Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

  These two factors should have convinced him that anything more was possible, and yet....

  Beth's cries and moans followed them into the library. Winston closed the pocket doors behind him then stood guardlike with his arms folded against his chest. He was at a lost what to do, what to say, but saw that he was in better shape than Roan, who stood at the stoked fireplace with his back to the others.

  Lachlan placed Alby on his feet and shakily instructed the boys to sit on the sofa. They did so without hesitation, three pair of awe-filled eyes glued to Lachlan.

  "Roan?" Lachlan cut Winston a glance before again staring at the back of Roan's bent head. "Roan, say somethin’. At least tell me how you brought us back."

  The current laird's shoulders twitched beneath his wool shirt. After a moment, he turned. Devastation was deeply carved in his ashen face, and a mist of tears was visible in his eyes. Winston hadn't intended to link with the emotions in the room, but he found he was and unable to purge himself of their overwhelming influence. Each of the boys were experiencing different levels of elation. Their favorite ghosts were back and they weren't concerned with the hows and the whys. Lachlan was terrified, but of what Winston wasn't sure.

  He couldn't bring himself to delve into the man's psyche, for he already felt he knew too much. Roan perplexed him the most. He watched him with increasing concern. No thoughts came through, but Winston was sure Roan was on the verge of emotionally shutting down, withdrawing into himself. To hide away from his fear of having to grieve for his friends all over again.

  "Laddie," Lachlan said softly to Roan, his hands opening and closing into fists at his sides. "I'm confused and scared and needin’ confirmation tha' this is all no' ma bloody imagination havin’ its way wi' me. Has ma mind dropped into the lap o' the devil himself, or is this real?"

  Roan remained silent and Lachlan's face reddened with anger. "Fegs, answer me!"

  "Don't yell at my uncle," Kevin said to Lachlan, his eyebrows drawn down in a scowl, and his chin quivering as he spoke.

  Lachlan fondly searched each of the young faces. "Sorry, lads. Tis...tis all so confusin’ to me."

  Lachlan's head shot around when Roan abruptly walked toward him and stopped half an arm's length away. Winston gauged their building emotions. He was half convinced he should place himself between the two men, act as referee, but an inner voice told him to stay put and observe, nothing more.

  Silence prevailed for a time. The air in the room grew thick and oppressive with anticipation. Lachlan's broad chest pumped beneath his full-sleeved white shirt, while Roan's broader chest revealed his breathing was shallow, overly controlled. Then Roan lifted his right hand and held it poised in the air for several seconds before placing it on Lachlan's left shoulder. Lachlan's right hand likewise settled on Roan's left shoulder. More time passed. Only the crackling fire could be heard.

  "Then, "How did you do it?" Lachlan whispered, a quavering element in his voice.

  "Ye're really here," Roan said, his numb state holding fast. "You...you feel and look and...smell the same, you old mon."

  A grin cracked through the tension in Lachlan's face. "Aye, you, too, laddie. So, how did you bring us back?"

  Roan numbly shook his head and unconsciously kneaded Lachlan's shoulder. "I didn't. You just showed up. Popped in. Did one o' yer...materializin’ acts."

  "No, laddie," said Lachlan unsteadily. "We were brought back as surely as the sun rises every morn." His voice cracked and he drew in a throbbing breath. "Fegs, this is too weird, even for me."

  Roan's breathing accelerated. For a split second, Winston was prepared to lunge forward and separate the man, but his belief that his host was about to snap, proved wrong. Roan suddenly flung his arms around Lachlan and repeatedly clapped him on the back. Choked sounds emanated from both men, the boys started weeping, and Winston, much to his chagrin, was so choked up, he had to gulp air into his lungs in a bid to ward back tears. They came nonetheless, and he swiped them away before anyone could witness them.

  "Lannie, Lannie," Roan said, in a voice caught between a laugh and a sob. "Damn me, I can't believe ye’re here! How many times—" He pulled back and almost roughly framed Lachlan's face between his large hands. "—will I have to say goodbye before you stay dead?"

  A strange expression softened Lachlan's features as he stepped out of Roan's grasp. He looked as if Roan had emotionally wounded him. As if he wanted to crawl into a hole and hide from the world.

