With a low cry, she turned on her heel and fled through the doorway. Her legs pumped with all the steam she could muster. Blindly she ran on and on and on until she became aware of running through a gray, endless fog. She staggered and ran. Stumbled and ran. There were no sounds around her but her own sobs. No impressions or colors or life of any kind.
The headaches!
The only explanation was that she was in some kind of a coma. Something had gone wrong inside her head—something, even if it were explained to her, she wouldn't be able to fathom.
But not madness! Oh God, not madness, please!
Let it be a coma that she could fight from within.
Something she could eventually emerge from to the promise of life.
Not madness!
Was Scotland, Carlene, David, Lachlan real?
How much of her life had been mere dream, fantasy?
She stumbled again but this time she found herself falling through an endless void. The momentum went on and on, the plunge more terrifying than anything she'd ever experienced. Her arms and legs flailed wildly. If only she could touch something solid—stop the flight—the falling—the...nightmare.
With inertia came a soft, sweet-smelling bed beneath her. Prone, her fingers kneading something dewy and cool, Beth kept her face to the ground and wept from the depths of her soul. When she dared to look up at her surroundings, it was to find that she was atop a manicured lawn, a short ways from a bubbling, cement fountain.
The north gardens.
She'd noticed the fountain from one of the windows on the second floor.
She was somehow back at Baird House. Safe but badly shaken. She must have suffered another blackout before locating Borgie that morning, and all that had happened was indeed just a very real nightmare.
A peacock strutted by, its foot a hair'sbreadth from one of her arms. Somehow, she knew it wasn’t Braussaw. The indignant angle of its head struck her funny and she released a raspy laugh. A green and blue-eyed feather swept under her nose before the bird strolled off.
Laughing at the vividness of her imagination, she stiffly drew up into a sitting position.
Her brain felt terribly cramped within her skull, a strong indication that she had in fact suffered one of the crippling migraines. That was all right by her. Any sane, reasonable explanation was appreciated.
Getting unsteadily to her feet, she looked about her. Except for the rustle of the birds ambling about the gardens, and the soothing sound of water bubbling within the fountain, it was peaceful. The morning was warm, the sunlight bright and reviving.
Brushing off her skirt and top, Beth started toward the front of the house. Her body was tired but her mind was electrified at the prospect of being here at this place, and not in the cottage of that queer dream.
Poor Borgie.
How would she ever look him in the face again if he learned she had dreamed he tried to force himself on her?
Well, it wasn't as if she was about to tell him, was it!
“Coffee,” she sighed, stepping onto a cobblestone path that circled the fountain. She stopped and dipped her cupped hands into the icy water, then splashed the refreshing liquid on her face. Wiping a cool hand across the back of her neck, she turned toward the pathway leading to the front of the house.
Something drew her attention to a field beyond the low hedges and trees behind the house. She was certainly too exhausted to go off exploring, but an indefinable sense urged her forward for a closer look.
Muttering to herself, she trampled through ground vines and low brush until she came to the edge of the field. There was nothing extraordinary to see here. The field was richly green, and there was only a huge ancient oak centered on it.
Still, something beckoned her.
She took her time crossing the field, plucking a blade of grass to nibble on along the way. The closer she came to the tree, the more convinced she was that she was wasting her time. But twenty yards away from her destination, she discerned something standing within the shadows beneath the limbs.
The something turned out to be several headstones.
Shuddering, Beth began to turn away until one large stone of two caught her attention before she could ignore it.
HERE THE DEVIL LIES
LACHLAN IAN BAIRD
2/13/1811 - ?/1844
Beth sank to her knees in front of the headstone, her gaze riveted on the name.
Lachlan. So, Lannie was a nickname.
Lifting a hand, she gingerly pressed her fingertips to the dates. She couldn't fathom why, but her heart was twisting with pain and sorrow.
Thirty-three years old. Not a long life and not a fitting way for him to die.
