Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (11 page)

"What are the Callanish
Standing Stones?"

Lachlan's face brightened.
"I only saw them once, but I'll never forget them. Spooky and
grand, they are. Next to Stonehenge, they're the maist famous
megaliths in all o' Britain."

"I would love to see
them."

"Aye," he said wistfully.
"I wouldna mind seein’ them again. I wonder if..."

Silence befell the room for
a time, during which Beth expectantly watched Lachlan's dreamy
expression. When she could no longer bear the wait, she prompted,
"What do you wonder?"

He looked at her a bit
puzzled and grinned. "Weel, darlin’, I wonder if I would still feel
the tinglin’ there, as I did when I was a lad."

Beth's mouth gaped open and
shut. "The tingling?"

He nodded, glanced down at
his son and sighed wistfully before looking into Beth's eyes. "You
see, ma grandfaither harbored a passionate hatred for ma faither.
Ma mither was the first in his family to marry ou’side the
MacLachlan clan, and he refused to visit ma mither in her home in
Aberdeen. So, once every few years, ma mither would travel to Lewis
to visit wi' her family. Ma faither wouldna allow ma brithers to
go, but didna mind her leavin’.

"I was six when she took me
to the inn. O' course ma faither didna mind
me
going. Truth be, he was glad to be
rid o' me. Probably as glad as was I to be away from
him.

"Twas a hard journey, Beth,
but ma mither never complained." Again he fell silent for a time.
"She was a wonderful womon. Bonny as a Highland summer day,
strong-willed, and as kind as any womon ever born to this
earth.

"Anyway, the inn was grand.
We stayed for two weeks, and I didna want to leave ma cousins. The
night afore we were to take the coach back, I ran off and found
maself at the stones. Twas rainin’, and the marshland there was
covered wi' water over ma ankles. I was never so scared as when I
first saw those loomin’ stones, Beth. In the Highlands the sun
doesna set in the summer, but hovers along the horizon. Tis called
the
gloaming
. The
rain was warm, but I was cold, like some malevolent thing was
inside me. I'm no' sure, scared as I was, why I ventured further
among the megaliths. It was as if somethin’ compelled me, Beth, and
I couldna make maself turn away from them. The whole time I was
there I experienced a tinglin’ sensation. It vibrated through me.
No' exactly an unpleasant feelin’. Almost...comfortin’. I dinna
know how else to explain it.

"Sometime later, ma
grandfaither came for me. He told me the knowin’ had brought me to
the stones but didna elaborate on wha' tha' was supposed to mean.
He was like tha', ma grandfaither.

"When he took me back to
the inn I was shocked to see ma mither's face. She was so pale,
Beth. Pale and terrified, and she hugged me as if she'd been afraid
I wouldna return to her. She made me promise never to return to the
stones and, although I did visit ma grandfaither from time to time
on ma own, I never went near them."

"Weren't you curious why
she was so afraid of them?"

He shrugged slightly. "Aye,
but I couldna break ma word to her, could I? But I dinna think
visitin’ them now would go against ma promise."

"No," Beth said
thoughtfully. "I think her fear stemmed more from your age. Why was
she afraid of the stones, though?"

"I dinna know. Everyone I
knew back then is all gone. I wonder if the inn still stands, and
if ma mither's clan still lives there."

"When the weather gets
better, we could visit and find out."

Lachlan's eyes widened.
"You really wouldna mind?"

"You have my curiosity
piqued. Besides, it's part of your heritage. Except for your death,
Lachlan, do you realize this is the first time you've talked about
your past? I really don't know much about your history."

He told her everything.
Beth quietly listened, digesting the information and analyzing the
man he'd become. By the time he was through, she felt as if she did
know his mother, and admired the loving woman she'd been, despite
her hard, lonely life. Although Lachlan had not spoken of his
father or brothers with even a hint of bitterness, their treatment
of him irked her. Were they alive, she would give them a piece of
her mind, not that anything she would have to say would faze the
likes of them.

