Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (19 page)

Lightheadedness caused Laura
to sway on her feet as she stared unblinkingly at a couple across
from her. A woman of undeniable beauty sat primly on the settee,
her vibrant blue eyes staring at a well-built man to her left. Mud
stained the hemline of her long, full-skirted, black and green
plaid muslin gown. A short cape of the same material covered her
shoulders, and was clasped at the base of her throat with a
rose-jeweled brooch. The woman's costume perfectly suited the room,
Laura thought, right down to the banana curls fashioned at the
sides of the woman's head.

"I canna bear the thought o'
him touchin' you," the man said poignantly.

He, too, blended into the
ambiance of the room. Short sideburns. His dark hair swept back
from a high brow. The black longcoat accentuating his broad
shoulders.

A slow, evil smile spread
across the woman's mouth as she reached out with a gloved hand and
boldly cupped his crotch. She gave a tug, urging him closer. Then
she leaned to and pressed her lips to his lower abdomen.

Laura wanted to look away,
but could not.

"Tessa," he groaned, dipping
his head back, his profile revealing to Laura his painful
need.

"The poor sod will never
have me, Robert."

Robert Robert
Roberrrrt.

Running a hand over the
rigid erection concealed beneath his fawn-colored trousers, the
woman peered up through thick, pale lashes. "Tis you I love. His
paughty hands will never touch ma skin, I promise."

Someone cried out Laura's
name, shattering her stupor.

In a matter of seconds, she
saw Roan rushing toward her, his face ravaged with a look of sheer
horror. Something compelled her to look down. As if watching in
slow motion, she saw Alby back away from the hearth, a poker in his
hands, the curved end scraping across the fieldstone. A
fire-enveloped log rolled toward him, one end making contact with
the bottom of the blanket enshrouding her.

Terror squeezed her vocal
chords, paralyzed her.

Roan swung the boy behind
him, abruptly dropped him to the floor then harshly yanked the
blanket from about her. Lachlan snatched it from him, threw it on
the floor, and stomped out the flames with a booted
foot.

"Are you burned?" Laura
heard Beth ask, but to Laura, the voice came from very far
away.

She could not pull her gaze
from Roan's deathly pale face, the wild fury in his eyes. He
trembled violently, his fists clenched at his sides.

After a quick inspection of
Laura's person, Lachlan informed, "She's unharmed."

"Thank God," Beth wheezed,
lifting a sobbing Alby into her arms.

Kahl and Kevin remained
quiet, their fear-induced shock making them look like
manikins.

Roan couldn't breathe. Every
nerve in his body was as taut as a spring. Although the incident
had passed without injury to anyone, fear and anger continued to
coil through him, building and building until he could no longer
confine them.

Glaring at Laura, he
bellowed, "Wha' the hell's wrong wi' you? He could have pitched
headlong into tha' bloody fire!"

"Let it go," Lachlan warned,
placing a hand on Roan's arm.

Viciously, Roan wrenched
away, his burning, accusing look riveted on Laura. "Come the morn,
I want them ou' o' here, Lannie! Tis no place for children!" His
gaze targeted the laird. "No mair, mon! She's no
mither!"

"Calm yerself," Lachlan
warned in an authoritative tone, his dark, penetrating eyes boring
into Roan's.

"Calm maself?" Roan's voice
quivered with emotion. "I'll no' stand by and watch anither child
die! Damn you, Lannie! I wash ma bloody hands o' this
bunch!"

"Roan, you're understandably
upset, but you're scaring the children."

Beth's softly-spoken
statement caused something to further snap in Roan. Turning toward
her, the firelight awarding his features an evil glint, he charged,
"The little boogers are obsessed wi' fire!"

"They're just
children."

"Wha' have you and old
Lannie to lose?" he sneered. "Baird House could appreciate three
little spirits wanderin' its halls—"

Roan sucked in a sharp
breath when a stinging blow was dealt to his face. Stunned, he
stared with widened eyes at Laura's poised weapon-hand. In the
seconds to follow, the silence in the room held substance. Then a
log crumbled on the grate. Red embers crackled, snapped.

"Laura, Lachlan and I will
stay up with the boys tonight. We'll have them sleep in our room,
okay?"

Tears spilling from her
eyes, Laura gave a feeble nod.

Roan stalked across the room
to the middle window, and stood in the shadows staring out into the
night. Laura remained perfectly still until the other couple had
ushered the boys from the room then she walked to Roan, stopping
just out of reach of him.

"I-I don’t know why I
slapped you again. I’m...sorry. Roan? Roan, please talk to
me."

Shivering, he crossed his
arms against his chest and rubbed his upper arms for
warmth.

"What happened to your
son?"

"You can't turn yer back on
children," he said hatefully, refusing to look at her. "And you
can't afford to daydream when they're around!"

"I was wrong—"

He turned on her so swiftly,
she experienced a rush of fear. "Wrong? Sayin' ye're
wrong
doesna excuse yer
stupidity!"

Tears fell in abandon down
her cheeks. "Stop it."

"Ye’re no' fit to raise
those lads!"

"Roan...
please!"

Quaking, compelled to rid
himself of the demons riding his shoulders, he went on, "Wha' gives
you the right to think tha', because ye're a
womon,
you've got a parental bone in
yer body?"

He jerked her against his
steely body, imprisoning her in a vicelike hold.

"You really dinna want them,
do you, Laura?" he hissed into her face, oblivious to her sobs, her
uncontrollable trembling. "What's one less little booger to worry
abou', aye?"

"Why are you talking so odd?
And who are you talking to, Roan?" she wept, looking at him, her
eyes pleading with him to help her understand the reason behind his
brutality.

