Love Everlastin' Book 3 (22 page)

Before she could respond, he
swept her up into his arms and began the grueling chore of
negotiating the stairs to the second floor. His feet and legs were
numb, giving the illusion he was precariously walking on hills of
cotton. He grunted and winced throughout the journey to his room,
where he eagerly placed Deliah on her feet beside his bed. He
hastened to the hearth and danced from foot to foot, as if doing
this somehow warmed him quicker.

"Get ou' o' your wet things
and wrap yourself in one o’ the quilts," he ordered over his
shoulder, his tone still laden with vexation. He kicked off his
shoes and wiggled his toes in the warmth emanating from the hearth.
"Dammit, Deliah, be quick abou' it!"

He heard sounds behind him
and knew she was complying. Shortly, she came to stand alongside
him, a heavy quilt drawn about her. Winston studied her profile for
a moment, his pique with her simmering just beneath the surface of
his control.

"Have you anything to say to
me?"

She flinched and frowned,
but continued staring into the lapping flames in the
hearth.

"Deliah," he issued
scoldingly. "Have you anything to say about this morning’s jaunt
into the cold?"

She sighed resignedly, then
asked, "Wha' be a spankin’?"

Winston's jaw dropped then
he clamped his mouth shut and deepened his scowl. "Are you playing
wi' me, lass? Because if you are...."

"No, Winston." Her dulled
blue gaze met his. "I be curious to know wha' be a
spankin’."

"Never mind," he grumbled,
still hopping from one foot to the other. "Suffice it to say, it's
no' pleasant."

"I see. But neither is yer
constant displeasure wi' me."

"Act yer age and I wouldn't
be so frustrated wi' you!"

Her eyebrows arched. "Ma
age, ye say? Tell me, Winston Ian Connery, how does someone act
once passin’ their third century?" Her tone became more flippant.
"This spring, I be three-hundred and forty-seven. No' exactly
ancient, but tis a fair livin’ I've had."

Stunned, Winston gave in to
the weakness in his legs and sat hard on the floor. He watched
Deliah sit beside him. Her hair, which had been beneath the blanket
she'd worn outside, was dry. The sheen on the strands cascading
down her front, captured the golden glow of the fire. She stared
into the blaze, her expression somber, her thick, dark eyelashes
dipping now and then when she blinked. A hundred questions vied to
spill past his lips, but he couldn't bring himself to speak yet.
Absently, he rubbed his icy feet, only dimly aware that the ache in
them was finally ebbing.

"And for yer information,
Winston Ian Connery," she said in a monotone, "I dinna feel the
cold the way ye do. I used the blanket and Laura's boots to please
ye, no' because I needed them. And wi' tha' said, I be expectin’ ye
to stop naggin’ me on the issue."

"How old did you say you
are?" he asked on a rushed breath.

Deliah's gaze swerved to
regard him through a frown. "Are ye deaf, Winston Ian Connery, or
just o' a mind to pestin’ me?"

A grin quivered on his lips.
"Lass, it's a fair bet there is no such word as pesting." He
laughed outright, although briefly. "But I like the word.
Pesting."

"I ask ye to let me die, and
ye laugh at me!"

He sobered abruptly, turned
slightly on his bottom in order to face her, and leaned toward her.
Capturing her chin between a thumb and forefinger, he gave it a
gentle squeeze. "I don't recall laughing at you when you made tha'
ridiculous plea. I don't recall finding it at all
amusing."

She jerked back, breaking
the physical contact between them. Winston cocked an arrogant
eyebrow, further baiting her. "So, now you don't want me to touch
you." He sighed with exaggeration. "Seems you can't make up your
mind as to wha' you want."

"I know wha' I want, ye
smug, pestin’ mon, but I'll no' forsake ma pride to have
it."

Her haughty response caused
him to grin again.

"Let me get this straight,
Deliah, lass. First, you were the house. Then merely someone from
the fourth dimension. You like snow and talk to someone named Blue.
You're three hundred forty-seven years old, but don't look a day
over twenty-one—and that's no' centuries. You want me and you want
to die, but you have too much pride to pursue me, but no' enough
pride no' to quit on life."

