She bounded into his thoughts like a great wave crashing on the shores of his awareness. He scowled as he struck a wooden match along one of the bricks. For a moment he stared into the flickering flame then lowered it to the paper. He remained hunkered and absently watched as flames gradually engulfed the wood. Rolls of warmth swept over him. He'd always liked the smell and sounds of a roaring fire. As a child in his parents' palatial home, he often curled up in front of one of the hearths to read or daydream.
Deliah.
His scowl returned and he straightened and walked to the foot of the bed. Impatiently, he raked his fingers through his hair. He was determined not to think of her. Not to succumb to the memories of their meeting in the dream-garden, where he'd nearly made love to her.
Against his will, his body tensed. An all-too familiar tightening in his groin sparked his temper. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, and it irked him that he couldn't exorcize her from his thoughts. But what his body so readily demanded, his mind refused to accept. For all he knew, she was one of the solidly dead. Like Lachlan and Beth had been. Like Agnes remained.
The fourth dimension couldn't sustain a corporeal existence. Only the mind could visit, and that had its limitations. He was now convinced that he hadn't physically transported to her garden the first two times he had encountered her. It was all dreams. Somehow, she possessed abilities he couldn't yet fathom. But he would before he left the estate. He would know everything about her and prayed the knowledge would free him from her hold over him. If not, once he returned to work, she would become just another memory locked away in the vast storage of anomalies his mind sheltered.
Just one more anomaly. Just...one...more.
His stomach growled with more ferocity. He was about to head out of the room when he felt a strong compulsion to look out the window. Beyond the panes, he could see nothing but a curtain of thick, downy snowflakes. Gooseflesh rose up on his arms, but it was not cold-induced. Something was beckoning to him from within that falling whiteness. His mind detected soft weeping, so full of sorrow, his heart skipped a beat. He was on the verge of tears, himself, and he didn't know why, but he experienced a maddening compelling urge to soothe the person's pain.
Without understanding what motivated him, he quickly donned his shoes and tore out of the room. He ran down the stairs to the first floor, turned left and soon headed out the front doors. Winter's embrace shocked him, but he went on, snow in areas knee deep and slowing his progress. By the time he reached the rhododendrons bordering one side of the driveway, he was so cold his teeth harshly, uncontrollably, chattered. He hugged himself, but there was no warmth to be had in the gesture. His chill-burned eyes, squinted against the white glare, searched the land beyond the driveway. For long seconds, he could see nothing to warrant the beckoning, but still he could not bring himself to return to the house. The deepening sorrow was out here. It filled the air as thoroughly as did the great flakes.
And then he knew whose sorrow had reached him.
"Deliah!" he bellowed, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Deliah, where are you?"
Panic gripped him. Fear yawned within his heart like a black hole opening in space.
He trudged across the road, the effort to hurry his gait in the deep snow, causing his leg muscles to cramp in protest. When he came to the edge of the ravine, he wildly scanned the infuriating whiteness for her. She was here. Somewhere. He could hear soft, choking sobs. Then he saw her. How, he wasn't sure, for she was as snow-clad as everything else. But there she was. Sitting on the ground. Her arms about the trunk of an oak and one side of her face pressed against the rough bark.
Angry, worried and fearful, Winston started down the slope. Twice he slipped and twice his temper surfaced as he struggled back onto his feet. By the time he reached her side, he was breathing hard and his heart was hammering painfully against his He didn't touch her right away. Didn't dare to. She was hugging the tree, tears spilling down her face, sobs shuddering through her. He was in part relieved that she wasn't naked this time. She was covered with a wool blanket, but that, what he could see of her nightgown, and the fur-lined slippers loaned to her by Laura, were soaked.
"Deliah?"
"I thought I heard them call to me," she wept, hugging the tree more fiercely.
"Deliah, let me help you back into the house."
He was reaching out for her when her next words gave him pause.
"I canna bear the hurtin’, Winston. Ye know wha' I mean. The emptiness. The grievin’ for wha' canna be. Let me die here. I beg o' ye to leave me to die."
