Hope Everlastin' Book 4

by Mickee Madden

  And that man, Lachlan. He was another threat, although not as serious a one as the woman. This man didn't possess the attention span to traipse through the psychic channels for very long at a time.

  A thought occurred to Cuttstone and he stopped mutilating his palm. Grinning, he laid the dirk on the table and leaned closer to the flame.

  Perhaps the woman and man were allies, sent by the Guardian to aide him in his unending quest. Since their arrival, static clogged most of the psychic airways. Connery had been cut off from mentally locating him, cut off from picking up trace impressions of his presence.

  Allies.

  How far would they be willing to go to help him to rid the world of Laura Bennett and her future offspring, and the winged queen of the infestents?

  If only the Guardian would stop sending him cryptic messages.

  A cold draft swept through his hideaway, extinguishing the flame and plunging him into pitch darkness. He remained motionless, not even blinking, mentally scrambling to remember if he had thought or said anything that could have offended the Guardian.

  Chapter 4

  Except for an occasional crackle or pop from the fireplace, quietude mantled the house like an old, faithful security blanket. The rain had stopped. Lachlan's eyelids drooped more from contentment than fatigue as he watched Beth nurse their son.

  With his back braced against one of the decorative walnut foot posts, his sleeping daughter cradled against his bare chest, he wondered if life could get any better than what he had now. In one respect, it was a little scary. He had more to lose. In the past, all that could be taken from him was his life and his estate. In death, though, he had managed to hold on to not only his belongings, but also a semblance of life.

  His gaze shifted to regard his daughter. Pale peach fuzz covered an otherwise pink head. Blond eyelashes and eyebrows. Her nose was barely bigger than his thumbnail, her mouth a darker pink and pouty. She was a tiny replica of her mother, with one hand poking out of the pink blanket, the gracefully spread fingers twitching against one rounded cheek. She had been the one to awaken and exercise her lungs to be fed. Surprisingly, the boy had slept through the ruckus.

  When their daughter had her fill of mother's milk, Beth had asked Lachlan to hold the squirming bundle. He'd panicked at first then hesitantly nodded. Now, with the baby's warmth against his chest and bare arms, he couldn't believe he'd ever been afraid to touch his children. It felt amazingly natural to hold his daughter, as if he'd done it a hundred times.

  Straightening his right leg, he looked up when Beth chuckled and commented, "Are you trying to entice me into jumping your bones again before your son's belly is full?"

  He frowned at first then glanced down at himself when her gaze pointedly flicked to his leg. For a moment longer, he puzzled her remark. Dawning brought a deep blush to his cheeks. Before Beth had handed him the baby, he'd haphazardly draped one corner of the top quilt across his lap. His bent left knee was visible and most of the right leg. Now he looked as if he was posing, but in truth, he wasn't. With her second chuckle, he peered at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  There she sat with their son attached to her left nipple, only the top of his dark head visible behind the sheet she had draped over her right shoulder to hide her nakedness from Lachlan. With her damp hair a mass of curls framing her face, and her round eyes sparkling with happiness, he had never seen her look more beautiful or desirable.

  "Darlin’, twouldna be proper for our daughter's faither ta—ah—come up, so to speak, while he's holdin’ her. So I say to you, love o' ma life, tarry no' wi' our son's feeding. The sooner they're both fed and snug in the crib, the sooner you and I get back to the business o' lovin’."

  "You forgot one thing."

  He considered her lighthearted manner with a tad of wariness. "Oh?"

  "Their diapers will need changing before they return to the crib."

  A blank look fell over Lachlan's face as he glanced down at his daughter, then up again at Beth. "I dinna do diapers. Tha's a womon's task."

  "The rules have changed a wee since your time."

  His eyebrows shot up. "Some changes are no' for the better."

  Beth playfully wrinkled her nose at him. "You haven't lived till a baby wee-wees on you."

  With a grimace, Lachlan cast each infant a dubious look. "I've lived mair'n maist."

  "Now, now, darling, you only think you have."

  "I have," he insisted.

  Beth shook her head and flashed him a teasing grin. "Trust me. Changing diapers is a character builder."

  "Some would say I've enough character."

