Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

  "Nothin’ timely abou' our arrival, 'cept to spare Donnely's life, it seems." Bruce Clare released a weary chuff. "Where were you wounded, Mr. Connery? From what's on the knife—"

  "He merely nicked ma shoulder," Winston said on a rushed breath, his right hand going up to cover the area hidden behind his borrowed blue wool jersey.

  "Are you in need o' a doctor?"

  "No...thank you. Deliah patched me up," he said lamely, knowing the officer could see the telltale flush heating his cheeks.

  Stepping to one side, Officer Bruce Clare confronted the seemingly timid Deliah. "Are you Deliah?"

  She nodded.

  "Wha' is yer last name, miss?"

  She blankly looked to Winston, then met the officer's shrewd gaze and said, "I be just Deliah."

  "One o' those fad things her parents went through," Roan piped up, grinning inanely, his face also flushed. "No last name, tha' is."

  Clare nodded as if not believing a word of what was being said. "Okay, folks. We'll-ah, rehash all this at anither time when you all are in better frames o' mind. Meanwhile, lock yer doors and have a good night."

  No one moved or spoke until the officers and Donnely had left the house. Then it was Lachlan who broke through the silence, slapping his unwounded palm to his brow.

  "Och! O' all the bloody stupidity! Wha' was I thinkin’?"

  "Only the truth," Roan sighed miserably. "Damn me, but I didn't help matters, either, did I? This day has been a helluva experience."

  "I could have sworn he was the Phantom," Winston murmured, now sickened that he'd nearly strangled a somewhat innocent man. Thieving and murder were very different crimes. He recalled the conversation he'd had with the man outside, and disparagingly wondered if he hadn't imagined the interchange because it somehow didn't fit right in his mind now. People sometimes held mental conversations with themselves then later believed someone else had spoken the "other's" words aloud. It had never happened to him before, though. And yet it was possible he'd charged at the man fully expecting just such a conversation to ensue. For four years, the Phantom had been a very real demon in Winston's mind.

  Something nagged at his conscience, but its meaning was too nebulous for him to grasp. He felt drained and cloaked with self-loathing.

  "Winston, are ye weel o' mind?" Deliah asked softly. "Ye be as white as a cloud."

  "I be nuts!" he spat, angry at himself yet mocking her speech mannerism. "I need a drink."

  "I'll second tha'," muttered Roan, and fell into step behind Winston as he headed toward the parlor door.

  "Aye," said Lachlan. Brushing the crystal shards from his palm, he followed the men across the parlor and into the hall.

  Pique heightened the color in Deliah's cheeks as she looked at Beth, who was pale and staring at the doorway through a bleak, haunted expression.

  "Beth, are ye feelin’ jaggey?"

  The woman's dark blue eyes swung to solemnly regard Deliah. A moment passed before she shook her head. "I think I'm just tired of men, Deliah. It must be nice to feel so damn detached from responsibility."

  Saddened by Beth's sorrow, she placed a consoling hand on the woman's shoulder. "Twas wrong o' me to defend Lachlan to ye. There be no excuse for his behavior. Nor the ithers."

  "Welcome to the world of the male mentality," Beth sighed.

  "Aye, they be prideful, but this is no' their world. Have ye ever heard o' a faither nature?"

  Despite the heaviness of her heart, Beth chuckled. "No."

  "And twill never be, I can promise ye."

  Beth nodded and said, "It's about time to feed the babies."

  "Can I somehow help ye? Rock one while ye nurse the ither?" Deliah asked excitedly.

  With a smile of appreciation, Beth shook her head. "I'll manage. I'd like to be alone with them. I hope you don't think I'm being too selfish."

  "No. Were they mine, I'd be wantin’ mair than a wee time alone wi' them. But if ye need me, I'll come."

  Deliah stiffened when Beth's arms circled her neck. The hug was brief, but satisfying.

  "Thank you. Oh, and Deliah?" A mischievous grin formed on Beth's mouth. "I personally love your wings. Only next time they're out, flutter them in Winston's face. He could use a wee nudge in the sense of humor department."

  Deliah blushed. "Night, Beth."

  "You, too."

