Everlastin' Book 1

by Mickee Madden

  Fighting down the threat of nausea, Beth weakly rose to her feet. Every nerve in her body seemed to be on fire. Her face flushed, her eyes as bright as sapphires, she forced back her shoulders in a gesture of defiance.

  “How dare you talk to her like that,” she managed, glaring at Lachlan.

  A look of scolding darkened his countenance. “The bletherin' womon was abou' to fill yer head wi'—”

  “Who are you to interfere with what is said around here?”

  A mocking smile touched the chiseled mouth. Beth became immediately disoriented. It was as if something had vacuumed her anger and replaced it with an intoxicating consciousness of his virile configuration. Standing so close to him now, she couldn't help but notice how handsome he was—not movie star handsome, but that rugged, brutish sort of countenance that invades the fantasies of lonely women.

  With all the casualness she could muster, she walked away from him, stopped, and turned to look at him again. A dark green silk shirt, of the same style he'd worn yesterday, hung loosely on his shoulders, the full poofy sleeves only partially hiding the muscular contours of his arms. The shirt remained unbuttoned to where it was tucked into the waistband of his dark, snug pants, and he was again wearing the black knee-high boots. Her gaze lingered on his exposed chest, on the patch of dark, curly hair that tapered to a point above his waistband.

  An uncomfortable warmth rapidly spread through her.

  No man had ever affected her like this. But then, she'd never encountered anyone of Lachlan's caliber. Bold, proud, and arrogant as hell. It was as if he possessed the ability to reach into her mind and challenge her to resist him.

  “Are you through lookin' me over?” He laughed low at her chagrin and took a step in her direction. “Aye, there are the wee stockish Scotsmen—” He leaned to and flashed bright white teeth in a grin. “—then there's me, aye? If I say so maself, I'm a strappin' mon. Ye're no' the first womon to get a flush in her cheeks at the sight o’ me, darlin'.”

  His boastfulness delivered Beth from her stupor. “You conceited, arrogant pup.”

  “Pup, am I?” Laughing, he folded his arms against his chest. “Am I to believe you dinna find me pleasin' to the eye? Ah, Beth-darlin', yer eyes tell far mair’n yer tongue. Ye're as smitten wi' me, as I be wi' you. Difference is, I'm no' afraid to admit I'm attracted to you.”

  Beth inwardly cursed the telltale dark blush in her cheeks. It was bad enough she did find him attractive, but she was damned chagrined to know that he was aware of her thoughts, almost as if he was a mind reader. But if he was truly that, he would have known the fantasy playing through her mind before she'd fallen asleep last night, and he would be the one blushing.

  On second thought, she was sure the insufferable man had never blushed a day in his life!

  The door to the kitchen opened and Agnes waddled in on her thin, bowed legs. Without looking at Beth and Lachlan, she walked directly to the table and began to gather up the tray.

  “I told you to leave it, womon,” Lachlan said in a threatening tone.

  Rage, insidious and foreign to Beth, swamped her. “You're not her employer!”

  “Tis all right, Missy,” Agnes said submissively, heading toward the kitchen with the tray clutched in trembling hands.

  “No, it isn't all right!” Beth cried.

  Agnes stopped and looked at the couple. “She'll no' take yer guff,” she huffed, a look of satisfaction directed at Lachlan.

  His brooding eyes swerved to deal her a warning look, and before she could stop it, the old woman released another snort.

  “I'll be goin' home as soon as the dishes be done. I don’t want a clarty kitchen greetin' me in the morn.”

  Beth watched Lachlan with deepening resentment. If she didn't know better, she would swear he was the master of Kist House. Baird House. The animosity between the cook and groundskeeper almost held substance, and it disturbed her, especially since she seemed so receptive to its presence.

  “I dinna give a hang for yer kitchen, clarty or no'! I'll no' be wastin' ma valuable energy arguin' wi' you!”

  “Damn yer energy, and damn you to hell, you devil!”

  Lachlan stiffened. His expression hardened with lethal anger even as he silkily responded, “Devil, am I?” He pointed to Agnes. “And where be tha' lazy, greetin' teenie son o’ yers? Yer years have been mair'n fulfilled here, womon. Tell Borgie his time has come. I'll see him on the morn, lest he be wantin' a visit by none ither than maself!”

