Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (37 page)

The scotch and ale he'd
consumed made it almost impossible for Roan to keep his footing on
the slick ground. Fear alone kept him going, kept him scrambling
back onto his feet. He was aware of the detective staying close at
his side, but his main focus was riveted on the cars and trucks
lining the driveway.

The silence terrified him
more than anything else.

What would prompt a
mob—especially a superstition-driven mob—to be quiet?

Cresting the hill and
rounding the Rhododendron hedge, he blink repeatedly at the
immobile figures gathered by the carriage house. Bent like an ape
to accommodate his aching muscles and poor balance, he forced
himself to keep moving, his brain seemingly afire with his efforts
to rationalize the scene.

The detective tightly
grasped Roan's upper arm, forcing him to halt. Roan gingerly
straightened and was about to warn the man to release him when his
vision zoomed in on Lachlan. It took another second before the
actual scene penetrated his alcohol-induced stupor.

"Laura," he wheezed,
violently wrenching his arm free of the cinching fingers. He
staggered closer, his eyes widening in sick horror, his jaw slack.
The detective remained at his side, his hands nested within the
deep pockets of his trench coat. Snow flurries began to fall.
Large, virginal and downy flakes that mocked the sepulchral
ambiance. Roan teetered to a stop, the toe of his boots within
inches of Laura's still body.

The instant the detective
saw the dagger protruding from the woman's chest, he reached into
the breast of his coat and removed a slim-line mobile phone.
Tersely, he explained the situation, and requested an ambulance. He
replaced the instrument, grateful that he'd already called in for
backup. Despair seeped into his awareness, despair emanating from
Roan Ingliss.

"Laura," Roan whimpered.
Tottering on his feet, he took a step back and dropped to his
knees.

Lachlan's dark eyes,
surprisingly misted with tears, searched Roan's ashen face. "She
jumped in front o' me," he said, his tone riddled with
perplexity.

The detective went down on
one knee, reached out and pressed his fingertips to a spot below
her jaw. "She's alive, but her pulse is weak. An ambulance is on
the way."

"Laura," Roan choked, his
trembling hands held out. "Why, Lannie? Is this wha' you've been
waitin' for?"

Lannie?

The detective drew back, his
penetrating gaze watching the man who held the woman in his
arms.

"No, Roan. The dagger came
ou' o' the crowd. She was suddenly in front o' me. I couldna stop
it from happenin'!"

Roan quaked with raw grief.
Rage boiled up from the pit of his stomach until he was compelled
to throw back his head and release a heart-wrenching
wail.

"Roan," Lachlan rasped,
"listen ta—"

With the speed of lightning,
Roan clutched the front of Lachlan's shirt and shook him. His teeth
locked and bared, he cried from the deepest depths of his anguish,
"Take it from her body and put it in
ma
heart!"

Horrified, Lachlan shrank
back.

"Do it, mon!" Roan wept, his
fists trembling. "You have the power. Send us off
togither!"

"The boys," rasped a weak
voice.

Roan leaned back on his
folded legs. Tears wet his face, blurred his vision so that he
could only hazily make out Laura's pained-racked beautiful eyes
staring at him.

"The boys," she repeated, an
edge of desperation in her tone.

"She should lie quiet," the
detective advised.

"Roan—" She coughed, and a
whimper of pain escaped her.

"Don't talk,
Laura-lass."

"Promise
me...Roan...you'll—" She clenched her teeth against the agony
radiating through her, then forced herself to complete, "—take care
of the boys."

"There's plenty o' time—"
Roan desperately met Lachlan's somber gaze before going on. "I
promise you, love. I'll take care o' you all."

Laura eased her head to the
right, and stared into Lachlan's features. "I couldn't let
the...dagger hurt you... again."

"I loved you, Tessa," the
laird said huskily.

"I know. We...know.
I'm...sor...." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Sor...ry.
Lachlan...forgive us."

Her eyelids closed, and she
went limp.

