Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

  "The psychic cop—agent—whatever he is?"

  "Aye. I couldna keep the knowin’ from him too long. He has his own energy o' sorts and it worked against mine. Whenever Roan spoke sadly o' yer and Lachlan's leavin’, Winston unconsciously reached ou' wi' his mind to connect wi' ye." She sighed wistfully. "Each time he did, he weakened ma connection. I had no choice but to initiate yer return afore it became too late and the ither side took ye."

  "We were dead, Deliah."

  "Only yer shells."

  Beth wearily massaged her throbbing temples for a time. "I'm confused."

  "Aye. Little wonder. Nature is energy, Beth. Energy is life."

  "And?"

  Beth's skepticism elicited a low laugh from Deliah. "And earth magic has no wee boundaries. Ye and Lachlan were buried by an oak, grantin’ me the ability to store yer essences in the precious roots."

  "What about Carlene and her husband?"

  "They died away from Baird land. Beth? Can I ask ye somethin’?"

  "Sure."

  Deliah glanced up at the door, a look of odd rapture on her face. "Wha' be it like to birth a child?" She cut her gaze back to Beth. "No' the pain, for I nearly left the room I so hurt wi' ye. But right efter, you werena hurtin’, Beth. Ye were...I canna grasp wha' ye were feelin’."

  "Exhilaration, I think."

  "Exhilaration."

  Beth nodded and then a flood of tears filled her eyes and spilled unchecked from the outer corners. "This is not a dream, Deliah? Lachlan and I are back? Alive and parents?"

  "Aye," said Deliah, obviously perplexed by Beth's tears. "Are ye no' happy?"

  Beth nodded. A sob caught in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Lachlan. Where is he, Deliah? Is he...alive...too?"

  "Aye, o' course."

  "Where is he?" Beth asked anxiously. "Has he seen the babies?"

  Deliah sadly shook her head. "He be no' farin’ as weel as ye, Beth. In his mind, he still be dead. He existed longer as a spirit than ever as a mon."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Tis difficult for him now, Beth. In time, he will remember the ways o' a mon—a livin’ mon. Roan and Winston will see him through the tryin’ times to come."

  "You don't understand, Deliah. We love each other. I should be all he needs. And his children—"

  "Beth," Deliah interrupted in a hushed tone, "twas no' a mon ye fell in love wi', but the energy o' wha' had been a mon. This Lachlan will be a wee different."

  Warily, Beth asked, "How different?"

  Deliah offered a shrug. "Hard to say. Males are o' a strange mind, even among ma kind. Tis why we females control the balance."

  "We do?"

  Deliah laughed. "Aye, but tis a never-endin’ task, it is." She sobered and leaned closer to Beth. "Beth, be kind to him durin’ his newness. I've been wi' Lachlan since afore his dyin’. I connected wi' him to have a sense o' bein’ alive maself."

  "Was he ever aware of you being here?"

  "No. Whenever he tapped into ma energy to sustain his spirit life, he thought it to be somethin’ wi’in himself. I didna mind, though. Through him, I was able to feel again. Too long afore him, I had naught but darkness and despair. Ma kind have never known loneliness. Never understood the meanin’ o' solitude. But I do and hope to never know it again."

  Beth remained quiet for a long time, wrapped in a gauzy shroud of dreaminess she was unwilling to leave. She wasn't sure how she felt about being alive again. Unquestionably, she should be ecstatic with joy and counting her blessings. But she remained a little more than frightened. She didn't have God to thank for her present condition, but this incredible being called Deliah.

  "Beth?"

  Beth realized her mind was slipping away into a realm of escape when Deliah's voice penetrated the barriers. Sighing deeply, she sharpened her focus on the young woman and managed a somewhat wan smile.

  "Thank you," she said simply, but the huskiness of her tone relayed the depths of her gratitude. And when Deliah gave a single nod, and Beth's eyes again filled with tears, she added, "Are you remaining in Baird House?"

  The young woman's face shadowed further with a look akin to fear. "If I be sent away, Beth, I will die."

  This time Beth reached out and clasped the smaller hand. "No one will ever force you from this house. You have my word on that."

