Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (16 page)

"Dinna get yer breeks in an
uproar. I'm only tryin' to offer you—"

"Advice?" Standing, Roan
placed his hands on his hips and scowled at the laird. "Yer bloody
advice got me kneed in the groin!"

Lachlan grinned. "Aye, and
you took it like a
real
mon."

"No. I hit the ground like a
mon in excruciating pain! Och, damn me." He sliced a hand through
the air then trenched his fingers through his damp hair. "I
shouldn't listen to you. I don't know wha' women in yer time were
like, but the modern womon does no' appreciate bein'
cornered."

"I never said to corner
her."

"Laura deserves a mon
capable o' tenderness, no' some horny fool ou' for a quick
fix."

Lachlan shot to his feet, a
savage expression darkening his face. "Listen to me, Ingliss.
You've got yerself mired so deeply in self-pity, ye're slowly
suffocatin'!

"Fine. Throw it all away!
The house, anither chance to love, and the opportunity to be a
faither, again! Throw it all away, but mark ma words, laddie, it'll
return to haunt you one day."

In the blink of an eye,
Lachlan vanished, but his heated words continued on. "The past is
exactly tha'.
Gone!
Irretrievable! I'm ashamed to call you a kinsmon!"

Roan closed his eyes until
several minutes passed in silence. When he opened them, desolation
shadowed their depths. Were he not prone to rejecting genuine
friendship, he might have welcomed the laird's support. But Roan
Ingliss had distanced himself too long to easily seek counsel.
Besides, for whatever reason, Lachlan was determined to match Roan
and Laura, and Roan was known by family and acquaintances to defy
anyone who dared to pressure him into something he felt he was not
ready for.

Shuddering with cold, he
drew up the coat collar around his reddened ears and headed toward
the house.

His house.

Stopping short of the front
doors, he gazed over the facade of the Victorian structure. His
heartbeat quickened, and a rush of liquid warmth passed beneath his
skin. A smile curved up the corners of his mouth. Brightened his
eyes. Pride filled his chest.

In awe of what he was
experiencing, he heaved a wavering breath.

Despite its dark history,
Baird House was an undeniable accomplishment. Every stone and inch
of mortar remained as a trophy to the man who'd built it, a
testament to a century-and-a-half old dream. Lachlan Baird's trophy
and dream, now passed down to a member of the bloodline responsible
for cutting short his life.

It struck Roan, at this most
peculiar moment, that Baird House was more than just walls
enclosing three stories. It represented hope.

Turning in place, he
marveled at the grounds and the view of Loch Ken.

For generations his clan had
endeavored to banish the stigma of Tessa and Robert's sin against
Lachlan Baird. Why was he, a direct decedent of Robert Ingliss,
offered such a magnanimous gift?

Beth had brought up the
possibility of a 'greater force' at work in his life. It was
becoming more difficult for him to credit the present series of
events as mere coincidences.

He'd been a loner prior to
the double tragedy three years ago, a man always quietly searching
for something he could never define. Adaina had more than once
accused him of being distant, unwilling to work on their marital
relationship. She'd left him for a fast-talking con artist. A man,
she claimed, capable of satisfying her sexual drives.

Burying his hands in the
pockets of his coat, Roan's gaze lazily swept the
landscape.

He'd let his wife leave him
without a fight, without so-much-as a word to change her mind.
She'd been a good mother to their son. He hadn't even thought to
try to save his marriage for the sake of the boy. His father hadn't
fought for him. It seemed natural to step back and accept the
meager visitations that Adaina had granted him with Jamey. At the
time, it had made his life less complicated.

"It's hard to forgive
yourself," said a whisperlike voice.

Cutting his gaze to the
right, Roan stared at Beth's diaphanous form hovering just above
the ground. The sight of her like this caused him to fill his lungs
with cold air. He coughed, coughed again then inhaled sparingly
through his nostrils.

"I didn't get to spend much
time with Laura," she said, her image wavering.

"She's upset wi'
me."

Beth smiled. "That's an
understatement. How did you manage to put Lachlan in such a foul
mood, too?"

Broad shoulders feebly
shrugged beneath the lambs wool coat. "I lost ma
temper."

"He's fond of you,
Roan."

"Why? Why me, Beth? I don't
understand."

"He admires your inner
strength."

His troubled gaze drifted to
the loch. "I've lived maist o' ma life in a comfortable dream.
Comin' here...." He look at Beth, a wry grin twitching on his
mouth. "You don't leave much for a mon to hide behind, do
you?"

The phantom faded until she
was barely visible. "I was wrong to interfere last night, but I
don't regret it. Roan, free yourself. Please." Although she
vanished completely from his sight, her voice remained clear and
strong. "Your so-called 'comfortable dream' has only served to
isolate you from life.

"That unknown you've been
searching for, Roan? You've found it. Open your eyes.
Roan...stop...hiding...from...yourself."

To Roan's disbelief, he
sensed Beth's retreat. For several seconds, he stared in wonder at
where she'd been. A shiver coursed through him and he drew in his
shoulders. He turned again to the front doors. A frown deepened the
grooves across his wide brow. Impulsively, he withdrew a hand from
his pocket and placed the palm against one of the brown rocks
comprising the wall. The surface was surprisingly warm.

A tickling sensation shot
down his arm, moved across his chest, and swirled around his heart.
Smiling, he looked at the iron plaque above the doors which read:
1843. A mystical force surrounded the place, but he was beginning
to realize that Lachlan and Beth were only a small part of
it.

The house itself was a
gateway for the lost. The lost. The lonely. The
introverted.

