He was surprised he'd told Beth so much of his childhood, when in fact he hadn't thought about it since his death. His anger then had been directed toward Tessa and Robert, their betrayal far worse than anything his father or brothers could have perpetrated. He hadn't told Beth about his guardian angel, Onora, especially since she'd deserted him after his murder.
Besides, although Beth seemed to accept death and fairies without too much trouble, he thought perhaps his childhood secret playmate might be a measure too much. And he had avoided telling her about Broc's connection to the dirk. For some reason he couldn't even begin to fathom, the name was very important to him right now, and he didn't want to risk souring Beth against it.
"Weel, love, wha' do you think o' namin’ our son efter ma ancestor?"
"Broc Laochailan." She nodded, grinning. "I like it."
Pain inexplicably pierced Lachlan's temples, making him wince. Before he could stop himself, he corrected, "Broc Laochailan Jonathan MacLachlan Baird."
Beth laughed. "My God! Isn't that a bit much?"
"No," he said, seriously gazing into her eyes. The pain had vanished as quickly as it had come. "Tis a grand name. A name befittin’ the mon our son will become."
"Okay." She reached out and lovingly caressed Lachlan's cheek. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"
Blissful warmth spread through him as he breathlessly said, "I love you, too, ma bonny Beth. And once we put the bairns back in their crib, I'll show you just how much."
* * *
Roan was lifted through layers of sleep when his mind registered an enticing floral scent. He opened his eyes to darkness. Immediately, he was aware of cold air on his face.
The fire in the hearth had died out, but from the neck down he was warm, partially due to the covers, and a greater part due to Laura's body. Her head lay on the hollow of his right shoulder, her bare right arm and leg draped across him. Her blond hair lay across his throat, the floral-scented shampoo she'd borrowed from Beth filling his nostrils. His body hardened in response to her scent and proximity, and he rolled his eyes in contemplation of awakening her.
They'd only been together a few months, but he felt as if she had always been a part of his adult life. His short marriage to Adaina seemed but a distant memory, although his son remained clearly fixed in his mind. Both had died in a fire two years prior. Until Laura and her nephews entered his life, he'd unknowingly been on a path of self-destruction, living each day with reckless disregard for the future—in truth, dreading the possibility of living too much longer with the burden of guilt he'd carried over the death of his son.
Jamie had only been three years old, and should have been with his father at the park. But Roan had forgotten. By the time he arrived at the house, the inferno had been impenetrable, his ex-wife and son at the window moments before the flames had taken them.
But life went on. Laura had taught him that.
Moaning low, he shifted onto his side and pressed his lips to her brow. In the darkness, he heard her sigh contentedly. He waited, but she didn't move or make another sound.
Should he wake her? They'd made love only a while ago, a rushed bit of pleasure, thanks to the lads. He was far from having even a portion of his fill of her—if it was possible to ever have enough of her body or her mind.
In the mid-nineteenth century, they'd been the lovers who had cold-bloodedly murdered Lachlan, her husband. They'd later married and had nine children. Their marriage had been miserable, their children eager to leave home as soon as possible. Fate had brought back Tessa and Robert. Reincarnation had given them a chance to resolve the past, as Laura and Roan.
Laura rolled onto her back. Roan eased his arm from beneath her and started to position himself on top of her, until his hand bumped a solid object. A grunt followed, an unmistakable sound that could only be Kahl. Gingerly, grimacing all the while, he reached over a little farther then more until his hand had encountered all three of the small shapes alongside Laura.
When had the lads sneaked into bed with them?
Damn me, he mentally groaned.
His desire for Laura fled on wings of hopelessness and frustration. He eased off his side of the mattress, stood, and stretched the small of his back. A rueful scowl masked his face as he pictured the boys snuggled beneath the covers.
A rumbling in his stomach interrupted his mental grumblings. Padding barefoot across the cold floor he went out the door and into the hall, dressed in pajama bottoms. Cold air rose gooseflesh on his exposed skin. Ignoring his discomfort, he went down the staircase to the first floor, where, instead of going down the secondary hallway to the kitchen, a niggling impulse directed him to the parlor.