  Deliah nodded sadly and lightly bit into her lower lip. "Beth, promise me you'll no' tell anyone wha' I am."

  "Why?"

  Deliah adamantly shook her head. "The men will no' understand. Beth, do promise me this, and I'll never ask ye anither favor!"

  Again seconds passed in silence. Both women looked at each other, a strange yet magical bond rapidly forming between them, and not one induced by magic itself. Finally, Beth scooted up in a sitting position. She ached and was suddenly tired and more than a little weary, but she was curious about this woman and didn't want to end their talk just yet.

  "You know, when I first came to this house, Deliah, I had no idea just how lonely I was. I had no identity, and certainly no concept of my worth. It took this house, Lachlan, and dying to find myself."

  "I dinna understand."

  "Deliah, don't be afraid of who or what you are."

  "Tis easy for a human to belong here," Deliah murmured, misery throbbing in her tone. "Wha' I be is o' the earth. Tis shameful for ma kind to exist as I am now."

  "Why shameful?"

  Deliah lowered her head. Her magnificent hair closed about her like a curtain of satin. "I have no ring o' passage. Ma brither stole our faither's to enter again and again this world and, in doin’ so, caused a catastrophe tha' wiped ou' ma family, ma clan, ma kingdom althegither."

  "They're all dead?"

  "Aye." She lifted her head and lethargically brushed her hair back from her face. "Be any alive, they would have searched for me. We dinna abandon our people. No...they be gone and I am here because I hid so deeply in the roots, the evil ones couldna find me. Aye, I hid so deeply, I lost maself."

  "You're not alone here, Deliah. There's no reason why you can't live a normal life."

  A mist of tears brightened the blue eyes sadly searching Beth's face. "Tis no' enough to live. Wi’ou' Winston...."

  "You're in love with him?"

  Deliah nodded. "From the first he set foot on Baird land." She sighed and it throbbed with tears. "I've never seen a mair beautiful mon, Beth. He makes ma heart feel so achy."

  With a low chuckle, Beth nodded. "I know that feeling, believe me."

  "Aye, I know ye do." A delicate, almost shy smile graced Deliah's face. "But Lachlan loved ye afore ye came here, Beth. Winston, now...weel, he's no' a mon to love easily, and I fear, no' a mon who will accept ma differentness. Afore I left the waitin’ realm, I had a plan. Twas to make him love me afore we met—in the flesh, so to say. But I didna have the time I thought and, since ma arrival, he's no' been verra happy wi' me."

  "Why?"

  "Weel, he think me childish because I love the winter so. I canna tell him how new this is for me. He would never understand tha', I can tell you! And he has this problem wi' me removin’ ma clothes. Beth, there are times these garments are too bindin’. When I want to experience cold, I want to feel it all over ma body! Wouldna you?"

  Beth laughed. "I can see his point, though. People don't usually strip in freezing weather."

  "Why no'? It feels grand, Beth. Verra grand!"

  "Humans can catch cold. Get sick. I think he was concerned for your health."

  Dawning glowed on Deliah's face. "He's worried abou' me, is he? Tha's grand, aye? Twould mean he cares a wee, whether he chooses to admit it or no'."

  Beth nodded.

  "Ah, Beth, I want wi' all ma bein’ for him to love me. But there be so many reasons he shouldna want me at all."

  "Your differentness shouldn't matter."

  A sob caught in Deliah's throat and she rolled her tear-filled eyes heavenward for a moment. "I canna give him children, and I dinna think
I could ever be enough to fill his life."

  "I'm sorry, Deliah, but there are a lot of human couples who can't have children. It's best you tell him everything. Give him the chance to decide for himself."

  "I know him too weel," Deliah whispered, "and he wants a family. I can only offer maself."

  A warm, understanding smile softened Beth's lovely features. "Don't sell yourself short. Love has its own special kind of magic."

  Deliah swiped a hand beneath her moist nose and straightened back her shoulders. "Aye, so it does. Thank ye, Beth. Tis so nice to actually talk to ye."

  Again Beth laughed. "Strange but definitely grand, kiddo."

  Deliah stood and flipped her hair behind her. "You’re lookin’ a wee tired. I should go and let ye rest. But Beth, call me at any time. Twill be an honor to help ye in any way I can, especially wi' the babies. They are maist wondrous!"

