Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (20 page)

"We sinned,
Tessa."

"Sinned? Tis
poverty
the
sin!"

"We sinned against him,
love."

"Damn him, Robbie! I hope he
wanders aimlessly for all time!"

"Och! Dinna curse him no
mair, Tessa! Tis
our
souls'll be damned for all time!"

"Curse him, Robbie. If you
truly love me,
curse him!"

"Don't do it, Robbie," Laura
whimpered.

"I...I
curse
you, Lannie Baird." His voice
rose a full octave. "I curse yer black soul!"

Laura's legs buckled beneath
her. She dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her pale
cheeks.

A void yawned inside her. A
dark, fathomless void. All sense of existence was denied her. She
became trapped within infinite grayness. Cold, desolate grayness.
Eternity.

A sudden sense of falling
seized her. Then, total absence of movement. Between her breasts, a
green glow appeared and pulsated in sync with the beat of her
heart. She felt herself moving swiftly through nothingness.
Coldness invaded her every molecule.

A scream rose in her throat
but became lost in the void.

Then a strong, loud
heartbeat filled her ears. It was not her own, but of something
behind her.

To move proved almost
impossible. After what seemed like hours, she turned on her knees
to face a bright, pulsing green glow on the far side of the
room.

As if in slow motion, she
fought against the leadenness in her limbs and got to her feet. She
crossed the room, leaning into the windlike timelessness rushing at
her. The glow blinded her, but she went on until her bare toes
struck something solid.

Again she went down on her
knees. Her eyes closed, she groped the object until she
rationalized it was a large trunk. She cracked open her eyelids.
The glow was now soft.

Pulsating and
soft.

In cadence with her
heartbeat.

Hypnotic.

If the faded and cracked
wood was any indication, the trunk was old. A brass plate on the
front bore the engraved letters AIKEN. Laura's hands paused short
of removing an oval lace covering from the lid when her gaze lifted
and spied a tall object, draped with a dark green blanket, standing
behind the trunk.

Excitement quivered through
her. Getting to her feet, she pulled the heavy object from its
niche, propped it against the wall by the small round window, and
hastily pulled off the blanket.

A gasp of sheer awe escaped
her. She knelt to one knee, a trembling hand reaching out toward
the surface of the portrait. Two faces stared back at her: The
blonde in her dreams and someone resembling Lachlan Baird. The
couple, depicted from their laps up were dressed in Victorian
attire and sitting in front of the fireplace in the parlor, his arm
draped over her bared shoulders.

While his eyes possessed a
sparkle of mischief, the woman's lacked luster. Her pouty full
mouth held a hint of grimness.

Laura lowered her arm and
folded her hands atop her lap. They were a strikingly handsome
couple, but somehow ill-suited. The artist had taken great care to
portray them as he saw them and, in that, Laura suspected he hadn't
cared for the mistress of the house. The present owner bore an
uncanny resemblance to his ancestor, although his skin was far
paler than the man's in the portrait.

Something compelled her to
look at the trunk. Crawling back to it she removed the lace cloth,
folded and set it aside, then lifted the lid. Various garments vied
for her attention. She fished through the contents, no thoughts
going through her mind. The soft green glow remained the only
lighting within the attic.

A soft hum prompted her to
look over her shoulder. Dressed in a full-length lace gown, Beth
Staples danced across the open floor. Laura wistfully watched her
for a time. It never crossed her mind to question the ghostly
image.

Somewhere in the house a
woman wailed in the throes of labor.

Laura returned her attention
to the trunk.

She withdrew a black satin
nightgown, trimmed with purple bobbin lace. Despite the coldness of
the attic, she dropped the quilt, stripped out of her cotton
nightgown, and slipped on the sensual garment. Empire style with
thin straps, it fit her perfectly except in length. The owner had
been taller than Laura by several inches.

Moaning in ecstasy, Laura
ran her hands down her satin-covered hips. Cotton would never feel
the same. She felt sensuous and powerful. Her hands passed over her
breasts, her hardened nipples tickling her palms.

"I'm back, Robbie," she said
in a guttural whisper, her eyes glazed with raw passion. "I've been
waitin', love. Tarry no longer in the ither world. Come home,
Robbie. Come back to me."

Stooping in front of the
trunk, Laura pushed aside the clothing and exposed the right inner
side. A compartment opened. She palmed the cold implement it
concealed, and stood.

Eyes devoid of expression
inspected the jeweled dagger, which felt hot against her skin. Her
gaze cut to the portrait, and riveted on a red glow pulsating on
Lachlan Baird's broad chest.

Heat washed through her. A
pulse of fury awakened in her heart. Gripping the ornate handle of
the dagger, she carried it in a threatening manner to the
portrait.

"Curse you, Lannie!" Laura
hissed. "I'll no' rest till I rid ma house o' you!"

Her face a hideous mask of
hatred, she plunged the dagger again and again into the breast of
the man in the portrait, the magnified sound of the canvas ripping,
threatening to burst her eardrums. But still she slashed away,
shredding every part of his image.

"Fegs!" a voice
boomed.

Whirling about, she blindly
lunged her dagger-hand forward. Dark eyes widened in surprise and
horror combined then lowered to view imaginary blood seeping
through the left breast of his white shirt.

Again and again, Laura
plunged the knife into Lachlan, the frenzy burning within her brain
supplanting her reasoning. The force of her attack drove Lachlan
backward, his staggering steps closing his distance to the
staircase.

Remembered pain disoriented
him.

Intermittently his blearing
vision saw images of Tessa superimpose his houseguest.

Tessa back?

Outrage began to restore his
strength. The blade cut into him, just below the left side of his
rib cage. With a growl of rage, he shot out a hand to snatch the
dirk but at the instant he would have grasped it, a large figure
stepped between him and the crazed woman.

