "God, lass, you died. I can hardly believe ye’re here wi' me now."

  "You can't get rid of me that easily."

  "Ti
s no' funny, Laura." Prompting up her chin with a bent finger, he stared forlornly into her emerald eyes. "I was never so frightened in ma life."

  Laura straightened and playfully nipped his shoulder. But when she spoke, her words and tone were undeniably serious. "In the eighteen hundreds, I loved you more than anything in that world. I love you even more now, Roan. This time, no one will be sacrificed. Our love will remain pure and strong, and it will bond our family like no other.

  "I promise you my loyalty and devotion; my love until the end of time. And I promise you happiness and peace."

  Tears threatened to fill his eyes. "I love you. I've been such a bastard."

  "No, Roan. You were only standing up to the Tessa flashbacks I was experiencing. But it's all in the past. We've been given a second chance. And Roan...I don't intend to screw it up.

  "Let the reporters have their story. We've nothing to hide, anymore. I don't care if the whole world knows what it took to bring us back together. Isn't magic something we should share?"

  With a groan, he turned and wrapped his other arm about her, holding her tightly against him.

  "I love you so much, it scares the hell ou' o' me."

  "Tis a womon's way to keep her mon," she said teasingly.

  Her hands dipped beneath his arms and glided up his bare muscular back until her fingers hooked onto his broad shoulders.

  "Is it my imagination, or has it been forever since we made love?" she whispered by his ear.

  Grinning, he rubbed his chin along her jawline. "Are you tryin' to seduce me, Miss Bennett?"

  "Are all Scotsmen so slow to catch on?" she chuckled, closing her eyes to the bliss of him caressing her skin.

  "Slow, eh?"

  His hands slipped beneath her long pullover sweater. She gasped in surprise when the coldness of his skin brushed against her midriff. Her nipples became rigid buds against his massaging palms. Shivers coursed through her body, rapidly followed by searing ignitions of delight. She moaned deep in her throat. Her breasts swelled within his cupped hands.

  He robbed her of breath when he gently fastened his teeth on the side of her neck. His tongue sensuously stroked her soft skin, evoking a flame of desire to awaken in the heart of her groin.

  Laura wanted to melt into him. She clung to him, relishing his firm, powerful body, inhaling his musky scent. Her eyes rolled behind her closed lids. She remembered their years of lovemaking in their former life. He'd been a wonderful lover then, undeniably superior now. He owned of the ability to bare her soul with his mere glance, his mere touch. A liberated modern woman might mock the idea of belonging to any man, but she did belong to Roan, heart, mind, and spirit.

  His mouth covered hers, at first kissing her in a teasing, tentative manner. She played along, although secretly wanting him to kiss her senseless. His kiss finally deepened. But it didn't last long. With a husky groan, he pulled her onto his lap then rolled over until she was stretched beneath him. His mouth sought hers again, awarding her such pleasure she thought her heart would explode behind her aching breasts. His erection pressed against the side of her outer thigh. When he began to gently rub himself against her, an almost painful tightening gripped her low in her abdomen.

  Breathing heavily, he trailed his mouth along her cheek, down her neck, all the while, his hands slipping her sweater up to expose her breasts. Her muscles grew taut with desire when his lips encircled her left nipple and began to suckle in a slow, taunting manner. She arched her back, compelled to urge him to suck harder. Her chest ached with each hoarse breath she drew.

  "Oh God," she wheezed, her eyes closing amid an expression of blissful torment. Perspiration broke out on her smooth, flushed brow. Her teeth locked, and she arched higher while her left hand cupped his nape and drew him closer. His teeth nipped the swollen bud. She jerked with a spasm of pleasure. When his tongue began to slowly lick around the tiny erection, incendiary pulses coursed through her veins, burst within her brain.

  Cocooned in mounting, mindless ecstasy, she stretched her arms above her head and squirmed beneath his ministrations. Her right breast received equal attention, but this time he helped her free of her panties, and tantalizingly stroked the hair-covered mound between her thighs.

  Her fingers clutching and unclutching the quilt beneath her, Laura parted her legs in invitation. His fingers gradually worked their way to the moist cavity of her womanhood. Pleasure rippled along her flesh, sang within her heart, and cushioned her brain in a boundless haze. His mouth left her breast, his tongue sweeping down her belly. His fingers gently rubbed, massaging the magical button of her sexuality. Before his mouth reached its intended destination, an orgasm caught her unaware. The force of it prompted a cry to escape her. Her body quaked. She tried to turn away from his wondrous strokes, but he wouldn't permit her to deny him this pleasure.

