Hope Everlastin' Book 4

by Mickee Madden

  "Lannie and I will scrounge up somethin’," Roan said. "Anythin’ in particular you fancyin’, Winston?"

  "Surprise me."

  Roan led a reticent Lachlan into the kitchen, where he lit a lantern positioned on the island counter. Whistling merrily, he went to the ice box, standing off to one side once the door was opened to permit the light to illuminate the antique appliance's interior.

  "Ah, we have eggs, part o' the roast we had the ither night. "Cheese— Och!" He removed a bowl and closed the door. "Bestill ma heart," Roan chortled, placing the bowl on the table, leaning over and inhaling its contents. "Mealie puddin’. Thought it was all gone." He lifted one of the thick sausages, made of oatmeal, suet, onions and seasoning. "Fried, these will banish the empty bellyaches."

  Lachlan's silence caught his notice. He looked up to see him standing on the far end of the island counter, staring off into space.

  "Lannie, wha's wrong?"

  A moment later, Lachlan's dark eyes swerved to regard Roan forlornly. "This knowin’."

  "I don’t know wha' shook me up mair," Roan said, chuckling. "Deliah's pregnancy, or her sayin’ ye're psychic. O' course, I can’t imagine a mon returnin’ from the dead wi’ou' havin’ a few perks." He sobered when Lachlan remained as still as a statue. "Lannie? Is there somethin’ you kept from Deliah? The pregnancy can’t harm her, can it?"

  "No. She, Winston and the bairn will live a long life here."

  Lachlan's monotone caused gooseflesh to spread across Roan's arms. He approached him, almost warily, a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach. "Then wha's wrong?"

  Sighing, Lachlan hooked one hand on his nape. "I can see you, Laura, the lads, and Winston's family here, but no' me and mine."

  "Wha' do you mean?" Roan released a sound caught between a choke and a laugh. "This will always be yer home. Damn me, but you're no' still thinkin’ I want you away from here, are you?"

  "Tis no' abou' us, Roan. I just canna see Beth, the twins and I here much longer."

  "I don’t understand."

  "We don't belong here anymair."

  "Lannie, this is yer home! I'll no' let you leave it."

  "There's changes comin’. I dinna know exactly wha', but they are in the makin’, and there's naught we can do to avoid them."

  "Go where?" Roan asked angrily, although he was more stricken than angry at the idea of them leaving the estate. "Let me tell you somethin’, and I want you to listen verra carefully. Lannie, I don’t fully understand this bond you and I share, but it damn near killed me when you passed over. I thought the emptiness I carry for ma son was painful, but it didn’t compare to the ache yer absence brought me. I know it sounds daft, but I'm tellin’ you the truth.

  "Winston told me you and I are still linked, but he didn’t know why," Roan went on. "Unfinished business, I guess, although for the life o' me, I can’t imagine wha' mair could be between us."

  Roan's throat tightened. "I panic when I think o' you no' bein’ here. It's like a part o' me goes wi' you."

  Distressed by Roan's declaration, Lachlan sighed wearily. "Tis guilt. Let it go."

  "Guilt abou' wha'? Aye, there are times I feel there's somethin’ I need to tell you, but I don’t know wha' it is. But it’s no' guilt. We've reckoned our past."

  Lachlan shrugged. "I believe we have, too, but I've sensed guilt in you since tha' first morn you came to this house." He smiled a little at the memory. "You were a brazen mon, if ever I saw one. Demandin’ no' only employment from me, but a fair wage."

  Roan's tension waned and a tenuous grin appeared on his mouth. "You scared the bejesus ou' o' me when you appeared. Tha' seems like eons ago."

  "Aye. Look, tis best we say no mair abou' this, especially in front o' the ithers. When I know what's to come, I promise to tell you. Till then, dinna dwell on what's to be. We all have our paths to travel, and travel them we must."

  "Maybe this feelin’ you have is a result o’ the media gettin’ wind o' yer return."

  "Could be."

  "But Winston—"

  "Aye," Lachlan said softly, and placed a hand on Roan's shoulder. "Aye, he came up wi' a good cover. For me. Perhaps tis knowin’ Beth canna be so easily explained away tha' has had me thinkin’ o' leaving. No perhaps abou' it. Tis tha', true enough."