A plan burst within his
brain, accelerating his pulse and filling him with such elation, he
found it impossible to breathe. He ran through the greenhouse and
into the hall, and was about to shout for Laura when Viola Cooke
emerged from the library. The electrical aura of his excitement
took her aback. Recovering, she hobbled to him and brandished a
sweet smile.

"So, it's finally hit you
that you're soon to be the master of the house," she beamed,
affectionately squeezing his hand. "I envy you, Mr. Ingliss. I've
loved this place a long time."

"You'll always be welcomed
here."

"Thank you." Sighing deeply,
she glanced back at the front doors. "I should be heading
home."

"Are the roads safe
enough?"

She beamed him another
smile. "I drive like a snail, Mr. Ingliss. I'll be fine.
However...." She regarded him for a long moment. "Laura's edgy.
Perhaps you should give her a little space. I don't mean to stick
my two cents in where it's not wanted, but she has a lot on her
mind."

"Where is she,
now?"

"She took the boys upstairs.
Such darling boys."

A secretive grin curved up
one corner of Roan's mouth. Viola walked to the umbrella stand by
the doors. Helping her into her three-quarter length coat, he
walked outside with her.

"I guess there'll be changes
at Baird House now," she said almost sadly, leaning heavily on
Roan's arm. "Nothing wrong with change, I guess."

"Depends on wha' it
is."

Viola didn't respond until
she'd opened the driver's door to her blue and white Simca. Her
pale blue eyes somberly searched his face, as if trying to glean a
clue as to his plans for the estate. "Do you plan to reside here,
Mr. Ingliss?"

"I think so."

"Good. Good." The corners of
her mouth turned down in a halfhearted smile, she climbed in behind
the steering wheel.

Roan stepped back and
watched until the car disappeared down the road around the far side
of the snow-laden rhododendrons. He re-entered the house, gloom
threading the periphery of his awareness. It had been a strange day
all around, and it wasn't even noon.

His stomach growled.
Removing his coat and hanging it on a brass hook on the umbrella
stand, he headed toward the kitchen.

* * *

Nightfall arrived with
surprising swiftness. Not once had he crossed Laura or the boys'
paths. The jewels and money Lachlan had offered him were removed
from their hiding places and, placed in an embroidered pillowcase,
tucked into the bottom of the lowest drawer of his dresser. He'd
puttered around the house, fine-tuning his plans for what to do
with it. Before he would do anything, though, he'd first clear it
with Lachlan and Beth.

He ate dinner alone at the
dining table, taking his time, in hopes of Laura showing up. When
she didn't, frustration prodded his temper. He cleaned the dishes,
strolled through the first floor rooms again, then headed up the
staircase.

The house was unnervingly
quiet. Bursting with silence. Extinguishing most of the gas lamps
along his way, he went to his room and closed the door.

Several hours later, he lay
naked beneath the bed covers, his arms folded beneath his head, his
gaze absently watching the shifting patterns the firelight made on
the ceiling.

Unbidden, Laura entered his
thoughts. Tightness invaded his groin. His eyebrows drawing down in
a frown, he looked to the hearth.

A sensation of warmth
coursed through him, yet he shivered. Too vividly, he recalled the
image of her face in the firelight while they were making love, and
the lightly perfumed scent of her skin. His palms tingled,
eliciting the impression that he was stroking her incredible body
again.

With a grunt, he testily
yanked one of the pillows from beneath his head and clamped it over
his face.

It was all he could do not
to go to her room and pull her into his arms.

Desire tortured him; mocked
his restraint.

A voice in his head asked
him why was he so damned afraid to approach her.

Throwing the pillow across
the room, he shot into a sitting position. "Because ye're leavin',
dammit!"

The sound of his own voice
saying the words, stunned him. It was true he didn't want her to
leave. For that matter, he'd also grown attached to the
boys.

Now that was truly a
shocker.

His anger lessening, he
glanced forlornly about the room.

"Wha' could I possibly offer
you to get you to stay just long enough to see if we have a
chance?"

A low bitter laugh escaped
him. "No' love, aye, Roan? Ye're a bloody coward in tha' respect,
and I'm gettin' tired o' livin' like this!"

Reclining, he rubbed his
hands up and down his face then slapped his arms to the mattress.
"Aye, I'm tired o' livin' and sleepin' alone. Come morn,
lass—"

A blood-curdling woman's
scream bolted him from the bed.

C
hapter 6

An ache in the lower part of
her back woke Laura from a sound sleep. She peered into the pale
grayness of the room, wondering for several seconds where she was.
Gentle shifting movement cleared her mind. Smiling contentedly, she
slipped a hand from beneath the bed quilts and touched the
fingertips to Alby's cool brow. He squirmed again in his sleep,
nestling closer to her. On the opposite end of the massive
mattress, Kevin turned onto his right side, placing his back to his
siblings and aunt.

Laura contemplated the three
enigmas for a time. She'd known her nephews for about a week, and
yet, despite her apprehension of her newfound responsibility, she
daily grew closer to them. Until now, she'd been afraid to face
what the future held for them. It was mindboggling how much there
was to consider. Changing her residence—there wasn't enough room in
her apartment for one child, let alone three. Daycare. Mentally
adjusting her precious 'spare time' to accommodate their needs.
Drastic changes in her grocery shopping. Clothing. Readying Kevin
and Kahl for school. Finding a reputable
pediatrician....

Silently moaning, she eased
out of bed.

She made her way to the
bathroom, rubbing her upper arms to ward off the chill caressing
her exposed skin. A dull glow of embers was all that remained in
the fireplace. After relieving herself and washing her hands, she
went to the hearth and moved back the chair supporting Roan's shirt
and pants, and boxer shorts. She took in hand the box of matches on
the mantel. Kneeling, she placed twigs, balled paper, and two logs
on the iron grate. She removed a wooden match.

And frowned.