Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

  He started toward her. A log crumpled in the hearth, briefly drawing her attention to the roaring fire heating the room. When she again looked at him, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his right ankle braced atop his left knee. His shirtless state prompted a sigh to escape her. She would never tire of his muscular build, of the powerful width of his shoulders. His hair, which he hadn't so-much-as trimmed since she'd first met him, now hung just past his shoulders in soft curls. And although she'd never thought herself the type of woman to go for the 'maned' look on a man, she dreaded the idea that he might get bored with it and have it chopped off.

  With this thought in mind, she braced herself up on one elbow and reached out to run her fingers through the side of his hair. His left hand cupped her forearm and he reverently kissed the inside of her wrist, then leaned over and nuzzled the side of her neck. Absolute bliss heated her insides. Falling back on the pillow, she held out her arms. His smile deepening, he moaned deep inside his chest and lowered the side of his head to between her breasts. A moment later, he swung himself fully onto the bed, slipped an arm beneath her, and enveloped her within his arms and legs. Laura was never more content than when she was surrounded by him. Inhaling deeply of his musky scent, she stroked her fingertips along his exposed cheek.

  "Did you sleep all right?"

  "Mmmm," he softly murmured, and nestled his face more comfortably between her breasts. "I was dreamin’ o' a maist peculiar garden."

  She located a lock of hair by his shoulder and wound it about her middle and index fingers. "Tell me about it," she whispered.

  "No' much to tell. It was all glittery and magiclike. I think our guest was there, too. Wha' I remember maist was how peaceful it was. I didn't want to leave, Laura."

  "Never?"

  He was silent for a moment, then, "I'm no' sure. But I woke in a grim enough mood."

  Kissing the top of his head, Laura stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. "Why can't you admit how much you miss Lachlan and Beth?"

  "I do," he said brusquely. "But can we no' begin our day dwellin’ on them?"

  They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Unconsciously, Roan began to rotate his thumb along Laura's right nipple, which was rigid beneath her red and blue plaid flannel nightgown. His absentminded ministrations stoked sexual tension to blossom deep inside her. Trying to breathe normally, she closed her eyes and relished the liquid warmth building inside her veins.

  "I was thinkin’ we could take a trip to Edinburgh next week," he said dreamily, as if speaking to himself. "If the weather lets up a bit." He slipped his left hand beneath her nightgown and absently massaged her naked buttock and thigh. "But wi' Connery here," he went on, "I'm no' sure we should make any plans."

  "No telling how long he's going to stay."

  "Hmm. He's a strange mon, this Winston. Laura, I can't quite put ma finger on wha' it is abou' him tha' makes me want to bury ma head in the sand."

  "He's supposedly psychic. Isn't that what Aggie said?"

  "Aye," Roan replied in a barely audible voice. "I guess I'm uneasy wi' him because I know nothin’ abou' him."

  "Lachlan—" Laura gasped when Roan's fingers grazed the Vee of her loins and a spasm of wanton need ripped through her. "—wanted him to return," she finished, breathless, her eyes blinking rapidly.

  "Aye, he did."

  Lost deeper in his thoughts, a frown marring his brow, he palmed her breast and gently kneaded it. He wasn't aware of Laura's rapidly escalating desire, or of her raspy breaths.

  "So much to do, I don't know where to begin."

  Laura moaned softly. But despite her heated condition, she managed, "Just take one day at a time."

  After a moment, Roan murmured an indecipherable response. Laura reached down to run her fingertips along his chest, but he unexpectedly sat up and wearily ran his hands down his face.

  "Ye're right. One day at a time." Springing from the bed, he headed for the door. "I'm goin’ to check on the lads. I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast."

  Before Laura could utter a protest, Roan was gone. For a long moment she could do nothing but stare at the closed door in disbelief. Then she sat up, gave a shake of her head, and deeply sighed.

  "The honeymoon's over before it began."

  She glanced about the room and gave another shake of her head, then fixed her gaze on the portrait of Lachlan hanging over the fireplace mantel.

  "I wish you could tell me what's going on inside his head— What am I talking about? We have a psychic in residence, don't we?"

