Hope Everlastin' Book 4

by Mickee Madden

  "For honest?" Alby asked in a quivering tone.

  Nodding, Lachlan said, "You know how when you're scared, weird things come ou' o' yer mouth and you canna stop them?"

  Again Alby nodded vigorously, while his siblings regarded Lachlan as if seriously mulling over his words.

  "Weel, yer Aunt Beth has a fine temper, she has, and she's no' afraid to let me know when I displease—"

  "You mean piss her off," Kevin interjected, to which Lachlan comically flinched.

  "Aye, and tha', too. Which reminds me, there's a young mon now stayin’ at the carriage house. He's the new groundskeeper. Would it be too much to ask you three to have mercy on him and no' give him the devil's due?"

  Kahl laughed then nodded along with his brothers.

  It suddenly struck Lachlan that one day he would be talking to his children like this, holding their bodies in the crook of his arms. His heart leapt with joy but then as quickly sank into a murky hollow of depression when he realized Beth could easily prevent his children being raised around him. One voice in his head told him to challenge her rights if she tried. But another more logical voice told him he would go along with whatever she decided, no matter what it cost him emotionally.

  Standing, he gestured toward the staircase. "Long past yer bedtime, laddies."

  "Aw," Kevin began, but instantly quieted when Lachlan arched an eyebrow. "Okay."

  "Straight to bed," Lachlan said with a hint of a smile. "No stoppin’ along the way to have you a wee mischief."

  Kevin led his brothers to and up the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Lachlan walked into the night.

  It was indeed raining. Large, icy drops of water pounded the earth in a lament of spring's arrival. They stung his exposed skin and the coldness seeped into the marrow of his bones, but by the time he made it to the field, he was too numb to feel much of anything except the sorrow weighing heavily on him.

  He didn't see the dark-clad figure slipping through the opened bulkhead and into the basement. He didn't hear the curses growled in condemnation of his unappreciated stroll through the backyard. He only knew he needed to be alone. To think. To try to understand how he could have gotten so angry at Beth. To perhaps even pray for some guidance before he unintentionally brought about another disaster, like setting the planet on fire.

  * * *

  Beth tensed when she heard a soft rap, then her door opening. She wasn't sure if she was glad it wasn't Lachlan or not, but she nonetheless gestured for Deliah to join her by the window. Rain pattered loudly against the panes. Coldness seeped through the glass, and her skin was broken out in gooseflesh.

  The night was relatively dark, barely enough light for her to make out Lachlan's figure emerging beyond the far end of the wooded area. He was going to the old oak. To the graves.

  Why?

  Why put himself through that kind of torment?

  She mentally cursed his stubbornness then found herself choked up with regret and self-loathing.

  Yes, she'd been angry with him, but not so angry that it justified her assaulting him as she had. What amazed her was how he'd taken so much of it before utilizing his superior size and strength against her. She was more frightened about their futures than upset about the reporters, although the exposure meant they couldn't stay at Baird House, not without someone spotting her on the grounds.

  So why strike out at him like a bloodthirsty shrew?

  What had brought on that instantaneous eruption of heat inside her when she realized he was in the room?

  It was almost as if something had gotten inside her and taken over her body and mind. Or was she just trying to give her temper an excuse, when there really wasn't one to be had?

  "The babes be still asleep," said Deliah, coming to stand to Beth's right. Her bright blue eyes looked into the night and she frowned thoughtfully. "When do they begin to sleep the night through?"

  Beth sighed. "I have no idea. I was an only child, and was never around babies or toddlers. That makes me about as ignorant as a rock."

  Deliah smiled then blurted, "I have pledged to marry Winston."

  "What?" With a low squeal, Beth threw her arms around the smaller woman and hugged her. She eased back, her face glowing with happiness. "Congratulations! When did this happen?"

  A dark blush stole into Deliah's cheeks. "Afore, durin’, and efter all three times we made love today."

  Beth also blushed. "Three times?"

  "I wanted mair, but alas, he pooped ou' on me, silly mon."

  Impulsively, Beth again hugged the slender woman. Tears spilled from her eyes as she released her and faced the window. "I'm so happy for you, Deliah."