  Beth sighed with theatrical martyrdom. "Fine. I'll do the messy ones."

  "Messy ones?" He grimaced again then made a feeble attempt to appear brightened by his decision. "All right, lass. We're parents thegither, through the good and...no'-so-good."

  "And?"

  He wrinkled his nose at her. "I'll do ma fair share, and no' a whimper you'll hear from me."

  She smiled, her features soft and radiant with love. "I've missed you," she whispered, one hand smoothing the tiny head at her breast.

  "And I, you," replied Lachlan. He became pensively silent for a moment and regarded her with such sadness, concern leapt into her eyes. "Beth, I canna say enough how sorry I am for ma behavior these past weeks."

  "It's in the past."

  He nodded, glanced down at his daughter, and smiled. His jaw still ached from Beth's blow earlier, a reminder of how close they'd come to letting their anger wipe out all the love they had for one another. But he didn't want to think about that now.

  Instead, he met the somewhat anxious look in Beth's eyes and said, "We have to name them."

  The infant in her arms stopped suckling. He was asleep, and she studied his face for a time, her expression dreamy. There was no doubt in her mind he would grow up to resemble his father. Unlike his sister's fuzzy pate, he had a mop of thick dark hair, almost black with fiery highlights. He pursed his lips and she looked up at Lachlan and smiled.

  "You choose the names."

  Lachlan was both startled and gladdened by her words. He'd always wanted a daughter named— "Weel," he began hesitantly then worried his lower lip for a time. "Twould be best if we combined the names we maist fancy."

  "Let's start with our daughter. Does a name jump out at you when you look at her?"

  Lachlan grinned. "Beth."

  Beth wrinkled her nose. "One in the family is enough. My mother's name was Rita Elizabeth. She never liked Rita, and wanted to be called Beth, but her mother insisted on her proper first name. I would rather not use Rita, so what about your mother's name?"

  She knew by his intake of breath that this was what he was hoping for.

  "Her name was Ciarda." Kee-ar-da.

  Beth slowly pronounced it then nodded. "It's beautiful."

  "She was a beautiful womon. I adored her. I remember bein’ wi' her in the efterlife. Do you?"

  "No. Sometimes I get flashbacks, but most of them I can't make any sense of. I do remember my parents and Borgie. I think I remember Carlene and David."

  "Me, too. Vaguely." He frowned. "Ma mither tried to tell me somethin’, but I canna remember why she didna carry it through."

  "What was she like?"

  Lachlan wistfully looked heavenward then lowered his gaze to Beth. "I have her family’s hair and eyes. Ma brithers all took efter our faither. By the time I was born, ma brithers were workin’ wi' him, so it was maistly ma mither and me at home.

  "She was a compassionate, lovin’ womon, Beth. Sometimes, I can still hear her laughter, like sweet bells ringin’ in a distance. She had a bonny voice, she did, and eften sang to me, even efter I reached ma teens. Never did I hear her raise her voice in anger. For it all, though, she was the maist lonely, saddest person I've ever known."

  "In what way?"

  Lachlan gave a gentle shrug. "I dinna think she really loved ma faither. He was a difficult mon and seldom at home. I ha
ve all her journals in the attic. Never read them, though. Too painful, and I guess I've always been a wee fearful o' learnin’ just how miserable she was in her marriage."

  "At least she had you," Beth said softly.

  He nodded and sighed. "I could have been a better son."

  "We all think we could have been better children or better parents. That's human nature."

  He nodded again. "So, lass, wha' do you think o' the name Ciarda Elizabeth?"

  "You don't have to use my name."

  "Aye, we do. Ciarda Elizabeth MacLachlan Baird."

  Beth softly chuckled. "That's a mouthful."

  "But a fine name."

  "I agree. Then Ciarda Elizabeth MacLachlan Baird, it is. Now, what about our son?"

  "May I hold him, Beth?"

  "Thought you'd never ask."

  Lachlan reverently kissed his daughter's brow then scooted across the mattress. He positioned himself next to Beth, his back to the headboard. With great care, so as not to awaken either baby, Beth first passed their son into the waiting crook of Lachlan's arm, and took their daughter into her own. Lachlan was quiet for a time, the fingertips of one hand tenderly brushing the mass of hair on the boy's crown. When he looked at Beth, tears misted his eyes, magnifying the pride glowing in the dark depths.

