Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

Laura nodded. "He's hurt more than angry."

  Nodding, Lachlan sighed then a gleam of mischief came alive in his eyes. "I could bring him a fine bottle o' Scotch. We did our best bondin’ over a flute or two."

  Laura rolled her eyes. "If you must. Just don't get drunk."

  "No. Laura?"

  "What?"

  "I canna thank you enough for this."

  "You don't owe me anything, Lachlan. We're family and always will be."

  With a husky moan of appreciation, Lachlan drew her into his arms and hugged her. "You're a grand lass, Laura." He released her and playfully clipped her beneath the chin. "Scotch it is."

  "I mean it about not getting drunk. Beth might break the bottle over your head."

  "Ouch," he chuckled, "and tha' she would." He crossed his heart with his right hand. "You have ma word I'll be on ma best behavior."

  "Welcome back, Lannie," she smiled and, taking him by the hand, led him out of the carriage house.

  * * *

  Kevin let loose with a fistful of flour toward Winston, who was sitting at the small table in the kitchen, trying to finish his cup of coffee. Winston closed his eyes and sputtered, while Roan, Kevin and Kahl roared with laughter.

  Winston was making a poor effort to wipe the flour off his face when he heard Roan scold, albeit through laughter, "Kevin! No' only isn't it nice to wreck the kitchen anymair than it is, but I' sure Mr. Connery doesn't appreciate flour in his face!"

  Placing his flour-splattered cup on the table, Winston stood and began to brush off some of the white stuff from the front of his shirt and slacks.

  "Roan, I appreciate you putting the kitchen before me," Winston chuckled, then turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Kevin, who was doubled over with laughter. "As for you...."

  Before Kevin could react, Winston scooped him up into his arms, rolled him forward and rubbed his chin against the boy's belly. Kevin squealed in glee and kicked wildly. Winston repeated the gesture, then lowered Kevin to his feet and rustled the top of his hair. "Next time, laddie," he grinned, "it'll be toss for toss. Understand?"

  Kevin could only point to Winston's flour-spackled face and laugh, tears coursing down his youthful face.

  Winston turned to Roan and shrugged. Still chuckling, Roan removed the apron he had tied at his waist, and tossed it to Winston.

  "You're a sorry sight," said Roan, laughter gleaming in his eyes. He braced his rib cage with an arm. "Ma side aches, I laughed so hard."

  By the time Winston had wiped off and shaken loose most of the flour from his clothing, face and hair, Kevin’s mirth had wound down and he was sniffing heartily at the oven door.

  "Kevin, Kahl," Roan began in his best authoritative tone, "get cleaned up."

  Kahl scowled. "Hey! Don't we get to do the icing?"

  "Yeah," Kevin added, standing next to his brother, his arms folded against his small chest. "That's the best part!"

  "Okay. But I want you cleaned up, first. Now scat."

  The boys charged out of the kitchen, whooping it up like wild Indians on a raid.

  Sighing, Roan jerked a thumb in the direction of the swinging door. "I'd like to know where they get their energy."

  "Me, too," Winston grinned. "They're good boys. You're a lucky mon."

  Roan nodded. "Tha' I am." A shrewd gleam crept into his eyes. "Speaking o' lucky, how are you and Deliah farin’?"

  Winston abruptly turned away to place the apron on the table, then dallied with folding it while he willed away the heated flush which had risen into his face. "She remains a mystery," he said, in what he hoped sounded like a casual reply.

  "Tell me, Winston, do you believe in love at first sight?"

  This brought Winston around. He felt as though his blood had plummeted to his feet. "No, I don't. Why do you ask?"

  "Deliah." The measuring intensity in Roan's eyes deepened. "The way she looks at you, I'll wager it's mair than just a crush."

  "It's the house," Winston said, speaking through a taut grin.

  Roan gave a nod, but Winston was willing to wager he wasn't fooling his host one bit.

  Surveying the mess in the kitchen, Roan said, "Guess I better get to work."

  Laura came through the swinging door, flashed Winston a smile, then threw her arms around Roan's neck and planted a kiss on his mouth.

  "Hey, gorgeous," she grinned, leaning back her head and searching Roan's flushed face. "Care to help me gather snow for the snow cones?"

