Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

  "Aggie's runnin’ a bath in yer room," Roan told Winston as he rushed to the staircase.

  "I'll make tea and heat up some soup," Laura said, beelining for the parlor door.

  Winston set the bolts on the double doors then headed down the hall.

  Despite his wobbly legs and numbed feet, he somehow managed to keep up with Roan as they climbed the stairs to the second floor landing. Winston couldn't stop shivering, and he wondered if it was mainly due to the unmerciful chill in his body, the fact that the woman could very likely be dying, or that the one remaining outside was—

  He refused to analyze how that could be possible. Not now. As long as the house was locked tight, he'd have a little time before having to warn the laird of the impending danger.

  When Winston entered his bedroom on Roan's heels, the boys were nowhere in sight. Agnes stuck her head out of the bathroom, issuing a terse, "Hurry!"

  "Give her to me," Winston rasped a moment before Roan would have stepped into the smaller room.

  The laird turned a grimly quizzical look on Winston but passed the woman into Winston's waiting arms.

  "Listen carefully and don't ask me any questions right now," Winston said, his authoritative tone further taking Roan aback. "Make sure every window and door in the house is locked tight. Every window and door!" He pushed past a dumbfounded Roan and barked at Agnes, "Watch the boys. Don't let them ou' o' your sight!"

  For a split second he saw rebellion flash in her eyes. Then she hurried out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Winston took a moment to get his wits about him. Meager steam rose up from the waiting bath. A glance at the half-filled porcelain tub gave him the stamina to force his stiff, weakened legs to obey him one stretch longer. He eased his right foot into the water. At first it felt scalding and he nearly abandoned his intentions. Clamping down on the pain, he hoisted himself up and over the rim of the tub, and stood for a second in the bathwater, telling himself he would not succumb to the fierce sensations of pins and needles assaulting his feet and legs.

  Tears welled up in his eyes as he lowered himself into the deep, claw foot tub. The re-awakening of his circulation was excruciating, but he settled himself on the bottom, clothes, blankets and all, the woman angled lengthwise across his legs, one side of her unseen face against his chest. Tears streamed down his crimson and gray blotted face.

  Thoughts of the Phantom tried to intrude, but he forced himself to maintain his focus on the woman. Her heartbeat was steadier now, her breathing shallow but regular. She was no longer a block of ice, but supple flesh. The water was shoulder-high to her. Cupping his left hand, he scooped handful after handful of the warm liquid onto the top of her head. When he could no longer feel a chill emanate from her, he gingerly brushed her hair back, exposing a face so exquisite, his heart seemed to leap into his throat. Perhaps knowing that she wasn't aware of him was what gave him the courage to trace her features with his fingertips.

  Beneath her mane of thick dark hair was a smooth brow. Flawless, pale, almost translucent skin. Delicately winged eyebrows, expressive even in her state of unconsciousness. Long and thick dark eyelashes. A pert nose. Full pouty lips. A dimpled chin, slightly turned up.

  It struck Winston that, even in her condition, she possessed an ageless beauty, a beauty which seemed to defy the laws of nature. His heart raced. His breathing was erratic. Never had he looked upon a face that so utterly captivated him. He brushed the side of his thumb along the underside of her chin. Even the texture of her skin amazed him. So soft. So unbelievably soft.

  Gulping past the tightness in his throat, he wound his arms about her and settled himself more comfortably in the liquid warmth. He rested his chin atop the crown of her head and dazedly stared into nothingness.

  Unable to stop himself, he began to go over the events of the past hour. What had happened in the cellar. The supernatural moaning. The disappearance of the magic. And the woman.

  The Phantom was alive.

  How, it didn't matter. A grave mistake had been made. Unimportant. The killer was on the loose. At Baird House.

  Had the woman in the fourth dimension perished, taking with her the powers in the house?

  The thought caused a fierce ache within his chest.

  She had accused him of draining her energy during his last visit. Had the earthquake and storm been an aftermath of her passing?

  And this woman...?