  Her spirits lifting, she climbed out of the bed and padded toward the bathroom. Unbeknown to her, a shadow slipped from behind the curtains of the window Roan had been at when Laura had awakened. It moved toward the bed, paused for a time, then crossed the room and melted into and beyond the door.

  Laura re-entered the bedroom after brushing her teeth and washing her face and hands. She was humming a medley of tunes while on a direct path for the wardrobe when a familiar sensation invaded her limbs. A feeling of liquid warmth passed beneath her skin, flowing with the steadiness of a mountain spring. The sensation centralized within her chest. Circled her heart then gradually dissipated. As always when she was visited by this phenomenon, she was left with a sense of absolute serenity. It was as if a celestial haze blanketed her brain.

  She got dressed, combed her hair, and left the bedroom. Hunger and a need for her first cup of coffee headed her in the direction of the kitchen. But the residual impressions she carried of the mysterious presence she'd encountered was urging her to seek Roan.

  * * *

  Winston stepped first onto the main landing and swung Alby down the last two stairs. He was laughing at the boy's insistence that he be given another 'swing down', when something slammed his awareness. A brief dark cloud passed across his mindscreen. Alarmed, he cautioned Alby to remain where he was then ran to the double front doors. He passed through the small greenhouse and flung open one of the outer doors, then stepped out into the bright morning sunlight reflecting off the snow. Countless impressions invaded his mind, so forceful he staggered from the assault. He was stunned that his psychic powers had returned with such a vengeance, and that his mind had opened itself to every particle of information floating in the air. At a point where he was finally sorting through the mental deluge, thunder caught his attention.

  A zephyrous "Too soon!" moaned in his ears, and he instantly recognized the voice as that of the mysterious woman he'd met the previous night. He sensed her alarm. Her distress. Then—

  At the same instant he looked up to see a whirlpool of black clouds lowering over the property, he sensed the woman send off a network of energy—energy he couldn't identify. The clouds lifted slightly. Thunder loudly rumbled. Lightning crackled and snapped within the ominous mass, then faded into the once again sunny sky.

  Winston's mind cleared of all extraneous thought. Despite the brightness of the sunshine, a freezing wind lashed at his body. The quilt was nearly torn from his shoulders. Securing it, he tucked two of the corners into the waistband of his slacks, then was about to re-enter the house when he spied two boxes to the left of the steps. Snatching them up into his arms, he dashed into the relative warmth of the hallway and closed the doors behind him. Alby was waiting for him by the foot of the staircase.

  "What's that?" the boy asked.

  Stopping, Winston glanced at the labels on both packages. "For Roan Ingliss."

  "Nuts. Thought maybe Santa left me something else."

  Chuckling, Winston headed for the parlor. "Come along. I can smell breakfast on, can you?"

  Alby attempted to sniff through his stuffy nose, shrugged and fell into step behind Winston. "Nope. But I'm starving to death."

  Winston, the packages tucked beneath one arm, led the boy into the parlor, and beyond to the dining room. Once inside, Alby ran ahead to where Roan and Laura were seated at the table. Two older boys sat across from them.

  Agnes entered the room from the kitchen.
"Have a seat," she said to Winston, one white eyebrow arched in a show of impatience as she lowered a silver tray to the table. "Nothin’ worse than cold sausages and scones."

  Winston approached the nearest end of the elaborate table and set the packages down before lowering himself onto one of the chairs. Agnes was immediately at his side, filling his mug with steaming coffee, then arranging some of the food-laden plates in front of him. Winston's gaze swept over the dishes. Eggs. Thick slices of ham and spicy sausage patties. Potato scones dripping with butter and homemade marmalade. Brose, steamy and inviting.

  Suddenly, he felt as though he hadn't eaten in months.

  He was helping himself to portions of everything offered when Roan's wry tone caught his attention. "Good morn to you, too."

  Embarrassed, Winston graciously inclined his head. "Forgive me. Good morning."

  Laura smiled and gestured to the two boys across from her. "This is Kahl and Kevin. Say good morning to Mr. Connery."

  Kevin stuck out his tongue and made a rude sound, while Kahl merely spared Winston a sour glance before diving into the food on his plate.