He didn't stop to question why he was taking this route, not until he was passing through the parlor and sensed someone else was in the room. His first thought was that another burglar or reporter had gotten into the house. Anger formed a ball of fire behind his breast as his gaze searched the darkness.
Then a low voice said, "Roan, I be at the window."
Releasing a breath, he made his way across the room. He was nearly on top of her before he could make out her form sitting on the window seat. He sat beside her. She was sitting on one leg, her face turned to the window, a blanket draped over her shoulders. He didn't need to see her face clearly to determine she was troubled by something.
"Want me to build a fire?"
"I be warm enough."
"Deliah, ye're voice sounds a wee shaky."
She sighed a woeful sound. "I be no' feelin’ too weel."
He reached out and placed the back of a hand to her brow. "You don’t have a fever."
"Fairies never get ill, so I be a wee frightened, Roan. I canna tell Winston. I dinna want him worryin’ abou' me."
"He loves you," said Roan with a low chuckle. "O' course he'll worry abou' you."
"Worried abou' wha'?" asked a voice in the darkness.
"Lannie, we're by the window," said Roan. "Deliah's feeling a wee jaggey. No fever, though."
"Fegs," Lachlan muttered. "I'll light two o' the lamps."
In the dark, Lachlan took a box of wooden matches from the fireplace mantel. He retraced his steps toward the hall, stopping before he reached the threshold. He struck one sulfur tip along a coarse strip on the box then turned the key at the base of the wall light fixture to the right of the door. With this lamp lit, he went to the one to the right of the sideboard, which was positioned about seven feet away from the nearest window. Soft light graced most of the room, awarding them adequate visibility. He placed the box on the sideboard and walked to where Deliah and Roan were sitting.
"Can’t sleep?" Roan asked him then glanced at Lachlan's naked legs, visible beneath his knee-length robe. He released a choked laugh and looked into Lachlan's face with wide eyes. "I thought at first you were wearin’ fur leggings, mon!"
Lachlan peered down at the dark hair covering his legs, wiggled his bare toes, and dealt Roan a look of chagrin. Deliah's wan smile drew his attention to her.
"Ye havena seen ma Winston's legs, have ye?" she said with a glimmer of humor in her blue eyes.
"Never mind our legs," Lachlan grumbled, and gently placed the back of a hand to her brow and then her left cheek. "No fever, tis true, but ye're pale, lass. Have you been eatin’ properly? The body canna sustain itself on love alone."
She blushed and lowered her gaze for a moment. Lachlan's stomach rumbled loudly and she looked up, her eyebrows arched in amusement.
"Aye, I'm hungry," Lachlan grinned apologetically. He glanced at Roan. "And you?"
"Starvin’."
Deliah clamped a hand over her mouth. She paled even more before her face became flushed and her eyes dulled. Moments later, she lowered the hand and swallowed almost convulsively. She shuddered and stated, "I dinna like tha' feeling."
"Describe it," said Roan.
She thought over her response before answering. "Tis like ma insides are tryin’ to escape ma mouth."
; "Ye're nauseated?"
"If tha' be it, aye," she said weakly. "Ither times, I feel like a leaf caught up in a swirlin’ breeze, and darkness winks around me. Tis so frightenin’. I canna understand wha' be wrong." Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked into Lachlan's face, which had darkened with concern. "Lachlan, wha' be it like to die?"
"Deliah!" Roan choked in shock.
She burst into wretched sobs and buried her face in her hands, her slender form quaking beneath the blanket.
Roan glanced helplessly at Lachlan. "I'll get Winston."
Lachlan nodded, although Deliah adamantly shook her head. Roan immediately dashed across the room and into the hall. Lachlan swept Deliah up into his arms and carried her to the sofa, where he sat with her on his lap and cradled in his arms.
"Hush, lass," he said softly. He adjusted the blanket to better cover her nakedness and snugged her closer against the warmth of his body. "Ye're no' dyin’. Fate wouldna be so cruel to bless us wi' you, only to take you away so soon."
"It took ye," she wept against his shoulder.
"Fegs, lass, but fate had ither plans for me. I was always meant to be wi' ma Beth, as you are meant to be wi' Winston. I know this to be true. Know it as surely as I can know anythin’."
