Everlastin' Book 1

by Mickee Madden

  “I've had worse done to me.”

  “Never by me...I hope.”

  A somber mood came over Lachlan. “Ye're lookin' pale again.”

  “I can't help worrying about Carlene and David. You don't think something happened to them, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Shouldn't they have been back by now?”

  He gave a negligent shrug. “Hard to say. They're young and in love.”

  Drawing up her other knee, she linked her arms about them. “I guess I really don't know her anymore. Eight years is a long time.”

  “I dinna think she's changed much.”

  “How long have you known her and David?”

  “Little more than a year.”

  “You've worked for them that long?”

  He nodded. “I come wi' the house.”

  “You do, huh?” she chuckled then sobered. “Why aren't you married? I mean...I know this is kind of personal, but men like you don’t grow on trees.”

  Lachlan's eyebrows quirked upward. “Och, lass, a compliment. But I was married once.”

  “What happened?”

  “She died.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “It wasna a good marriage.”

  “Why?”

  “I was a rash young mon. Married her for all the wrong reasons.”

  “How can there be wrong reasons for loving someone? You did love her, didn't you?”

  Lachlan stared deeply into Beth's eyes. “I thought so at the time. But things happened. For a long time, I was bitter.” He adjusted the blanket about her shoulders and inched closer. “I had this notion all women were like her. Heartless. Greedy. Wantin' mair’n a mon could ever give them.

  “A lot of couples have come and gone from this house, Beth. I had resigned maself to bein’ alone until David and Carlene came along. They're a good match. He's the quiet, deep sort; she's fire and air all awhirl.”

  Beth laughed at his description. “I guess she hasn't changed. She was a hell-raiser in school.”

  “She loves you, lass,” he said softly, the fingers of one hand playing with a curl at her temple. “She talked in great length abou' you.”

  “That must have been boring,” she murmured, a flush staining her cheeks. “I never understood why she hung around with me. We were so different. She was always the doer; me, the observer.”

  “Perhaps we see you differently than you see yerself.” He grinned. “We know the fire exists.”

  “What fire?”

  “The fire in yer soul.”

  He was doing it again, Beth realized. Analyzing her. What puzzled her was his ability to reach into her heart of hearts and surface the woman she could be if she let go of her inhibitions.

  “Maybe a little flame,” she said to fill the silence between them.

  “No.” Releasing the blanket, he gestured widely with his hands. “A blazin' fire. I've felt it scorch me. When we're kissin'.”

  Suddenly ill-at-ease, Beth attempted to get to her feet. But Lachlan gripped the corners of the blanket and tugged her forward onto his lap. His cool lips targeted her mouth. His arms cradling her, he kissed her deeply but not with the same intensity he'd kissed her in the gazebo. Nonetheless, she melted in his arms and wrapped hers about his neck. Her fingers entwined through his thick hair.

  “Ye're makin' me crazy, womon,” he said looking down into her glazed eyes. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  Beth gave a low laugh. “I don't know what I believe anymore.”

  “You've a lot to learn.”

  “Are you volunteering as my teacher?”

  With a groan, he moved her off his lap and rose to his feet. Taking her hand, he helped her up, his clasp remaining as she peered up at him expectantly.

  “There's an old sayin'....” He frowned and shifted his weight. “Stop lookin' at me wi' those dreamy eyes. Fegs! They make all thought flee ma mind!”

  Beth's smile showed to advantage her deep dimples.

  “Ye're acquaintin' yerself wi' yer power over me, you minx.”

  “You mean, exercising my feminine wiles?”

  He nodded.

  “Is that what I'm doing?” she mused aloud, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I'd forgotten what it was like.”

  “Torture on the target,” he drawled.

  Tilting her head to one side, she seductively arched a brow. “A little suffering never hurt anyone.”

  “Hmm.” His eyes became hooded. A muscle ticked along his powerful jawline as he inhaled through his nostrils. “I think abou' you all the time, Beth,” he said seriously, caressing the underpart of her chin. “As I said, Carlene talked a lot abou’ you, and I would find maself starin’ at yer portrait, wonderin’ wha’ you would be like to hold. Tis grander than anythin’ in ma imagine, lass. I feel as though I have waited the whole o’ ma life for you.”

