Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (13 page)

Sighing, Lachlan hooked one
hand on his nape. "I can see you, Laura, the lads, and Winston's
family here, but no' me and mine."

"Wha' do you mean?" Roan
released a sound caught between a choke and a laugh. "This will
always be yer home. Damn me, but you're no' still thinkin’ I want
you away from here, are you?"

"Tis no' abou' us, Roan. I
just canna see Beth, the twins and I here much longer."

"I don’t
understand."

"We don't belong here
anymair."

"Lannie, this is yer home!
I'll no' let you leave it."

"There's changes comin’. I
dinna know exactly wha', but they are in the makin’, and there's
naught we can do to avoid them."

"Go where?" Roan asked
angrily, although he was more stricken than angry at the idea of
them leaving the estate. "Let me tell you somethin’, and I want you
to listen verra carefully. Lannie, I don’t fully understand this
bond you and I share, but it damn near killed me when you passed
over. I thought the emptiness I carry for ma son was painful, but
it didn’t compare to the ache yer absence brought me. I know it
sounds daft, but I'm tellin’ you the truth.

"Winston told me you and I
are still linked, but he didn’t know why," Roan went on.
"Unfinished business, I guess, although for the life o' me, I can’t
imagine wha' mair could be between us."

Roan's throat tightened. "I
panic when I think o' you no' bein’ here. It's like a part o' me
goes wi' you."

Distressed by Roan's
declaration, Lachlan sighed wearily. "Tis guilt. Let it
go."

"Guilt abou' wha'? Aye,
there are times I feel there's somethin’ I need to tell you, but I
don’t know wha' it is. But it’s no' guilt. We've reckoned our
past."

Lachlan shrugged. "I
believe we have, too, but I've sensed guilt in you since tha' first
morn you came to this house." He smiled a little at the memory.
"You were a brazen mon, if ever I saw one. Demandin’ no' only
employment from me, but a fair wage."

Roan's tension waned and a
tenuous grin appeared on his mouth. "You scared the bejesus ou' o'
me when you appeared. Tha' seems like eons ago."

"Aye. Look, tis best we say
no mair abou' this, especially in front o' the ithers. When I know
what's to come, I promise to tell you. Till then, dinna dwell on
what's to be. We all have our paths to travel, and travel them we
must."

"Maybe this feelin’ you
have is a result o’ the media gettin’ wind o' yer
return."

"Could be."

"But Winston—"

"Aye," Lachlan said softly,
and placed a hand on Roan's shoulder. "Aye, he came up wi' a good
cover. For me. Perhaps tis knowin’ Beth canna be so easily
explained away tha' has had me thinkin’ o' leaving. No perhaps
abou' it. Tis tha', true enough."

"We'll find a
way—"

"Roan." Lachlan scowled
into the man's face. "I'm sorry I burdened you wi'
this."

"We're friends. It would be
a harsher burden if I thought you couldn’t confide in
me."

"Spoken like the laird o'
Baird House," Lachlan said proudly. "So," he added, stepping back
and casting the bowl a look of longing. "Fry them, are
you?"

Roan eyed the sausages and
nodded. "Aye, but..." He looked at Lachlan, his head tilted in a
thoughtful manner. "Some fried potatoes and chunks o'
cheese."

"Coffee."

A genuine grin spread
across Roan's rugged face. "Aren't we a sorry lot, eatin’ in the
middle o' the night."

"A hungry lot," said
Lachlan.

Lachlan moved around the
counter and took down one of the cast iron skillets dangling from a
ceiling rack. "I'll dice, you cook. Agreed?"

"Ye're on. But you make the
coffee. Mine tastes like mud."

"Now tha' you mention
it...."

Roan struck an indignant
pose. "Are you mockin’ ma cookin’ again, mon?"

"Me?" Lachlan waved a hand
theatrically. "Ma brain and ma heart appreciates yer kitchen
talents, but yer coffee hits ma stomach like a devil in a fit o'
temper."

Roan shrugged off the
insult.

