"Our trap," said Kevin. "It worked pretty good, huh?"
"We got 'em all over out here," Alby boasted.
Trussed up on his side, Winston ordered, "Cut us free."
"We can't," said Kahl. He shrugged his small shoulders. "We're not allowed to touch scissors or knives."
"Get somethin’!" Roan bellowed.
"Okay, okay!"
Kevin’s footfalls plodded in the direction of the house.
"Where did you get this rope?" Roan asked Kahl, glaring up at the boy through the damp hair clinging to his face.
"It ain’t rope. It's yarn. We tied it all together."
"Yarn..." Roan's voice drifted off as incredulity settled inside his brain. "From the missin’ sweaters?"
"Sure," said Kahl. "It was for a good cause. We couldn't let the boogeyman—
"There is no boogeymon!" Roan thundered, jerking his body within the cocooning yarn.
"Yes sa!" Alby shouted. "He grabbed me, remember?"
"That was a thief," said Winston. "He was only efter some o' the treasures in the house."
"Aye," agreed Lachlan. "But the police took him away."
The boys fell silent as the distinct sound of large flapping wings filled the air.
Winston tightly closed his eyes and clenched his teeth against a groan.
"Lads," he heard Deliah say in a firm tone, "return to the house. We'll be along, shortly."
"But—"
"Kevin, do as ye be told."
The boys headed for the house and Deliah knelt first beside Roan. As she cut away the taut strands of yarn, she scolded, "Ye be fortunate the household be awake, leastwise, we would have found us three frozen corpses come morn!"
Holding his tongue against a retort, Roan busied himself with yanking away the strands while she cut Lachlan's bonds, then Winston's. As they finished unwrapping themselves and got to their feet, she stood back with her hands on hips, her wings fluttering in a cadence of unmistakable pique.
"Fine example ye three be settin’ for the young ones! Tary no'. Beth and Laura are fraught wi' worry."
With this said she flew back to the house, leaving the men to re-group.
"If I know ma Beth—and I do—she's mair likely fraught wi' anger," Lachlan said grimly.
"Shit," Winston muttered.
They headed toward the house, side by side, silent and looking like three men who were expecting to face the guillotine. Some fifteen feet from the front doors, Winston said, "Wait," and pointed to the tree in front of the carriage house. "Tha’s where Deliah tossed the broken oak twigs to create tha’ wall between the thief, me and Alby."
"I'll be damned," Roan murmured, his gaze measuring the tree to be at least twelve feet tall.
"Shall we have a closer look?" asked Winston.
Lachlan somberly shook his head. "Best we face the music and be done wi' it."
They entered the house, Lachlan leading the way, Roan following and Winston tagging along with his hands buried in his pockets. The hallway was vacant and so was the library. Moments later, they found the women waiting for them in the parlor. The air was thick with hostility. The boys sat on the larger sofa, squirming, their gazes lowered guiltily.
Of the women, Laura appeared the angriest. High color stained her cheeks and her vibrant green eyes raked over them. She approached the men, stopping several feet in front of them, her heated gaze narrowing in response to their split lips and bruised and bloodied faces.
"You," she began, pointing at Winston, "got the boys all worked up with your nonsense about boogeymen! I just found out they've been sneaking outside every night and using yarn to make a trap for your killer!"
"I'm sorry."
"Is that all you have to say?" she asked furiously.
Winston looked at the boys, who were now staring at him through lowered eyelashes. "The Phantom was in ma mind. There's no one here ou' to hurt anyone."
The boys exchanged conspiratorial looks and mumbled amongst themselves.
Laura released a breath of vexation and threw her hands up. "We've all been suffering a little cabin fever. But isn't it just swell you men can take off on a whim and have yourselves a fun time."
"Laura—"
"Shut up, Roan. I'm so damn angry right now...." She drew in a breath to calm herself. "You think Scotch and beer are the answer to all your problems, don't you?"
"No. Laura—"
"Well, I hope it keeps you warm at night, because I sure as hell won't."
Lachlan's face darkened with a scowl as he stepped forward. "Ye're bein’ too harsh. We went ou' for a few drinks! We came back, dinna we?"