  “Then why did you push me away in the gazebo?”

  Lachlan looked heavenward and sighed before locking his gaze with hers. “When we make love, I want everythin' to be perfect. No shortcuts. No doubts lingerin' in the aftermath. I canna risk losin’ you, Beth.”

  Amid a rush of thrills at his words, Beth anchored herself to the earth. She would be back in Kennewick, Washington in two weeks. Preparing for college. Getting on with her life.

  “Hey. You offered to make supper.”

  “Aye.”

  “I'm starving,” she laughed, and ran toward the house.

  He watched after her with a bemused expression.

  “Women,” he grinned.

  His Yank was a delightful ball of fire, but he had to be careful not to extinguish the flame. Although she was not aware of it, the chemistry between them had already constructed the foundation of their bond, built upon the psychic link she had not as yet consciously accepted.

  Two steps remained.

  He had to win her love completely, which he was confident wouldn't be all that difficult. She was not the kind of woman to allow a man to kiss and pet her unless her heart was guiding her.

  However, the last step troubled him.

  Unless she learned to open up and trust him, there would always be a wall between them.

  And Lachlan Baird had a thing about walls of any kind obstructing him.

  Chapter 4

  The peafowls shrilled the advent of a new dawn. Beth cracked open her eyes and grimaced. The ache in the back of her head was ever present, gnawing on her nerves for the past twenty-four hours. It had taken eight aspirin at bedtime to ease the headache enough to allow her to fall to sleep.

  Another succession of caterwauls caused a stabbing pain in her temples and she mutely wished the birds skewered above an open fire.

  She lay quietly for an indeterminable time, staring sleepily up at the ceiling, waiting for her body to gather up the energy to rise from the bed. Memory of the supper Lachlan had concocted the previous night brought a whimsical smile to her mouth. Eggs Benedict, wedges of cheese, and fried dough slathered in butter and honey. Anything beyond eggs, he'd told her, was out of his league.

  A soft laugh caressed her throat. She'd never known anyone like him and probably never would again. He could be the most entertaining companion, or a royal pain in the—

  Carlene and David.

  Giving in to a wide yawn, Beth groggily sat up. Surely they would return today, or Beth would give serious thought to returning to the States and getting on with her life. If she remained too long without Carlene around to act as a buffer, Beth knew she would give in to making love with Lachlan, and she wasn’t sure she could leave him behind after sharing that kind of intimacy with him.

  After a long bath, she went through the motions of preparing herself for the day. Dressed in a pair of acid wash jeans and a baggy lightweight sweat shirt to ward off the morning chill of the house, she left her room. The bedroom door across the hall was shut. A secretive smile on her lips, she headed down the hall.

  Never had she imagined a house could be so absolutel
y quiet, so full of silence, and yet the air seemed to possess a tangible presence. Trying not to dwell on it, she headed out through the double set of front doors.

  Three of the peacocks called out upon seeing her. Leaning against the stone front of the house, she watched the birds through a wan smile.

  “Early risers, aren't you fellas?”

  The birds strutted about, pecking at the ground, and fluffing up their feathers. Proud and arrogant. Secure in their surroundings. Going about their business but keeping an eye on her.

  One came close to her and boldly looked her over. Its train of feathers rose up and spread into a magnificent fan of colors. Then as if to put her in her place, it brushed up against her leg and strutted off in the direction of the house.

  Placing a hand over her heart, she laughed.

  What had Lachlan called one of the birds the other day?

  Brau.... Braussaw.

  An admirable name for such a haughty creature. In many ways, the birds reminded her of Lachlan.

  A mist lay over the land. Looking to the west, she thought about the tower and wondered what the view of the loch would be like from that vantage point.

  “No time like the present to find out,” she murmured.