He was angered and appalled at the same time. "So life's a little tough, sometimes," he bit out sarcastically, forcefully removing her arms from about the trunk. "Quitter's never find peace, Deliah, and I'll be bloody damned if I let you lay this on ma conscience!"
"No, Winston, please!" she cried when he jerked her to her feet. "I belong wi' the oak!"
"You belong wi' me!" he shouted, then flinched when he realized the truth had surfaced, launched from the depths of his subconscious where he'd kept it hidden.
She continued to weep as he led her to the road and beyond the rhododendrons. His grip on her hand was unyielding, and he held the lead at the maximum distance their outstretched arms would permit.
He led her beyond one of the large, double, dark-stained oak doors and into the glass greenhouse. Before venturing past the bird's-eye maple doors, he pulled the blanket from her shivering body and shook the snow off it. Just beyond the second set of doors, he hung the blanket on a coatrack to his left and testily pulled her toward the staircase.
A grim-faced Agnes came from the dining room. Her hands were folded in front of her navy blue, white polka-dot dress, and her mouth was set in a fine line of disapproval. But to Winston's chagrin, the disapproval was of his impatience with Deliah and he offered the ghost a scowl.
"Agnes, would you be kind enough to bring a pot o' tea and two cups to ma room. If you're no' o' a mind, then I'll do it maself, but it'll mean the lass will be waiting on me as wet as she is."
His gruff tone caused Agnes to stiffen defiantly, but she gave a curt nod and headed down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. It was then that Deliah tugged to free her hand of his hold. Winston turned to face her, anger heightening the color in his cheeks and brightening the green of his irises.
"You've pushed enough o' ma buttons this morning," he growled low, determined not to wake the others in the house. "Give me anymore trouble and I promise you'll find yourself across ma knee and receiving the spanking o' your life!"
Before she could respond, he swept her up into his arms and began the grueling chore of negotiating the stairs to the second floor. His feet and legs were numb, giving the illusion he was precariously walking on hills of cotton. He grunted and winced throughout the journey to his room, where he eagerly placed Deliah on her feet beside his bed. He hastened to the hearth and danced from foot to foot, as if doing this somehow warmed him quicker.
"Get ou' o' your wet things and wrap yourself in one o’ the quilts," he ordered over his shoulder, his tone still laden with vexation. He kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes in the warmth emanating from the hearth. "Dammit, Deliah, be quick abou' it!"
He heard sounds behind him and knew she was complying. Shortly, she came to stand alongside him, a heavy quilt drawn about her. Winston studied her profile for a moment, his pique with her simmering just beneath the surface of his control.
"Have you anything to say to me?"
She flinched and frowned, but continued staring into the lapping flames in the hearth.
"Deliah," he issued scoldingly. "Have you anything to say about this morning’s jaunt into the cold?"
She sighed resignedly, then asked, "Wha' be a spankin’?"
Winston's jaw dropped then he clamped his mouth shut and deepened his scowl. "Are you playing wi' me, lass? Because if you are...."
"No, Winston." Her dulled blue gaze met his. "I be
curious to know wha' be a spankin’."
"Never mind," he grumbled, still hopping from one foot to the other. "Suffice it to say, it's no' pleasant."
"I see. But neither is yer constant displeasure wi' me."
"Act yer age and I wouldn't be so frustrated wi' you!"
Her eyebrows arched. "Ma age, ye say? Tell me, Winston Ian Connery, how does someone act once passin’ their third century?" Her tone became more flippant. "This spring, I be three-hundred and forty-seven. No' exactly ancient, but tis a fair livin’ I've had."
Stunned, Winston gave in to the weakness in his legs and sat hard on the floor. He watched Deliah sit beside him. Her hair, which had been beneath the blanket she'd worn outside, was dry. The sheen on the strands cascading down her front, captured the golden glow of the fire. She stared into the blaze, her expression somber, her thick, dark eyelashes dipping now and then when she blinked. A hundred questions vied to spill past his lips, but he couldn't bring himself to speak yet. Absently, he rubbed his icy feet, only dimly aware that the ache in them was finally ebbing.
"And for yer information, Winston Ian Connery," she said in a monotone, "I dinna feel the cold the way ye do. I used the blanket and Laura's boots to please ye, no' because I needed them. And wi' tha' said, I be expectin’ ye to stop naggin’ me on the issue."
