Everlastin' Book 1 (12 page)

“It's a side of you, I don't
particularly like.”

Although her words were not
spoken unkindly, Lachlan looked at her as though she had struck
him. “I get crazy when an Ingliss is around.”

“She's an old
woman.”

“An old
fool.”

Lachlan regretted his words
the instant Beth winced. She had a good heart, this woman. “There's
so much you dinna understand,” he murmured, absently rubbing the
back of his neck. He looked again at the painting of Beth, and a
wistful smile played along his mouth. “There are some who believe
an artist can capture a bit o’ his subject's soul on canvas.
Carlene certainly did, dinna you think?”

When his questioning gaze
swung to her, Beth cast the painting a cursory look. “Carlene's
very talented, but the woman depicted isn't me.”

Lachlan released a low
laugh. Bracing his lower back against the curved, cherry wood arm,
he casually rested a booted ankle atop the opposite knee, and laid
his left arm along the back of the sofa.

“Tis every bit you—at least
the womon you try to hide from strangers. Carlene's keen eye saw
through yer shyness. She freed yer spirit on tha' canvas. Tha' part
o’ you, I know as well as I know maself.”

Unease returned to Beth. She
looked away, feeling as though Lachlan's eyes were boring into her
soul. “That's ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asked softly.
“You've a heart as gentle as a spring's morn and as givin' as none
ither I've ever encountered. Tis wha' I first perceived when I saw
the portrait.”

Wide-eyed, she looked at him
as though he had lost his mind.

“Have you asked yerself why
you fear me no' as a mon?”

Beth made a move to leave
the sofa, but Lachlan reached out and took a restraining hold on
her wrist. She looked down at his hand. His touch was cool. Almost
cold. Unsettling.

“My stomach's
queasy.”

Releasing her, Lachlan
grimaced. “Ah fegs, would you really toss up yer insides on such a
fine sofa?”

In spite of herself, Beth
chuckled. Her stomach
was
queasy, but she was feeling much better. “I'll do
my best not to.”

Unintentionally, her gaze
locked with his. “You're a strange man.”

“Aye, tha' I am. Do you
believe in the soul, Beth?”

“Yes.” She shot the painting
a disparaging look. “But not that any part of it was captured on
that canvas.”

“How would you explain then
ma knowin' wha' lies in yer heart o’hearts?”

“You're a mind-reader,” she
quipped with a nervous laugh.

“Are
you?”

“Certainly not,” she laughed
again.

“Then how is it you knew me
afore you ever set foot in this house?”

Beth shot up from the sofa.
Before Lachlan could make a move to stop her, she went to stand
beneath the portrait. She faced him, trembling, pale, but with a
flash of denial in her bright eyes.

“I don't appreciate you
trying to rattle me with this hocus-pocus nonsense. This is just an
oil painting, nothing more!”

Rising to his feet, he
hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers.

“I dinna have all the
answers, but we’ve been connected since I first laid eyes on yer
portrait.”

“Stop it! You're obsessed
with the damn thing!”

“You've been aware o’ the
connection,” he said solemnly, his eyes more penetrating than
usual. “I sensed it the moment you entered the house.”

Breaths heaving in and out
of her lungs, she lunged for the door to her left. Her hands
gripped the knob, twisted and jerked, but the door would not budge.
With a cry of frustration, she slapped an open palm against the
wood and gave a desperate turn on the knob once again.

She gasped in alarm when she
became aware of Lachlan coming up behind her. She spun around and
pressed her back to the door as his palms flattened to the recessed
panels on each side of her shoulders, blocking any chance of her
escaping him. Her hands braced at his chest, she looked up at him
through a mist of tears.

“Ye're no' threatened by
me,” he said. “Only yer ignorance of wha' is true atween
us.”

“Leave me alone!”

Despite her effort to push
him away, he lowered his head and captured her lips. Beth wanted to
scream out her anger at him for having the physical strength to
overpower her. Her clenched fists were trapped between their bodies
as his arms masterfully embraced her. His kiss deepened,
threatening to overpower her will, as well. Liquid warmth
unexpectedly coursed through her. At once, the fight went out of
her. In place of her fears was an ache within her, but one of
absolute bliss. The rightness of being in his arms, of his fingers
in her hair, of the slow, seductive movements of his mouth against
hers, was incontestable.

Lachlan ended the kiss but
brushed a cheek against hers before lifting his head and staring
into her glazed eyes. “You and I share the ability to experience
one anither's emotions. Tis wha' you reacted to in the dinin'
room.”

“No!”

“I permitted ma rage wi’ the
Ingliss to spill over on you. You know tis true, Beth. Since yer
arrival, twas no' the first time you felt an emotion no' yer
own.”

Bewildered, she peered into
the enigmatic depths of his eyes. “Lachlan, please!”

He gave an adamant shake of
his head. “Listen, lass.” Resting his hands on her shoulders, he
absently caressed her earlobes with his thumbs. “The night o’ yer
mother's funeral, you were sittin' at the window, starin' ou' into
the darkness o’ yer backyard. Remember? Remember weepin', Beth?
Remember the pain squeezin' yer heart as you thought abou' the bed
o’ flowers you'd planted tha' yer mither wouldna see?”

The color drained from her
face. “How could you know about that?” She attempted to move away
from him but his hands slid down her arms, keeping her rooted in
place.

“In a way I canna explain, I
was there wi' you. Yer despair was so great, darlin', it damn near
broke ma heart. I made some inane remark abou' life bein' no bed o’
roses. It made you smile. Remember?”

Beth did remember, and it
frightened her more than she could ever admit. “You're saying
you're some kind of psychic?”

“I'm somethin', all right.
I'll grant you tha'.”