  "I'd rather gather you up in ma arms and carry you ta—" Roan cut his gaze to Winston and blushed. "Ah, Winston. Did you say you had somethin’ to do elsewhere?"

  "I can take a hint."

  Grinning, Winston went into the dining room, where, immediately seeing Deliah, his expression turned to one of chagrin. In her arms, she held one of the babies. The glow on her face and the cooing sounds she made to the infant, caused a bottomless ache to form behind his chest. As usual, her hair was loose. She wore a three-quarter length, royal blue dress which accentuated the color of her eyes. The garment had a rolled collar, long sleeves, no waistline, and a skirt with soft folds. Red and black argyle socks covered her feet, and he found himself wanting to laugh at the bizarre contrast.

  But he didn't.

  When she looked up and her own smile faded, he nervously nibbled on his lower lip and headed for the door to the main hall. Halfway, he heard Beth exclaim, "Oh, damn!" He stopped and looked in her direction. She was standing at the table, where the other infant was atop a blanket. She finished securing the diaper, then cast Winston a pleading look.

  "Aggie went upstairs with the boys. I just got christened." She smiled at her son. "He has perfect aim. Winston, would you mind holding him while I change my top?"

  A breath gushed from Winston and he made a feeble gesture with his hands. "I'm no' good wi' babies."

  "Nonsense." Beth swaddled the boy in the blanket and carried him to Winston. "He won't break. Deliah can't handle them both at once. I promise I won't be long."

  Before he could convince her he seriously didn't want this responsibility, he found himself holding the squirming bundle. He stood frozen, staring down into a perfect pink face wreathed in the white folds of the blanket.

  "He willna bite ye," Deliah said softly.

  Winston met her gaze and swallowed against the tightness forming in his throat.

  "Ye are too rigid. Rock him gently. He'll soon fall back to sleep."

  It took Winston several attempts to rock from side to side without jerking. Then, "He smiled at me."

  "Gas, I'm told," she said with a light laugh. "Although, why gas would make anyone smile be beyond me."

  "He's so small."

  Deliah got up and stood in front of him, the babies between them. "She's even mair tiny. Look at her fingers. Have you ever seen aught so precious?"

  "No," he murmured happily, then met Deliah's eyes and sobered.

  There was no need for further words to be exchanged. Winston seated himself on one of the chairs at the table, while Deliah positioned herself near the hearth, her back to him.

  Meanwhile, Beth ran into the master bedroom, unbuttoning her sweater as she made her way to the bathroom. She was out of it by the time she crossed the threshold, and stopped short when she spied a wet towel on the floor in front of the tub, and heard water going down the drain. Blinking, her breaths coming in spurts, she clutched the sweater against her and slowly turned to face the bedroom. There, not more than fifteen feet away, Lachlan sat on a footstool in front of the hearth, his back to her. He was combing his wet hair and unaware that she was in the room.

  Beth's gaze swung to the portrait above the fireplace. Unbidden, she remembered when she'd thought the painting was of one of his ancestors, of the original Lachlan Baird who had built the house. How soon after that had she discovered he was that man, and a man who had been dead more than a century before making love with her in that very bed across from her?

  Suddenly, the damp sweater didn't matter. She knew if
she didn't get out of the room soon, she would either pass out or go for his jugular. She wasn't sure which she dreaded most. Her legs inordinately leaden, her knees stiff, she headed in the direction of the hall door. In her state of mind, it seemed to shift away, extending the distance she had to traverse to make her escape. When it was within a few feet, she dared to release a thready breath of relief, which she sucked back in when a blur passed her, the door slammed shut, and she found herself staring into Lachlan's dark, brooding eyes.

  "Beth," he said in a hoarse whisper.

  She couldn't respond.

  Rivulets of water escaped the hairline along his brow and trickled down his face. When wet, the dark auburn strands had a tendency to wave and hang a good two inches past his broad shoulders. He had shaved off the beard and mustache. The cleft in his chin and the deep grooves in his cheeks filled her vision.