  "I just arrived," said Lachlan in a low tone. "Dinna worry abou' yer position here. I've no inten—"

  "Och!" Roan laughed, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Lannie, I was jokin’!" He lowered his hands and offered a genuine grin. "We're all feelin’ a wee tense, but I couldn't be happier to see you!"

  Lachlan glanced at the boys, at Winston then lowered his gaze to his hands as they brushed aside imaginary lint on his tight-fitting black pants. "This dinna feel right, Roan. Beth..." His troubled gaze lifted to solemnly regard Roan. "Pregnant? I dinna remember much abou' where we were, but I would think I would remember makin’ a baby wi' ma womon."

  Trenching the fingers of his left hand through the top of his shoulder-length, dark auburn hair, Lachlan walked to the fireplace and picked up the wrought-iron poker. For a short time he prodded the burning logs then turned to face his companions, his dark eyebrows drawn down in a frown.

  "Poof, we're back, and we're havin’ us a wee one. And I'm feelin’ no uncanny. No' maself." He glanced down at himself, then lifted the pointed end of the poker and began to rap it against his left palm. "Ma skin feels tight and there's buzzin’ goin’ round and round in ma head. I dinna know wha' to do."

  As he went on, he struck himself a little harder in the palm with each word. "I canna be a faither. Wha' possible use could I be to a child, bein’ dead as I am? Fegs! This shouldna be happenin’. The ither side is forever! If I dinna get answers soon—"

  He released a guttural cry and stared down at his left palm in horror. The poker fell from the other hand and struck the floor by his black booted feet.

  "Lannie?" Roan probed, but didn't move.

  Winston went to Lachlan and looked down at the leveled palm. A pool of blood filled it. Lachlan's face turned as white as a sheet.

  "Kevin, fetch me a clean towel, please," Winston instructed the boy.

  Roan stepped to Winston's side and, seeing the blood welling up in the injured palm, redirected, "Kevin, bring the first aid kit. And hurry."

  Kahl joined his brother and they sped out of the room.

  "Lannie, ye’re...bleedin’," Roan murmured sickly.

  Lachlan side-stepped around the two men and walked to the back of the sofa. All the while, he held up the palm which had been cut with the poker tip, staring in stark disbelief at the vivid redness.

  "It hurts," Lachlan breathed, his dark eyes searching the men as if expecting them to come up with a simple explanation. "Blood. Tis no' ghostly blood."

  "No," said Winston.

  A strangled chortle escaped Lachlan. "I canna see through it."

  "No," said Winston.

  "And ma hand—ma arm—pains me!"

  Winston nodded. "You injured yourself," he said simply.

  A comical almost rueful expression fell over Lachlan's face. "Injured maself, you say? Och! How can a ghost injure himself?"

  Winston swallowed past the growing tightness in his throat then locked eyes with Roan. At first the man looked at him in puzzlement, then gradually with incredulity.

  "You mean....?" Roan croaked.

  Winston nodded, and Roan turned an astonished look at Lachlan. "Ma God."

  "Wha'? Wha'!" Lachlan shouted, angry that he couldn't grasp what was seemingly understood between the two other men.

  "Roan, I think it best you let me talk to him," said Winston. "Keep the boys away for a time, okay?"

  Nodding, Roan headed for the hall. "I'll be ou' here if you need me," he said to Winston, but his gaze was fixed on Lachlan.


  When Roan was out of sight, Lachlan scowled at Winston. "Wha' is it you think you know?"

  "Your hand. Wha' does the wound tell you?"

  Lachlan watched several drops of blood fall between his fingers to the floor. "Fegs. Tis still bleedin’."

  "Lachlan."

  The former laird's head shot up and he dealt Winston a fierce look of denial. "Tis tellin’ me it hurts like bloody hell!" he roared, the injured hand trembling. "Ghosts dinna bleed! And ghosts dinna feel real pain, only experience remembered pain!"

  Winston sighed. "Lachlan, I don't know how, but you and Beth have been given back yer lives. The psychic contrails tha' connected you and Roan—"

  "The wha'?"

  "—are gone. You're alive, Lachlan Baird. You and Beth and your—"

  Lachlan burst into a heated tirade in Gaelic then concluded, "You're bughouse daft, mon!"

  "No," Winston said kindly, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips. "Welcome to the twentieth century, Lachlan. Your new life begins today."