"How old did you say you are?" he asked on a rushed breath.
Deliah's gaze swerved to regard him through a frown. "Are ye deaf, Winston Ian Connery, or just o' a mind to pestin’ me?"
A grin quivered on his lips. "Lass, it's a fair bet there is no such word as pesting." He laughed outright, although briefly. "But I like the word. Pesting."
"I ask ye to let me die, and ye laugh at me!"
He sobered abruptly, turned slightly on his bottom in order to face her, and leaned toward her. Capturing her chin between a thumb and forefinger, he gave it a gentle squeeze. "I don't recall laughing at you when you made tha' ridiculous plea. I don't recall finding it at all amusing."
She jerked back, breaking the physical contact between them. Winston cocked an arrogant eyebrow, further baiting her. "So, now you don't want me to touch you." He sighed with exaggeration. "Seems you can't make up your mind as to wha' you want."
"I know wha' I want, ye smug, pestin’ mon, but I'll no' forsake ma pride to have it."
Her haughty response caused him to grin again.
"Let me get this straight, Deliah, lass. First, you were the house. Then merely someone from the fourth dimension. You like snow and talk to someone named Blue. You're three hundred forty-seven years old, but don't look a day over twenty-one—and that's no' centuries. You want me and you want to die, but you have too much pride to pursue me, but no' enough pride no' to quit on life."
He shook his head and chuckled. "If you're no' a case shy o' your marbles, I'll eat ma big toe."
"Start chewin’," she fumed.
A sharp rap came at the door. As Winston rose to his feet, Agnes entered, carrying a silver tray. He met her halfway and took the tray.
"Thank you, Agnes. I'm sorry I was so short wi' you downstairs."
"Cold and wet as you were, I'm surprised you didn’t bark louder, Master Winston."
Although her words were kind and her understanding of his mood genuine, she looked troubled and wearier than anyone, alive or dead, deserved to be.
"Agnes, is there anything I can do for you?" he asked gently.
The faded blue eyes flicked to regard Deliah, who had turned her head and was watching the exchange with renewed solemnity.
"Deliah, I'd like a word wi' you, child," Agnes said, her posture rigid and her tone chilly.
"No, Aggie. I've naught to say."
"What's going on?" asked Winston.
Agnes passed him and positioned herself next to Deliah. "You promised you would consider ma request."
"Aye, Aggie," Deliah said wearily, and lowered her gaze to the fire. "I canna give ye wha' ye want, for I havena the heart to see ye go."
"Wha' right have you to deny me this?"
Winston joined the women, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown. "Wha’ request, Agnes?"
"Tha' she release me to enter the Light."
Winston placed the tray on the floor and straightened. "How can Deliah release you?"
"Stay ou' o' it, Winston."
"No, I won't, Deliah. I want to know what's going on."
"I need to join ma son," Agnes said, a quaver in her tone. "Seein’ Lannie and Miss Beth has only worsened ma achin’ for ma boy. I don’t belong here. You know tha', Master Winston, but she—" She pointed to Deliah's bent head. "—knows it mair'n maist. She keeps me here. She can free me."
"Is this true, Deliah?"
"Naught is tha' simple," Deliah murmured.
Walking around the tray, Winston crouched in front of Deliah and propped up her chin with a crooked finger. He looked deeply into her eyes, which were filling with tears. "Do you have the power to let her pass on?"
After a moment, she blinked and tears coursed down her pale cheeks. "Aye," she rasped, "but I dinna want to see her go. I beg ye, Winston, dinna push me to do this. If I die, ma energy returns to the earth. Where she wants to go is so verra far away. We would lose all o' her, and tis a waste ma heart canna bear."
Winston positioned himself on his knees then rested his buttocks on his heels. He stared up at Agnes, scanning, reading her with the extent of his ability, then sadly lowered his gaze to Deliah's face. She looked so pitiful, he nearly pulled her into his arms. Nearly kissed away her pain. Nearly told her he would side with whatever decision she made. But for Agnes' sake, he couldn't do anything but speak from the core of his logic.