  He couldn't convince himself that her and the Phantom's arrival were mere coincidence. Had that bastard dumped his latest intended victim on the grounds to taunt Winston? To show Winston that the killer was not only alive, but capable of besting Winston's psychic powers after all?

  The garden woman's words began to echo in his skull.

  "He waits, while ye wallow in self-pity."

  The Phantom was the danger she had warned him of!

  A soft moan wrenched him from his stupor. He realized the stranger was squirming. His mind went blank in anticipation of her fully awakening.

  Her head moved slightly against his heaving chest. She moaned again. Squirmed with more force.

  "You're safe," Winston said, his voice sounding foreign and strained.

  She stiffened. Then, for what seemed an eternity, she didn't move. She was fully consciousness, for he could sense the depths of her confusion. When he could no longer bear the silence, he stated, "As I said, ye're safe. But can you tell me how you came to be naked and on Baird land?"

  A long sigh escaped her. It was a curious sound, Winston reflected, his black eyebrows drawn down in a frown.

  Her head dipped back. If he had thought himself prepared to look into her eyes, he discovered he was wrong. A breath caught in his throat when she boldly looked up at him. He found himself locked within the mesmerizing depths of her eyes, unable to speak or move. Unable to think. Her bright blue irises were sparingly flecked with gold, but the pinpoints seemed to hold tiny lights within them.

  When she gracefully pulled away from him and sat up, Winston slipped his legs from beneath her and bent them at the knees to each side of her. She turned and braced her back against the brass spout, at the same time slipping the heavy, wet blankets off her shoulders. Her gaze never left his face, as if searching for a reaction in him. But none came. Winston's facial muscles were frozen. He could not even avert his eyes when the upper portion of her breasts became visible through clinging strands of her hair.

  The bathroom door opened. Roan walked in, took one look at the scene greeting him, and swiftly turned his back to the tub.

  "For the love o' Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he wheezed.

  Winston's spell was broken.

  Scrambling out of the bathtub and casting off the blanket as he went, he positioned himself against the wall across from the tub, and glared at the stranger with heightening chagrin.

  "I take it she's alive!" Roan shakily bit out.

  The woman slowly stood, the blankets lost beneath the murky water. In all her glory, she stood before Winston, her penetrating gaze seemingly a permanent fixture on his face.

  Winston vainly tried to produce saliva in his painfully dry mouth. He couldn't stop himself from looking her over, any more than he could force himself to stop shivering in the cold draft coming through the exposed doorway. For as far down her body as he could see—which was more than he told himself he needed to see—she was clinging hair, flawless skin, and dynamic curves.

  "I-uh..." Winston nervously ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. He lamely shrugged then broke out in a ludicrous grin. "I would say she's definitely alive."

  Reflexively, Roan looked over his shoulder. The sight of her nakedness wrenched a grunt from him, and his face turned beet red. Heading into the bedroom, he flung, "Let me know when she's decent!"

  Decent?

  Giving himself a mental shake, Winston ran into the bedroom. Roan was already heading into the hallway. Mumbling beneath his breath, Winston whipped the top quilt from the bed. When he turned to h
ead back to the bathroom, he found the stranger standing in the doorway, watching him with curiosity and wariness combined.

  He was about to assure her again that she was safe, but the words never left his mouth.

  Agnes suddenly materialized a few feet away to his left. One glance at the stranger and the specter clamped a hand over her pseudo-heart. "Saints preserve us!" she squealed, then wagged a scolding finger at him. "Winston Connery, quit your gawkin’ at the poor child!"

  She snatched the quilt from his hands and hurriedly draped it over the young woman's shoulders. She fussed over her for a time then leveled an indignant, maternal look on Winston.

  "I'll no' have this kind o' behavior under this roof! You leave the carin’ o' this guest to the mistress and me. And I strongly suggest, young mon, you keep yer demons to yerself!"

  With an impatient flick of Aggie's wrist, a stack of logs in the hearth became engulfed in flames.

  What most disconcerted Winston was the fact that she'd accomplished this without her dissecting gaze wavering from him.