  "They're are both so grand, Beth."

  She nodded, unable to speak for her throat was tight with emotion.

  "Wha' was yer faither's name?" he asked her.

  Beth swallowed hard before answering. "Jonathan. But your son is going to be the spitting image of you. He needs a Scottish name."

  "Ma poor wee bairn," Lachlan cooed with mock sympathy. "Look like yer faither, will you?"

  Beth chuckled. "As if that doesn't thrill you."

  "Aye, I'm a vain, sorry mon," he beamed at her. "A Scottish name, eh? Certainly no' efter ma faither."

  A chill gripped his spine then coursed through him as a zephyrous sound passed through his skull. He shuddered and blinked, feeling as though someone walked over his grave, but he knew no one had, at least, not right then.

  "What's wrong?"

  Lachlan didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, a name rolled off his tongue. "Broc Laochailan."

  "What?"

  "Tis neònach."

  "What did you just say?" she asked humorously.

  He looked bewilderingly at her and jiggled his head. "Neònach. Strange. Strange tha' his name came to me so forcefully."

  "Who is he?"

  "A many times great-uncle or such on ma mither's side, born mid-eighteenth century." Lachlan frowned as tidbits of information rose to the fore of his mind. He couldn't recall his mother or grandfather imparting the facts, but they were there in his memory as if just released from a well deep inside his subconscious.

  "Lachlan?" Beth asked softly, concern lacing her tone. "What's wrong?"

  He gave in to a mild shudder and managed a wan smile. "Old age, love."

  She grinned but it faded when he frowned again.

  "Tis orra, Beth. I canna shake a feelin’ tha'...."

  "Of what?"

  "Weel, tha' I should know mair abou' him. For the life o' me, I canna understand why I even thought o' him now."

  "Was he an important figure in your clan's history?"

  Lachlan released a breath through pursed lips, his expressive eyebrows forming a lazy, reclining S above his dark eyes. "No' really. He was a crofter, as was his faither, brither and cousin. For centuries, Beth, a clansmon crofter paid his rent in fightin’ service, but efter Culloden, warrin’ became a thing o' the past. Many o' the Highland Chieftains demanded money but the crofters had none, so the chiefs, enamored wi' greed, took to removin’ the crofters and sellin’ or leasin’ their lands to the English and Lowland Scot sheep farmers."

  "That's terrible."

  "Aye. Weel, Broc wasna happy abou' it. His family had fought long and hard for their land, and he wasna abou' to leave wi’ou' a fight o' his own.

  "There was an old mon called Mad Fergus who was so old, it was said no one remembered his birth. He told o' treasures hidden on the Isle O' Lewis. No one had ever taken his stories seriously, but Broc was desperate enough to listen to anythin’. Wi' his younger brither, Niall, anither mon from the clan, and two Campbells, he set off to the isle. Three months later he returned wi' a small fortune, but he was alone. The ithers had died. He never said how or why."

  "No one ever found out what happened?"

  Lachlan shook his head. "He turned the treasure over to his cousin, Lethan, who he trusted to divide it among those who still held their land. He told Lethan he was returnin’ to the isle. Alone. No one was to follow him."

  "Was he after more treasure?"

  "Aye, and he claimed he had unfinished business there."

  Beth shivered. "He never returned, did he?"

  "No. And despite wha' was offered in rent, the chieftain sold the land ou' from under Broc's immediate clan. Broc's parents, grievin’ the loss o' their sons, moved to Edinburgh. Lethan took his wife, two sons and daughter, and two male second cousins, to the isle. They used wha' remained o' the treasure to build a tavern and inn near Callaway, close to the Callanish Standing Stones. Twas where ma mither was eventually born, and where ma grandfaither died."

  "What are the Callanish Standing Stones?"

  Lachlan's face brightened. "I only saw them once, but I'll never forget them. Spooky and grand, they are. Next to Stonehenge, they're the maist famous megaliths in all o' Britain."

  "I would love to see them."

  "Aye," he said wistfully. "I wouldna mind seein’ them again. I wonder if..."