He shook his head and
chuckled. "If you're no' a case shy o' your marbles, I'll eat ma
big toe."

"Start chewin’," she
fumed.

A sharp rap came at the
door. As Winston rose to his feet, Agnes entered, carrying a silver
tray. He met her halfway and took the tray.

"Thank you, Agnes. I'm sorry
I was so short wi' you downstairs."

"Cold and wet as you were,
I'm surprised you didn’t bark louder, Master Winston."

Although her words were kind
and her understanding of his mood genuine, she looked troubled and
wearier than anyone, alive or dead, deserved to be.

"Agnes, is there anything I
can do for you?" he asked gently.

The faded blue eyes flicked
to regard Deliah, who had turned her head and was watching the
exchange with renewed solemnity.

"Deliah, I'd like a word wi'
you, child," Agnes said, her posture rigid and her tone
chilly.

"No, Aggie. I've naught to
say."

"What's going on?" asked
Winston.

Agnes passed him and
positioned herself next to Deliah. "You promised you would consider
ma request."

"Aye, Aggie," Deliah said
wearily, and lowered her gaze to the fire. "I canna give ye wha' ye
want, for I havena the heart to see ye go."

"Wha' right have you to deny
me this?"

Winston joined the women,
his eyebrows drawn down in a frown. "Wha’ request,
Agnes?"

"Tha' she release me to
enter the Light."

Winston placed the tray on
the floor and straightened. "How can Deliah release
you?"

"Stay ou' o' it,
Winston."

"No, I won't, Deliah. I want
to know what's going on."

"I need to join ma son,"
Agnes said, a quaver in her tone. "Seein’ Lannie and Miss Beth has
only worsened ma achin’ for ma boy. I don’t belong here. You know
tha', Master Winston, but she—" She pointed to Deliah's bent head.
"—knows it mair'n maist. She keeps me here. She can free
me."

"Is this true,
Deliah?"

"Naught is tha' simple,"
Deliah murmured.

Walking around the tray,
Winston crouched in front of Deliah and propped up her chin with a
crooked finger. He looked deeply into her eyes, which were filling
with tears. "Do you have the power to let her pass on?"

After a moment, she blinked
and tears coursed down her pale cheeks. "Aye," she rasped, "but I
dinna want to see her go. I beg ye, Winston, dinna push me to do
this. If I die, ma energy returns to the earth. Where she wants to
go is so verra far away. We would lose all o' her, and tis a waste
ma heart canna bear."

Winston positioned himself
on his knees then rested his buttocks on his heels. He stared up at
Agnes, scanning, reading her with the extent of his ability, then
sadly lowered his gaze to Deliah's face. She looked so pitiful, he
nearly pulled her into his arms. Nearly kissed away her pain.
Nearly told her he would side with whatever decision she made. But
for Agnes' sake, he couldn't do anything but speak from the core of
his logic.

"It's cruel to force her to
remain if she doesn't want to, Deliah."

Her tears came faster and
her chin quivered. The misery ravaging her features brought a mist
of tears to his eyes, but he fought them back.

"Is it true you're the one
keeping her here?" he asked. Using his thumbs, he wiped aside the
wetness on her cheeks. "Is it, Deliah?"

A chocked sob escaped her
and she nodded.

Winston looked up at Agnes.
She was no longer hostile, but caught up in the emotional moment.
"Agnes, do you really want to cross over?"

She nodded. "I'm no' needed
here." She knelt to Deliah's other side and placed a shaky hand on
the young woman's right shoulder. "Child, perhaps I'm selfish
wantin’ to be wi' ma son, but I wasn’t a verra good mither durin’
his life. I can’t be wi' the lads wi’ou' rememberin’ ma Borgie at
their ages, and the ache I've carried in ma heart will no' ease
these days."

Deliah swiftly turned and
buried her face in Agnes' bosom. She wept hard, repeating, "Aggie,
Aggie," while Agnes wrapped one thin arm about the quilt-clad
quivering form, and stroked the back of Deliah's head.