  Returning inside the house, she went to the second floor. When she arrived at the drapes that concealed the newel staircase, something else caught her attention. The door perpendicular to the drapes was open. Beyond it was a narrow, descending staircase of stone.

  A wonderful aroma filled the passageway and embraced Beth's mounting hunger. She inhaled deeply, released a moan of longing, then descended until she reached the bottom and passed through an open, narrow arch. Surprise stopped her in her tracks. A few feet across from her, an elderly woman stood bent over the large, black stove. She looked up to spare Beth a curiously nonchalant look before placing the rest of the food she'd cooked on a silver tray.

  “Good morning.”

  Beth's soft voice brought the woman's head to turn in her direction again. The heavily lined face showed impatience, and her pale watery-blue eyes ran a slow, measuring look over Beth's form.

  “Abou' time you came down. You don’t expect me to climb the stairs, do you?”

  The old woman was about to lift the tray within her gnarled hands when Beth rushed forward and took it into her own hands.

  “Is this for me?”

  Barely five foot in height, the old woman placed her hands upon her hips and scowled up into Beth's face. “I'm no' here cookin' for ma health now, am I, Missy?”

  Beth's expression sobered. She had the strangest compulsion to apologize to the cook—but for what, she didn't know.

  “Did Carlene ask you to cook this for me?”

  “His Nibs.”

  Mistaking “His Nibs” for David, Beth glanced over the contents of the tray. Two boiled eggs on toast. Thick slices of fried ham. Two portly sausages. Oranges slices. A small bowl of porridge with a dab of butter in its center, and a tiny crystal container holding blackcurrant jam. A silver pot of coffee.

  “Meals are in the dinin' room, Missy. I'm too old to be fancier'n tha'. No bedroom service.”

  Beth managed a smile, although, for the life of her, she couldn't understand the woman's blatant animosity toward her. “Where is the dining room?”

  An ancient arm rose up and the woman pointed across the kitchen.

  “Thank you. Are you going to join me, Mrs....”

  “Agnes good enough.”

  “I wouldn't mind the company, Agnes.”

  The old woman's hard eyes bored into Beth's but then, to the latter's relief, a sign of compassion softened them and the old woman scrinched up her face.

  “Would you now?”

  A musical laugh escaped Beth. “Please? I promise not to talk your ears off.”

  Agnes gave an airy shrug of one shoulder. “Aye. I guess you would be gettin' a wee jaggey abou' now. Go on and eat while tis hot. Me and ma tea'll be along shortly.”

  The dining room took Beth's breath. Above an elaborately carved table for ten, hung a five-tiered gas chandelier, its globes resembling large, rose-tinted pearls. Long crystal pendants dangled from four of the tiers, sparkling in the morning sunlight that filtered through rose-colored organdy under curtains on the two massive bay windows.

  Placing her tray on the table, she slowly drew out a chair and lowered herself onto it. Although hunger gnawed at her stomach, the elegance of the room captured her attention. Oriental tapestries and portraits covered sections of the walls. An enormous sideboard displayed china and crystal, Oriental and Grecian vases, and a pewter collection of various animals and birds. Above the sideboard were numerous collections of Imari plates. Several whatnot shelves displayed jade figurines and hand-painted porcelain Japanese figures.

  Standing between the bay windows was a Japanese scroll on a tri-legged stand. Off to one side, willowy peacock feathers sprouted up out of a tall urn.

  Color. It was so abundant in this house.

  Placing a hand over her heart, Beth looked down at her food. Silver eating utensils were neatly wrapped in a rose-colored linen napkin.

  “I must have died and gone to heaven,” she said, positioning the knife and fork in her hands.

  A cold movement of air passed close to her right. Startled by it, a breath lodged in her throat, Beth glanced in the direction. She was in the process of telling herself it wasn't unusual for an old house to be drafty when something icy caressed her cheek. Resisting a compelling notion to bolt from the chair and run from the room, she shuddered and clenched the utensils tighter. The phenomenal flurry of air shifted at her side then moved off behind her.