  Winston again nodded then looked at the packages. "Ah, these were ou' by the front door. They're addressed to you, Mr. Ingliss."

  Rising from his chair, Roan grimaced. "You make me feel like an old mon. Roan, if you please. I'll be damned if I call you Mr. Connery."

  Briefly locking eyes with the mistress of the house, Winston again offered a perfunctory nod. Then, unable to deny his hunger a moment longer, he lifted the scone and took a large bite out of it. He was relishing the bursts of flavors on his tongue when he happened to look up at the laird. The contents in his mouth went down in a lump as Roan's stricken expression registered.

  Winston minutely lowered his mindshield and probed the man standing next to him. The depth of the laird's emotional pain took him aback. He glanced again at the packages, at Laura, at each of the boys then cut his gaze back to Roan.

  "What is it?" Laura asked.

  When Roan remained as still as a statue, she left her chair and went to stand at his right side.

  "Roan?"

  He remained perfectly still. Winston retracted his probe. Laura took the top package and walked around to Winston's left. Placing the box down, she used one of the knives on the table to cut the string securing the box.

  She was lifting the lid when Roan murmured a barely audible, "Don't."

  Ignoring him, she removed the cover and dropped it to the floor beside her, then spread apart the white tissue paper concealing the contents. A gasp of delight escaped her. Her hands trembling, she lifted a lace and satin beaded wedding gown from the box, stepped back, and held it up against her. Tears sprang to her eyes, blending with the sheer radiance glowing on her face.

  "Roan! It's...it's incredible!"

  Lowering his head, Roan closed his eyes. "It was made for Beth," he said in a hollow monotone.

  "What?"

  "For Beth. Lannie asked me to order it the morn we were in the library and he told me I was inheritin’ this place."

  All color washed from Laura's face as she clutched the gown tighter against her.

  Finally, Roan looked at her, his own face drawn and pale. "He told me she dreamed o' havin’ a grand weddin’, and asked if I would order the gown for her. I'd forgotten abou' it. The ither box is probably the veil."

  "So? Aunt Laura can wear it," Kahl piped up, his mouth full of food. "Or are you planning on not marrying her now, huh?"

  Winston didn't believe it possible but the laird grew even paler. Abruptly rising from his chair, he was about to tell Roan to sit before he fell, but Agnes intervened. Linking her arm through her nephew's, she led him toward the kitchen.

  She stopped at the swinging door and said to Winston, "By the way, yer shirt and coat have mysteriously vanished." She cast the boys a scolding look before glancing at Winston again. "I'll no' say wha' I think happened to them, mind you, but I wouldna be holdin’ ma breath waitin’ for them to miraculously return."

  With that, she pulled Roan into the kitchen.

  "Nuts. Grownups blame us kids for everything," Kevin grumbled.

  Winston swung his gaze to Laura, who looked as though she was about to break down into tears over a far less than joyous reason. "Boys," he addressed the trio, "wha' say you finish your breakfast and let me have a talk wi' your aunt."

  "No skin off our nose," Kahl quipped. "We can eat without being watched."

  "I'm sure." He rose from his chair. "Perhaps one o’ you will remember where ma belongings went to?" Ignoring the two older boys' dirty looks, Winston went to Laura's side and placed a hand at her elbow. Without the slightest protest, she allowed him to guide her into the front hall, where he took the wedding gown and draped it over his left arm.

  "Laura, I don't mean to pry, but—"

  "He can't get over them passing on," she choked, then lifted her watery gaze and searched his features. "I'm jealous of a dead woman. What does that say about me?"

  Winston's attempt to offer a smile, failed. Clearing his throat, he said, "Tha' you're a womon in love."

  "I thought...."

  "He'd ordered the gown for you," Winston completed.

  Her mouth twisted disparagingly. "I guess it doesn't take a psychic to figure that out, does it?"

  A small smile finally appeared on Winston's mouth. "No. But...ahh...it's no' as though your relationship has been normal, has it? Laura, his bond wi' Lachlan Baird and the American womon was beyond even ma comprehension. I sense tha' he's still grieving. It takes time."