  “I'll tell him!” Agnes hissed. She started again for the kitchen. “No' tha' it'll do me a shillin' o’ good!”

  As the kitchen door closed behind the old woman, Beth released a pented breath. She narrowed her eyes on Lachlan, her mind working to deliver him a sound scolding when a sharp pain knifed the base of her skull. A feeble whimper spilled past her lips. Cupping her hands over the back of her neck, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and tried to ride the pain past a point of tolerance. But it only intensified, and as she closed her eyes against it, the room began to spin. Her legs were weakening, threatening to buckle. Numbness was spreading swiftly through her left arm.

  Panic clutched her heart. She began to sway. Then, just as she was about to give in to the encroaching blackness, something solid scooped her up. A low, deeply concerned voice whispered above her, “Steady, lass. I've got you.”

  Through slitted eyes, she watched him carry her into the parlor and sit her on one of the sofas, then seat himself alongside her. She wanted to tell him to go away, but the crushing pain on the fragile bones in her neck made it impossible. She'd been having these headaches for nearly five months now, but never had they been so severe, or come on so quickly without warning.

  “Sit quiet. I'll be back wi’ a cold cloth for yer brow.”

  The instant he left the room, fear solidified in her chest and spread throughout her system. The pain completely encompassed her head. Her eyes were opened but she couldn't see anything beyond a glare of brilliant light in front of her. Her ears were bursting full with the sound of her racing heartbeat and the gravelly sound of her lungs straining to breathe. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes.

  “Here you go,” Lachlan said, sitting beside her.

  His soothing words were accompanied by a cold wet cloth being gently pressed across her eyes and brow. She tried to unclench her hands, but could not get beyond the fear the pain conjured up in her imagination.

  Slipping the cool fingers of one hand to the back of her neck, he began to tenderly massage the tension knotting it. “Hang in there.”

  Beth's attempt to speak came out as a hoarse breath.

  “I know it hurts like hell, lass.”

  Pulling the cloth away, she managed, “Piece of cake.”

  She blinked hard in an attempt to dispel the haze in front of her. She wanted to see his face. He sounded genuinely concerned for her, but with him it was hard for Beth to separate his true feelings from his teasing.

  Lachlan sighed before angling his head to kiss her lips. He meant it to be a tentative kiss, but at the instant he would have drawn away, he experienced an urgency to taste her more completely than he had the previous night. One hand framing the side of her face, he ignored her slight shiver and fully captured her mouth. She didn't resist his playful plundering of the contours of her lips, his nipping her lower lip, his mouth forcing her lips to part. But he did notice hesitancy on her part to let him fondle her tongue with his own, so he withdrew and satisfied himself with the more chaste kissing of which she seemed more comfortable.

  Threading through the desire meshing inside him came the realization of Beth's lessening pain. He smiled, his thumbs massaging her temples while he kissed her slow and languorously. It was a mental struggle, but he managed to retain his psychic bond with her to monitor her condition. That had to be his first priority, although he desperately wanted to lose himself inside her.

  Beth felt warm and secure—surprisingly secure in spite of the fact a man who was sti
ll a stranger to her, was kissing her in the most incredible way. She didn't feel threatened. She wasn't afraid of him at all. The migraine had evaporated to little more than a memory. All that remained was an aftermath of languidness, a familiar numbness now in the back of her head and neck.

  She wanted to protest when he stopped kissing her, but she didn't. Before she could respond to the undeniable earnestness his dark eyes betrayed, the sound of a vehicle rolling away over the gravel in the front yard brought home the ugly scene that had transpired in the dining room.

  Agnes had gone home. Disappointment with Lachlan's darker side lodged in Beth's heart.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured. Sitting back, he lifted a troubled gaze to the portrait across the room. “I shouldna have caused a scene like tha'.”

  “It's a side of you, I don't particularly like.”

  Although her words were not spoken unkindly, Lachlan looked at her as though she had struck him. “I get crazy when an Ingliss is around.”

  “She's an old woman.”