"How magnanimous of you," Beth said from her position at the back of the sofa. "And it's obvious you got into a brawl."
"One o' the patrons insulted ma monhood," Lachlan blustered.
Beth came around the sofa and positioned herself next to Laura. Deliah, meanwhile, remained a few feet away, crouched in front of the hearth and warming her hands before the fire. Her wings were retracted, her hair cloaking her slender form.
"We were wrong to leave the house," Winston said wearily, his gaze on Deliah, his heart in his throat.
"Wrong?" Lachlan exclaimed. "Tis a mon's right to—"
"Shut up," Beth warned in a furious, low tone. "Right now, your monhood is in serious question, so shut the hell up before I do something you will sorely regret."
Lachlan opened his mouth then clamped it shut with a scowl.
"Do you think scaring the boys to the point they feel they have to invent traps, humorous?" Laura asked Roan.
"O' course no'." Roan held out his hands in a pleading gesture. "Damn me, Laura, I'm sorrier than I can say. It won't happen again. I swear on Aggie's—"
"You're damn right it won't," Laura bit out, cutting him off with both her words and a slice of her right hand through the air. "I don't know you anymore, Roan. I can't even stand the sight of you, right now."
"Laura," Lachlan rasped, then his gaze fell on Beth's flashing eyes and he held back what he wanted to say.
"I love you, Laura," Roan said softly. "I want to marry you."
"You bastard," she choked, tears brimming her eyes. "I'm not that gullible, Roan. And I don't believe any of you really know what you want. It can't be us."
"Laura—"
"No, Roan." She drew in a deep breath and eased back her shoulders. "I don't want to hear another word from you tonight. In fact, I think it would be best if the three of you moved into the carriage house for a time."
"It be cold ou' there," Deliah said, rising to her feet.
Laura spared her a glance and shook her head. "There's the wood stove, and plenty of sleeping bags and blankets in the storage in the back." She met Roan's wilted gaze and released a ragged breath. "We all need to get our priorities in order, and decide what the next step is. A separation for a while can't make matters any worse than they already are."
Roan glumly nodded. "All right."
"They be injured," Deliah said in a small voice.
Winston met her gaze and offered her a tremulous smile. It astounded him she was concerned for their welfare when he'd treated her so badly. To ease her mind, he said, "Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing serious. We'll be fine."
Deliah lowered her head and turned her right side to him, blocking his view of her face. He didn't need to scan her to realize that she was on the verge of tears, and it tore him up inside to know he alone was responsible for her misery. He considered apologizing, but then thought any attempt he might make would probably just make their situation more strained.
He glanced at Lachlan and saw that he was staring at Beth with a look that bespoke of his regret and profound sorrow. But he knew Lachlan's pride was overruling his need to tell Beth how much he loved her, and he knew Beth was not in a frame of mind to listen to him even if he managed to break the silence between them.
A choked sound escaped Kahl and Winston cut his gaze to the boys. They were not taking the pending separation between
the men and women very well, and he wished he had it within him to comfort them. But he didn't. He could no more open his arms or his heart to them, than he could to Deliah.
Indeed, Roan, Lachlan and he had made a helluva mess out of their relationships with their women.
"We'll make sure the house is locked up and leave," Roan said, staring at his feet. "If you need anythin’—"
"We won't," said Laura curtly, although a tremor was heard in her tone. "We can lock up, ourselves."
Nodding, Roan gave her a long look then headed out of the room. Lachlan and Winston followed him back into the night. They were between the house and the new oak when the sound of the outer doors being bolted stopped them in their tracks. Each looked back in poignant silence and proceeded to the carriage house.
Chapter 15
Winston's legs grew heavier and heavier with each step he took through the corridor of light. It was an endless effulgence, with narrow walls of infinite blackness. A place with no sound or scent, and one in which he couldn't even feel solidity beneath his feet. One portion of his mind concentrated on the possibility of falling through the nothingness beneath him, while another strained to see an end to his journey, and yet another harbored fear of what might lurk in the blackness to each side of him. He was alone and isolated from everything remotely familiar to him. And he was afraid he would never return to the people he had come to regard as family.