It took a second before her
questions penetrated his rage. Puzzlement masked his shadowed face,
then a contrite form of horror that offered her hope. His hands
dropped to his sides. He leaned back, staring at her as if
expecting her to strike out at him again.

“How am I
talkin’...odd?”

“You were using contractions
the way Mr. Baird does.”

Roan scrubbed his face with
his palms. “Tha’s...crazy.”

Comforting herself within
her own arms, she gave a toss of her blond head. "What happened to
your son?" she repeated.

Roan looked away then
stepped around her to leave. Laura's fingers clutched the front of
his shirt, forcing him to remain unless he plied her
free.

"What happened?"

Tears rose in his throat and
swiftly filled his eyes. Looking upward, he gave a feeble shake of
his head.

"All right. I won't pressure
you." Laura cleared her throat in an attempt to alleviate the
quiver in her tone. "But you listen to me, Roan Ingliss. I would
never wish harm to anyone, let alone a child. Roan, I never had an
irresponsible moment in my life until I set foot in this
country!"

"I'm sorry—"

"I made a mistake, but it
will never happen again."

His gaze reluctantly lowered
to her face.

Laura swallowed past the
tightness in her throat, and stepped back. "I'm going to check in
on the boys then I'm going to bed. Just...stay away from us. I'll
make sure they don't get into any more trouble."

Laura headed for the door to
the hall. Halfway to her destination, Roan called her name,
prompting her to stop.

"Stay in ma room, tonight.
I'll sleep on the couch in the library."

For a moment, Laura thought
to argue. She didn't want to curl up beneath covers that had
touched him, or lie atop a mattress that had supported him. But she
was too weary and emotionally exhausted to demand another room, or
take the time to make a bed.

With a single nod, she
left.

For a long time afterward,
Roan stared out the window. Self-disgust left him chilled to the
marrow of his bones. He wondered if he'd ever shake the past, ever
come to terms with the guilt he suffered over his son's
death.

Regardless, what he'd said
and done to Laura was nothing less than cruel.

And the boys....

Like it or not, tomorrow, he
owed it to them to explain his behavior.

* * *

Nightmares haunted Laura's
sleep.

The blonde with the bright
blue eyes, stormed through room after room, wailing and shouting
for a name Laura couldn't quite grasp. Everywhere this woman went,
the walls buckled in and out as if breathing. A bright light
followed close behind her, humming with static electricity. Humming
with life.

The dream shifted. A boy of
about eight, crying so hard the sound could barely pass through his
raw throat, pounded small fists against a door. Loud, raspy
breathing filled the room he was in, a room Laura recognized as one
of the servant quarters in the tower. As the breathing grew louder
and louder, the boy shrank in size, until he'd become so small, a
breath of air blew him beneath the door.

Again—

A thousand candles burning
throughout a massive bedroom. Atop a large bed, the blonde hastily
straddled a faceless man's legs, and feverishly tore open the front
of his shirt. He groaned, its sound echoing eerily within the
chamber. She unfastened the tiny buttons on the front of his
trousers, yanked them past his hips, then screamed. In lieu of his
genitals, a gleaming jeweled-handled dagger stood erect.

The blonde again, shouting
from the top of the tower. Lightning caging her; thunder drowning
out her cries for help.

Back to the tower, where a
wall of rock begins to breathe. A hand that Laura knows is her own,
reaches out to touch it. The rocks explode outward, showering her
unseen self. A hand shoots out, the fingers cinching her neck.
Gasps follow. Laura can't breathe. Amid the airborne dust, a skull
emerges, amber eyes glowing within the white sockets—

Laura bolted upright in the
bed, a hand pounding her chest to force air into her lungs. Cold
perspiration coated her skin, matted strands of her hair to her
face. Her eyes fearfully searched the darkness, fathomless darkness
like she'd never before seen.

The attic,
whispered a voice.

A freezing gust of air moved
across the bed.

Terror paralyzed
her.

Look in the attic,
the same voice, sweet and beckoning,
said.

"Who are you?" Laura choked,
shivering uncontrollably.

In the attic.

Laura adamantly shook her
head. She was afraid to close her eyes. Afraid not to. Air eddied
around her, caressing her overly-sensitized skin.

In the attic!
the voice said belligerently.

Jumping from the bed, Laura
pulled off the top quilt and wrapped it around her trembling,
chilled body. Companioned only by the stillness, the darkness, and
the coldness of the night, she left the room.

C
hapter 7

One moment, Laura was
stepping into the hall outside Roan's bedroom, the next, she felt
herself awakening with a start. Disbelief robbed her of breath. She
stood in the center of the attic, which was illuminated by a soft
green glow. Her feet were numb with cold. She clutched the quilt
about her more tightly, fearfully surveying her eerie
surroundings.

A feminine zephyrous voice
filled the room, causing Laura to shrivel within. "Put them in the
attic. I never want to see them again."

A male voice, deep,
reverberating, intruded. "Both should be destroyed,
love."

"No, Robert!"

"Tessa, love, if they're
ever found...."

"They'll remind tha' devil
tha' I bested him. Curse his soul! Curse his soul and his wealth
for corruptin' us!"

An icy breath passed through
Laura. She nearly cried out, instead, bit down on her lower lip,
drawing blood.

She turned to face the only
exit, the staircase seeming miles away. Labored breaths roared in
her ears. Her heart thundered painfully behind her breast. A threat
of tears stung her eyes, but she refused to succumb to the
compelling need to weep.

Again, the male voice eddied
around her. "Tessa, you canna go on like this. Ye're makin' yerself
ill."

A woman's sob lanced Laura
in the heart. "He'll never leave us be, Robbie. He'll punish us our
whole lives."