  "Thanks, Deliah, and I'll need all the help I can get, believe me. I haven't exactly prepared myself for motherhood."

  "Tis true, but the babes are fortunate to have ye for a mither."

  "Deliah?"

  "Aye?"

  "If you see Lachlan...."

  Deliah smiled warmly. "Aye, I'll have a talk wi' him. Just be patient. Remember, he be but a mon, and men can be a wee slow in adjustin’ to wha' be strange to them."

  "Hmm, how true. Especially Lachlan."

  "Especially him. No' a mair complex mon in the world, I dare say."

  Chapter 8

  By the end of the second week following Lachlan and Beth's return, the occupants of the house were as tightly strung as steel springs. It continued to snow. The record-breaking cold could have been responsible for the strained temperaments of all, but in truth it was the uncertainty of their futures. Winter lagging into spring and cabin fever only enhanced the sour dispositions.

  On four occasions, Winston and Roan walked into town for groceries, bottles, diapers, blankets, and infant clothing. Although they had first tried to unbury Winston's car, which remained stuck on the roadside, then Roan's, both tasks proved futile. The long walks had been more exhausting than either man had imagined, but they'd sweetened the bitter cold, grueling journeys with stops at Shortby's for well-deserved pints of ale. There were few patrons during each visit, but the two men hadn't entered the establishment to socialize. They had barely spoken to each other, and just downed enough beer to satisfy their needy taste buds and their bellies before returning to the seemingly close confines of Baird House.

  Although the boys were the least edgy these days, they were tired of the indoors. They fine-tuned their plan until each was relatively certain the next boogeyman wouldn't escape their efforts. They were sure there was one, too. Each one reported to his siblings of someone standing over them while they slept in their beds. Of stealthy movements and rustling sounds between the walls. The boys pretty much ignored the cranky adults. On the surface it appeared they were on their best behavior, with a tantrum thrown in now and then so the adults didn't suspect what they were really up to in their rooms, and the adults remembered there were more than just the babies to take care of in the attention department.

  Roan was disgruntled a good deal of the time. With Laura spending most of her days and nights helping Beth with the babies, the boys avoiding him, Lachlan seeking solitude, and Winston being too intense these days to be much company, he was feeling left out and abandoned, and was getting damned tired of sleeping alone.

  Lachlan spent most of his time either in the library or in the attic, anywhere he could avoid people, especially Beth. His hand was almost healed, but every time he accidentally struck it or gripped something too tightly, he was reminded he was again capable of experiencing real pain. He repeatedly told himself he couldn't be alive. He'd existed dead far longer than his years prior to being walled up in the tower and left to bleed to death by Robert Ingliss and Lachlan's treacherous bride, Tessa. The spirit form was the more real to him. The grayness was the truer resting place, not slumber. Something as natural as a bowel movement was enough to distress him, enough to make him withdraw into himself ever deeper.

  Encountering Agnes on three occasions had not helped to ease his confusion. She refused to say anything to him, but then, she didn't have to. He could read her disappointment, her anger, and her burgeoning grief over her separation from her son, in her watery blue eyes. He and Agnes had not had a refined or amicable relationship during most of the years she'd taken care of the house. But toward the end, shortly before last Christmas Eve, they had grown fond of each other and united for Roan, Laura and the boys' sakes. It was all lost. Whenever she looked at him now, he wanted to hide. Wanted to scream that it wasn't his fault he was alive, and Borgie wasn't. So Lachlan found solace in his Scotch. Found warmth, forgetfulness and forgiveness in the amber liquid, and kept to himself until he could sort through his alternatives for the future. He couldn't bring himself to worry about Beth or his babies. Until he came to terms with his life, he was no good to anyone.

  Winston also preferred solitude. Unlike the others, he didn't have the privilege of wallowing in self-pity. His psychic core had been under assault since the miraculous return of the previous laird and his American lady. He was enduring more and more extraneous levels and degrees of emotions, and it was all he could do to keep his own close to the surface. He remained in his room most of the time. Reading was futile. His brain was not willing to accept fiction, not when so much was happening beneath the multi-rooftops of this house. Sleeping was fatiguing. In lieu of his own dreams, he unwittingly tripped into the others' nightmares. Night after night, all but the babies spent their slumber in tormenting dreams. Laura's mostly involved varying creatures trapping her in the basement, creatures part human, part assorted animals. She would always awaken just as she was about to be ripped apart by their claws and teeth.