A zephyrous voice wove its way through the passage. "I will love ye forever, ma dour Scotsmon."
Deliah! He tried to shout her name, but no sound passed his lips. Desperate to connect with reality, he reached out with his mind, imploring, Find me, Deliah! Show me the way back!
He waited. And waited. And waited. But she never responded. Not verbally. Not telepathically. Not even permitting him a sense of her presence. He now felt more abandoned, more isolated, and more desperate to emerge from this place.
Deliah, I need you! Don't leave me now. Show me the way back to you!
Why should she, though? He'd done everything within his power to shun her, to hurt her, to make her cut his heartstrings and spare him from confronting the demons of his inability to commit to love.
Begetters. Who are you? What do you want from me?
Be...ye. Be...ye. Be...ye.
The words tauntingly echoed in his mind.
Deliah!
He was suddenly standing outside the carriage house. Glorious sunlight bathed the land and his heart leapt behind his breast at the sight of the new oak. It now stood twenty feet tall, the broad trunk comprised of many smaller trees plaited into one mass. The canopy of branches was laden with vibrant green leaves, through which he glimpsed several peafowl staring down at him. Birds chirped merrily, flitting around the perimeter of the branches. Butterflies were in abundance, colorfully fluttering among wildflowers and ground cover of variegated green, red, and white, scattered around the tree and beyond its outstretched limbs.
A misty, transparent form appeared near the oak. Deliah. Glittering silver strips of material draped from her shoulders and hung the length of her hair. She danced on tiptoe with the grace of a ballerina, twirling and pirouetting, her arms arched above her head and her radiant face lifted to the overhead branches as if in homage. She hummed a tune which further gladdened his heart, her voice hauntingly sweet and beckoning. Her wings graced her like a shimmering cloak swept back by a hearty wind.
Too soon, she melted into the landscape and he experienced a sharp pang of loss. He closed his eyes and willed her back, but when he looked, she remained gone.
He gasped when time and space unexpectedly swept past him, thrusting him through what seemed like forward movement. He came to an abrupt stop and found himself standing within a very different place, this one semi-dark, lit only by a solitary lantern atop a trestle-legged table. There were opened cans, emptied wrappers, and bags strewn about the cement floor.
On the table, cold, partially used black candles stood in makeshift tin holders, forming lines to each side of a jeweled dirk. The blade gleamed eerily and he could make out a Celtic knotwork border surrounding a strip of runescript down its center length. The handle was black with raised intricate silver patterns snaking around the jewels. He recognized the dirk. He'd once seen it embedded in Laura's chest not so long ago.
He sucked in a breath and regretted it immediately. The air was stale and reeked of perspiration and an assortment of foods.
Pork rinds.
The taste filled his mouth, and yet he had never eaten one.
The room was approximately twelve feet by twelve feet, dank and cold and as quiet as a tomb. Three feet away was a planked door with a hook latch. It was engaged. Beyond the door, he could hear the approach of a slow gait, attired feet scuffing across the floor. Panic gripped him as he watched the hook slowly lift itself from the loop. Lift and lift until it was standing straight up and then became motionless. Then the door began to creak open.
Winston's eyes flew open. Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he stared into darkness, confused and frightened and inwardly struggling to get a fix on his whereabouts. Then he heard—
Snoring.
He almost laughed his relief was so great. Lachlan was snoring on the cot some fifteen feet away. It wasn't as dark as he'd first thought, for now that his eyes had adjusted, he could make out Roan's sleeping bag on the dirt floor a short distance away, and the lump within it that was Roan. Winston was safe and snug within one of his own, ten feet from the still warmth-giving wood stove.
Closing his eyes, he shifted slightly within the thick downy softness of his—hopefully—temporary bed.
Deliah.
He hoped if he thought about her hard enough, then when he fell back to sleep, she would return and visit him in his dreams.
* * *
When Winston awoke the next morning, it was to moans induced from aching flesh and muscles, and stiff joints. His own grumbled laments joined in as he peeled himself out of his sleeping bag. Apparently, they hadn't fared all that well from the brawl at Shortby's. It had just taken time for their bodies to protest.
