Back then, he had somehow managed to link with her mind, getting to know her through her thoughts and experiencing her emotions. He had thought he knew everything about her by the time she arrived. He'd been wrong. Meeting the physical woman had exceeded all his expectations. The mindlinks hadn't revealed the way her blue eyes gleamed like multi-faceted sapphires when she was passionate or angry, or became as fathomless as the deep blue sea when she was troubled. The mindlinks hadn't connected him to the scent of her, or the way she shuffled her shoulders and gave a toss of her curly, light brown hair when she was frustrated.
Her softness. The sound of her voice. Her quick wit. The curves of her body—
Lachlan gripped one of the walnut posts at the foot of the bed when she placed her hands at the small of her back and languidly stretched. Her full breasts strained against the pale blue linen of her nightgown. The thin strap on her right shoulder slipped over the smooth curvature. That small movement struck Lachlan as being more sensual than anything he'd ever beheld. Beth had never considered herself beautiful. He did. Every line and plane of her body was perfection, made him long to touch her more than he'd longed for anything in his enduring existences.
He realized he hadn't been given another chance at life on a whim. Whatever had brought him back hadn't really considered him the worthy factor. It was Beth. Beth and their children. He didn't understand how or why he knew this now so undeniably, but it was so clear, so absolute, he didn't question the knowing.
Perhaps his life, his future did hold some measure of importance, but she was his connection to whatever fate held in store for him.
Had the knowing been in his subconscious when they'd been brought back?
Embedded deeply in his mind, trying to surface through the maze of confusion, and initializing those fears and insecurities that had driven him to turn away from her and the twins?
Some things still didn't make sense, but in time the pieces would come together.
Beth lowered one knee onto the mattress. She sighed and was about to finish climbing into bed when her head shot around and her eyes widened on him. A breath became trapped in his throat.
God, she was beautiful! Her lips were parted, and her hair a wild mane of curls surrounding the face that always left him breathless and lightheaded, even when he hadn't had the corporeal equipment to actually feel anything at all.
She remained frozen, one bent leg on the bed. Lachlan's gaze fell on the drooped strap of her nightgown, and he swallowed past the tightness forming in his throat. He couldn't summon up saliva to alleviate the dryness in his mouth. His first attempt to speak came out as a croak. He cleared his throat, once, twice, and threw all of his willpower into saying her name.
"Beth."
Her breathing became shallow and her eyes narrowed. "Get out."
Lachlan glanced at the door, then at her and shook his head. "You have to listen to me."
"I don't have to anything," she said in a low, warning tone. She stiffly pointed to the door, her eyes remaining intensely fixed on him. "Get out. And don't come back."
Lachlan locked his teeth against an immediate response. This time he wouldn't walk away. This time she would listen, even if he had to sit on her.
"Beth-lass—"
He jerked back as a pillow came swiftly toward him. It struck him with enough force to compel him back a step. The second blow swiftly followed, then another and another. He was astounded by the ferocity of her attack, and astounded that he could do no more than hold up his arms to protect his face.
Through the staticlike roar in his ears, he could dimly make out bits and pieces of words. "Bastard." A garble of sounds, then "Irresponsible jerk." Louder static, piercing his eardrums. "Not (something) gullible."
"Beth!" he gasped, his head reeling.
He blindly reached out, gripped softness and gave it a hard tug. A guttural cry startled him. His vision cleared to find a pillow clutched in one hand and he dropped it to the floor. He was conscious of a blur of movement, then of a jab to his midriff. He looked down and released a chuff of disbelief when he realized the cause of his discomfort was the point of a poker. On the other end, Beth's fury-filled eyes dared him to move.
At least she hadn't gone for one of the swords.
Lachlan's patience lost to burgeoning anger. He regarded the poker, then her, his black eyebrows drawing down into a stormy scowl.
"Tis one thing, Beth, to order me ou' o' ma bed, ma bedroom, ma home...anither to hold a weapon against me." He drew in a ragged breath. "Put it down."