  "How dare you bring him wi' you!" she continued to scold. "He's yer problem. I'll no' stand for him abou', do you understand me?"

  Flabbergasted by her verbal assault, Winston rasped a weak, "I think so." But he didn't understand her at all.

  With a protective arm at the young woman's back, Agnes urged her in the direction of the hall door.

  "Now don’t you fear none," Agnes consoled the stranger. "Some hot tea, a cuppy o' soup, and a warm bed, you'll be feelin’ fine in no time at all."

  Winston watched the women leaving the room. When they were turning left into the hall, the blue-eyed mystery looked back at him. For just a fleeting second, he noted pinpoint dimples in her cheeks, and read amusement in her eyes.

  She's laughing at me! he inwardly fumed.

  Dragging himself to the bed, he plopped into a sitting position on the feather mattress.

  "You're bloody right he's ma problem!" he blustered then released a sound that was suspiciously like a whimper.

  "How could I no' look at her?" he asked himself in a small voice. His hands flattened to his chest. "I'm only human!"

  A silhouette image of the Phantom sauntered across the screen of his mind's eye.

  His eyes darkening with a deadly gleam, Winston murmured, "I'll take you ou' maself, you bastard. Coming here was the biggest mistake o' your miserable life."

  His brain inflamed with outrage, he jumped up and hastily stripped out of his soggy, borrowed sweater, his slacks, and shorts.

  The next instant, a clanging crash rang out.

  Winston looked up in the direction of the door.

  There stood Laura, a look of shock frozen on her face, and a tray, overturned bowl and cup scattered at her feet.

  But Winston was beyond modesty at the moment. His unhurried gait carried him to the bathroom, where he closed the door and sat on the closed lid of the toilet.

  "I can rise above all this," he murmured. "I can."

  He shot to his feet and openhandedly slapped the wall to his right. "Frigging right I can!"

  Inexplicably, his anger drained out of him. Again sitting, he lethargically trenched the fingers of both hands through his wet hair.

  The bathroom seemed unnaturally confining all of a sudden. His lungs felt weighted, his every breath labored.

  "Am I losing ma mind?"

  How much more could happen?

  "God, give me strength," he murmured, and rose to his feet.

  Chapter 4

  A case of the jitters plagued Winston all morning. What annoyed him the most was his inability to pinpoint its exact cause. It was as if a fiery thorn were imbedded at the base of his skull, every now and then prodding the sensitized nerves in that vicinity. He felt as if he were on the verge of exploding with anger, but anger for what he didn't know. At first he'd contributed this state to the knowledge that the Phantom was still alive. As incredible at that seemed, he knew he had picked up on the killer's psychic transmissions. He'd sensed the man's trace as clearly as if he'd looked into his own reflection in a mirror.

  And yet....

  The boogers—as Roan fondly called the boys—had managed to keep the laird and his lady love hopping the rest of the previous night, and all of this morning, thus far. It amazed Winston how three young boys could cause so much commotion. He didn't recall being as hyper or as creative as them when he was young, but then, his parents never tolerated a noisy or active child under their roof. Somehow, Roan and Laura coped, although Winston was sure he couldn't be any better a parent than his own. So, with clothing vanishing, food fights, Kahl's wails to be allowed to play in the tower, Kevin turning loose one of the peacocks inside the house, and Alby's hysterics over the fact he couldn't get his wooden animals to come to life, the Baird household was a circus.

  Winston had tried several times—both last night and this morning—to corner Roan and warn him about the killer's return. To no avail. Every time a chance arose for Winston to have his say, another crisis presented itself.

  Agnes avoided him and refused to let him near the stranger. As far as Winston knew, no one but Agnes had seen the woman once she was escorted from his room. Winston had halfheartedly attempted a few times to probe the traces she'd left behind, in hopes of garnishing tidbits of information about her. Each time the venture met with a blank wall. It wasn't that he was interested in her as a person, but rather in her connection with the Phantom. Still, he should have gotten a fair reading on her.