Her weeping ebbed some, and he went on, "Everythin’ tha' happens in an individual's life, Deliah, happens for a reason. If you hadna been trapped in the root, and I hadna built this grand house on top o' you, how different would have been ma daith, aye? Beth would have died in the States. Laura and Roan wouldna have met, and God only knows wha' would have happened to the lads. You brought us all thegither. Wi’ou' you, Deliah lass, Baird House would be just anither old house, wi' no' a lick o' magic to grace her walls."
Sniffing, she tilted back her head and looked into his eyes. "But wha' if this fate doesna think me useful anymair?"
He chuffed. "Fate is mair the paths we choose in life."
"But tis wrong o' me to exist in yer world."
His eyebrows jerked upward. "Is it now? Fegs, lass, wha' o' me? I'm a century and a half off kilter!"
She chuckled. "Aye, we be both ou' o' our elements here."
"No. You and I belong where we belong, which is in the here and the now."
Two breathless men ran into the room, Roan flushed, Winston's face the color of ash. Roan sat on the settee to the sofa's right, while Winston hesitantly seated himself on the edge of the sofa next to Lachlan. Deliah looked at Winston through watery, troubled eyes, her chin quivering, one side of her face pressed against Lachlan's shoulder.
"I didna want ye to know," she told Winston tremulously.
Winston was at a loss for words. His breathing was erratic, his eyes dulled with worry. After a few seconds, he released a gust of breath and raked the fingers of one hand through his tousled hair.
"You haven't eaten since late this morn—yesterday morn," he corrected, glancing at his watch. It was just after 2:00 AM.
"I havena felt weel for some time," she said, fresh tears brimming her eyes.
Lachlan stiffened and stared off into space. His body tingled almost uncomfortably, and his brain felt afire.
"How long?" Winston asked her.
"Mair'n a week. I be sorry to worry ye."
"Never mind me!" He cast Lachlan and Roan a look of helplessness, not noticing the former's eerie, frozen state. "We can't take her to a doctor. Bloody hell, if she is sick, wha' do we do?"
"Don’t panic," Roan muttered, then briskly rubbed his palms up and down his face. "Wait," he said, lowering his hands, "ye're psychic. Can’t you mentally determine wha's wrong wi' her?"
Winston eagerly took her left hand between his own. He breathed hard in concentration, moments later pressing the back of her fingers to his brow.
"Please, God, help me," he pleaded in a tight, strained tone, but the harder he tried to scan her, the colder became his brain.
When a full minute passed and no information awarded his attempts to screen her condition, he jerked back, his face ravaged with bitterness. "Nothing," he bit out, kneading her hand. "Ma mind's meeting wi' a wall!"
Lachlan drew in a sharp breath, blinked and grinned a bit dazedly. "Uirisg," he said, staring down at Deliah's upturned face. He saw puzzlement flash across her expression, and repeated the Gaelic word.
"Wha'?" asked Roan and Winston in unison.
"No," she murmured. "Tis a myth, a legend among fairies. It canna be."
"Wha'?" both men asked in unison again. They glanced at each other with frowns then focused on Lachlan and Deliah.
"Wha' can't be?" asked Winston testily.
Deliah sat up, her eyes locked with Lachlan's, a wondrous expression glowing on her face. "No, but I wish it be so wi' all ma heart."
"If someone doesn't tell me wha' the bloody hell is going on, ma liver will burst through ma ears!" Winston cried.
Lachlan passed him a comically chiding look then grinned at Deliah. "Weel, lass, yer wish is true enough."
Wide-eyed, she stared at Winston, who couldn't decide whether she looked horrified or ecstatic. Her gaze unwavering, as if looking into Winston's soul, she asked Lachlan, "How can ye believe this?"
"I just know."
"Tis a myth," she said dreamily.
Roan jumped to his feet, scowling at Lachlan. "Wha's this uirisg?"
"A joinin’ o' God and nature," Lachlan laughed and hugged Deliah.
She remained in a dazed state, inwardly screening herself. Yes, it was there. Inside her. As real as anything she had ever encountered.
"Lannie," Roan growled, his nerves raw with concern, "there isn’t anythin’ funny abou' the lass being sick!"