  Deliah walked Beth to the door to the hall then, for a time, leaned against the jamb, her thoughts adrift, her gaze staring into nothingness. It had been an unusually unusual day, and she couldn't shake the feeling it was going to be a long night. She could hear the men toasting one another, then the clinks of their glasses – a ritual she considered puzzling. But then most things humans regarded as customs, struck her to be silly rituals. Still, she wanted to be considered one of them. Had yearned for decade after decade after long decade to be among them. Talk their talk and walk their walk. Dress and eat and view the world from their perspectives.

  It wasn't easy.

  She returned to the dining room and resignedly gathered all the fragments of the crystal paperweight into her left palm. She passed her right hand over the shards, her face expressionless, her demeanor one of uncharacteristic detachment. A brief starburst of blue light detonated amidst the pieces, then magically the paperweight was again intact, its prisms capturing the warm glow of the gaslight fixtures on the walls. She returned the artifact to the sideboard. Her shoulders somewhat sagging, her spirit in a limbo of sadness she couldn't shake, she went into the secondary hall and entered the room she knew the men were in.

  They were behind the counter, their expressions showing their vexation with her intrusion. Bracing herself against their foul moods, she closed the door behind her and crossed her arms against her chest like a schoolmarm on the warpath.

  "Weel," she huffed with a defiant tilt of her chin, "ye three be a sorry sight."

  "Go away," Winston grumbled, then tipped his tumbler to his lips and finished off his Scotch. Smacking his lips, he held out the glass for Lachlan to refill, which the laird did with a tad too much eagerness, Deliah thought. "Fly away," Winston grinned, and winked at her before taking a hearty swig of his Scotch. He winced again, shook himself, then released a burp that made Deliah wince. To her chagrin, his drinking partners laughed.

  "Wha' grand, strappin’ men ye be," she said, her temper surfacing and lending an edge to her tone. "Brave. Trustworthy. Real champs." Her right hand flitted to her mouth. Giggling in a way that suspiciously rang of mockery, she lowered the hand and added, "Pardon me. I meant chumps. Vacuous in the head chumps be each and every one o' ye."

  Setting down his tumbler with just enough force to tell her he wasn't pleased with her insult, Winston straightened away from the bar and glowered at her. "This is a mon's sanctuary. We only permit the non-nagging females to come in, and you aren't even remotely in tha' category. So go away, Deliah. We've earned the right to enjoy a little peace and quiet."

  "Earned it, have ye? Ha! Ye, Winston Ian Connery, wi' yer projected boogeymen and yer damnable moods, are a pain in ma wee arse!"

  Lachlan's flute fell from his hand as he leveled a deadpan look on her. "Bahookie, lass! Tis no' fittin’ for a womon to—"

  In the blink of an eye, Deliah pulled down the back of her nightgown, sprouted her wings and leapt atop the counter. Her wings furiously batted the air as she placed her hands on her hips and bent over with a scowl darkening her face.

  "But I be no' a womon, be I?" she asked heatedly, a tremor in her tone. "I be a fay. A fairy. A freak to humans, aye? So wha' care I if I say bahookie or arse. The latter feels far grander rollin’ off ma tongue!"

  Stunned, Roan and Lachlan had stepped back at the beginning of her tirade, while Winston shook his lowered head.

  "Naggin’ females, are we?" With the tip of her bare toes, she kicked the half-emptied bottle of Scotch into the air and swatted it behind her with the back of her left hand. The bottle smashed against the wall next to the portrait of the spooning bench. />
  Lachlan's face grew dark and stormy. "Och! You canna treat ma Scotch wi' such disrespect! Tis no'...respectful!"

  "Ye be a coward, Lachlan Baird! Ye have mair respect for a bottle than yer womon and babes!" she charged. "And ye, Roan!" She straightened and furiously pointed an isolated finger at him. "Ye shame ma belief in ye!"

  "Now wait one damn—"

  "Haud yer wheesht!" she cried, mimicking Lachlan, the ferocity in her voice stunning Roan. "Ye are weak like Lachlan. Turnin’ to Scotch to warm ye, and no' the hearth o' yer soul!"

  "Tha's enough," Winston warned in a low growl. His eyes rolled up and dealt her a scowl, but she was too angry to stop now. It was as if the words had been bottled up in her for so long, she couldn't staunch their flow. She didn't want to stop them, not when her insides were so afire and boiling up like lava into her throat.

  "Enough? Do ye know wha' I see when I look at ye now, Winston Ian Connery?"

  He sighed wearily. "I'm sure you're abou' to tell me."

