Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (2 page)

Instead, it was only the
beginning.

And only upon his death did
his true destiny finally become engraved into the annals of
time.

HERE THE DEVIL
LIES

LACHLAN IAIN
BAIRD

13/2/1811—?/1844

C
hapter 1

With the advent of night,
the temperature dropped to the high thirties in Crossmichael,
Scotland. Roan Ingliss and Lachlan Baird sat on separate crates in
the carriage house, briskly rubbing their hands within the heat
emanating from the wood stove. Two lanterns provided them with
adequate visibility. Their dinner basket had been emptied two hours
earlier, and lay at Roan's feet.

The previous night,
Lachlan, Roan, and Winston Connery had gotten into a brawl at
Shortby's Pub in town. Their women, fed up with the "scotch" taking
precedence over them, had strongly suggested the men move into the
carriage house for a time. No one was more to blame than Lachlan,
himself.

He hadn't taken his
re-emergence into life all that well.

No, that was an
understatement. In truth, he was more afraid of life than he had
been of death. His reluctance to face his new responsibilities had
caused a rift between him and Beth, and had somehow started a war
of wills between the other men and women residing at Baird House.
Thus far, only Winston had mustered up the nerve to face his love,
Deliah. That morning, he'd gone back into the main house and hadn't
been seen since. Either Deliah had turned him into the "nubby toad"
she'd threatened to on a few occasions, or—

"Tis a fair wager he's
snuggled up wi' her," said Lachlan a bit testily. "As we should be
wi' our women."

Roan grunted. He rapidly
ran his hands up and down his face then raked his fingers through
the unruly loose curls of his light brown hair. "If you remind me
once mair o' our sorry predicament, I'll throttle you,
Lannie."

An amused glint shone in
Lachlan eyes as his gaze swung to Roan's profile. "Jaggey o' heart,
are we?"

Again Roan
grunted.

Silence companioned them
for a time then Lachlan released a long, woeful sigh. "I keep
thinkin’ abou' ma children." He shivered, snugged deeper into the
blanket draped about his shoulders, and leaned closer to the stove.
"How did you react when you first learned you were goin’ to be a
faither?"

Roan stared off into space
for a moment then said, "Stunned. Adaina and I had already decided
to separate. I thought she was trying to spite me at first—for no'
being the husband she wanted. I didn't even believe her till she
started to show."

"Efter Jamey was born?"
Lachlan asked softly.

A fond smile wove its way
through the tension in Roan's face. "The instant I laid ma sorry
eyes on him—" His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "I was
never prouder or happier. He was such a wonder, and brought more
joy to ma life—for wha' little time he had on this earth. I've
often wondered wha' he would look like now. Whether he would think
me a good faither, or the loser his mither thought me."

"I didna mean to open the
wound."

Roan gave a nod. "I know
you didn't." He shook his head as he plucked absently at a loose
wool fiber along the edge of the blanket covering his shoulders.
"When you lose someone, Lannie, you can't shake from yer mind the
wha' ifs or the regrets. Every cruel word and deed eats at you till
you think you'll go mad, even though you know tha' person is beyond
you redeemin’ yer worth to them."

"I've only ever lost
maself," Lachlan said with a comical lilt to his tone. "And in the
grand scheme o' life, twas but a wee loss, I'm sorry to
say."

His eyes twinkling, Roan
chuckled, "Ye're incorrigible."

"Tha' I am. Roan, why is it
the womon carries the child and suffers givin’ birth, but tis the
mon who feels threatened?"

"Maybe it has to do wi' the
financial responsibility o' havin’ children. Tha' and the emotional
commitment it takes to bein’ a parent. Women seemed to be blessed
wi' an incredible ability to adapt. Look at Laura. A career womon
never really wantin’ children, and she inherits three rowdy
nephews. Aye, she panicked at first, but her maternal instincts
were quick to surface. No' sure how I would have coped if I'd found
maself in her position. Wha' hurts like hell is knowin’ she could
raise those lads just fine wi’ou' me."