  "Aye, I know. Twould make me happier, though, to see ye a wee happy for yerself."

  Beth gave her a harried glance. "I don't see that happening in the near future. God, Deliah, I pounded on him! Bit him. Kicked him." She lowered her voice. "I threatened to castrate him with that damn dirk."

  Deliah smiled ruefully. "Tis no surprise now why the poor mon didna want to remain in the house."

  Although Deliah's tone was light, almost playful, her words cut into Beth's conscience. "This isn't right, Deliah. I shouldn't be in here feeling miserable, and he out there— God, he has to be freezing without a coat! Why has he gone to the graves? Is he some kind of masochist or what?"

  "Today be March twenty-third, the day o' his dying so long ago."

  Stunned, Beth turned to face Deliah. "He was murdered on March twenty-third?"

  "Aye. I dinna think he realizes the date. Subconsciously, mayhaps."

  "Tessa drove the dirk into his heart, and I threatened— Oh, God," Beth ended on a groan. "I didn't know! His headstone only has the year!"

  "I wasna aware maself till Winston and I started talkin’ abou' a date to marry. Now I wonder...."

  "What?" Beth asked anxiously.

  Deliah gave a weary lift of her shoulders. "Tis no' for me to make excuses for him, but...the timin’ o' yer return couldna have been worse, aye? So close to his daith date, I mean. I be no expert on the ways o' the human mind, but tis a fair guess his subconscious is dwellin’ on tha' night."

  She forlornly gazed through the window. "Now he be ou' there, cold and alone, as was he tha' night when he was removed from the tower. I shouldna have interfered wi' his passin’ on, Beth, but I couldna stop maself."

  Trembling with an onslaught of tears, Beth could say nothing.

  "No word or action," Deliah said softly, placing a hand on Beth's shoulder, "should put asunder a love wha' transcends time and space, and this world and anither."

  Beth shook her head miserably.

  "I know ye fairly weel, Beth. It no' be in yer heart to isolate yerself from him." Deliah sighed. "I must return to Winston, but it saddens me to leave ye alone at this time."

  "What do I say to him?" Beth asked, placing her fingertips against the cold panes.

  "Tha' would be up to ye. Twould be a blessin’ upon this house and all it has stood for, though, if we all were to lie wi’in our lovers' arms, and ward off the cold wi' the heat o' our bodies."

  Beth nervously moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. "I don't think I could keep myself together if he turned me away, Deliah."

  The Faerie princess released a scoffing chuff. "Do ye really believe he would?"

  "I...don't know."

  "I tell ye he willna. The babes be asleep. I promise to listen for them while ye give this date a new meanin’ for yer mon. Dinna be afraid. Aye, our Lachlan has his faults, but would ye really have him change?"

  Beth laughed a bit unsteadily. "No. No! Not one iota! He can be so infuriating, but it's—I must be nuts—what I first loved about him." She glanced at the door, at Deliah then lit into a run. "See you in the morning!"

  Chapter 3

  Barefoot and only wearing her torn nightgown, Beth dashed into the night. She was soaked before she rounded the house, and numb by the time she reached the woods. Nonetheless, she hastened along the path
to the field, thoughts of Lachlan's arms enveloping her all that kept her going.

  The field seemed unusually long, the oak inordinately far. She slowed her pace when she was close enough to see that he was on his knees in front of her headstone and arced slightly to her right until she could see his fingertips touching the engraved lettering on the granite. She stood not more than five feet from him, lapping at the wetness on her lips. The rain tasted sweet and somehow reviving. Shudders coursed through her, but she didn't care.

  Soon....

  "When there is too much to forgive, wha' does tha' leave a mon to do?" he said in a low, husky voice. "I canna live wi’ou' you, Beth, nor can I die. I've no way to know how to make up for the wrongs."

  Beth slowly positioned herself on the opposite side of her headstone, where she could only see the back of his bent head. She realized he was praying and waited a few moments until the cold became too unbearable, and thoughts of snuggling beside him in a warm bed gave her the courage to break the silence.