C
hapter 5

Three hours sleep was all
Lachlan could manage. He'd been tired enough after the last feeding
and changing of the twins, but an inexplicable restlessness had
prevented him from falling into a deep sleep. At the crack of dawn,
he was wide awake and went down to the first floor, where he ambled
through the rooms, imbibing the quiet and stillness of the house.
He found himself comparing the ambiance of the place as it was now
to how he'd perceived it during the long decades of his other life.
Back then, he'd taken it all for granted. Dawns and dusks were
merely the passing of days. Now, each signaled a new chapter in
what he hoped would be a long life.

The house seemed larger in
his corporeal existence. Larger and quieter and a great deal more
solid. He knew the latter didn't make any sense, but he nonetheless
was more aware of the walls, floors, and ceilings, of their colors
and smells and the occasional sounds. He loved every square inch of
the place. It was a part of him—or, him of it. The idea of leaving
his home unnerved him, but only a little. For a reason he couldn't
bring to full understanding, he was more afraid of
remaining.

He belonged within these
walls and yet he didn't. The estate was his past and present, but
instinctively he knew it would not be his future.

The knowin’.

If only he understood the
concept or could figure out what he was supposed to do with
it.

Knowin’ wha’?

He'd determined Deliah's
pregnancy. How, he didn't know. Enlightenment had simply come to
him.

Grandfather Rory had told
him as a lad he had the gift. Did that mean the old man had the
knowing, too? Wouldn't it take his grandfather having the knowing
to know Lachlan possessed it?

Lachlan went into the
kitchen and browsed through the icebox. He wasn't really hungry,
not after the meal Roan had put together a few hours earlier, but
he decided to fix Reith something. Although it was early, he
figured the young man would wake up ravenous. Besides, Lachlan
wanted some company, and he was relatively sure Reith wouldn't mind
being hauled out of bed.

He cooked eggs and what
remained of the mealie pudding, reheated the leftover fried
potatoes, made a pot of coffee, and lastly cut a thick slab of
bread and slathered it with jam. It all went on a platter, which he
topped with a silver cover.

Platter, two cups,
coffeepot, a fork and knife, and a linen napkin were all placed on
a silver serving tray. He was about to lift the tray when he
glanced at the pepper grinder on the island counter. Without asking
himself why he felt compelled to take it along, he entered the
secondary hall with Reith's breakfast.

Drizzle met him when he
exited the last set of doors. The air was cool, but by no means as
chilly as it had been since his return. Only patches of snow
remained. Despite the dampness, he could smell the freshness of
spring.

He wore his favorite black
boots, a clean pair of black breeks, and a wool, full-sleeved shirt
of forest green. His hair was tied at the nape with a thin, black
leather cord, and he was cleanly shaven. The sky was pale gray. To
some it would be a dreary morning, but he paid it no mind. A few of
the peafowl strutted around the yard, glancing his way as he
advanced toward the carriage house.

He greeted the birds with a
grin and a "Good morn", but wondered if they knew him in his
physical state.

They, of course, were
familiar with the ghost Lachlan. The feathered creatures must
wonder his change—if they could reason, that was. They were
certainly curious about his presence, although they didn't seem
uneasy or perturbed in the least. But then, the peafowl of Baird
House were famous for being brazen and protective of their
sanctuary. Several had cried out the advent of dawn even before
he'd noticed the sky lightening.

The front door to the
carriage house was open. Entering the building, Lachlan squinted in
the semidarkness to where the cot was situated. He could see no
sign of Reith, but he did hear him. Placing the tray on the cot, he
went to the open rear door, where he found the young man crouched a
few feet away, amid seven peafowl. He was stroking the head of one
brown peahen and talking softly to her. It was unusual for the
birds to trust strangers, but it was obvious Reith had a winning
manner with more than people.

Lachlan observed him for a
short time then cleared his throat to get Reith's attention. Bright
turquoise blue eyes swung around to him, and a smile appeared in
greeting.

"Good morn, Mr. Baird. Up a
wee early, are ye no'?"

"I could say the same for
you." Lachlan nodded toward the birds. "I see you've won their
admiration."