  Silence befell the room for a time, during which Beth expectantly watched Lachlan's dreamy expression. When she could no longer bear the wait, she prompted, "What do you wonder?"

  He looked at her a bit puzzled and grinned. "Weel, darlin’, I wonder if I would still feel the tinglin’ there, as I did when I was a lad."

  Beth's mouth gaped open and shut. "The tingling?"

  He nodded, glanced down at his son and sighed wistfully before looking into Beth's eyes. "You see, ma grandfaither harbored a passionate hatred for ma faither. Ma mither was the first in his family to marry ou’side the MacLachlan clan, and he refused to visit ma mither in her home in Aberdeen. So, once every few years, ma mither would travel to Lewis to visit wi' her family. Ma faither wouldna allow ma brithers to go, but didna mind her leavin’.

  "I was six when she took me to the inn. O' course ma faither didna mind me going. Truth be, he was glad to be rid o' me. Probably as glad as was I to be away from him.

  "Twas a hard journey, Beth, but ma mither never complained." Again he fell silent for a time. "She was a wonderful womon. Bonny as a Highland summer day, strong-willed, and as kind as any womon ever born to this earth.

  "Anyway, the inn was grand. We stayed for two weeks, and I didna want to leave ma cousins. The night afore we were to take the coach back, I ran off and found maself at the stones. Twas rainin’, and the marshland there was covered wi' water over ma ankles. I was never so scared as when I first saw those loomin’ stones, Beth. In the Highlands the sun doesna set in the summer, but hovers along the horizon. Tis called the gloaming. The rain was warm, but I was cold, like some malevolent thing was inside me. I'm no' sure, scared as I was, why I ventured further among the megaliths. It was as if somethin’ compelled me, Beth, and I couldna make maself turn away from them. The whole time I was there I experienced a tinglin’ sensation. It vibrated through me. No' exactly an unpleasant feelin’. Almost...comfortin’. I dinna know how else to explain it.

  "Sometime later, ma grandfaither came for me. He told me the knowin’ had brought me to the stones but didna elaborate on wha' tha' was supposed to mean. He was like tha', ma grandfaither.

  "When he took me back to the inn I was shocked to see ma mither's face. She was so pale, Beth. Pale and terrified, and she hugged me as if she'd been afraid I wouldna return to her. She made me promise never to return to
the stones and, although I did visit ma grandfaither from time to time on ma own, I never went near them."

  "Weren't you curious why she was so afraid of them?"

  He shrugged slightly. "Aye, but I couldna break ma word to her, could I? But I dinna think visitin’ them now would go against ma promise."

  "No," Beth said thoughtfully. "I think her fear stemmed more from your age. Why was she afraid of the stones, though?"

  "I dinna know. Everyone I knew back then is all gone. I wonder if the inn still stands, and if ma mither's clan still lives there."

  "When the weather gets better, we could visit and find out."

  Lachlan's eyes widened. "You really wouldna mind?"

  "You have my curiosity piqued. Besides, it's part of your heritage. Except for your death, Lachlan, do you realize this is the first time you've talked about your past? I really don't know much about your history."

  He told her everything. Beth quietly listened, digesting the information and analyzing the man he'd become. By the time he was through, she felt as if she did know his mother, and admired the loving woman she'd been, despite her hard, lonely life. Although Lachlan had not spoken of his father or brothers with even a hint of bitterness, their treatment of him irked her. Were they alive, she would give them a piece of her mind, not that anything she would have to say would faze the likes of them.

  "Beth, have I upset you?"

  "What? Oh...no." She sighed and offered him a tender smile. "I was just thinking how sad it was for you and your mother to be treated like outcasts."

  Lachlan's eyebrows shrugged. "Sadder for her. Actually, I canna complain. Ma faither and brithers gave me the gumption to fend for maself. If I hadna left Aberdeen, I wouldna have died here, and certainly wouldna have met you." He grinned his most charming, boyish grin. "And yer century would have been denied ma presence. Och! Scary thought, aye?"

  She frowned slightly and said, "You once told me you and your brothers took over the business after your father died."

  "Ah, weel, he was no' actually dead. He became a recluse. I'm no' sure when he actually died, or ma brithers, either."