  Roan's nightmares involved falling off high places, from the tower to unknown cliffs. Each time, he would stand at an edge, fighting for balance, but pitching into air, and he would scream throughout the descent until, at the moment before crashing, he would bolt up, awake.

  Beth's dreams altered between two very different themes. In one, her mother would be climbing out of soft earth covering her grave, and she would be condemning Beth for letting her suffer as long as she had. In the other, a dark silhouette would hold her babies, one in each arm, and the figure would be sliding backward away from her, backward into infinite darkness, while Beth wept for her babies to be returned. The latter distressed Winston the most. Probably, he reasoned, because the infants were so helpless.

  Lachlan often dreamt of his headstone and just that. Intermittently, the date depicting his death would become a wavering question mark. A winking, blinking, taunting question mark. In the same way some feared death, Lachlan feared life. It was the greater unknown and, in a bizarre way, Winston could identify with the man's feelings to a certain degree. Life was fraught with uncertainty and the knowing that eventually the end would come. But in death, Lachlan hadn't feared an ending, only a continuance without his Beth. In death he would have forsaken anything to be with her. In life, insecurity created a vast wall he couldn't bring himself to scale.

  Kevin mostly dreamt of snakes. Fat, huge snakes, which covered him in his bed, and wouldn't let him go to the bathroom. Sometimes Winston wondered why snakes. It seemed a horrendous nightmare, especially one as repetitive as this one, for a boy of eight.

  Kahl dreamt of headless dolls pursuing him, and of Alby being lost within walls of fire, in which Kahl tried to enter to find his youngest sibling. The dolls Winston couldn't evaluate, but the fire was understandable. The boys had nearly been victims to Viola Cooke's diabolical plot to burn them in the house, then offer their spirits as a ready-made family for Lachlan. Something Beth couldn't give him at the time.

  Alby's nightmares were the most benign, although still scary to him. He would be sitting in a small clearing in a jungle, where animated toy animals threatened to bite him. Often Alby wept in his sl
eep, as did the other boys. Sometimes, Winston went to them and remained sitting on their beds until the nightmares passed.

  But of them all, Deliah's were the most disturbing. She was always alone and always in darkness. Sometimes weeping. Sometimes silent. Sometimes calling out his name. He couldn't sense anything threatening her. Not extraneous, anyway. Her true terror came from within herself, a void she couldn't fill, an emptiness that grew ever wider with every dream. Each dawn, he told himself he needed to delve more into her mysteries. He knew without doubt she was the nymph from the fourth dimension. She was not the house, but she was somehow connected to it. However, day after day past and he found it easier to avoid her. His subconscious knew why, but his consciousness wasn't ready to open that door yet.

  Winston was relatively certain the weather and the endless confinement were mostly responsible for the frayed nerves in Baird House. Little did he know that the turbulent emotions of the others blocked out another's dreams. Dreams of stalking women and ending their lives. Dreams of ending the world of its begetters.

  * * *

  The peafowls' shrill advent of a new dawn, again awakened Winston. Groggily, he slipped from the bed and padded barefoot across the cold floor. He relieved himself in the bathroom, washed up, brushed his teeth, shaved and combed his hair. More awake now, he donned a pair of Roan's jeans, dark woolen socks, and a heavy blue jersey. His stomach growled as he re-entered the bedroom. Another squall rent the air and he muttered a curse at the birds. If he lived in this house the rest of his life, he would never get used to the bone-chilling cries of those pests.

  As he stacked logs and scrunched newspaper on the iron dog in the hearth, he thought about his decision to leave Baird House once the weather permitted. Last night, while lying awake, he realized there was nothing for him here. He wasn't even sure anymore what he'd been looking for and why he'd thought he could find it in this house. He no longer morbidly dwelled on Rose's fate, and he no longer was opposed to returning to work at the Shields Agency. All he'd really needed was a vacation.

  Deliah.