  "We'll find a way—"

  "Roan." Lachlan scowled into the man's face. "I'm sorry I burdened you wi' this."

  "We're friends. It would be a harsher burden if I thought you couldn’t confide in me."

  "Spoken like the laird o' Baird House," Lachlan said proudly. "So," he added, stepping back and casting the bowl a look of longing. "Fry them, are you?"

  Roan eyed the sausages and nodded. "Aye, but..." He looked at Lachlan, his head tilted in a thoughtful manner. "Some fried potatoes and chunks o' cheese."

  "Coffee."

  A genuine grin spread across Roan's rugged face. "Aren't we a sorry lot, eatin’ in the middle o' the night."

  "A hungry lot," said Lachlan.

  Lachlan moved around the counter and took down one of the cast iron skillets dangling from a ceiling rack. "I'll dice, you cook. Agreed?"

  "Ye're on. But you make the coffee. Mine tastes like mud."

  "Now tha' you mention it...."

  Roan struck an indignant pose. "Are you mockin’ ma cookin’ again, mon?"

  "Me?" Lachlan waved a hand theatrically. "Ma brain and ma heart appreciates yer kitchen talents, but yer coffee hits ma stomach like a devil in a fit o' temper."

  Roan shrugged off the insult.

  Chapter 5

  Three hours sleep was all Lachlan could manage. He'd been tired enough after the last feeding and changing of the twins, but an inexplicable restlessness had prevented him from falling into a deep sleep. At the crack of dawn, he was wide awake and went down to the first floor, where he ambled through the rooms, imbibing the quiet and stillness of the house. He found himself comparing the ambiance of the place as it was now to how he'd perceived it during the long decades of his other life. Back then, he'd taken it all for granted. Dawns and dusks were merely the passing of days. Now, each signaled a new chapter in what he hoped would be a long life.

  The house seemed larger in his corporeal existence. Larger and quieter and a great deal more solid. He knew the latter didn't make any sense, but he nonetheless was more aware of the walls, floors, and ceilings, of their colors and smells and the occasional sounds. He loved every square inch of the place. It was a part of him—or, him of it. The idea of leaving his home unnerved him, but only a little. For a reason he couldn't bring to full understanding, he was more afraid of remaining.

  He belonged within these walls and yet he didn't. The estate was his past and present, but instinctively he knew it would not be his future.

  The knowin’.

  If only he understood the concept or could figure out what he was supposed to do with it.

  Knowin’ wha’?

  He'd determined Deliah's pregnancy. How, he didn't know. Enlightenment had simply come to him.

  Grandfather Rory had told him as a lad he had the gift. Did that mean the old man had the knowing, too? Wouldn't it take his grandfather having the knowing to know Lachlan possessed it?

  Lachlan went into the kitchen and browsed through the icebox. He wasn't really hungry, not after the meal Roan had put together a few hours earlier, but he decided to fix Reith something. Although it was early, he figured the young man would wake up ravenous. Besides, Lachlan wanted some company, and he was relatively sure Reith wouldn't mind being hauled out of bed.

  He cooked eggs and what remained of the mealie pudding, reheated the leftover fried potatoes, made a pot of coffee, and lastly cut a thick slab of bread and slathered it with jam. It all went on a platter, which he topped with a silver cover.

  Platter, two cups, coffeepot, a fork and knife, and a linen napkin were all placed on a silver serving tray. He was about to lift the tray when he glanced at the pepper grinder on the island counter. Without asking
himself why he felt compelled to take it along, he entered the secondary hall with Reith's breakfast.

  Drizzle met him when he exited the last set of doors. The air was cool, but by no means as chilly as it had been since his return. Only patches of snow remained. Despite the dampness, he could smell the freshness of spring.

  He wore his favorite black boots, a clean pair of black breeks, and a wool, full-sleeved shirt of forest green. His hair was tied at the nape with a thin, black leather cord, and he was cleanly shaven. The sky was pale gray. To some it would be a dreary morning, but he paid it no mind. A few of the peafowl strutted around the yard, glancing his way as he advanced toward the carriage house.

  He greeted the birds with a grin and a "Good morn", but wondered if they knew him in his physical state.

  They, of course, were familiar with the ghost Lachlan. The feathered creatures must wonder his change—if they could reason, that was. They were certainly curious about his presence, although they didn't seem uneasy or perturbed in the least. But then, the peafowl of Baird House were famous for being brazen and protective of their sanctuary. Several had cried out the advent of dawn even before he'd noticed the sky lightening.