"Beth, have I upset
you?"

"What? Oh...no." She sighed
and offered him a tender smile. "I was just thinking how sad it was
for you and your mother to be treated like outcasts."

Lachlan's eyebrows
shrugged. "Sadder for her. Actually, I canna complain. Ma faither
and brithers gave me the gumption to fend for maself. If I hadna
left Aberdeen, I wouldna have died here, and certainly wouldna have
met you." He grinned his most charming, boyish grin. "And yer
century would have been denied ma presence. Och! Scary thought,
aye?"

She frowned slightly and
said, "You once told me you and your brothers took over the
business after your father died."

"Ah, weel, he was no'
actually dead. He became a recluse. I'm no' sure when he actually
died, or ma brithers, either."

He was surprised he'd told
Beth so much of his childhood, when in fact he hadn't thought about
it since his death. His anger then had been directed toward Tessa
and Robert, their betrayal far worse than anything his father or
brothers could have perpetrated. He hadn't told Beth about his
guardian angel, Onora, especially since she'd deserted him after
his murder.

Besides, although Beth
seemed to accept death and fairies without too much trouble, he
thought perhaps his childhood secret playmate might be a measure
too much. And he had avoided telling her about Broc's connection to
the dirk. For some reason he couldn't even begin to fathom, the
name was very important to him right now, and he didn't want to
risk souring Beth against it.

"Weel, love, wha' do you
think o' namin’ our son efter ma ancestor?"

"Broc Laochailan." She
nodded, grinning. "I like it."

Pain inexplicably pierced
Lachlan's temples, making him wince. Before he could stop himself,
he corrected, "Broc Laochailan Jonathan MacLachlan
Baird."

Beth laughed. "My God!
Isn't that a bit much?"

"No," he said, seriously
gazing into her eyes. The pain had vanished as quickly as it had
come. "Tis a grand name. A name befittin’ the mon our son will
become."

"Okay." She reached out and
lovingly caressed Lachlan's cheek. "Have I told you lately how much
I love you?"

Blissful warmth spread
through him as he breathlessly said, "I love you, too, ma bonny
Beth. And once we put the bairns back in their crib, I'll show you
just how much."

* * *

Roan was lifted through
layers of sleep when his mind registered an enticing floral scent.
He opened his eyes to darkness. Immediately, he was aware of cold
air on his face.

The fire in the hearth had
died out, but from the neck down he was warm, partially due to the
covers, and a greater part due to Laura's body. Her head lay on the
hollow of his right shoulder, her bare right arm and leg draped
across him. Her blond hair lay across his throat, the
floral-scented shampoo she'd borrowed from Beth filling his
nostrils. His body hardened in response to her scent and proximity,
and he rolled his eyes in contemplation of awakening
her.

They'd only been together a
few months, but he felt as if she had always been a part of his
adult life. His short marriage to Adaina seemed but a distant
memory, although his son remained clearly fixed in his mind. Both
had died in a fire two years prior. Until Laura and her nephews
entered his life, he'd unknowingly been on a path of
self-destruction, living each day with reckless disregard for the
future—in truth, dreading the possibility of living too much longer
with the burden of guilt he'd carried over the death of his
son.

Jamie had only been three
years old, and should have been with his father at the park. But
Roan had forgotten. By the time he arrived at the house, the
inferno had been impenetrable, his ex-wife and son at the window
moments before the flames had taken them.

But life went on. Laura had
taught him that.

Moaning low, he shifted
onto his side and pressed his lips to her brow. In the darkness, he
heard her sigh contentedly. He waited, but she didn't move or make
another sound.

Should he wake her? They'd
made love only a while ago, a rushed bit of pleasure, thanks to the
lads. He was far from having even a portion of his fill of her—if
it was possible to ever have enough of her body or her
mind.