  "March twenty-third, eighteen forty-four—" His head shot up and his fathomless dark eyes looked at her as if he were seeing a ghost. "—a heartless bride took her husband's life and had her lover wall him up in the tower."

  A hearty preternatural breeze, laden with pellets of rain, swept around Beth. She caught her breath at its frigid caress. Sepulchral voices rose from the ground, whispering in her ears, but she couldn't decipher the words. For a moment she feared something would erupt from the earth and carry Lachlan and her back into their graves.

  Anything is possible.

  They both existed as testimony to the unexplainable, the unbelievable, and knew firsthand how fragile was mortality.

  The breeze melted into the night, carrying away with it the voices and a large part of her anxiousness. Rain poured from the infinite sky, through the canopy of still-barren branches above them. Sweeping back the hair wetly plastered across her face, she told herself her life wouldn't end if Lachlan rejected her.

  She would leave the relationship with a hole in her heart, but she would survive. The twins would fill a vast portion of her life. Right now, all she could do was to try to mollify what had happened in the bedroom. She couldn't explain the extent of her anger, but she could tell him that she loved him above all else.

  "On March twenty-third, nineteen ninety-five," she forced herself to go on, "another heartless lover drove this same man into the cold of a rainy night."

  She stepped closer to the stone and gripped its top. A breath lodged in her throat when Lachlan slowly rose to his feet, still staring at her as though disbelieving she were real. Usually he wasn't so quiet or still. It was unnerving and she almost wished she hadn't left the house.

  "Are you hoping to die of pneumonia out here, is that it?" she asked. Shivering, she hugged herself with her arms. "It just won't do, Lachlan. I can't allow you to deny your children their father."

  He stepped to one side of the headstone, his boots making sucking sounds in the mud.

  Gulping, Beth pressed on, "Okay, so I'm not that unselfish! I'm here because I want you."

  In the semi-darkness, she saw his right eyebrow arch in a challenge.

  Releasing a sparing breath, she cast a forlorn look in the direction of the mansion. She was cold and tired, and her stomach was tied in knots. The twins would be waking at any time to be fed. And Lachlan was milking her discomfort for all it was worth. Making her squirm. Waiting for her to swallow a fat, old corbie and say what he wanted to hear, not her feeble attempt to skirt around an outright apology.

  "I'm sorry," she finally said in a small voice, peering at him from beneath her soaked eyelashes.

  He stepped directly in front of her, leaving little space between them. Heat replaced the chill in her body as she blinkingly stared at his chest. The wet, blue material of his torn shirt clung to the muscular contours, making her needy to touch him.

  Damn the chemistry between us!

  Her head barely reached his chin. From the moment they had met last summer, his height, barrel chest, and broad shoulders had felled her inhibitions. He was so powerful, so masculine, so magnetic that she could no more resist wanting him than she could resist breathing.

  "Sorry for wha'?" he asked, his deep voice husky.

  Sorry for what? she fumed. She didn't expect him to forgive and forget in a matter of minutes, but was it necessary for him to make this so grueling?

  Without thought, she openhandedly whacked him on the chest and sputtered, "For ever coming to this damn country—" She gasped then straightened back her shoulders and looked into his eyes with what she hoped was a semblance of remorse. "For hitting you. Okay...for hitting you and running off at the mouth."

  His silence squeezed her heart and she released a shuddering breath. "Damn you, Lachlan, you make me crazy, sometimes! I told you I want you in my life. What more do you want to hear? That I want you in m-my bed?" She sucked in a breath to calm her nerves. "Okay. O...kay, I do. Want you in my bed, I mean."

  Expressionless, Lachlan ran a hand over the top of his sodden hair. "Are you saying you want me back in ma bed, lass, or in any bed wi' you?"

  A strangled chuff of laughter escaped her before she gripped the remains of the front of his shirt. Lifting on toes immersed in mud, she calmly stated, "If you don't kiss me now, I'm going to bury you where you stand."

  "You've graduated from threatening ma monhood to the whole o' me?"

  "Lachlan...."