  The front door to the carriage house was open. Entering the building, Lachlan squinted in the semidarkness to where the cot was situated. He could see no sign of Reith, but he did hear him. Placing the tray on the cot, he went to the open rear door, where he found the young man crouched a few feet away, amid seven peafowl. He was stroking the head of one brown peahen and talking softly to her. It was unusual for the birds to trust strangers, but it was obvious Reith had a winning manner with more than people.

  Lachlan observed him for a short time then cleared his throat to get Reith's attention. Bright turquoise blue eyes swung around to him, and a smile appeared in greeting.

  "Good morn, Mr. Baird. Up a wee early, are ye no'?"

  "I could say the same for you." Lachlan nodded toward the birds. "I see you've won their admiration."

  The young man laughed as he stood. "Some o' them kept me company durin’ maist o' the night. They be a curious lot."

  "Tha' they are. I brought you breakfast. Tis inside. You should eat afore it gets cold."

  Reith's eyes lit up hungrily and he followed Lachlan to the cot, where he sat on one end, watching as Lachlan removed the plate cover and laid it aside.

  "I couldna remember if you wanted coffee or tea," said Lachlan apologetically.

  Inhaling through his nostrils, Reith grinned appreciatively. "Coffee, sir. I thank ye for this grand breakfast."

  "Everyone in the house is still asleep. I brought ou' an extra cup. Mind if I stay and have coffee wi' you?"

  Reith's eyes widened in surprise. "Sir, twould be a pleasure to have yer company. Have ye eaten?"

  With a crooked grin, Lachlan eased the tray closer to Reith then sat, placing the food between them. "A few hours ago. Roan made the mealie puddin’. The mon can cook, I'll certainly give him his due."

  "Have some, sir. I dinna feel right abou'—"

  "Dig in," Lachlan chided, and filled the cups with steaming coffee.

  Reith stared down at the platter a moment longer, his nostrils twitching. He took the pepper grinder and zealously coated all the food with the seasoning. Lachlan had never seen anyone use so much pepper. Sipping his coffee, he watched with amusement as Reith set the platter on his lap and eagerly forked some of the fried potatoes into his mouth.

  "Did you sleep weel?"

  Reith nodded and swallowed. "The mattress be verra soft." He lifted a portion of fried egg but paused to pass Lachlan a mischievous glance. "I take it ye and yer lady have worked ou' yer problems."

  "Aye. She's a forgivin’ lass."

  Reith chewed the egg morsel, nodding. After swallowing, he rolled his eyes and smiled at Lachlan. "This be verra good."

  Lachlan continued to sip his coffee. It struck him that the young man's speech was very similar to Deliah's, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he watched Reith make short work of the meal. When the runny egg yolks had been sopped up with chunks of bread and the plate was left without a speck of food, Reith released a sigh of contentment then lifted his own cup to his lips.

  "You've a good appetite," said Lachlan. "I can fix you mair."

  "Tis kind o' ye, sir, but I've had ma fill. Thank ye."

  With a grin, Lachlan nodded. "Ye're welcome." He dug into a small watch pocket in the front of his breeks and removed a wad of Scottish bills. "Here, from Roan and me. Tis a hundred pounds to buy you some decent clothes."

  Reith looked both startled and chagrined. "I prefer to first earn ma wage."

  "Dinna be thickheaded abou' this, laddie. Tis no' much, but twill get you started. From wha' Roan tells me, this money willna go far in these times, but I refuse to see you work wi’ou' warm clothes on yer back, and proper footwear."

  Reith hesitated before reluctantly taking the money. He stared down at it, frowning, looking almost as if he would burst into tears at any moment.

  "Laddie," Lachlan said softly, "tis no' charity. Swallow yer pride."

  "Sir, I told ye I have no pride left."

  The raspy, despondent tone jerked on Lachlan's heartstrings. He liked this young man, and sensed a deep-rooted sorrow in him. Reith lifted his cup to his mouth, the hand trembling slightly, certainly enough for Lachlan to notice. His other hand was fisted around the money, too tightly, in the laird's opinion.

  "Are you thinkin’ o' yer wife?" asked Lachlan. "Is she in need o' money?"