"Who were those men trying to dig up our graves?" she asked through clenched teeth. When he didn't answer right away, she jerked her head in the direction of the door. "I saw them through one of the nursery windows. I saw them trying to exhume us! Why? Damn you, answer me!"
Drawing back his shoulders, he replied, "They wanted to verify I was in the ground."
Her chin quivered and a mist of tears formed in her eyes. "Why?"
"Beth—"
"Why?"
Lachlan closed his eyes a moment and forced himself to look at her. "At Shortby's..." He shook his head, unable to finish.
He winced when she prodded him with the poker, and looked down at it resentfully before continuing, "I told some men ma name. I didna know there was a reporter in the room. Beth—"
"What else did you tell them?" she asked achingly, a tear spilling down her ashen face. "That I'm back, too? That we have a son and daughter, conceived in the afterlife?" Her voice ended on an almost shrill note, making him flinch.
"No," he said miserably. "Only ma name. Twas enough, though."
"I'll bet it was. I-ah, opened the window and listened. I heard what those reporters were shouting. Do you have any idea what your jaunt to Shortby's has cost us? Not just you and me, but our children?"
Lachlan rolled his eyes heavenward and shrugged with resignation. "I know it was reckless o' me, but Winston came up wi' a story, and it seems to have satisfied the press."
She stared at him expectantly.
"He told them Roan was plannin’ to turn the estate into a retreat this summer. Tha' I'm Horatio Lachlan Baird, a distant relation, here to play the former laird durin’ the grand opening."
"It's just a coincidence you look exactly like him, right?" she sneered, jabbing him again. "Something tells me that story won't work as far as I'm concerned. But that's okay, Lachlan." She nodded more than necessary. "That's okay. At least you're protected, right?"
"Beth—"
"Shut up!" Her nostrils flared, and it was obvious she was barely in control of her anger. "I'll be more than happy to buy myself another identity, and more than happy to take myself and my children as far away from here as possible."
Lachlan's blood turned to ice water. "I once told you I would never let you leave me. Tha' hasna changed, lass."
"Hasn't it?" she asked bitterly, trembling, tears falling in abandon down her cheeks. She laughed a pathetic little sound that unnerved him more than her hostility. "Maybe in the mid-eighteen hundreds, women put up with egotistical windbags, but you're in my time now. Having a penis doesn't give you the right to tell any woman what to do, or what she can or can't think! So get it through your thick skull, I am leaving, and there isn't a bloody thing you can do to stop me."
"I can." He planted his hands on his hips. "And I will."
"No." Something between a smile and a grimace flashed across her mouth. "You're going to leave this room and stay away from me. If you came through into this life with even a smidgen of common sense, you'll tell yourself you know you and I are finished!"
Lachlan stepped back on one foot and snatched the poker iron from her grasp, then harshly flung it to the floor. Beth stood paralyzed, staring at her extended hands as if disbelieving he could have disarmed her with such speed and such ease.
"I may be a wee behind the times, grádh mo chridhe—"
"Speak English!"
"Grádh mo chridhe—love o' ma heart, and tha' you are. But r
ight now I'm resistin’ a powerful urge to shake some sense into you! Tis no' womonly to wield a weapon on a mon, no' unless her virtue or her life is bein’ compromised. I bloody weel dare you to stand there and tell me I have compromised you in any way!"
Beth's fists clenched at her sides and she shook violently. For but an instant, he thought he glimpsed a man's visage with chilling pale eyes, flash in front of her face. The semi-transparent features were grotesquely carved with rage, almost demonic. Then her tirade began, and the memory of it temporarily slipped from his mind.
"You tricked me into coming here. You knew I was dying and you didn't even have the decency to tell me before it happened! But you made sure you seduced me first, didn't you? Oh, yeah. The great Lachlan Baird used all his wit and charm to coax a virgin into his bed, just so he could have everlasting companionship!"
"Enough! If you remember, Beth, you were ma first as weel!"
"When I think back on how gullible I was, I want to puke! I hate—" Her voice cracked, but she forced the words, "hate you for every lie and stunt you've pulled since the moment I first laid eyes on you!"