  Beth's world shrank to within a space that could only occupy the two of them. How many tears had she spilled crying over his absence, his cruel determination to ignore her and the twins? How many times had she felt her heart break during the lonely hours she'd lain awake in the dark, longing for him to comfort her.

  After all they'd been through together....

  She'd thought about her reaction when she next encountered him. Slug him or walk away had been her choice alternatives. Yet neither was a viable possibility at the moment. Her arms were leaden things hanging at her sides, and her legs felt like Jell-O. Her ears filled with a sound akin to rushing water, and psychological weights formed in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She could only stare at him.

  He now wore a dark green, full-sleeved shirt which was opened down the front, exposing most of his powerful chest. Black snug-fitting pants and knee-high black boots, gave him the appearance of a pirate. He didn't need a sword. His selfish desire to keep himself away was weapon enough. Sharp enough to cut to the quick her belief their love could conquer all obstacles.

  "Say somethin’," he said, his eyes pleading with her to snap out of her stupor. "Even a slap would be preferable to this silence, lass."

  Still Beth couldn't respond. She knew if she attempted to move or speak, the dam of her control would let loose, and she wasn't sure what would happen. Crying, screaming, even hitting him wouldn't compensate for the emptiness inside her.

  Tears filled her eyes, gushing from a well deep within her when his hands hesitantly framed her face. She wanted to pull away. Thrust him away. But her treacherous heart leapt with joy at his touch. The warmth of his soft palms and fingers melted into the marrow of her bones. Lightheaded suddenly, it took all her willpower not to lean into him and forget what had transpired since their return. But the emotional wound remained, and she needed it to keep herself in one piece. Needed it to retain her own fair measure of pride.

  When it came to Lachlan, to give in to him was to forsake everything. She'd learned shortly into their relationship that she had to hold her ground, no matter the initial pain it brought her or him. Her youth had waned during the years she'd spent taking care of her ill mother. Coming to Scotland to visit her childhood best friend, Carlene, had been the beginning of what she'd thought was her life. Instead, she'd found Lachlan Baird, ghost of Baird "Kist" House, and learned that Carlene, too, had been dead for some time. Carlene's invite had been instigated by Lachlan, who, knowing Beth was dying, coerced Carlene into bringing Beth to Scotland. She had unknowingly come to this house to die.

  She'd never had a chance at a new life, only a new existence, one in which Lachlan was a vital part. And it all had come about because of the portrait Carlene had done of Beth in their hometown of Kennewick in Washington State. The same portrait that hung over the fireplace in the parlor. Lachlan had somehow connected with her through that painting, connected with her through the miles, and had decided she was his woman. His to share eternity. And eternity they would have had together if not for their return to the living.

  And if not for his abandoning her when she needed him most.

  Words boiled up from within her gut, traveled upward into her throat, but never reached her lips. Before a sound could escape her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. At first, her senses riveted on him. The musky, all-male scent of him, mingled with traces of soap from his bath. The muscular solidity of him. The height and breadth of him. The sound of his low moans as he kissed her deeper, deeper. His arms blanketed her and she was conscious of hard biceps and forearms. Of his heart hammering behind the glorious contours of his chest.

  Too soon, the kiss ended and she found herself staring into his eyes through a rush of tears. He had to know he couldn't wipe away the past two weeks with a kiss! Did he really think she was that weak? That gullible?

  For several seconds he stared into her eyes as if questioning her mood, her thoughts. Then a grin twitched on his generous mouth and he said, "I knew you couldna stay angry for long, ma Beth."

  Her temper flared, overwhelming her completely as she stepped back and swiped the back of an arm across her still-tingling lips. "You bastard! How dare you strut in here like you have any rights where I'm concerned!"

  "I do."

  Beth sucked in a furious breath. Tears dropped onto her flushed cheeks with each blink. "The hell you do, you ass!"

  A flare of anger flashed in his eyes as he placed his hands on his hips and leaned a bit forward. "I swear, lass, I'll wash yer mouth ou' wi' soap if—"

  "And I'll knee your testicles up into your nostrils if you even try!" she threatened, and lifted her chin in triumph when he recoiled in shock at her words. "We're not married and I'm not your possession."