  He looked at Lachlan through an expression of wonder. "Ye are a generous mon, sir. No, I wasna thinkin’ o' ma wife, nor does she need money. In her own right, she be verra wealthy."

  The information surprised Lachlan. "Then why are you roamin’ the countryside like a mon destitute?"

  A small smile appeared on the man's handsome face. "O' ma own making, I can assure ye. Ye see, sir, no' too long ago I was o' the opinion the world owed me a mighty big favor. I had it all, but I was so self-centered, I couldna see ma way clear o' wantin’ and demandin’."

  "Wha' changed?"

  Reith's shoulders moved in a semblance of a shrug. "I discovered I love ma wife."

  A laugh escaped Lachlan before he could stop it. He sobered and frowned at Reith. "You didna love her afore?"

  "No. Twas an arranged marriage and I resented her. To say I was cruel to her would be softenin’ the truth o' it."

  "So...now you love her, but she doesna love you?"

  Reith smiled sadly. "She loves me. Mair'n she should."

  "I'm confused."

  "Aye, sir, I'm sure ye are. Tis a tangled mess, for sure, but I know in ma heart she'll come ‘round."

  "And if she doesna?"

  The blue eyes earnestly searched Lachlan's face. "I willna accept a future wi’ou' her. If need be, I'll storm our home and make her see reason, but only efter she's had time to miss me."

  Lachlan's eyebrows arched dubiously. "Weel, if she has half the temper o' ma Beth, laddie, I suggest you don armor."

  Reith laughed softly. "I dinna think armor will spare me much."

  "Aye, tis the wounds to the heart tha' hurt the maist."

  Reith nodded.

  "Tha' aside, take the money and go into town this morn. If this weather is the same around ten, I'll ask Roan or Winston to drive you."

  "I dinna mind walkin’. Have you thought where I'm to start on the grounds?"

  "Settle in for a few days," said Lachlan. "No' much you can do wi' the rain."

  "It doesna bother me. The rhododendron hedge has quite a few bro-ked branches. Should I start prunin’ them?"

  Lachlan chuckled. The young man even said the word broken—bro-ked—like did Deliah: Bro-ked "As you will. We're no' slave drivers. I know you'll do yer work. You dinna have to prove yerself to me or Roan. We want you to be comfortable."

  "I am, but I need to work, sir. There also be a section o' the northeast field tha' needs a bit o' trenchin’ to keep the rains from pool
in’. It wouldna take much to route the water to the hedges. They take a good measure o' waterin’, and trench work would be useful in the summer, especially if I can rig a pump to the old weel ou' there."

  "There's a pump in the loft," said Lachlan, glancing upward. "I dinna know how weel it works."

  "I'll make do." A frown marred Reith's brow. "Sir, did ye say no one else was up in the house?"

  "Aye, why?"

  "There was a womon at the back o' the house, earlier. I didna approach her. Didna think it was ma place."

  "Wha' did she look like?"

  Reith sighed. "She had an umbrella. I couldna see her face, but she was wearin’ a long red coat and black boots." He paused and arched one eyebrow. "I take it she isna a member o' the household."

  "No. Ou' back, you say?"

  "Tha' was a while ago. She went around the far side o' the house...abou' a half hour afore ye came."

  Lachlan stood. "I'm goin’ to check the grounds. She could be anither reporter. For her sake, I hope no'."

  "I'll go wi' ye."

  "Stay here and finish yer coffee. Yer clothes are already damp. I dinna want you catchin’ yer daith."

  "Sir—" Reith fell silent when Lachlan placed his cup on the tray then stormed out the back door.

  Lachlan's blood was simmering as he walked through the strip of yard between the back of the house and the woods. At one point he could see the field clearly, but didn't spy anyone traipsing around the area. His narrowed gaze searched the woods. There weren't many trees with wide trunks, especially trees large enough to conceal a long red coat. It irked him that a reporter could be still snooping around.

  Who else could she be?

  He wasn't in the mood to deal with any more questions or accusations, but he was less inclined to permit a stranger to trespass on his land.

  Coming to the covered stoop, he stopped short and scowled at two large black suitcases. An inward chill passed beneath his skin as he questioned the relevance of someone leaving them behind. Many of the reporters had been from out of the area—from out of the country.

  Had one of them decided to pry into the lives of the Baird House residents one more time before moving on?