In the mid-nineteenth
century, they'd been the lovers who had cold-bloodedly murdered
Lachlan, her husband. They'd later married and had nine children.
Their marriage had been miserable, their children eager to leave
home as soon as possible. Fate had brought back Tessa and Robert.
Reincarnation had given them a chance to resolve the past, as Laura
and Roan.

Laura rolled onto her back.
Roan eased his arm from beneath her and started to position himself
on top of her, until his hand bumped a solid object. A grunt
followed, an unmistakable sound that could only be Kahl. Gingerly,
grimacing all the while, he reached over a little farther then more
until his hand had encountered all three of the small shapes
alongside Laura.

When had the lads sneaked
into bed with them?

Damn me,
he mentally groaned.

His desire for Laura fled
on wings of hopelessness and frustration. He eased off his side of
the mattress, stood, and stretched the small of his back. A rueful
scowl masked his face as he pictured the boys snuggled beneath the
covers.

A rumbling in his stomach
interrupted his mental grumblings. Padding barefoot across the cold
floor he went out the door and into the hall, dressed in pajama
bottoms. Cold air rose gooseflesh on his exposed skin. Ignoring his
discomfort, he went down the staircase to the first floor, where,
instead of going down the secondary hallway to the kitchen, a
niggling impulse directed him to the parlor.

He didn't stop to question
why he was taking this route, not until he was passing through the
parlor and sensed someone else was in the room. His first thought
was that another burglar or reporter had gotten into the house.
Anger formed a ball of fire behind his breast as his gaze searched
the darkness.

Then a low voice said,
"Roan, I be at the window."

Releasing a breath, he made
his way across the room. He was nearly on top of her before he
could make out her form sitting on the window seat. He sat beside
her. She was sitting on one leg, her face turned to the window, a
blanket draped over her shoulders. He didn't need to see her face
clearly to determine she was troubled by something.

"Want me to build a
fire?"

"I be warm
enough."

"Deliah, ye're voice sounds
a wee shaky."

She sighed a woeful sound.
"I be no' feelin’ too weel."

He reached out and placed
the back of a hand to her brow. "You don’t have a
fever."

"Fairies never get ill, so
I be a wee frightened, Roan. I canna tell Winston. I dinna want him
worryin’ abou' me."

"He loves you," said Roan
with a low chuckle. "O' course he'll worry abou' you."

"Worried abou' wha'?" asked
a voice in the darkness.

"Lannie, we're by the
window," said Roan. "Deliah's feeling a wee jaggey. No fever,
though."

"Fegs," Lachlan muttered.
"I'll light two o' the lamps."

In the dark, Lachlan took a
box of wooden matches from the fireplace mantel. He retraced his
steps toward the hall, stopping before he reached the threshold. He
struck one sulfur tip along a coarse strip on the box then turned
the key at the base of the wall light fixture to the right of the
door. With this lamp lit, he went to the one to the right of the
sideboard, which was positioned about seven feet away from the
nearest window. Soft light graced most of the room, awarding them
adequate visibility. He placed the box on the sideboard and walked
to where Deliah and Roan were sitting.

"Can’t sleep?" Roan asked
him then glanced at Lachlan's naked legs, visible beneath his
knee-length robe. He released a choked laugh and looked into
Lachlan's face with wide eyes. "I thought at first you were wearin’
fur leggings, mon!"

Lachlan peered down at the
dark hair covering his legs, wiggled his bare toes, and dealt Roan
a look of chagrin. Deliah's wan smile drew his attention to
her.

"Ye havena seen ma
Winston's legs, have ye?" she said with a glimmer of humor in her
blue eyes.

"Never mind our legs,"
Lachlan grumbled, and gently placed the back of a hand to her brow
and then her left cheek. "No fever, tis true, but ye're pale, lass.
Have you been eatin’ properly? The body canna sustain itself on
love alone."

She blushed and lowered her
gaze for a moment. Lachlan's stomach rumbled loudly and she looked
up, her eyebrows arched in amusement.