Liquid warmth spread through
Lachlan. The rage that had fed the curse, floated out of him,
freeing him of its ugly weightiness. At that moment, he felt more
alive than he ever had in either of his existences. Alive, and
powerful with the grace of forgiveness.

Without thought as to how
Roan would react, he pulled the dagger free of Laura's
body.

Roan gasped, his horrified
gaze riveted on the weapon.

"Use it!" he cried to
Lachlan. "Damn you, you pathetic old mon, use it, now!"

Simultaneously, Lachlan
removed his left arm from beneath Laura, and placed the dagger on
the ground with his right hand. "I've told you, laddie, it buggers
me to no end when you call me
old."

His right hand shot out,
cinching Roan's left wrist. His left hand deftly opened the front
of Laura's coat. With inhuman strength, he forced Roan's balled
hand to press atop the bloodied breast of the woman lying between
them.

The detective recoiled, a
hand flattened across his mouth. Nothing in his extensive training
had prepared him for this.

In the distance, sirens
lanced the night.

Help was at last on its
way.

Lachlan smiled, his
mischievous eyes sweeping over Roan's livid countenance. "Do you
believe in the magic o' love, laddie?"

"Ye're insane," Roan sobbed,
the blood beneath his hand seeming to sear his flesh.

"Do you believe?"

Roan became aware of a
strange tingling in his fist. He breathed in hoarse spurts, his
heart thundering behind his chest. Desperation and a hint of hope,
softened his eyes. "Aye. Aye, I believe!"

"You've got to believe you
both deserve to live, Roan."

Roan couldn't tear his gaze
from the dark, mesmerizing eyes in front of him. His chin
quivering, he shamefully stated, "I buried you alive...in the
tower."

"A wee part o' you did. But
then was then and now is now. It'll take us both to give her a
spark o' life. Understand, laddie?
We
both."

The sirens cut at the edge
of the property. Bobbies stormed through the hedges and made their
way to the front of the house. Conscious of their arrival, Winston
Connery rose to his feet and, with his identification raised for
those approaching to see, he held out his other arm in a warning
for them to stay back. All the while he observed the strange scene
of the two men and the woman, he was conscious of electricity
charging the air.

Something miraculous was
about to unfold.

Roan trembled
uncontrollably. "How?" he whispered.

"Open up, mon. Ye're
questionin' ma motives."

"No."

"Yer distrust is keepin' ou'
the magic. Roan...dinna lie to yerself."

Squeezing his eyes shut,
Roan tried to clear his mind of its burgeoning guilt. Then a
thought struck him. Breathlessly, he asked, "When did you first
know I was Robert?"

A smile of satisfaction
softened the lines of Lachlan's mouth. "Over ma grandfaither's
scotch."

Roan bewilderingly searched
Laura's peaceful face before meeting Lachlan's gaze. "Tha' long?
And yet you...."

"Aye. Now we're cookin',
laddie."

The tingling in Roan's hand
intensified. Hope swelled within his heart. "You made me yer
heir."

"Ye're the closest thin’ to
a son I'll ever know."

"Despite...?"

"The heart speaks louder
than the tongue," Lachlan said sagely, his eyes seeming to possess
firelight within their enigmatic depths. "And you know in tha'
bloody big heart o' yers, you've purged the weakness tha'
companioned you when you walled me up."

"Aye. I'm no' tha' mon,
Lannie," Roan said in a barely audible voice. "And Laura's heart is
good, too. We're no' the same as we were back then."

Liquid warmth gushed through
Roan's veins. "We're free."

Lachlan released a thin sigh
of relief, and nodded.

"Free," Roan repeated,
staring lovingly down at Laura. "Can you hear me, lass?
We're
free!"

A moan of ecstasy rumbled
deep within Lachlan's chest. The power of his soul was magnifying
and ebbing outward to Roan, seeking to bond them spiritually. Roan,
too, experienced the waves of raw electricity crashing through his
body, submerging his brain in a boundless plane of
awareness.