  Lachlan recovered as best he could and eyed her narrowly, heatedly. "I'm the mon in our family—"

  "You're a useless piece of. . .of. . .shit!" she hissed, too angry to care about her language. The dignified Beth, the soft-spoken, ladylike, mousey Beth, was long gone.

  "Och!" he cried, running his hands down his face. "I was wrong to care mair abou' me than you and the babes. Okay? Is tha' wha' you want to hear, Beth? This mon afore you, was wrong! Dinna you think I know tha'? Sweet Jesus, I'm tryin’ ma best to make amends!"

  Panting, Beth adamantly shook her head. "My guess is, you're horny, Lannie old boy, and figured a kiss would buy you time in my bed!"

  His face took on a look of stark incredulity before he released a strangled laugh. "Horny, you say? First o' all, ma darling, you've never been tha' easy in the lovin’ department. Secondly, ma..sweet...fire, tis ma bed I'm bein’ denied."

  "Fine. I'll move into the nursery."

  Beth attempted to push past him, but his anger now matched her own. Roughly, he gripped her upper arms and yanked her against him, and kissed her punishingly, determined to weaken her determination to resist him. For his trouble, she sank her teeth into his lower lip. He wailed, released her and jumped back. He dabbed at the bleeding wound with the fingers of his right hand, then stared at the blood-smeared digits as if on the verge of passing out.

  "Don't you ever handle me like that again, Lachlan Baird!"

  Beth tore out of the room, into the hall and toward the stairs. She slowed her flight as she descended, allowing for her blurred vision, benefit of the tears she couldn't hold back.

  "We're no' through," growled a voice behind her.

  Her heart slammed against her chest wall. Lachlan was following her, intending to pursue the argument to what end, she didn't know. There was nothing left to be said between them. He could kiss her, hold her, spout off his words of love until he was blue in the face, and none of it would change the fact that he cared more about his sorry carcass than he did for the twins or her. She was better emotionally equipped to handle her future without him. Without trust, love didn't have a foundation.

  She burst into the dining room, hoping with the others present, Lachlan would crawl back to the carriage house and leave her alone. Startled expressions swam in front of her. Roan and Laura. Winston and Deliah. Agnes. Alby was sitting at the table, bent over a co
loring book, an orange crayon poised above one of the pages.

  "Beth, wha's wrong?" asked Agnes.

  "Damn you, Beth—"

  Lachlan came to an abrupt halt behind Beth when he saw the others in the room. His chest heaved on a sigh of vexation, and he was about to offer an apology when his gaze fell on the bundles held in Agnes and Winston's arms. Roaring filled his ears. His vision bleared. His heart dropped into his stomach, then shot up and lodged in his throat.

  Laura screamed. The unexpectedness and shrillness of it shocked everyone. The babies began to wail, while the adults watched in perplexity as Laura sprang atop the seat of the chair at the head of the table.

  "A rat!" she squealed hysterically, pointing to the ornate sideboard. "A huge rat!"

  Roan and Winston sprang into action, Roan removing his left shoe from his foot, and Winston passing Beth her son, then snatching one of the candelabrums from the table. The white candles spilled from their Sterling silver beds as the men headed for the sideboard.

  "Stop!" Deliah shouted.

  Both men turned questioning looks on her.

  While Beth and Agnes huddled together with the babies near the fireplace, Lachlan stayed in front of the door. Alby remained on his knees on one of the chairs, and Laura, pale and jumping from foot to foot on the seat, hugged herself.

  Only Deliah seemed in command of her senses. "Shame on ye both," she scolded, her vibrant blue eyes raking the men over. "The wee craiture canna hurt ye!"

  She dropped to her haunches and made a sound like that of a mouse. After a moment, a small gray critter shot from beneath the sideboard and beelined in her direction. It jumped onto her extended palm and quivering in fear, twitched its tiny nose in the air.

  Deliah stood and placed the side of her upturned palm to her breast, her gaze searching the others who were watching her as though she were something alien. The babies had quieted. Deliah tenderly stroked the back of the mouse's head and back until it, too, settled comfortably on her hand.

  "Tis too cold ou' there for this poor craiture," she said, her demeanor challenging anyone to defy her wishes regarding the mouse. "We must give it shelter till winter passes."