Tears welled in her eyes. She gave herself a shake to ward off the melancholy enveloping her, only then happening to notice another headstone, off to the right and set back. Questioning her eyesight, she hesitantly crawled a little closer to it.
A cry lodged in her throat. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth. Quaking fiercely, her gaze repeatedly ran over the letters on the newer stone.
It wasn't possible.
Someone was playing a very cruel joke on her!
A sensation of scalding fluid shooting up into her throat, she tried to scramble to her feet, but her legs were like rubber.
Despite her desperation to tear her gaze from the heinous scene, the chiseled words in front of her seemed to close in.
FATE BROUGHT THEM TO ME
FATE CRUELLY TOOK THEM AWAY
REST IN PEACE MY FRIENDS
CARLENE AND DAVID CAMBRIDGE
9/3/1962 - 4/20/1993 10/11/1956 - 4/20/1993
A blood-curdling wail escaped Beth.
This was insanity!
What kind of a mind would perpetrate this sort of prank?
Carlene and David dead?
No, that was impossible! She'd spoken to them on the telephone. Carlene had greeted her upon her arrival from the airport! They had talked over tea! Talked about the portrait!
And Carlene had even shown her to her room on the third floor!
Angry denial entwining with fear, Beth slammed a fist on the ground, and cried, “It's a lie! Carlene! Carlene!”
On her knees, her buttocks braced on her heels, she clenched her fists in front of her and repeatedly called out her friend's name until her raw throat began to protest.
Weeping, she whimpered, “I can't take much more of this.”
Anguish, disgust and fear threatened to overwhelm her. Fighting with all her willpower to pull herself together, she began to scoot back away from the headstones. When she had only gone a few feet, her vision zoomed in on the last headstone, standing to the left and alongside that of Lachlan Baird.
The pulse returned and pounded forcefully through her. The world swayed, while Beth, herself, remained frozen in horror.
MY DEAREST LOVE
BETH MARIE STAPLES
7/24/63 - 7/26/93
When her state of shock waned, Beth released an hysterical laugh.
She wasn't dead!
Today was the twenty-sixth of July!
But that dark moment of humor evaporated to the fires of doubt. It could all only be a fiendish prank, but....
Throwing back her head, she released a long, guttural wail.
A wind came up around her, as if from the bowels of the earth. Her fists clenched, her arms held tightly folded against her abdomen, she stared at the headstone bearing her name. She was angrier than she'd ever been. Angry and feeling helpless and betrayed.
How could Carlene help perpetrate a stunt like this? It was cruel, hideous—
“I tried to stop you, lass.”
Jumping to her feet, Beth whirled then stood as rigid as stone at the sight of Lachlan standing a few feet away.
“Tis a hard thin’ to accept at first,” he said kindly, compassion softening his features, his hand held out to her. “Tis why I had you come here to Scotland, to ma home, Beth. I couldna let you die alone, no' when I knew I
could—”
“Shut up!” Panting, Beth glared at the man across from her. “This,” she charged, jabbing an isolated finger at the headstones, “isn't funny! It's sick!”
“Love—”
“Shut up!”
Inwardly struggling to bring the violent trembling of her body under control, she glared unflinchingly at the man she felt was responsible for the terrible hoax.
“I'm leaving here, Lachlan, and I pray to God I never lay eyes on you or this damn place again!”
“If I hadna had to teach tha' Ingliss swine a lesson at his place, I would have been here sooner,” he said, his tone heavily laced with sorrow.
“You're insane!” Beth cried, her tone throbbing with hysteria. She backed up two paces, a hand held up to ward him off. “I'm going home!”
“You are home.”
Beth clamped her hands over her ears.
“You are home!” Lachlan averred. “Deep inside, you know you died—”
“No!”
“—a week ago.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
“In yer sleep.”
“Damn you, Lachlan!”