"It's cruel to force her to remain if she doesn't want to, Deliah."
Her tears came faster and her chin quivered. The misery ravaging her features brought a mist of tears to his eyes, but he fought them back.
"Is it true you're the one keeping her here?" he asked. Using his thumbs, he wiped aside the wetness on her cheeks. "Is it, Deliah?"
A chocked sob escaped her and she nodded.
Winston looked up at Agnes. She was no longer hostile, but caught up in the emotional moment. "Agnes, do you really want to cross over?"
She nodded. "I'm no' needed here." She knelt to Deliah's other side and placed a shaky hand on the young woman's right shoulder. "Child, perhaps I'm selfish wantin’ to be wi' ma son, but I wasn’t a verra good mither durin’ his life. I can’t be wi' the lads wi’ou' rememberin’ ma Borgie at their ages, and the ache I've carried in ma heart will no' ease these days."
Deliah swiftly turned and buried her face in Agnes' bosom. She wept hard, repeating, "Aggie, Aggie," while Agnes wrapped one thin arm about the quilt-clad quivering form, and stroked the back of Deliah's head.
"Hush, lass," Agnes soothed, her tone laced with tears. "It’s good I will be missed. I'll live on in yer memories. It's our way."
After a moment, Deliah's weeping diminished. With her face still against Agnes, she managed, "I'll grant ye yer wish, but I tell ye now, I'll miss ye mair'n words can say."
A smile glowed on Agnes' wrinkled face as she passed Winston a look of profound gratitude. To Deliah, she asked, "When can I leave?"
Drawing in a ragged breath, Deliah pulled away from Agnes and searched the beloved visage. "This eve, Aggie, when the moon is governin’ Baird land. Twill be the proper time, and time enough for ye to tell the ithers o' yer decision." When skepticism shadowed the wrinkled features, Deliah added, "Ye have ma word, I willna change ma mind."
Agnes planted a brief kiss on Deliah's brow then, offering Winston a nod, she stood and left the room, closing the door behind her. No sooner was she out of sight than Deliah buried her face in her hands and wept from the depths of her sorrow.
At first, Winston didn't know what to do. He settled on the floor at her back, placed his bent legs to each side of her, and eased her against him. His arms folded across her front as her head reclined to his left shoulder, and he absently ki
ssed her crown, then nestled one cheek against its softness.
For a time they gazed into the fire. Forgotten was the tea. When at last the last tear and the last shudder left Deliah, she snuggled closer to him and released a long, woeful sigh.
"You're doing the right thing," he told her.
"Am I?" She sighed again, this one possessing hitches. "Then why do I feel so empty?
"Would you feel better watching her suffer?"
"No."
For a time they sat in silence, watching flames curtain the remains of the logs in their lapping ascent up the chimney. No extraneous thoughts intruded Winston's mind. He felt oddly serene and at peace in his surroundings. His stomach growled now and then, but he couldn't bring himself to release Deliah. It felt too natural to hold her. His arms were at home encircling her. It was as if they were long time lovers who had shared more than an embrace, cuddling.
A door to his subconscious he would have preferred remained locked, opened, and caused him to scowl as a vivid memory surfaced. At first, he tried to will it back into the dark recesses of his mind, but it grew persistently brighter on his mindscreen.
"You took me to another place, besides your gardens," he said. No rancor colored his tone, although he still cringed at the thought of that stonish hell. He was merely curious, now, why she would have transported him to such a dark, menacing chamber.
"Anither place?" she repeated drowsily. "Wha' be tha'?"
"Dungeonlike. There was a mon standing at an altar—"
She stiffened against him. "Twas no' ma doin’."
"How did I get there, then?"
Seconds passed before she said, "Tell me mair abou' this place. All ye can remember."
He started with how he'd been sitting at the dining room table with Roan, Laura and the boys. As he was nearing the end of his story, he was highly sensitized to the tension throbbing through her body.
"...then I returned. I thought perhaps I'd nodded off, but it was too real to be a dream."
"Somehow ye went to the past," she murmured, and shivered.
He cuddled her closer to him. "I've been in the cellar."
"Twas afore Baird House was built."
Love Everlastin' Book 3 Page 15