  Solemnly, she nodded. "I know it does, but it hurts me to see him get so twisted up inside. Sometimes, I'm terrified I'm going to lose him. He gets so distant—"

  "Laura-lass."

  At the sound of her name, she spun around to see Roan standing in the doorway. He rushed toward her, pulled her into the muscular strength of his arms then kissed her long and passionately. During this, Winston turned away and rolled his eyes to the heavens. He was tempted to probe their emotions, experience what they were sharing, but he couldn't bring himself to intrude. He was even tempted to psychically interface with their auras, absorb the particles to enhance his understanding of their bond, but this practice he'd used most of his life, felt somehow wrong now. An invasion of what strictly belonged to them and no one else.

  When he heard, "It's time to order yer gown, darlin’," he turned his head and observed the glow on Laura's flushed face. She was looking at Roan in a way that made Winston shrivel inside. He wondered if a woman would ever look into his eyes with such profound love and devotion.

  "There's no rush," she said softly, resting the side of her face against Roan's broad chest. "It was foolish of me to react the way I—"

  Three squealing boys bounded from the room, Agnes chasing them.

  "Throw food, will you!" she scolded, while they laughed and dashed up the stairs out of sight. Agnes paused halfway up to spare the three adults a harried look. "I feel the grayness tuggin’, but I'll see them cleaned up afore I leave."

  Then she, too, vanished beyond the next landing.

  Roan released a burst of laughter, then clapped Winston on the arm and gestured with his head toward the parlor. "Our food's gettin’ cold, and Aggie hates awastin’ anythin’."

  "Wha' abou'...?" Winston asked, indicating the gown.

  Roan released a sigh. "I'll put it away in the attic. Laura deserves her own gown. One designed for her and no one else."

  Silently, they returned to the dining room, where the boys' food fight was evident on their chairs and part of the table. Roan put the gown back into the box and covered it, then seated himself alongside Laura. For a time they ate in silence.

  Winston was grateful for the chance to relieve the ache in his stomach. He was part way into second helpings when Roan spoke.

  "Wha' abou' Rose?"

  Winston instinctively stiffened. He'd known he would eventually have to explain, but he had hoped for more time. Swallowing th
e food in his mouth, he took a long drink of his coffee, then flattened his palms atop the table and sat back in his chair.

  "Have you read abou' the Phantom?"

  Roan arched a brow. "Aye. The serial killer."

  "She was one o' his victims."

  Laura's eyes went wide. "How terrible!"

  "I found her in a deep grave in Melrose some months ago," Winston went on, bitterness lacing his tone. "She was the first victim to be found alive, but she couldn't tell us anything abou' tha' elusive bastard. You see, the attack—the attempt on her life—was so brutal, it left her catatonic. She was little more than a zombie." Scowling and staring down at his plate, Winston went on, "We called her Rose after Melrose, and kept her at the Browning Institute under intensive medical care and guarded by four o’ our best men. I was able to probe her identity, and contacted her family. Her actual name was Kathleen Anne, but she will always be Rose to me.

  "Meanwhile, I got back on his trail. It led me here."

  "What?" Laura gasped. "A serial killer was here?"

  "Aye, but he left before Christmas Eve. Anither agent tracked him to Paris. Anyway, efter wha' I'd witnessed Christmas Eve, I got this crazy idea to bring Rose here. Tha' somehow the magic could restore her mind. Give her back to her family. I put in the request. Red tape. The doctors didn't want to release her. January second, I was called in on a car chase. The Phantom had struck again, in St. Ives, and every law enforcement agent in the area was hot on his trail.

  "To make a long story short, he attempted to drive off the quay. His car nose-dived into a boat. Both exploded. End o’ the sadistic bastard. A week later, Rose died in her sleep. They say her heart simply stopped. She was twenty-five. How does such a young heart simply...stop? If she could have just held on a while longer. Come here. Maybe...."

  He shrugged and dully eyed the couple. "I guess I took her death too personal. I left the agency. Left everything and walked away."

  "I'm so sorry," Laura murmured, staring down at her plate. When she again looked up, she fixed her solemn, measuring gaze on Winston. "I detect a somewhat American accent mixed in with your Scottish."