A tear spilled down Lachlan's face. “I truly thought you'd have mair time than you did. I wanted to tell you—”
Beth screamed to shut out his words, but Lachlan persevered, “—but I was a coward. You were dyin' in the parlor, Beth. I couldna stop wha' was happenin' to you. Ma pleasurin' you was the only way I could help you through the pain.”
Garbled denials rattled in Beth's throat as she unsteadily sank to her knees. Lachlan rushed to her. Placing an arm about her waist, he eased her up onto her feet. When she buried her face against his chest and bitterly wept, he hesitantly enfolded her within the security of his arms. Then he raised his face to the heavens and squeezed his eyes shut to free the renewed salty liquid testimony of his own anguish.
“Sweet darlin,” he choked, smoothing the hair at the back of her neck. “I'm so sorry I couldna heal you but it was too far beyond ma power. But death is no' an end for us. You must trust me, lass. This is only our beginnin'.”
With the vehemence of a gale, Beth wrenched from his hold and began to pummel him with her fists.
“Why are you doing this to me!” she cried, its sound producing a rush of tears in Lachlan's eyes. “I hate you! I hate you! I'm not—”
As if in slow motion, she felt herself falling forward, falling and falling, and passing through Lachlan as if he were nothing more than an image comprised of air. She hit the ground, twisting and staring up at him in horror.
He appeared solid. A look at herself revealed that she was the image fading before her own eyes.
A cry of such torment prevailed from her, Lachlan cried out as well. Rushing to her, he swept her up into his arms, observing her disorientation as she watched herself becoming solid again.
“Hold onta me.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck then buried her face against his shoulder and wept. Lachlan cradled her against him, softly weeping himself.
“It's not true,” she sobbed. “It's not true.”
“Wha' I would give to spare you this.”
“I'm dreaming.”
Lowering his head, Lachlan squeezed his eyes shut and kissed her on one of her throbbing temples.
“I'll take care o' you, Beth.”
A wheezing sound could be heard from her concealed mouth, then a hoarse, “What have you done to me?”
“Sweet Jesus,” he choked. “I've only tried ta—”
“Keep me here,” she interjected, looking up at him through lifeless eyes. “You brought me here to die.”
Chapter 8
“Have a cup o' tea, darlin'.”
Beth was aware of a cup and saucer being placed on a marble-topped coffee table in front of her. Somehow she had come to be in the parlor, sitting on a Queen Anne style settee with richly embroidered, pink-toned upholstery. She could smell the enticing aroma of the tea. She could hear a fire crackling in the hearth. She was aware of Lachlan's presence close by, but her state of mind left her with a distorted impression of everything around her.
Numbness cloaked her. It was a blessed relief not to feel anything at the moment. How could she begin to sort through what she'd earlier seen, and what had been said since her arrival in Scotland?
To dwell on anything as outrageous as—
Jet lag is no longer a viable possibility.
Either she had lost her mind during the flight, or insanity had run rampant through everyone she had encountered since her arrival.
A prominent shiver coursed through her, one of pseudo icy fingers fondling every nerve in her body. Her blood became chilly mountain streams in her veins.
“I know exactly wha' ye're goin' through,” said a soft voice nearby. “Let me help you through this.”
Beth's eyes rolled up in her bent head to target the face of the man who had spoken. Lachlan. He was crouched to her right, concern accentuating the angles of his face. One of his hands was resting on her leg, just above her knee. The other forearm was braced on the coffee table.
“Take a sip o' tea. It'll take the chill ou' o' yer bones—” Lachlan had the good grace to blush. Lifting the china cup by its delicate handle, he proffered it to her. “Just one little sip. Come on, darlin'.”
To his astonishment, she poofed away. He gaped at the emptiness where she'd been a moment before. The hand holding up the cup began to tremble, sloshing its contents. Jerkily placing the cup back on the table, he slowly rose to a standing position and momentarily closed his eyes with a mute prayer for patience.
“It didna take you long to learn tha' now, did it?” he muttered, looking about the room with a shadow of desperation in his expression.