  Breathing sparingly, Beth looked down at her breakfast. Once she forced herself to begin to eat, the delicious meal brought her jitters to an end. She ate as if she hadn't in weeks. Although the repast consisted of foods she was familiar with, the flavor of everything was quite different from that in the states. Blander but very good. The ham slices were salty, tender and delicious.

  “You've a good appetite,” cackled a voice.

  Beth looked up sharply to her right. Seeing the old woman poised, a teapot in her hands, she rose to her feet and drew out a chair to her right.

  Agnes gave her a curious look of surprise before seating herself.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Aye. I've a son still at home to tend.” The aged features scrinched up again. “No' tha' he can’t feed himself, had he a mind.”

  Beth nibbled on an orange slice while watching the old woman pour herself a cup of tea.

  “Your no' wha' I expected, Missy.”

  “Have you worked here long?”

  “All ma life, it seems,” she grumbled. She met Beth's earnest eyes and smiled to reveal stained teeth. “Been an Ingliss in this cursed house too long, we have.”

  “Ingliss?” Beth dabbed at her mouth with the napkin then placed it on the table. “Is your husband a descendant of Tessa and Robert Ingliss?”

  The old woman let the question simmer in her mind while she took several sips of her tea. When she looked up, Beth was startled to see something darkly akin to anguish in the faded blue eyes staring at her.

  “Ma boy's faither never married me.”

  “Forgive me. I didn't mean to pry.”

  Agnes shrugged it off.

  “Are you a descendant?”

  “Aye. I'm one o’ the cursed clan. And how would you know abou' we Inglisses?”

  “A cabbie told me the history of this house.”

  The old woman remained silent for several long seconds, her attention on the contents of her cup. One gnarled finger absently dipped in and out of the hot liquid. When she looked up again, a pang of unease churned in Beth's stomach.

  There was a strange lambency in the ancient eyes watching her. Beth tried to attribute it to the woman's age, but some deep inner sense told her there was something very odd—almost haunting—about the cook.

  “Miss Carlene talked mair o’ you than
much else. I understand, now. You've a good soul, but that'll change if you stay here too long.”

  A chill curled up a Beth's spine. She tried to smile, but her facial muscles were too tight. It didn't help matters when a cold shriveled hand shot out and clamped about her wrist. All of her willpower was necessary to not pull away from the old woman.

  “Has Lannie molested you?”

  A comical expression seized Beth's features. “The ghost?”

  “Aye.”

  “I think...he-umm...looked in on me the first night. All I could see was a green mist.”

  “He'll come to you, as pretty as you are. He's vile.”

  Beth tried not to appear amused by the old woman's strangeness. “The ghost...he's going to come and molest me?”

  “Listen to this old womon, silly girl. Leave while you can. This house is cursed!” Her voice a hoarse whisper, Agnes went on, “Lannie's the devil, himself. Get ou' and don’t look back!”

  “Enough!”

  The deep voice boomed from behind Beth, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin. She jerked around to see Lachlan standing in front of a massive fireplace.

  Agnes' hand turned to ice before the coarse skin slipped over Beth's wrist and away. Beth watched as the woman awkwardly rose from her chair and stepped away from the table, her watery gaze riveted on Lachlan.

  Inexplicably, Beth's stomach knotted.

  “Tis rude to fill the lass's head wi' nonsense, you old corbie!” he scolded Agnes as he crossed the room and came to stand at Beth's left elbow. “Tis late morn. Return to yer family and be mindin' yer own affairs.”

  Beth couldn't take her eyes off of Agnes's deathly pale face. There was fear there but also a hatred so fierce, Beth felt it to the core of her being. Anger erupted in Beth, overwhelming and so wretchedly vile, she could do nothing but quake in its throes.

  Agnes snorted contemptuously at Lachlan. “I've the kitch—”

  “It'll wait.”

  Agnes looked down at Beth with a silent plea. But the laird's piercing dark eyes could be felt on her soul. Releasing a raspy sigh, she patted Beth on the shoulder and shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “You must forgive the meddlin' old fool, Beth.”