  He released a throaty laugh and exuberantly threw his arms around her, molding her shivering form against him. His possessive embrace elicited a sigh from her and she laid one side of her face against his chest. The cold wetness of him was barely felt as she listened to his heart. The beat was strong, as inspirational as a symphony in a park on a warm summer's day.

  When they'd made love in the past he didn't have a heartbeat, only a life pulse that she now knew had been a gift from Deliah.

  "I canna kiss you wi' yer head down," he whispered.

  Beth instantly looked up, her lips parted in invitation. Her fingers kneaded the small of his back as his head lowered with teasing slowness. But when his mouth covered hers, she found the long hours of the past two weeks worth the wait.

  Sweetened by the rain, his mouth moved slowly over hers, second by second becoming more demanding until she was so completely lost in love that she had no concept of the weather or their location. She ached with familiar desire. It heated her blood and made her pulse quicken. In life or death, he owned a part of her no other man could claim.

  Ending the kiss abruptly, Lachlan tilted back his head and, breathing heavily, allowed the rain to splat against his face.

  Beth watched him for a moment and placed her right hand against his cheek. He looked down at her, wonderment enhancing his handsome visage. His mouth quirked with a grin as he slowly shook his head.

  "We're soaked, ma Beth. I can think o' a less no canny place to make love to you."

  "Can you?"

  "Aye, darlin’." He winced comically. "I'm abou' to break through ma breeks for want o' you."

  "Sounds serious," she said with a wicked little grin. She shuddered and released a mewl of appreciation when his arms again enveloped her. Although he was as wet and as cold as she was, being in his arms afforded her psychological warmth. He gave her a hearty squeeze, then scooped her up in his arms and gave her neck a teasing nibble as he settled her against him.

  With a laugh, she linked her arms about his neck. "You can't carry me to the house. Not in this mud."

  "Right now, ma love, I could fly you to our room on wings o' love."

  Beth released a long, dreamy sigh. "I love it when you get poetic."

  Grinning, Lachlan started off toward the house, his boots heavily plopping in the mud, its thickness slowing his usual gait. To keep her in the mood for what he hoped would be a long night of making love, he began to sing in baritone, Tell Me How To Woo Thee, by Graham of Gartmore.

  "If doughty deeds ma lady please
,

  Right soon I'll mount ma steed:

  And strong his arm, and fast his seat,

  Tha' bears from me the meed.

  I'll wear thy colors at ma brow,

  Thy picture in ma heart;

  And he tha' bends no' to thine eye,

  Shall rue it to his smart."

  He paused to blink into the stinging rain and softly blow at the moisture on his lips. Then he continued:

  "Then tell me how to woo thee, love,

  Oh tell me how to woo thee.

  For thy dear sake, no care I'll tak,

  Though never anither trow me—"

  Lachlan grunted as his feet went out from under him. His butt hit the boggy ground and a splattering of mud and water sprayed up around them. He managed to retain his hold on Beth, but nearly released her when she began to laugh. Its rich sound filled the night, drowning out the drumming rudiments of raindrops striking solid objects.

  Within seconds, her infectious laughter caught him up in its throes. He cradled her against him, rocking back and forth, his own deep laughter harmonizing with hers. Next he knew they were rolling on the cushiony ground, kissing, clinging to one another as one entity. The past and future held no meaning to them. Only the moment existed, and it was as sweet as the rain diluting most of the sodden earth covering them.

  Finally, exhausted and too cold to frolic any longer, Lachlan scrambled to his feet, nearly falling twice, and helped Beth to hers. As best they could, they ran across the rest of the field, through the woods, around the house, and through both sets of double doors. When the last was closed behind them, Beth threw her arms up and laughingly glanced over Lachlan then herself. She shivered violently and her teeth chattered, but she couldn't remember a time when she'd been happier.

  Lachlan looked like a drowned, long-haired hamster, his dark eyes peering at her between strands of hair matted to his face by rain and shifting globs of mud. She knew she didn't look any better but didn't care. To prove this, she flung herself into his arms and kissed him. He tasted of rain and moist earth, and his lips were as cold as her own. No matter. Life was better than it had ever been, and not a word of complaint would pass her lips, not even if she shivered through the floor like a drill through rock.