  “An old fool.”

  Lachlan regretted his words the instant Beth winced. She had a good heart, this woman. “There's so much you dinna understand,” he murmured, absently rubbing the back of his neck. He looked again at the painting of Beth, and a wistful smile played along his mouth. “There are some who believe an artist can capture a bit o’ his subject's soul on canvas. Carlene certainly did, dinna you think?”

  When his questioning gaze swung to her, Beth cast the painting a cursory look. “Carlene's very talented, but the woman depicted isn't me.”

  Lachlan released a low laugh. Bracing his lower back against the curved, cherry wood arm, he casually rested a booted ankle atop the opposite knee, and laid his left arm along the back of the sofa.

  “Tis every bit you—at least the womon you try to hide from strangers. Carlene's keen eye saw through yer shyness. She freed yer spirit on tha' canvas. Tha' part o’ you, I know as well as I know maself.”

  Unease returned to Beth. She looked away, feeling as though Lachlan's eyes were boring into her soul. “That's ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” he asked softly. “You've a heart as gentle as a spring's morn and as givin' as none ither I've ever encountered. Tis wha' I first perceived when I saw the portrait.”

  Wide-eyed, she looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

  “Have you asked yerself why you fear me no' as a mon?”

  Beth made a move to leave the sofa, but Lachlan reached out and took a restraining hold on her wrist. She looked down at his hand. His touch was cool. Almost cold. Unsettling.

  “My stomach's queasy.”

  Releasing her, Lachlan grimaced. “Ah fegs, would you really toss up yer insides on such a fine sofa?”

  In spite of herself, Beth chuckled. Her stomach was queasy, but she was feeling much better. “I'll do my best not to.”

  Unintentionally, her gaze locked with his. “You're a strange man.”

  “Aye, tha' I am. Do you believe in the soul, Beth?”

  “Yes.” She shot the painting a disparaging look. “But not that any part of it was captured on that canvas.”

  “How would you explain then ma knowin' wha' lies in yer heart o’hearts?”

  “You're a mind-reader,” she quipped with a nervous laugh.

  “Are you?”

  “Certainly not,” she laughed again.

  “Then how is it you knew me afore you ever set foot in this house?”

  Beth shot up from the sofa. Before Lachlan could make a move to stop her, she went to stand beneath the portrait. She faced him, trembling, pale, but with a flash of denial in her bright eyes.

  “I don't appreciate you trying to rattle me with this hocus-pocus nonsense. This is just an oil painting, nothing more!”

  Rising to his feet, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers.

  “I dinna have all the answers, but we’ve been connected since I first laid eyes on yer portrait.”

  “Stop it! You're obsessed with the damn thing!”

  “You've been aware o’ the connection,” he said solemnly, his eyes more penetrating than usual. “I sensed it the moment you entered the house.”

  Breaths heaving in and out of her lungs, she lunged for the door to her left. Her hands gripped the knob, twisted and jerked, but the door would not budge. With a cry of frustration, she slapped an open palm against the wood and gave a desperate turn on the knob once again.

  She gasped in alarm when she became aware of Lachlan coming up behind her. She spun around and pressed her back to the door as his palms flattened to the recessed panels on each side of her shoulders, blocking any chance of her escaping him. Her hands braced at his chest, she looked up at him through a mist of tears.

  “Ye're no' threatened by me,” he said. “Only yer ignorance of wha' is true atween us.”

  “Leave me alone!”

  Despite her effort to push him away, he lowered his head and captured her lips. Beth wanted to scream out her anger at him for having the physical strength to overpower her. Her clenched fists were trapped between their bodies as his arms masterfully embraced her. His kiss deepened, threatening to overpower her will, as well. Liquid warmth unexpectedly coursed through her. At once, the fight went out of her. In place of her fears was an ache within her, but one of absolute bliss. The rightness of being in his arms, of his fingers in her hair, of the slow, seductive movements of his mouth against hers, was incontestable.

  Lachlan ended the kiss but brushed a cheek against hers before lifting his head and staring into her glazed eyes. “You and I share the ability to experience one anither's emotions. Tis wha' you reacted to in the dinin' room.”