Beth could hear his voice but it sounded far away and possessed an eerie vibrating quality. There was endless grayness surrounding her, a universe of nothingness, and such absolute stillness that panic squeezed her heart.
Turning in place, she wailed, “Lachlan! Where am I? Don't leave me here!”
“Step back through. Tis easy, Beth.”
“There are no doors or windows. I can't—”
The abruptness with which she found herself standing in the parlor left her lightheaded. The room began to spin slowly, then faster and faster. She grabbed onto the back of the settee to steady herself, but the waves of dizziness continued to pound unmercifully down on her.
“Steady,” Lachlan said softly, drawing her into his arms and holding her head to the hollow of one shoulder. “Tis frightenin' but it will pass. The grayness is our restin' place. Tis there we gather the energy to spend brief intervals in this world. You'll come to know it all, darlin'. Just be patient.”
Beth clung to him out of a need to feel the security of solidity. She was too full of fear to hold onto anger at the moment. She wept bitterly against his shoulder, her tears dampening the front of his shirt.
“You cry. You do wha’ever it takes to get you through this adjustment period. I'm here for you.” He caressed a cheek atop her crown, and peered upward. “You and I have all the time in the world now.”
Snuggling her tighter in his arms, he soothingly stroked the back of her hair. He wished he could protect her tender emotions from this new reality. He had often mulled over what her initial reaction might be, and he had believed he had counseled himself to be strong when this very moment came about. But her weeping lanced him, pierced him with such poignant depth that he felt his phantom heart constrict, and a sting of tears form in his eyes.
Then it struck him that he would be able to hold her like this forever. The promise of an everlasting companion, a mate for eternity, melted his anguish beneath the heat of his rapture.
“We're thegither everlastin', Beth,” he said a bit giddily.
Unraveling his arms from about her trembling torso, he lovingly framed her face with his hands and looked into the turbulent depths of her eyes.
“No one can ever separate us. We can make love thro
ugh countless sunrises and sunsets. Dwell on the positive o' our existence, darlin'. It will lessen the ache in yer heart for wha' has passed.”
He kissed her mouth at first gently then more hungrily as his arms wound about her and molded her to his body. Although the kisses were salty and wet from her tears, he dined on her sweetness and the utter tenderness of her shapely mouth. He wanted to make love with her, to fill her so completely with pleasure she would temporarily forget that she had passed on to a different plane of existence.
Actions, not words, would convince her of her existing abilities to experience life. He had found the gray plane at most times difficult, but then, he'd been alone. She would never be alone, he vowed. She would never suffer the terrible isolation of the grayness.
As long as they were together.
Through the fibers of his reverie came a realization. She was struggling in his arms, grunting against his deep, penetrating kiss. Rattled by the abrupt change in her, he lifted his head. The angry flush in her cheeks prompted him to drop his arms to his sides. He could only watch as she backed away from him, her eyes blazing as she contemptuously swiped an arm across her mouth.
“I've finally figured it out. You've been drugging me, haven't you?” she flung with asperity, her body quaking with anger.
“Druggin' you? Beth darlin'—”
“Stop using endearments on me, you...you...lunatic! I want the truth!”
“The truth?” Lachlan wasn't trying to be funny. He was genuinely astonished by her accusation. “Och, darlin', you should know me better than tha'!”
“Stop lying to me, Lachlan! Admit it! You've been drugging me!” she accused, jabbing an isolated finger at him to punctuate her words. “It's all beginning to make sense. You somehow convinced Carlene to lure me here—”
“Patience, laddie, patience,” he groaned, his eyes rolled upward.
“—and sent her away. During that brief time we were talking, I kept getting the feeling she wanted to tell me something. She didn't really want any part of this, did she?”
“She had some doubts.”
Breathing heavily, Beth stared at him as if truly seeing him for the first time. “You've made no secret of your obsession with that damned portrait!”
Everlastin' Book 1 Page 15