Lachlan chewed on his lower lip for a time. He couldn't remember when he'd been angrier or more hurt by mere words. If she had opened his wrist, or had pierced his heart, he knew the pain would have been tolerable in comparison to what he was suffering now.
"Are you done ventin’ yer indignation at havin’ falling in love wi' such a reprobate?" he asked tightly.
A masculine, rattling sound emanated from her throat, shocking him. His head reared back with neck-wrenching force when her left fist smashed into his jawline. Searing pain shot up his jaw and exploded inside his head. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn the blow had been dealt by a man larger than himself.
Something else was wrong. Before his mind could focus on it, her fists began to pound against his chest.
He tried to justify her actions, but couldn't. This was not mere anger. She was out of control, and his temper had surfaced as a shield against her assault. She shoved him, released a low cry and whirled to run in the direction of the door. With a growled, "Och!" he bounded after her, reaching her before she could grab the doorknob.
Fueled by a raw primordial need to overpower her, he swung her thrashing form up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He was beyond feeling the sting of her hands striking him. Beyond caring that his superior strength and size only served to enhance her rage. He tossed her onto the bedcovers. Before he was fully on his knees atop the mattress, she gripped the front of his shirt, rammed her bare feet against his abdomen, and yanked. The linen ripped vertically, the tear seeming to echo in the room. She cast off him, nearly toppling him over the edge of the mattress, then scrambled to her hands and knees and made a valiant effort to get off the far side of the bed.
Lachlan lunged. He only intended to stop her from eluding him, but beneath the strength of his fingers one of the straps of her nightgown ripped away from the back. With a cry of outrage, she whirled, swinging her arms, and knocked him across the top of his head with the back of a hand. He grunted as he wound his arms about her middle and wrestled her toward the center of the mattress. Releasing a stream of curses that made his ears turn crimson, she kicked, slapped, punched and did her best to bite him. The latter he escaped by only a hair'sbreadth most of the time. He kept one side of his face pressed to the area between her shoulder blades, and one arm snugly about her middle. With his free hand he grappled with her left arm, the elbow of which repeatedly jabbed his rib cage. Once he anchored both arms—
He released a howl of surprise when her teeth sank into his raised forearm. Wrenching free, he swung her face down onto the bed.
"Damn you!" she cried, kicking him with her heels as he straddled her backside. She attempted to buck him off, then buried her face into the covers and screamed. The muffled release finally quieted her. She turned her head, panting, straining to see him.
"Get off me!"
"Have I yer word you'll no' raise anither hand to me?" he asked harshly, his breathing also labored, his body quaking with the force of holding back the larger portion of his anger.
After a laden pause, she said, "Yes!"
Without hesitation, Lachlan swung himself to her right. He no sooner sat beside her than she flipped over and made a valiant bid to drive her left knee into his chest. He blocked the blow with the same forearm she'd bitten. Then, with a swift, fluid motion born of vexation he straddled her abdomen, his large hands pinning her wrists to the mattress above her head.
Breaths wheezed from him. She was flushed and gasping, the mounds of her breasts rising and falling, straining against the thin material as if to burst free at any moment.
"You have to let me go eventually," she panted, glaring at him. "And when you do, I swear I'll...."
"Wha'?" he taunted, lowering himself until his face was inches from hers. He could feel her warm breath fan his neck, face, and the area now bared by the torn shirt. "Wha's left, Beth?"
"Your manhood," she rasped. Her eyes flashed. "With that jeweled dirk, I'll cut off your—"
Her threat became garbled when his mouth covered hers, crushing the inner lining of her lips against her clenched teeth. She relentlessly bucked and squirmed beneath him until, after what seemed like an exhausting eternity, her struggles grew weaker. Lachlan lessened the pressure of his mouth. He hadn't intended the action to be construed as a kiss, only a means to stop her threat of castrating him. The idea that she was angry enough to think it, let alone carry it out, horrified him.
He would give up his life again before he would allow her close enough to tamper with what nature had bestowed upon him.
Fatigue robbing his temper of fire, he eased up his head and wearily peered into her eyes. She was still angry, but also spent of fight.