  Breathing heavily, erratically, Lachlan repeatedly shook his head. "I dinna ask to be brought back. I dinna want a new life!" He trembled violently, tears streaming down his ashen face. "Ma life was tha' o' a ghost, a bloody spirit, and no' aught else!"

  "You were once a mon."

  "No! He hasna existed for a verra long time, and I dinna want him to return! Lachlan Baird, laird o’ Kist House, is who I am!"

  "When you've had time to adjust—"

  Agnes materialized, giving both Winston and Lachlan a start. Her expression was surprisingly guarded, her posture stiff, almost hostile. To Lachlan, she said, "Beth is doin’ just fine. You’re the proud parents o' twins. A girl and a boy. Both healthy."

  Winston shrewdly observed Lachlan, who stood frozen in shock and denial. The man's emotions rolled over Winston like great, dark storm waves.

  "I canna be a faither," Lachlan rasped, again shaking his head.

  Agnes primly folded her hands in front of her. Then her gaze fell upon the bloody hand and she abruptly closed the distance and gripped Lachlan's wrist between her cool, bony hands. Winston wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't the flash of rage he glimpsed in her eyes.

  "No!" she cried, releasing him as if the contact had burned her. "It can’t be ye're alive again!"

  "I'm no'," Lachlan whispered. "I'm...no'. Canna be. Canna be."

  "Wha' abou' ma Borgie?" she asked, desperation taking the heated edge from her tone. "Where is he?"

  Lachlan shrugged helplessly. "I dinna know. Dinna remember much, right now."

  Agnes backed away several paces. Except in the faces of killers, Winston had never seen such raw fury. "If you and Beth could come back, why no' ma Borgie? Why no' ma Borgie?" She quaked, her fists clenched at her sides. "Why no' ma boy, Lannie? Where is he? Wha' he did wasna so awful he shouldna get a second chance!"

  "Aggie...." Lachlan's throat closed off with tears, preventing him from talking.

  "Damn you, Lannie," she gritted out, her eyes seeming too large for their sockets. "Damn you! You've been given it all, haven’t you? Yer life. Yer womon. Now...a son and daughter. All I ever really had was ma son. Where is he?"

  Numbly, Lachlan shook his head.

  With a wail of grief, Agnes vanished, her voice lingering eerily in the room for several seconds.

  Roan lethargically entered, his shoulders slumped, his eyes bright with tears as he stared at Lachlan. "I sent the lads upstairs." He swallowed convulsively. "I heard Aggie. So, you're a faither. Congratulations, Lannie."

  Lachlan briefly glanced at Winston, then stared down at his still trembling palm. A rattling wheeze escaped him. He swayed. Corrected himself and heaved a liquid sigh. Grew paler. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward.

  Spread-eagle on the hardwood floor, an unconscious Lachlan Baird found escape from reality.

  Roan and Winston knelt on each side of him, Winston gesturing for Roan not to touch him. "Let him rest. We'll get his hand bandaged and try to get our wits abou' us before he comes around."

  "He and Beth are real? Back for good?"

  Winston nodded.

  "Sweet Jesus," Roan murmured.

  * * *

  Beth felt herself sinking deeper into the mattress and pillows as she watched Laura leave with her sleeping son. It had been a strange day, a long and hectic day, and only now did she dare to think.

  Beyond the open drapes, night had fallen and a valance of stars could be seen twinkling against the darkness. How many hours had passed she didn't know, but she'd breast-fed the twins three times already. She was exhausted, yet wired with energy. She was deliriously happy and excited, yet profoundly miserable.

  Mostly, she was scared.

  The familiar coziness of the hearth-lit room helped to soothe her frayed nerves, but it also perpetuated her unspoken fear that she was caught up in a very real dream, one that would break her heart when she awakened and realized she would never see her adopted home again except while in a state of slumber, and she would certainly never be a mother.

  Lachlan, where are you?

  A burning sensation filled her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. She attributed these to remembrances, because of course she couldn't cry anymore. Tears were for the living.

  But where was Lachlan? He was in the dream before she'd given birth....

  In some ways, she wished she could awaken and return to their existence in—

  A shuddering breath escaped her when she realized she couldn't remember much about the afterlife. Elusive images fluttered at the perimeter of her mind.