Lachlan put on an air of affront. "Weel, me laddies, if you knew yer Gaelic like a good Scot should—"
"Please," Winston pleaded in a hoarse whisper of a tone, his eyes imploring Lachlan to tell what he knew of her condition. He didn't ask himself how the man could know something about Deliah his psychic ability couldn't even glean. Nothing mattered but finding out what was wrong with her.
"Weel," Lachlan said loftily, his black eyes lit with merriment, "it seems Baird House will be blessed wi' its verra first uirisg, which makes me wonder if the magic isna all from our Deliah, here." He paused to further build the suspense, knowing damn well what he was doing was a form of torture. But his news was too grand to simply blurt out.
Deliah's gaze cut to him. She looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. Radiant. Glowing with such happiness that its warmth seeped into his body. He somehow knew she was now aware of her condition.
"Lannie!" Roan practically shouted.
"Tis for Deliah to announce," Lachlan said, nodding at her.
Her brilliant blue eyes searched Roan's strained features then Winston's. "A uirisg be the offspring o' a mortal and a fairie."
Roan blinked repeatedly in confusion. Winston stared blankly into her face, his black eyebrows drawn down but not in a frown or a scowl.
"O' course, a uirisg be but legend and myth," she went on, her tone airy, playful. "So I be no' sure wha' to call wha' I be carryin’ inside me. I think mayhaps a...baby."
The word hung in the air as silence encompassed the room for a time. Then Winston slid off the sofa and plopped hard on his butt on the floor, his gaze never leaving Deliah's face. Roan sat back on the settee, astonishment youthening his face. He could do no more than stare at Deliah, his mouth agape, his heart pounding wildly behind his chest.
Winston's heartbeat was also hammering away, seemingly in his throat, cutting off his oxygen.
"Are ye no' pleased?" she asked him, a hint of nervousness in her tone.
"Baby?" he whispered. "How? When? Tonight—I mean, yesterday?" His face brightened. "Two weeks ago, when we first made love! You're experiencing morning sickness!"
"Tis no' only in the morn," she sighed. "But, aye. When first ye and I joined, we created a life. I dinna know why nature has granted me this, Winston, but I be verra happy abou' it. Are ye?"
Unstea
dy, he rose to his feet. She, too, stood with Lachlan's help, clutching the blanket about her, her round eyes searching Winston's face for an indication of his acceptance of becoming a father.
"Winston, are ye?" she asked again, a tremor in her tone.
In response, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. A moment later, gripping her upper arms to steady her, he looked into her eyes like a man unable to express the depths of his own happiness.
"Aye," he rasped. He nodded. "Aye! But I thought fairies couldn't have babies. Deliah, can you give birth wi’ou' damaging yourself?"
"Aye, I can," she said breathlessly, smiling. "The knowin’ be strong, I swear. We're goin’ to have a son, Winston. A prince born atween our worlds. A link atween the kingdoms o' all fairies and all mortals."
Lachlan stood, frowning thoughtfully. "Deliah, wha' do you mean by the knowin’?"
She looked over her shoulder at him. "The knowin’ o' past, present and future. It be stronger in you than in Winston and me. Twas no' ma own knowin’ wha' discovered ma baby. Twas you passin’ it through to me, Lachlan."
"Damn me," Roan muttered, still befuddled by the news of Deliah's pregnancy.
"No, Roan," she beamed. "We be none damned but blessed. Twas no magic o' mine wha' gave us this child, Winston. It be somethin’ I dinna understand, but be so verra grateful to."
"Why couldn't I sense our son?" Winston asked.
"Mayhaps because I told you I couldna bear children," she replied, and kissed him lightly on the mouth.
He shrugged. "Could be." He released a breath. "A son." Sitting on the sofa, he coaxed her to sit next to him. His left arm went about her shoulders and he pulled her close. He grinned up at Roan and Lachlan, a grin that held an element of uncertainty. Although he was excited at the prospect of becoming a parent, he couldn't help but wonder what the future had in store for Deliah and him. "Weel, laddies," he said, perfectly imitating Lachlan's voice, "twould be fittin’ to celebrate, aye?"
"No Scotch," Deliah said in a small voice.
"Food," Winston quipped.
Deliah grimaced. "I canna stand the word, let alone be thinkin’ o' puttin’ a morsel in ma mouth."
Hope Everlastin' Book 4 Page 8