  "Aye. Aye, I'll tell ye! I see nights wi’ou' stars, days wi’ou' suns, and futures wi’ou' hope. I see a mon who be mair at home walkin’ in the grayness o' atween life, than walkin’ wi' his fellow mon in the harsh light o' reality."

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she still couldn't stop. "I see a dark aura around ye and it bears no energy. Ye are burnin’ ou' as surely as a wee stick match, but ye are too blind and too stubborn to see ye are soon to be but an ash in the wind!"

  "Take a deep breath and quiet down," Winston said softly, although his eyes blazed, condemned her for exposing what he refused to accept as truth.

  "Ye would grandly like tha', wouldna ye?" she huffed, her wings shuffling irritably. "Weel, ye poor, poor mon, I be no' the quiet wee mouse ye wish I were! I be naught but a tiresome Faerie princess, wi' too much to say and mair than ma fair share o' intelligence."

  She snapped her fingers in his face. "And have I mentioned I have mair power in ma wee dainty pinky than the lot o' ye thegither! How emasculatin’ tha' must be for yer egos!"

  Planting her hands again on her hips, she proudly squared her shoulders. "I will no' weep for ye, Winston Ian Connery. I will no' ache for ye. And I will no' dress like a human to please ye!"

  Winston's eyes widened with incredulity when she bent and began to lift the hemline of her nightgown.

  "I hear the carriage house callin’," Lachlan sputtered, mortified, his eyes downcast.

  "Och, Lachlan," she crooned, pausing to issue him a smirk of a smile. "Have ye no wish to see I have no inny? No navel a’tall?"

  With a guttural growl, Winston threw his arms around her legs. Deliah squealed in surprise and jerked upright when he trapped her legs between his solid chest and the steel-like band of his arms. She whipped the air with her wings, then stilled them, realizing she could do them serious damage were she to wrench free and fly into the ceiling.

  Roan released a whoosh of breath and followed Lachlan to the door. "I think you two need to talk," Roan muttered. "Shout if you need us."

  "Cowards," Winston grumbled, glaring after them.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, he looked up into Deliah's beet-red face. "I'll let you go if you promise to cool your temper, lass. No' until."

  The fire was gone from her. Now she wanted to weep, but pride dammed the tears. "I promise."

  Winston glanced at the space behind the bar. Concerned she would somehow hit her wings on the counter or the racks of liquor behind him, he carried her around the counter and placed her on her feet in front of the spooning bench. Then, with a long suffering sigh, he folded his arms against his chest and arched one censorious eyebrow.

  "So, there is a fire in your bonnet," he said dryly.

  Moments ago, she had been brimming with words and indignation, and determined to make him see just how ridiculous was his attitude. But now there was no fight left in her, not even the smallest flicker of a flame. "I've no mair to say to ye," she said wearily.

  Winston was quick to note the way her wings drooped somewhat behind her. Her eyes were downcast, and he could detect a slight quivering in her chin. "Deliah." He sighed again, but this time it bespoke of his own weariness. "I was frightened for you in the dining room. I wasn't angry at you."

  She regarded him petulantly. "Frightened why?"

  "It was bad enough tha' thief saw you like this. The officers? Haven't we had enough to cope wi' in this house?"

  "Do ye take me for a complete fool?" she asked softly.

  "No' a complete one."

  She turned away from him and stepped to the counter, where she braced her elbows and lowered her chin onto her upturned palms. "Ye freed me and shackled me in one grand swoop, Winston," she said despondently.

  A thought occurred to him and his face lit up with realization. "Before, when you said you hid in the oak from Lord Sutherland's magic, you were talking abou’ the roots, weren't you?"

  Without looking at him, she said irritably, "O' course in the roots. Tis where we slumbered durin’ the fall and winter." She spared him a frown then returned her chin to her palms. "Did ye think I meant I hid in the branches? I have mair sense than tha'."

  With a wry grin, Winston chuckled. "O' course I thought you meant in the branches. So, you hid in the roots. Then wha'?"

  "I slumbered." Straightening up, she placed her palms on the counter and absently stared at the wall across from her. "At first, when I awakened, I thought it was a wee rest I'd had. No' wee a’tall. The makin’ o' the foundation o' this house is wha' awoke me. By then, it was too late for me to escape. We canna pass through solid objects. I created the grayness to save ma sanity. When Lachlan died, it was there I brought his spirit. I was desperate lonely—although...he never did speak to me. I dinna think he knew I was there, but at least I could watch over him and pretend we were clan."