  She closed her eyes but for a moment while she relented to a yawn. When she opened them, she was startled to see a figure standing at one of the windows. For just a split second, Beth thought she was looking at Cousin It, a character from the Addams Family. Then she realized it had to be a woman with unusually long hair.

  Abruptly, the figure turned and approached Beth's bedside. She was young, perhaps in her early to mid-twenties, and beautiful. As the woman gracefully seated herself to Beth's left, Beth couldn't tear her gaze from her features. Beautiful wasn't the right word, Beth told herself. The heart-shaped face had an angelic quality. Soft, innocent, and timeless.

  "Can I fetch ye somethin’ from the kitchen?" she asked, smiling at Beth. "I canna cook, but I can bring ye some fruit or some o' Laura's fine muffins wi' a slatherin’ o' Aggie's jam. I fingered one jar o' strawberry empty, I did, and I can vouch tis grand, grand stuff."

  Beth chuckled. "No, I don't want anything, thank you."

  The stranger sighed while her vivid blue gaze boldly searched Beth's features.

  "Who are you?"

  "Deliah," she said without hesitation, and smiled again. "I be Deliah."

  A smile glowed on Beth's face. The young woman was definitely strange, but she liked the strangeness. "Have you been here long?" When Deliah glanced about the room, Beth amended, "In Baird House."

  "Verra long."

  The answer perplexed Beth then she pondered the reality of those dreams before asking, "Have we ever met before?"

  Deliah's slim, winged eyebrows jutted upward. "In wha' way met?"

  Again, the response baffled Beth. Another yawn escaped her, making her eyes water. "I was just thinking what a real dream this is, and why someone I don't know, should be in it."

  "No, Beth, tis no' a dream." Deliah frowned prettily, the blue of her eyes brightening despite her shadowed features. "I brought ye and Lachlan home. Tis where ye both belong."

  "You?"

  For several seconds, Beth held her breath. Then she realized she was kneading the bed quilt. She could feel the cotton and wool fibers. Real enough. She could smell the wood burning in the hearth. Again, real enough. She could feel a slight cool draft across her face. Real enough.

  "Beth, I have a story to tell ye."

  For nearly half an hour, Beth numbly listened to the young woman's account of her life on the Baird land, and how she came to be in the
house. When she finished, Beth couldn't respond right away. Her mind was churning at a maddening speed. Doubts and belief warred inside her skull. Then, in barely a whisper, she stated, "That's impossible."

  An endearing grin spread across Deliah's mouth. "No mair impossible than returnin’ from the dead," she said, with such calm logic, Beth blinked in bewilderment. "Beth, I be truthful in all matters."

  "But...."

  Her eyes sparkling mischievously, Deliah wagged a chiding finger. "No buts. We be wha' we be."

  "Can't you tell me how you accomplished our return? Deliah, do you really have that kind of power?"

  Seconds passed while Deliah thought through her response. Finally, she sighed and shrugged her small shoulders. "Tis no' power in the way ye mean. Beth, remember the night ye carried Viola off into the heavens?"

  A chill passed through Beth and she nodded.

  "Just afore tha' ye were inside the wall, tryin’ to work up the courage to leave Lachlan behind. Ye were fiercely scared o' wha' the afterlife was like, but ye knew ye had no choice but to get her away from the house. I remember wishin’ at tha' time, I were ye, and had yer kind o' courage."

  Tearfully, Beth murmured, "I had no choice. She would have eventually killed the boys."

  "Aye, and ye were scared for Lachlan's soul." Gently, Deliah clasped Beth's left hand between her own. "Ma kind canna harm a livin’ thing, Beth, nor interfere wi' the spirit o' a human. MoNae has strict rules and, although I be lost from ma people, I must abide. I couldna stop Viola, and I couldna stop ye from removin’ her from Baird land. But I could and did connect ye and Lachlan to me and Roan wi' somethin’ akin to an umbilical cord. Ye were never completely in the afterlife, but in a plane atween the two worlds."

  "Why?"

  Deliah lowered her gaze to her hands. "I didna know wha' else to do."

  "If this is all real, why now?"

  Almost reluctantly, Deliah met Beth's troubled gaze. "The returnin’ was meant to be slow, Beth. Winston—"