  She opened her eyes and stared pleadingly at him. He watched her expression with glowing satisfaction, and when he was sure she'd reached her maximum tolerance, he removed his hand and hastened out of his shorts.

  Laura decided it was time she took control. Bolting upright, she took him by the shoulders and shoved him onto his back. Then she straddled his lower torso, seductively slipped her sweater over her head, and flung it aside.

  "You play dirty, Mr. Ingliss."

  "I do? Am I to be tortured?" he grinned.

  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she lowered herself and kissed him passionately. When she sensed he was beginning to lose himself to it, she straightened. She stared into his passion-glazed eyes for a long moment. Then she raked her fingernails down his chest, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to awaken every nerve in his body. When she reached the plateau of his rib cage, he attempted to snare her wrists. Instead, she cinched his and, smiling wickedly, coaxed his hands above his head. Anchoring his wrists, she bent low and sank her teeth into his left earlobe. He squirmed beneath her.

  She nibbled and stroked the fleshy part with her tongue, delighting in his body tensing with desire. She was forced to release his wrists when she slid down enough to embrace his right nipple with her lips. Again she nibbled and stroked, the bud's erection nearly as satisfying as the one at his groin.

  She tested his tolerance for what seemed a month of forevers. Stroking his chest, his thighs, his hips and teasingly, his manhood. A sheen of perspiration covered his face, neck, and chest. His body temperature rose higher and higher. His heart hammered against the inside wall of his chest.

  "Laura-lass," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm sufficiently primed, thank you."

  She arched an eyebrow, devilishly questioning his statement. In a voice, husky and raw with sensuality, she said, "Tell me what you want, Roan Ingliss."

  His hands readily gripped her hips and urged her up from his lap. He stopped there, his eyes relaying what more he desired of her. A soft glow bathing her features, she reached between her legs and slid her fingers slowly up his shaft. He quivered. Exquisite, rapturelike torment masked his face. Her fingers curled around his erection, holding it in place while she eased herself down onto its head.

  The instant he breached the cavity, a guttural moan rattled within his chest. She enveloped him slowly, lowering herself a little bit at a time, working her vaginal muscles to stroke him, torture him with anticipation. His strong fingers kneaded her outer thighs. She had nearly taken him in completely when his hips thrust upward. Bliss impaled her, sweeping her into its promising embrace.

  They were alone in the world.

  Two lost souls who had found each other.

  Two reborn souls capable of offering their partner a plane of ecstasy few could even imagine, let alone experience.

  Their awareness became one. Their search for gratification, one. In perfect rhythm, their minds and bodies in perfect sync, they strove toward their united goal. Gradually, they climbed the craggy face of the mountain of rapture, their psyches locked onto the memories of their other life in each other's arms.

  The spell was temporarily b
roken when Roan sat up, and lowered her onto her back. Her arms circled his neck. He kissed her hungrily then, pinning her wrists to the mattress above her head, he began full, controlled thrusts into her body, all the while staring deeply into her eyes.

  The first ignition of a climax took control of them. Thrusting to meet its force, they tensed in anticipation. Laura's came first, bursting from her core and tingling to the tips of her fingers and toes. Roan followed a second later, throwing back his head and exposing the veins and cords bulging in his neck. When the climb was fulfilled, he collapsed atop her, his face buried to the side of her neck, in a damp nest of her blond hair.

  Wallowing in the aftermath of the experience, Laura stared unseeingly at the ceiling. She was completely exhausted, but never more content than she was now. Her arms weakly folded across his back. Her breaths came in short spurts between her parted lips.

  "Damn me, tha' was a quicky," he grunted, easing some of his weight off her.

  Laura rolled her eyes then released a short laugh. "I don't think I could survive a prolonged version of this."

  Propping himself up on his elbows, Roan blinked down at her. "Anythin' short o' two hours is unmonly."

  She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. "We began this shortly after eight." She grinned at him. "It's nearly ten-thirty, my lustful Scot."

  Roan eyed the clock for several seconds before muttering, "Damn me, I'm good."

  "You're something," she chuckled, stroking his jawline with the back of her fingers. "Since you seem to be so full of yourself, how about fixing us something to eat? I'm about starved."

  Groaning, he buried his face to the side of her head again.

  "A little energy goes a long way," she cooed suggestively.

  With that incentive, he sprang from the bed, and ran out of the room.

  Laura languidly drew the quilt around her cooling body, and curled into a fetal position. She watched the doorway, waiting for him, knowing that when he returned, he would be wearing nothing but a disarming, utterly charming grin.