"Is this wha' you truly want, Beth-lass?"
"Yes," she said breathlessly.
His head drooped for a brief time. He left the bed and headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, "I'll no' bother you again."
He closed the door behind him as he entered the hall, missing her choked, "That's not what I meant."
Lachlan's hand remained on the knob to the closed door when he spied Deliah and Winston standing in the doorway to the nursery. He stiffened with hostility, an instinctual response to the argument he was sure would come. Although Deliah's eyes were soft with compassion, Winston's held an unmistakable glint of reproach, and Lachlan was reasonably sure he'd already choked down his quota of guilt for the day.
He brusquely headed past them but stopped when Deliah touched his arm. He drew in a deep breath, faced her and sighed, "I've a hole for a brain, I know."
She smiled sympathetically and whispered, "I be sorry, Lachlan."
"Sorry for wha'?"
Her head lowered as if she were ashamed. "For no' tellin’ ye the truth afore I brought ye and Beth back."
Puzzled, Lachlan looked into Winston's pale gray-green eyes then placed a crooked finger beneath Deliah's dimpled chin and lifted her face to his view. "Tis no fault o' yers."
Tears rapidly sprang into her eyes and her chin quivered. "Aye, I be responsible. I didna tell ye because I wasna sure when the return would happen, and I didna want ye and Beth to be anxious durin’ the waitin’."
Fondly, Lachlan smiled and bestowed a kiss on her brow. "Deliah-lass," he said, searching her despondent eyes, "dinna you think tis time I paid ma dues for all the trouble I've caused? I'm a foolish mon, I grant. I need to face ma responsibilities."
"Lachlan." Winston paused and frowned. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
"No' ready to hang me yet?" Lachlan asked wryly.
Winston chuckled low. "No' yet." He sobered, placed an arm about Deliah's shoulders and frowned again. "Tha' was a nasty argument you had wi' Beth."
This time Lachlan lowered his head. "Aye. But no mair. I'll keep ma distance till we can figure ou' where we go from here."
He looked up and beyond the couple, to where t
he crib was located halfway across the room. "Are the bairns asleep?"
Deliah nodded. "Do ye want to see them?"
Shaking his head, he turned to leave. "No' yet," he said and headed for the staircase.
He kept his mind blank during the descent. Turning left at the bottom of the stairs, he walked toward the doors and was nearly to them before he saw three small bodies blocking his exit. He slowed to a stop and regarded their upturned faces.
Alby was teary-eyed, Kahl frowning, and Kevin as angry as a riled hornet.
"Where you going?" asked Kahl, his reddish blond hair tousled, his eyes laden with sleep. "It's raining hard out there."
Lachlan glanced at the double doors and murmured, "Is it?"
"Why do you havta do so many stupid things?" Kevin asked harshly. His brothers gave him a shocked look, but he ignored them and went on, "If you was my size, you'd get your butt swatted and spend some serious time staring at the walls of your bedroom."
Lachlan didn't want to grin, but one ticked at the right corner of his mouth as he crouched, resting his buttocks on the heels of his boots. "For absolute sure, I would. Tis lucky I'm just a stupid mon, aye?"
"You're not stupid!" Alby cried, then flung himself into Lachlan's arms, winding his own about Lachlan's neck. "Don't say you're stupid!"
"Och, lad," Lachlan crooned, relishing the warmth of the boy's body, "I promise no' to again."
Sniffling, Alby released his death-grip and backed off enough to look into Lachlan's eyes. "It's the boogeyman making everybody so cranky."
"You dinna say? Hmmm. Then we should send him packin’ right soon, shouldna we?"
Alby nodded vigorously. From behind him, Kahl said in a soft voice, "We got scared when we heard Beth yelling at you."
Lachlan opened his left arm and Kahl immediately stepped into it. But Kevin held back, his blue eyes stormy with accusation until Lachlan cast him a pleading look for forgiveness. Then it was three boys he was hugging, and three warm bodies hugging him in return.
He kissed each on the cheek, then vowed, "You have ma word, it willna happen again."
Hope Everlastin' Book 4 Page 4