"Hush, lass," Agnes soothed,
her tone laced with tears. "It’s good I will be missed. I'll live
on in yer memories. It's
our
way."

After a moment, Deliah's
weeping diminished. With her face still against Agnes, she managed,
"I'll grant ye yer wish, but I tell ye now, I'll miss ye mair'n
words can say."

A smile glowed on Agnes'
wrinkled face as she passed Winston a look of profound gratitude.
To Deliah, she asked, "When can I leave?"

Drawing in a ragged breath,
Deliah pulled away from Agnes and searched the beloved visage.
"This eve, Aggie, when the moon is governin’ Baird land. Twill be
the proper time, and time enough for ye to tell the ithers o' yer
decision." When skepticism shadowed the wrinkled features, Deliah
added, "Ye have ma word, I willna change ma mind."

Agnes planted a brief kiss
on Deliah's brow then, offering Winston a nod, she stood and left
the room, closing the door behind her. No sooner was she out of
sight than Deliah buried her face in her hands and wept from the
depths of her sorrow.

At first, Winston didn't
know what to do. He settled on the floor at her back, placed his
bent legs to each side of her, and eased her against him. His arms
folded across her front as her head reclined to his left shoulder,
and he absently kissed her crown, then nestled one cheek against
its softness.

For a time they gazed into
the fire. Forgotten was the tea. When at last the last tear and the
last shudder left Deliah, she snuggled closer to him and released a
long, woeful sigh.

"You're doing the right
thing," he told her.

"Am I?" She sighed again,
this one possessing hitches. "Then why do I feel so
empty?

"Would you feel better
watching her suffer?"

"No."

For a time they sat in
silence, watching flames curtain the remains of the logs in their
lapping ascent up the chimney. No extraneous thoughts intruded
Winston's mind. He felt oddly serene and at peace in his
surroundings. His stomach growled now and then, but he couldn't
bring himself to release Deliah. It felt too natural to hold her.
His arms were at home encircling her. It was as if they were long
time lovers who had shared more than an embrace,
cuddling.

A door to his subconscious
he would have preferred remained locked, opened, and caused him to
scowl as a vivid memory surfaced. At first, he tried to will it
back into the dark recesses of his mind, but it grew persistently
brighter on his mindscreen.

"You took me to another
place, besides your gardens," he said. No rancor colored his tone,
although he still cringed at the thought of that stonish hell. He
was merely curious, now, why she would have transported him to such
a dark, menacing chamber.

"Anither place?" she
repeated drowsily. "Wha' be tha'?"

"Dungeonlike. There was a
mon standing at an altar—"

She stiffened against him.
"Twas no' ma doin’."

"How did I get there,
then?"

Seconds passed before she
said, "Tell me mair abou' this place. All ye can
remember."

He started with how he'd
been sitting at the dining room table with Roan, Laura and the
boys. As he was nearing the end of his story, he was highly
sensitized to the tension throbbing through her body.

"...then I returned. I
thought perhaps I'd nodded off, but it was too real to be a
dream."

"Somehow ye went to the
past," she murmured, and shivered.

He cuddled her closer to
him. "I've been in the cellar."

"Twas afore Baird House was
built."

"Tha' was...wha'?...a
century and a half ago?"

She nodded.

"When was this other place
supposed to have existed?"

Again she was silent for a
time, a longer time than before, and Winston knew she was trying to
convince herself that he didn't need to know.

"Deliah?" he whispered
against her left ear then brushed his lips against her temple. "Why
are you afraid to tell me?"

"No' afraid.
Just...."

"Just wha'?"

"Twas a painful time,
Winston. I dinna think I can talk abou' it right now."

"You can if you
try."

This time when she fell
silent, he fully scanned everything but her mind, which he felt
would be pushing the invasion a bit too far. Her body temperature
was 97.3. Lower than standard, but he sensed it was normal for her.
Her pulse rate was high. His psychic audio could hear her heart and
it reminded him of a jackhammer pounding into pavement. Her
breathing was somewhat unsteady.