Blindly, he reached out with
his right hand. Lachlan eagerly clasped it, soaking in the natural
warmth it offered. Both men closed their eyes, breathing sparingly
in perfect sync with each other.

Unbeknown to them, a
luminescent green mist materialized around them, pulsating in
rhythm with Roan's heartbeat. The bobbies fanned out, their billy
clubs held out as a barrier to keep back the awestruck spectators
trying to edge closer to the scene.

Detective Connery hesitantly
reached out to touch the strange mist. The instant he made contact,
he felt every nerve in his body sing. Stunned by the euphoric
feeling throbbing through him, he jerked back, keeping his hands
tightly pressed against his midriff.

Roan felt exquisite pain rip
through him. An electrical spasm rocked him. Then the pain
concentrated in his chest, shot down his left arm and flowed
through his fist. A shudder coursed through him, a shudder not
unlike a fierce orgasm. Despite the wintry night, perspiration
beaded his brow and the space between his nose and upper lip. The
cords in his broad neck stood out. A hoarse cry escaped Lachlan as
he was propelled back on his butt by a whiplash of electricity.
Roan was struck a second later, his back striking the
ground.

The mist
vaporized.

Murmurs rose among the
onlookers.

Fighting against the tides
of weakness washing through him, Roan rolled over and got onto his
hands and knees. He crawled the short way back to Laura's side.
Breathing heavily, he looked up to see that Lachlan was wavering
between solidity and translucence.

"Lannie."

The laird's head slowly
lifted. A lopsided grin broke through his strained, gaunt
features.

Roan looked down at Laura's
face. At first he couldn't see any difference in her then he saw
her eyelids flutter.

"My God," he murmured
repeatedly, nervously drawing her into his arms as he sat on folded
legs. "Laura? Laura-lass, ye're back!"

Her eyelids lifted.
Bewildered green eyes peered at him.

With a burst of laughter,
Roan rocked her against him then lowered his head and kissed her
deeply until he felt her hands push at his chest. He lifted his
head, his sparkling, tear-filled eyes hungrily taking in every
contour of her face.

"I remember...." She reached
beneath her sweater, to where the dagger had been. Smooth skin met
her probing fingertips. "Roan...I don't—" Her gaze swerved to
Lachlan. "—understand."

"We're free, Laura," Roan
laughed unsteadily, his gratitude radiating from the look he passed
to the laird.

"Why would you do this,
Lachlan, after everything we did to you?"

Leaning over his legs,
Lachlan wearily gave a shake of his head. "Weel, lass, I guess you
caught me in a moment o' weakness. Speakin' o' which...." He
grimaced as he stared through his fading, raised arm. "The grayness
is beckonin'."

Sitting upright, Laura held
out a hand to the laird. "Don't go yet, Lachlan. There's so much I
want to say."

"It has all been said," he
grinned.

"Detective!" one of the
bobbies called.

Winston Connery frowned at a
man standing on the wrong side of the barricade. He impatiently
gestured for one of the bobbies to bring the man to him.

William Finney kept his head
lowered, even when he was urged to stop within arm's reach of the
detective.

"He claims to have thrown
the dagger," the bobby informed, his narrowed gaze riveted on the
man's profile.

Lachlan, Roan and Laura got
to their feet, Roan's arm protectively around her
shoulders.

"Wha's yer name?"

The man's head came up.
Large dark eyes stared at the detective from a sickly pallor. "Bill
Finney."

"Mr. Finney, you claim to
have thrown tha' dagger at this womon?"

Bill's despondent gaze cut
briefly to Laura. "No' at her, sir. I'd no intention o' throwin' it
at all, I swear!"

"It simply flew from yer
hands, is tha' it?"

Bill looked back at his
mates then at the detective. "This womon crowds next to me, sir and
puts the bloody thin’ in ma hand. And next I knew, I was throwin'
it, but I swear, it was against ma will!"