"Laura!" Roan barked, his
hands cinching her wrists and holding her arms above her head.
"Drop it! "Laura, drop the dirk!"

Lachlan stepped aside, a
hand covering the wound over his phantom heart.

Translucent blood gushed
between his spread fingers. He couldn't take his eyes off Roan,
whose struggles with Laura were becoming more fierce. Despite his
size, she was driving him back...back toward the narrow, steep
staircase, driving him back with inhuman strength.

"Tak tent!"
Roan wheezed. Take care. Using all of his strength
to stop his momentum, he growled, "Laura,
tak tent
no' to kill
me!"

She wrenched from his hold
and slashed outward with the dagger. Roan jumped aside, the tip of
the blade grazing him just below his left pectoral. Blood trickled
down his bare torso, but he hadn't the time to pay it heed for she
swung at him again. This time, he grabbed her right wrist with both
hands, twisted the arm, and forced her to release the dagger. The
same instant it hit the floor, she collapsed. Roan softened her
fall, going down on his knees as he scrambled to get his arms
around her. Then, mentally and physically drained, he sat on the
floor and placed her head atop his lap. His eyes dulled with pain,
he looked at Lachlan. The light from the lantern he'd carried and
placed to one side at the top of the stairs, casting the laird's
features in unsettling shadows.

"Wha' happened?"

Staring down at the fading
blood covering his hand, Lachlan gave a bewildered shake of his
head. "She's back."

"Wha?" Roan asked testily,
cradling Laura's head in his arms.

"Tessa."

Lachlan's piercing eyes
riveted on Roan's face. Roan glimpsed something evil in the laird's
expression before the ghost visibly donned a guarded
mask.

"Tessa is back," Lachlan
said sardonically. His gaze dropped to impale Laura's delicate
features. "Get her ou' o' this house, Ingliss!"

Gulping past the raw
tightness in his throat, Roan searched Laura's peaceful face for
several moments. When he again looked up, Lachlan was nowhere to be
seen.

"Wha' is goin' on?" he
whispered, caressing Laura's cheek with the back of a hand. He
didn't like her ashen color or the coldness of her skin.

"I've got to get you to bed,
lass," he grunted, lifting her into his arms and getting to his
feet. He looked down at the lantern. The flame within the glass
flared up then quieted. He didn't want to touch the damn thing.
What if the flame somehow escaped the glass and ignited her
nightgown?

"Damn me," he choked,
rolling up his eyes. He closed them with a mute prayer for
stamina.

He was bone tired. The cut
she'd dealt him was hurting like hell. A dull ache throbbed at his
temples.

Fire.

The cursed element possessed
the power to reduce him to a quivering coward.

"Roan?"

Beth materialized, nearly
causing him to drop his burden.

"What happened?" she asked,
dazedly taking in the sight of him holding Laura in his arms.
"Lachlan came back to the room looking like death warmed
over."

Roan grimaced. "Don't make
me laugh," he groaned, shifting his burden to a more comfortable
position. "Could you bring the lamp along, please? Ma
hands...they're a wee full."

"Of course." She immediately
palmed the lantern's looped handle. "What on earth were you two
doing up here?"

"I went to check on her—" He
grunted and shifted her again in his arms. "—and found her gone.
Then I heard a noise up here." A sickly pallor washed over him.
"Damn me, Beth, she was stabbin' Lannie when I arrived. It turned
ma blood to ice. And Laura fought me. For a wee time, I thought she
would plunge the dirk into
ma
heart!"

"Dirk?"

Beth's troubled gaze lowered
to the floor and found the dagger. Taking it into her hand, she
closely inspected the jeweled handle. "Is this the same one Tessa
used to murder Lachlan?"

"I don't know.
Possibly."

Beth turned her head sharply
and stared at the opened trunk. After a moment, she walked to it,
dropped the weapon inside, and closed the lid. "No wonder he was in
a state," she murmured. She spied the portrait and icy invisible
talons squeezed her phantom heart. Stepping to the painting, she
bit into her lower lip. Tessa's image remained untouched, while
Lachlan's depiction was obliterated.

"Ma God," Roan breathed
behind her, his horrified gaze glued to the destruction. "Laura
must have done tha'. But why, Beth? And why is she wearin'
this...this black thing?"

"It was probably Tessa's."
Beth turned and searched Roan's taut face. "Have you sensed
anything...weird in the house?"

"Fegs! Wha'
isn't
weird abou' this
place?"

Beth shivered and cast a
furtive glance about the attic. "Something's going on, Roan. I've
been aware of...something, but I can't put my finger on what it
is."

"Beth...." Roan swayed on
his feet. "I don't feel too weel."

"Don't faint!"

"A mon faint?" he gasped
indignantly. Then, "Aye. Aye, I guess I could."

"Follow me."

A hand on his shoulder, Beth
urgently coaxed him across the attic.

* * *

Laura awakened alone in
Roan's bedroom, the fire in the hearth awarding her surroundings a
soft orange glow. She made two attempts to sit up. Dizziness felled
her each time. Tears sprang to her eyes and slipped from the outer
corners. She stared at shadows dancing on the ceiling, and tried to
shake off the willies the nightmare had left her.

It had all been far too
real. She could even remember the feel of impact each time she'd
driven the dagger into the laird's chest. And his eyes. She'd never
forget the look of raw devastation she'd seen in them. Although
it'd been just a dream, she couldn't believe her dreamself had been
capable of taking a life, especially the life of a man who'd shown
her nothing but kindness. He'd opened his home to her and the boys.
She'd eaten his food. Kept warm beneath his blankets.

Forcing herself into a
sitting position, she whipped back the covers. A cry lodged in her
throat. Dream? How could she be wearing the black and purple
nightgown?