"I dinna agree wi' tha', ma
friend. Laura needs you as much as the lads do. Dinna sell yerself
short."

"Ah, maybe so. I'm just in
the dumps, so Kevin says."

Lachlan frowned
thoughtfully, then said, "I've been thinkin’ abou' ma faither. He
was never around much, and for tha' I was grateful. He had a mean
streak up his back tha' was as wide as his arse."

A grin tugged at Roan's
mouth. "Quite an image you paint."

"Aye. We had no love for
one anither. Love, understandin’, and security...that's wha' a
parent is abou'. Ma faither was a terrible role model, and I spent
wha' I had o' ma life tryin’ no' to be anythin’ like him. I was
determined to be kind where he was cruel, and strong where he was
weak, which is why I canna understand why I withdrew like I did
from Beth and the twins. I've never backed off from a challenge,
Roan, and yet their wee faces filled me wi' such terror, I got lost
in fears o’ inadequacy. I was mair afraid o' disappointin’ them
than o' abandonin’ them."

"Was?" Roan asked softly,
delighted that Lachlan was finally coming around.

Lachlan nodded. "Aye, I've
come to ma senses." He gushed a breath in vexation. "Little wonder
Beth is furious. She's left no choice but to fall into the role o'
parent, while I take to sulkin’ and scotch. I'm goin’ to have a
devil o' a time undoin’ this mess."

"Are you still plannin’ to
approach her in the morn?"

Lachlan released a
strangled laugh. "Aye, but I wish I could don armor first. She has
a fine temper, and I wouldna change tha' for all the scotch in the
land." He sighed deeply. "But I've never been such a fool afore,
nor seen her so angry and hurt."

To Lachlan's amazement,
Roan began to laugh, its deep rich sound filling the carriage
house.

"Have you gone daft,
mon?"

Roan's mirth wound down.
"Sorry. I got this image o' Beth comin’ at you wi' a fryin’
pan."

"You are daft," Lachlan
grumbled.

"No. Wha' really struck me
funny was seein’ in ma mind Laura doin’ the same to me. Women may
be called the weaker sex, but you and I know
differently."

"Aye," Lachlan chortled,
and clapped Roan on the shoulder. "A fryin’ pan ma thick skull
could take, but I wouldna put it past ma Beth to do me a mair
serious deed." He grimaced and grew quiet for a few moments. "I've
too many swords and the like in the house."

Roan sighed. "Aye, it’s a
mess, for sure." He was silent for a moment. "You mentioned before
you had a brither named Ian. Was he yer only sibling?"

"Two ithers, Angus and
Gavin. We were all given Ian as a middle name, efter ma paternal
grandfaither. Patrick preferred to be called Ian. I was the
youngest. You have brithers?"

"Just a sister I would
rather forget." Roan stood and stretched the small of his back.
"I've got to step ou' back and relieve ma bladder. Don't soak up
all the heat while I'm gone."

Lachlan gave a brief nod,
then braced his elbows on his thighs and watched Roan go out the
back door.

The night air made Roan
grimace as he walked toward the white picket fence separating the
property. He was about to unzip his fly when he detected voices.
After a moment, he pinpointed the general location and realized he
was hearing segments of a heated argument.

Dashing back to the open
door, he shouted, "Lannie, somethin’s goin’ on in the
field!"

Lachlan appeared at the
threshold. He followed Roan to the fence, where he, too, heard
voices drifting in from the clearing beyond the woods, the area of
his supposed resting place.

The two men entered the
woods, oblivious to the cold, their concentration focused on
keeping afoot on the slick ground. Before they exited the wooded
area, two beams of light could be seen bobbing beneath the bare
branches of the solitary oak in the center of the field. Both men
stopped to weigh the situation then looked at each
other.

"Why would someone be
messin’ around the graves?" Roan asked, his heart hammering inside
his chest.

Lachlan lit into another
run, taking the lead, fury fueling his momentum.