The young man laughed as he
stood. "Some o' them kept me company durin’ maist o' the night.
They be a curious lot."

"Tha' they are. I brought
you breakfast. Tis inside. You should eat afore it gets
cold."

Reith's eyes lit up
hungrily and he followed Lachlan to the cot, where he sat on one
end, watching as Lachlan removed the plate cover and laid it
aside.

"I couldna remember if you
wanted coffee or tea," said Lachlan apologetically.

Inhaling through his
nostrils, Reith grinned appreciatively. "Coffee, sir. I thank ye
for this grand breakfast."

"Everyone in the house is
still asleep. I brought ou' an extra cup. Mind if I stay and have
coffee wi' you?"

Reith's eyes widened in
surprise. "Sir, twould be a pleasure to have yer company. Have ye
eaten?"

With a crooked grin,
Lachlan eased the tray closer to Reith then sat, placing the food
between them. "A few hours ago. Roan made the mealie puddin’. The
mon can cook, I'll certainly give him his due."

"Have some, sir. I dinna
feel right abou'—"

"Dig in," Lachlan chided,
and filled the cups with steaming coffee.

Reith stared down at the
platter a moment longer, his nostrils twitching. He took the pepper
grinder and zealously coated all the food with the seasoning.
Lachlan had never seen anyone use so much pepper. Sipping his
coffee, he watched with amusement as Reith set the platter on his
lap and eagerly forked some of the fried potatoes into his
mouth.

"Did you sleep
weel?"

Reith nodded and swallowed.
"The mattress be verra soft." He lifted a portion of fried egg but
paused to pass Lachlan a mischievous glance. "I take it ye and yer
lady have worked ou' yer problems."

"Aye. She's a forgivin’
lass."

Reith chewed the egg
morsel, nodding. After swallowing, he rolled his eyes and smiled at
Lachlan. "This be verra good."

Lachlan continued to sip
his coffee. It struck him that the young man's speech was very
similar to Deliah's, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he
watched Reith make short work of the meal. When the runny egg yolks
had been sopped up with chunks of bread and the plate was left
without a speck of food, Reith released a sigh of contentment then
lifted his own cup to his lips.

"You've a good appetite,"
said Lachlan. "I can fix you mair."

"Tis kind o' ye, sir, but
I've had ma fill. Thank ye."

With a grin, Lachlan
nodded. "Ye're welcome." He dug into a small watch pocket in the
front of his breeks and removed a wad of Scottish bills. "Here,
from Roan and me. Tis a hundred pounds to buy you some decent
clothes."

Reith looked both startled
and chagrined. "I prefer to first earn ma wage."

"Dinna be thickheaded abou'
this, laddie. Tis no' much, but twill get you started. From wha'
Roan tells me, this money willna go far in these times, but I
refuse to see you work wi’ou' warm clothes on yer back, and proper
footwear."

Reith hesitated before
reluctantly taking the money. He stared down at it, frowning,
looking almost as if he would burst into tears at any
moment.

"Laddie," Lachlan said
softly, "tis no' charity. Swallow yer pride."

"Sir, I told ye I have no
pride left."

The raspy, despondent tone
jerked on Lachlan's heartstrings. He liked this young man, and
sensed a deep-rooted sorrow in him. Reith lifted his cup to his
mouth, the hand trembling slightly, certainly enough for Lachlan to
notice. His other hand was fisted around the money, too tightly, in
the laird's opinion.

"Are you thinkin’ o' yer
wife?" asked Lachlan. "Is she in need o' money?"

He looked at Lachlan
through an expression of wonder. "Ye are a generous mon, sir. No, I
wasna thinkin’ o' ma wife, nor does she need money. In her own
right, she be verra wealthy."

The information surprised
Lachlan. "Then why are you roamin’ the countryside like a mon
destitute?"

A small smile appeared on
the man's handsome face. "O' ma own making, I can assure ye. Ye
see, sir, no' too long ago I was o' the opinion the world owed me a
mighty big favor. I had it all, but I was so self-centered, I
couldna see ma way clear o' wantin’ and demandin’."