  "You created the fourth dimension?"

  She turned her head just enough to look at him. "Aye, twas ma doin’. It was the only way I could move abou' the house. But a shadow I was.

  "Eventually," she went on in a small voice, "some humans discovered it wi' their minds. Like ye. Ye were but a lad when ye first found the realm and sought answers from me. So ye see, Winston, I've been aware o' ye for a verra long time. But it wasna till ye came here tha' I knew I loved ye. For all the good it has done me."

  "You said you are a princess."

  Now she turned completely to face him, her sadness dulling her eyes. "I had fifteen older sisters. There was never any chance I would one day rule Faerie. When ma brither was born, he became the chosen heir. Males ruled if available, but we females created the laws."

  "So you really have no family, no clan."

  She glanced off to one side. "There are ither kingdoms around the world, but I would never be but a visitor among them." Her eyes misty with tears, she met Winston's frown of unease. "Blue was the first winter fay to be born to Faerie. She never hibernated durin’ the cold months. When we would awaken in the spring, she would tell me stories o' how grand the winter world was. How snow glistened like stars. How icicles hung from branches like crystal dirks. How different the kingdom looked when cloaked in such whiteness. I used to think I could imagine all she told me. Least be I thought I had till I touched and smelled and witnessed it for maself. Ma sisters never had the chance to experience fall and winter. Ma brither...weel, he ventured through the passage often enough and seldom slumbered among us, but I dinna think he really appreciated anythin’ in this world but Lady Lindsay."

  "I'm sorry for you," he said softly.

  She stiffened. "Dinna pity me."

  "No. It's no' pity, Deliah. I know how it feels to be alone and different."

  "Do ye?" she asked in a cryptic tone. "Ye created yer world, Winston. Mine was stolen from me by evil magic. Ma family and clan were swiped from the earth as easily as yer hand can brush away dust from a piece o' furniture. Granted, yer parents did no' show their love for ye as did mine, but I wouldna let them taint ma soul were they like ye
rs."

  "That's easy to say."

  "No. No' easy a’tall. Ye have hurt me mair than I thought possible. And I have fallen to temper because o' it. But ye canna change wha' or who am I, Winston, no matter yer anger or yer disgust wi' me. Ye canna slay ma love for ye. Ye can only make me realize tha' there is no magic grand enough to make ye love me back."

  "Deliah, I'm no' angry or disgusted wi' you."

  "Ye have a maist peculiar way o' showin’ it, Winston Ian Connery."

  A crooked grin tugged at one side of his mouth at her use of his full name again. Whenever she spoke it, delightful chills seemed to swirl around his heart. And because he was feeling lighthearted after his harrowing experiences earlier, he said without thought, "It's peculiar knowing I've falling in love wi' a fay."

  No sooner were the words passed his lips, he jerked back in surprise. Deliah's eyes widened and a delicate pink glow spread across her cheeks, while Winston's turned hot with chagrin.

  "Wha' did ye say?" she asked breathlessly, her hands coming up as if to touch his chest, but poising in midair.

  Bewilderment, panic and awkwardness flashed across his features and he shifted nervously on his feet. "It was a slip o' the tongue," he grumbled, unable to look into her eyes.

  "Mair like a slip o' yer heart," she beamed, her wings fluttering rapidly. "Winston, do ye love me?"

  Tightness gripped his throat as he forced himself to look her straight in the eye. He felt suddenly claustrophobic. Beads of perspiration broke out on his brow and above his upper lip. He knew he was trembling but couldn't stop.

  Her right hand tenderly lit upon his left cheek and it was nearly his undoing.

  "Winston, knowin’ ye love me is all I need. Knowin’ there is a place for me in one verra wee part o' yer heart is all I need to keep me happy.

  "I know ye be a mon wi' dreams o' family in his future. I canna give ye children. To ma knowin’, our love could be as deep and as pure as a new-formed loch, but it wouldna be enough to cross our worlds and provide a wee one o' our own.

  "One day, ye will find tha' human womon who will give ye all ye ever desired, and I do pray ye will find her soon. Lovin’ ye does no' entitle me to own ye. Does no' entitle me to deny ye the gift o' offspring. I only ask tha' yer heart accept ma love and grant me the peace o' knowin’ I helped to heal yer soul—if even a wee."