Near the ancient oak, Roan
and Lachlan found three men struggling on the ground. One of them,
younger than the others, seemed to be fighting off the other two,
his fists sailing and guttural Gaelic curses abounding. The older
men appeared to be attempting to hold down the third. As Lachlan
and Roan slid to a stop, one of the older men raised his flashlight
in a gesture that indicated he intended to bring it down on the
younger man's head.

Lachlan grabbed the man's
lifted arm. Ignoring his yelp of surprise, Lachlan yanked him off
the younger man, leaving Roan to handle the second. While Roan was
trying to separate the fist-driving pair, Lachlan's captive
unexpectedly elbowed him in the midriff and shoved him. Lachlan
pitched backward and struck the ground, while his assailant ran
toward the road bordering the side of the property.

Dazed, Lachlan had sat up
before he realized there was something odd about the ground beneath
him. It was soft dirt, not packed snow or ice. From the corner of
his eye, he saw something erect a scant half an arm's reach away.
Horrified, he found himself gawking at his headstone.

He was sitting atop the
partially excavated depression of his own grave.

With a howl, he bolted to
his feet, in time to witness the second old man swing his
flashlight at Roan. The blow caught Roan just above his right
temple. He fell to his side, disoriented and unable to stop the man
from taking off after his partner.

Panting, the younger man
rolled onto his knees and gingerly helped Roan to sit up. Lachlan
stepped out of the two-foot deep depression and loomed behind the
remaining stranger, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Get yer paughty hands off
him!" Lachlan warned, not touching the stranger for fear he would
beat him to a pulp.

"I had no' part in this but
to try to stop them," the young man said testily.

Lachlan's hands swooped
downward. In his right he clutched the collar of the man's jacket,
in the other, one of the flashlights. Both he lifted with equal
ease. Whirling around, he deftly slammed the man against the broad
trunk of the oak and cinched his free hand across his
throat.

Focusing the beam of the
flashlight on the man's face, Lachlan snarled, "Wha' are you doin’
on this property, diggin’ up ma grave?"

"Yer—" Despite the harsh
light, his blue eyes widened. Then he squinted and gripped the
wrist of Lachlan's hand in a futile attempt to move the beam from
his face.

"Answer me!"

Roan got to his feet and
unsteadily stood at Lachlan's side.

"I found them diggin’.
Afore I had a chance to say a word, they turned on me."

"You just happened to be
here?" Lachlan asked heatedly and tightened his grip.

"Aye!" the man
gasped.

"Let him go," said Roan.
"Lannie, the ither two wouldn't have run like they did if they
weren't the culprits."

"How do I know they didna
merely turn on one o' their own?"

The young man's eyes
pleaded with Roan to reason on his behalf with Lachlan, but before
Roan could say another word, Lachlan released him and stepped
back.

Massaging his throat, the
young man nodded in gratitude, his wary gaze on Lachlan.

"Wha' the hell?" Roan
murmured, using the second flashlight to inspect the disturbed
ground. Two shovels lay on the opposite side of the
grave.

"Grave robbin’ is a
grievous offense," Lachlan gritted out, his gaze raking over the
stranger.

The young man straightened.
He was as tall as Lachlan but slender in build and approximately in
his mid-twenties. His long, wavy hair was unkempt and hung a good
three inches past his shoulders. High cheekbones. A prominent
jawline with a deeply cleft chin. Blood trickled from the left
nostril of his straight nose.

"Sir, I may be wi’ou' a
home or a place to sleep, but a grave robber I be no'. On ma honor,
I was walkin’ the road and saw the lights. I thought maself
fortunate to find anyone ou' so late, and only trespassed to ask if
perhaps they had a place I could sleep for the night. I didna know
wha' was goin’ on till I saw these markers and those men diggin’ up
the ground."

Lachlan tilted up his chin
and eyed the man with blatant cynicism. "Just walkin’ along the
road, were you?"

"Aye. Lookin’ for a place
to sleep the night."

Roan and Lachlan exchanged
dubious glances then both focused on the stranger.