In turn, the men went out the back door and relieved themselves, then grouped in front of the stove which Roan had fired up immediately after awakening. They each sat atop empty crates, elbows braced on their upper legs, and working their mouths against the dryness and foul tastes coating their tongues. After a time, they coyly glanced at one another.
Roan grumbled, "I need coffee. Lots and lots and lots o' strong coffee."
"I wouldna mind a hot bath and a shave," said Lachlan, running his left palm across the coarse stubble along his jawline.
Winston sniffed and grumpily eyed Lachlan. "I wouldn't mind if you had a bath, either."
"Ha...ha."
Roan briskly rubbed his hands up and down his face then made a feeble attempt to run his fingers through his unruly hair. "Coffee, a hot bath, a shave, and Laura to warm ma bones. No' too much for a mon to ask, is it?"
Winston released a cynical chuckle. "Only if you have a death wish. I don't think the ladies have had enough time to cool down."
"I can guarantee you, Beth will be hot for some time," Lachlan said with a grimace. "No' tha' I can blame her." He looked askance at his companions and grinned. "But we had us a grand time at Shortby's, aye?"
"Grand?" Winston asked indignantly. "Fists slamming into ma face is no' ma idea o' a good time."
Roan shrugged. "Actually, those goons got the worst o' it. Canabra looked like a bloated tomato when I got through wi' him. Felt bloody good, it did. He has always irked the bejesus ou' o' me."
Despite his split lower lip, Winston laughed. "Wha' was the redhead's name?"
"McKenna," said Roan.
"Ah, MacKenna. Abou' two minutes into the brawl, he knew he'd taken on more than he could handle. Canabra and Markey didn't have the good sense to know when to call it quits."
"Aye," Lachlan said wistfully. He glanced at his swollen, raw knuckles with a look of pride. "I wo
uldna mind facin’ off wi' tha' Markey again. Dinna think he'll be urinatin’ straight for some time."
Roan and Winston laughed.
"Course," Lachlan sighed, squirming on his crate, "tha' bootin’ I got to ma arse will have me crappin’ crooked for a week o' Sundays."
Winston choked on his laughter, and Roan swiped aside a tear of laughter which had fallen onto his cheek.
"Damn," Roan chortled, then heaved a breath to get himself under control. "I don't think we should go to Shortby's anytime soon. Silas was madder than I've ever seen him."
"We paid for the damage," said Winston.
"Aye, but—"
A rap on the front door brought the men to their feet. Roan dashed ahead and threw open the door. Leaning beyond the threshold, he spied Laura heading toward the house, then glanced down and saw a large picnic basket in front of his feet. With a shake of his head, he lifted the basket, then closed the door and returned to the men in front of the hot stove. Adequate morning light streamed in from the window to the left of the stove. Seating himself back on his crate, he placed the basket on his lap and lifted the lid.
"Laura's no' too angry," he said cheerily, holding up a large thermos for the others to see. He handed it to Winston, then removed three cups and passed them to Lachlan. "We have a fryin’ pan, spatula, six eggs, and a sliced section o' ham." He continued to rummage, then, "Some nicely diced potatoes and a tub o' butter. Plastic dishes. Spoons, knives, and forks." He looked up and frowned. "No pepper or salt, though. Hmm. At least we won't starve."
"I designate you the cook," said Lachlan to Roan.
"Why me?"
"I'll cook," Winston sighed, "after I have a cup o' coffee."
An hour later, their stomachs full and the thermos emptied, they lethargically stared at the potbellied stove. Roan burped. Lachlan scratched the back of his head. Winston breathed deeply and lowered his eyelids half-mast.
"Now wha' do we do?" Winston asked.
"I'm for a bit mair sleep," said Roan, and yawned.
"I need to burn off some steam," Lachlan murmured, then stretched and released an eye-watering yawn of his own.
"Why is it every time one o' us breathes, this place reeks like a brewery?" Winston asked.
Love Everlastin' Book 3 Page 27