  “No!”

  “I permitted ma rage wi’ the Ingliss to spill over on you. You know tis true, Beth. Since yer arrival, twas no' the first time you felt an emotion no' yer own.”

  Bewildered, she peered into the enigmatic depths of his eyes. “Lachlan, please!”

  He gave an adamant shake of his head. “Listen, lass.” Resting his hands on her shoulders, he absently caressed her earlobes with his thumbs. “The night o’ yer mother's funeral, you were sittin' at the window, starin' ou' into the darkness o’ yer backyard. Remember? Remember weepin', Beth? Remember the pain squeezin' yer heart as you thought abou' the bed o’ flowers you'd planted tha' yer mither wouldna see?”

  The color drained from her face. “How could you know about that?” She attempted to move away from him but his hands slid down her arms, keeping her rooted in place.

  “In a way I canna explain, I was there wi' you. Yer despair was so great, darlin', it damn near broke ma heart. I made some inane remark abou' life bein' no bed o’ roses. It made you smile. Remember?”

  Beth did remember, and it frightened her more than she could ever admit. “You're saying you're some kind of psychic?”

  “I'm somethin', all right. I'll grant you tha'.”

  Planting a brief kiss on her lips, he straightened with a pained expression. “This house intensifies our emotions, love, and our senses. Unless you unburden yerself o’wha's been eatin' at you, you’ll remain vulnerable to ma hatred o’ the Inglisses.”

  Beth rapidly shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Yer mither.”

  “Shut up! Let her rest in peace!”

  “She is. Tis you I'm worried abou', lass.”

  Tears streamed down Beth's face as she struck his chest with an open palm. “I hate you!”

  “Tis past time to set yer spirit free! Dammit, Beth, you're sufferin' needlessly!”

  “You're a cruel man,” she accused, weeping hard. “Leave me alone, damn you!”

  Lachlan's features twisted with inner pain. “Ma heart was stone till it touched yers. Damn me, Beth? You hold every fiber o’ ma bein' in yer wee palm.”

  Numb, thoughts swirling in her head, Beth stepped away from him, not even aware that he had finally released her.

  “I need time to think,�
�� she said, turning toward the door.

  “Abou' us?” he asked sadly. “In tha', I have no doubts. As for yer conscience, I know the consequences o’ harborin' somethin' dark and festerin'.”

  Silence stretched between them for a time. Beth stared at the door, while Lachlan's despondent gaze remained fixed on the back of her head.

  “You push too hard,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I don't know you well enough to bare my soul to you. I don't know if I want to know you at all.”

  Lachlan looked upward, tears filming in his eyes. “If you're tha' determined to guard yer secrets, there's naught I can do to help you.”

  “I never asked for your help.”

  “Take solace in this, darlin': If it was yer intention to knock me down a few pegs, you've succeeded. I'll no' intrude again.”

  His promise should have awarded Beth a modicum of satisfaction, but regret seared her heart. She looked up, expecting to see him standing behind her. Cold shivers moved along the skin of her arms when her darting gaze could not find him.

  Looking about the room once again, she tried not to dwell on the weighty, oppressive stillness closing in around her. But again it struck her how utterly alone she was in this strange land strange land. Tension curled its fibers across the back of her neck and skull. Without thought, she reached out for the brass knob and gave it a turn. The door easily opened. For a moment, she stood frozen. The front hall stretched out before her, its silent greeting manifesting an almost unbearable tightness in her throat.

  Then she noticed that the sliding wooden doors nearest the front exit were open.

  The room beyond proved to be a library, its walls lined with dark-stained bookshelves. The furnishings were sparse in comparison to the other rooms in the house. An overstuffed, Victorian sofa and two matching chairs of red, broad-plaid upholstery. A coffee table of cherry wood. Two round end tables of the same wood and design. An enormous braided rug on the floor, situated under the coffee table and extending to a red-brick fireplace with a red and black-veined Victorian mantelpiece.

  Entering the room, she began to halfheartedly looked over the numerous titles on the bookshelves. Several minutes later, bold red lettering on a large volume caught her interest. Plucking the book from the shelf, she drolly glanced at its colorful jacket.