  Something was blocking his abilities.

  He'd gone outside for a time and tried to psychically zoom in on the Phantom's whereabouts. Another blank wall. By the time he went to bed, he had convinced himself he was trying to juggle too much. So much had already happened, and he'd been in the house for less than forty-eight hours.

  However, this morning he still found himself unable to dredge up information about the stranger and the Phantom. He was well-rested and had eaten a hearty breakfast. Had bathed and shaved. Was warmly dressed in a borrowed pair of Roan's jeans and a grey and burgundy striped pullover sweater, both of which were too big for him, but he wasn't trying to impress anyone. His paranormal capacity had returned when he'd entered the house, and he was warm and cozy and secure within the walls and better fed then he could remember being in a very long time. And yet, as he stared out his bedroom window, scanning the winter world beyond, his sixth sense was cold. He could no more sense the Phantom than he could fly, and that frustrated him.

  Was he again suffering an overload?

  When he'd first gone mind-blind after Rose's death, he'd thought it a blessing. Now, his inability to ferret out the killer left him feeling vulnerable, something that was completely alien to his nature.

  Outside movement distracted him. His gaze settled on the peacock perched atop the snowman. The colorful creature was dutifully preening, its tail fanned and appearing startlingly vibrant against the white backdrop of snow. A reflexive grin appeared at the right corner of Winston's mouth when the bird craned its neck and peered up at him. At least it seemed to be staring at him. He was relatively sure it wasn't.

  The bird released a chilling cry, not unlike that of a cat being tortured. Winston's nerves went spastic for a moment. His heart thumped wildly, painfully inside his chest. He blinked. Blinked again. The peacock stood motionless, regally poised atop the snowman's head, its fantail retracted. Intently, he watched for a long time, waiting for the bird to move again, but it stood as if frozen.

  Winston rapped sharply on the window pane with the knuckle of his right index finger. He never saw whether the bird responded, for a rap on his door caused him a start and he whirled in time to see it slowly opening. Shortly, Agnes poked her head through the gap. As soon as she spied him, she calmly entered the room and closed the door behind her.

  Apprehension swelled up inside Winston. She approached without haste, her blue gaze never wavering from his, her expression unreadable. Winston made a feeble attempt to offer a s
mile in greeting, but his facial muscles were reluctant to cooperate. When she came to a stop in front of him, he noticed her solidity was showing signs of losing its integrity. He couldn't see through her yet, but she was definitely in the process of fading. Her dark blue dress was gradually turning to shades of gray in places, and her blue irises intermittently became colorless.

  "Mr. Connery, forgive ma intrudin’ like this, but I must speak wi' you."

  He nodded. "Is it abou' the girl?"

  Agnes' shrewd gaze watched him for a time before she replied, "Aye, a bit. Maistly, I need to say ma mind abou' you and the gloom you brought into this place when you arrived."

  Frowning, Winston gave a light shrug. "Gloom? I wasn't aware ma mood or ma company was tha' bad."

  "Don’t talk around ma meanin’," she chided, scowling at him.

  Winston was hard-pressed to understand her dislike of him. "Have I said or done something to offend you?"

  She seemed surprised at this, and the scowl melted into a look of comical bewilderment. "Offend me? Are we talkin’ abou' the same thing, Mr. Connery?"

  "Please. . .Winston, and I'm no' sure."

  "I have nothin’ personally against you," she said in earnest. "Actually, I think you’re a verra nice young mon. Tis the darkness you carry inside you wha' bothers me. Tis leakin’ into the house like a foul smoke hidin’ in the shadows."

  Before he could suppress it, a laugh burst from him. He turned to the window in a bid to get himself under control, but when he noticed the bird still frozen in place, he sobered and frowned. Yesterday, he'd seen one of the boys place a peacock atop the snowman and, now that he thought about it, it hadn't moved. Had the animated bird been merely his imagination playing tricks on him?

  "Mr. Con—Winston," she corrected on a sigh, "I don’t have much time, and I would like to have ma say on this matter."