Planting a brief kiss on her
lips, he straightened with a pained expression. “This house
intensifies our emotions, love, and our senses. Unless you unburden
yerself o’wha's been eatin' at you, you’ll remain vulnerable to ma
hatred o’ the Inglisses.”

Beth rapidly shook her head.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yer mither.”

“Shut up! Let her rest in
peace!”

“She is. Tis you I'm worried
abou', lass.”

Tears streamed down Beth's
face as she struck his chest with an open palm. “I hate
you!”

“Tis past time to set yer
spirit free! Dammit, Beth, you're sufferin' needlessly!”

“You're a cruel man,” she
accused, weeping hard. “Leave me alone, damn you!”

Lachlan's features twisted
with inner pain. “Ma heart was stone till it touched yers. Damn me,
Beth? You hold every fiber o’ ma bein' in yer wee palm.”

Numb, thoughts swirling in
her head, Beth stepped away from him, not even aware that he had
finally released her.

“I need time to think,” she
said, turning toward the door.

“Abou' us?” he asked sadly.
“In tha', I have no doubts. As for yer conscience, I know the
consequences o’ harborin' somethin' dark and festerin'.”

Silence stretched between
them for a time. Beth stared at the door, while Lachlan's
despondent gaze remained fixed on the back of her head.

“You push too hard,” she
said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I don't know you well
enough to bare my soul to you. I don't know if I want to know you
at all.”

Lachlan looked upward, tears
filming in his eyes. “If you're tha' determined to guard yer
secrets, there's naught I can do to help you.”

“I never asked for your
help.”

“Take solace in this,
darlin': If it was yer intention to knock me down a few pegs,
you've succeeded. I'll no' intrude again.”

His promise should have
awarded Beth a modicum of satisfaction, but regret seared her
heart. She looked up, expecting to see him standing behind her.
Cold shivers moved along the skin of her arms when her darting gaze
could not find him.

Looking about the room once
again, she tried not to dwell on the weighty, oppressive stillness
closing in around her. But again it struck her how utterly alone
she was in this strange land strange land. Tension curled its
fibers across the back of her neck and skull. Without thought, she
reached out for the brass knob and gave it a turn. The door easily
opened. For a moment, she stood frozen. The front hall stretched
out before her, its silent greeting manifesting an almost
unbearable tightness in her throat.

Then she noticed that the
sliding wooden doors nearest the front exit were open.

The room beyond proved to be
a library, its walls lined with dark-stained bookshelves. The
furnishings were sparse in comparison to the other rooms in the
house. An overstuffed, Victorian sofa and two matching chairs of
red, broad-plaid upholstery. A coffee table of cherry wood. Two
round end tables of the same wood and design. An enormous braided
rug on the floor, situated under the coffee table and extending to
a red-brick fireplace with a red and black-veined Victorian
mantelpiece.

Entering the room, she began
to halfheartedly looked over the numerous titles on the
bookshelves. Several minutes later, bold red lettering on a large
volume caught her interest. Plucking the book from the shelf, she
drolly glanced at its colorful jacket.

“The Lore of Scotland.
Ghosts and folklore. Way to go, Beth. As if you're not spooked
enough.”

But at least it would take
her mind off Lachlan.

Curling up on the sofa with
the book, she drew across her legs a colorful afghan that was
draped on the back of the sofa then began to scan through the pages
of print and black and white sketches.

As the morning waned, her
headache worsened. The pain was not the recurring migraines she
usually had, but it was enough to make her want to sleep it away.
Plumping one of the embroidered pillows beneath her head, she
curled up on her side. She placed the heavy book on the floor by
the sofa and folded her arms against her chest. Within seconds, she
was fast asleep.

She dreamed of Carlene,
standing within a green fog, her arms held out to Beth.
“Hurry,” she implored, urging Beth to run toward
her, but no matter how hard she tried to breach the distance, Beth
could not reach her. “Beth, I'm running out of time. You must
hurry! Lachlan's watching. He’s watching!”

When Beth woke up four hours
later, she was exhausted. Her bent legs were cramped. Ignoring her
lightheadedness, she sat up and ran her hands down her face. A dull
ache thrummed at the back of her neck.

“Some vacation,” she
grumbled and worked her mouth to relieve its dryness.

She groggily stared into a
well-stoked fire across from her. It was several seconds before it
dawned on her that the hearth had been cold prior to her nap. The
wrought iron stand next to it was missing several logs.

A ragged breath spilled past
her lips when she looked down and saw that the book was not where
she had left it. Her movements slow and shaky, she rose to her feet
and went to the shelf where she'd obtained the volume. There it
sat, snugly in place, making her question whether she had actually
taken it down at all. She reached out but stopped herself from
touching the book.

“Get a grip on yourself,”
she said, striving to cast off the gloom of her
thoughts.

She left the room and closed
the doors. A staccato of heavy rainfall could be heard upon the
glass roof panes of the greenhouse beyond the front door. Massaging
the back of her neck, she headed in the direction of the staircase.
She was about to ascend when an unfamiliar grating bell detonated,
echoing discordantly in the hall. Wincing with the pain the sound
magnified in her head, she bewilderingly looked about
her.

Again the bell called for
her attention.

“The door,” she muttered,
rapidly walking to the end of the hall. She opened the door on the
right to find a man standing on the top step of the
greenhouse.

“Good afternoon,” he
greeted, running a hand over his dripping dark hair. He eyed Beth
through rain-speckled, horn-rimmed glasses. “I wasn't expecting
anyone to be here,” he added in his cultured English
accent.

To Beth's chagrin, he
squeezed past her and entered the hall, where he delighted in
having a look at the decor.

“Marvelous,” he beamed,
inspecting the tiles on the fireplace.