Everlastin' Book 1 (25 page)

“Aye, but I'm a wee confused
as to why you think I'm deaf all o' a sudden. Correct me if I'm
wrong, sweet...lovely...thing... tha'...you...are, but tha' is the
reason you've been shoutin' at me, is it no'?”

“You're a sick
man.”

“I'm beginnin' to think so,
maself. Why else would I love such an unreasonable—”

“Love? You haven't an
inkling what love is! You're an obsessive sociopath, and I'm going
to do whatever it takes to get far away from you!”

When the door slammed behind
her, Lachlan threw his hands up in sheer frustration.

“Ah, sweet Jesus, you
couldna have blessed me wi' a bonnie
mute
lass, could you now! Is this ma
payment for ma troubles, I ask you?”

He glowered at the door
across from him. “Obsessive. Bah! And wha' be the meanin' o'
'sociopath'?

“Twerp. Sociopath. Jerk?
Nice language...if her tone is any indication as to their
meanin'.”

Placing his hands on his
hips, he fumed, “This has got to stop, Beth. I'm a reasonable
mon.”

Flinging the door open, he
shuffled into the hall, one hand cupping his sore
testicles.

“Tis time you learned to
respect me!”

Her bedroom door was open.
He knew without checking that she was not within.

“This is no way to treat yer
husband to be, womon!”

Every door in the house
began to slam open and shut.

Lachlan stood frozen, his
nerves jumping at every sound.

When the house became as
still as death a few seconds later, he pressed his brow to the wall
adjacent his bedroom door.

“Now
I've
a bloody megrim.”

A last door slammed and
scared the wits out of him. He glared down the hall. In his mind's
eye, he could see Beth descending the staircase. She was still
itching for a fight, but now, so was he.

In his time, women knew
their place. The man was lord and master of his home; the
provider.

Women of good breeding were
basically of a gentle kind. Soft. Needy of masculine authority.
Reared to respect and please the men in her life.

So Tessa was an
exception.

Or was she?

Lachlan's brow furrowed
thoughtfully.

How much did he actually
remember about his era?

Fegs, what does it
matter!

Of one thing he was
certain.

Proudly squaring his
shoulders, he called out, “Beth, I know you love me!”

Silence greeted his
proclamation, and it chinked his confidence. Longingly peering down
the hall, he made a wry face and shifted his shoulders.

“Reasonably sure. I only
hope you come to yer senses some time in this century,” he went on
in a low tone. “The waitin' is makin' me a wee...” He sighed with
exaggerated self-pity. “...testy.”

C
hapter 9

Time had lost all sense of
boundary for Beth. Minutes, hours, days, possibly weeks passed by
while she flitted in and out of consciousness, between the gray
world and the walls of Baird House. To hold on to what little
sanity she had left, she told herself she would eventually come
around from the after-effects of whatever drug Lachlan had used on
her. She had to be patient. Nothing could last forever.

Most of the time, she felt
oddly at peace. The headaches had not recurred. Physically, she had
never felt better.

Carlene and David would
return and apologize for leaving her in Lachlan's unscrupulous
care, and Beth would forgive them for their part in this most
bizarre matchmaking attempt.

Her parent's house was
waiting for her. The plants would have to be watered and moved
about. Dusting and vacuuming. Laundry. There were a lot of details
she had to take care of before she began college in the fall. Maybe
she would even take some of her inheritance and buy a few new
pieces of furniture. Maybe even paint the rooms in bright cheery
colors.

On one of her more lucid
days, she found herself in the attic. It was as if she had
poofed
there without the
slightest understanding as to how she'd arrived. Not that she
attempted to understand. She refused to allow herself to dwell on
the unexplainable. It was much safer to simply accept each
occurrence as it happened. Pretend everything was as it should
be.

Humming, she whiled away the
better part of the day rummaging through a host of trunks and
boxes. The discarded treasures of the past fascinated her, a
proliferating means by which to preoccupy her mind. Nineteenth
century clothing and accessories, old books, newspapers, toys and
knick-knacks, uncannily preserved, as if time and its ravages had
never trespassed within the walls of this house.

She tried on several long
dresses, high-button shoes, corsets and loops and pantaloons, and
various men's dress and smoking jackets.

Then, in a trunk hidden away
against the wall beneath the slanting roof, she found something of
immense interest. Her heart fluttered wildly until she finally
brazened to touch the object. Electrical pulses tickled her palm
then raced up her arm, eliciting a musical laugh to caress her
throat. Her eyes brightened in her flushed face.

Carefully unfolding the
garment from its musty bed, she carried it to the sole port window
in the attic and wistfully inspected it. The long, empire-style
gown was made with layers of delicate white, rosette lace. Someone
long ago had favored wearing it, for the satin belt was yellowed
and frayed along the edges in sections.

Beth closed her eyes and
took a moment to draw the gown across the bare skin of her left
forearm. The soft lace whispered against her flesh, beckoning to
envelop her.

Stripping down to nothing,
she slipped the gown on. To her delight it fit her perfectly in
length and through the bustline, but the bell-shaped sleeves hung
to the knuckles of her hands. With the satin belt tied in a neat
bow beneath her breasts, she lifted the skirt and pirouetted on an
unlittered strip of floor, the full skirt belling out with each
turn.

A fey sense of air shifting
wound down her light-hearted mood. Standing in stark immobility,
she tried to analyze the deeply rooted impression that something
had changed in her surroundings. Her fingers kneaded the skirt of
the gown as her gaze repeatedly scanned every inch of the attic.
Crawly sensations moved along the back of her neck and
arms.

Again the shifting
occurred.

A haze of
movement.

Almost
imperceptible.

A tingling feeling moved
along Beth's hands. Looking down, she released a gasp. The lace
gown was fading, becoming invisible with each passing second. Then
her eyes rolled up as if drawn by a magnetic force, and her gaze
riveted on the second anomaly.

The trunk from which she'd
removed the gown was no longer there.

Heat rushed through her as
she backed toward the door. Naked, trembling, she mutely noted
other discrepancies in the room. Boxes and traveling trunks,
mirrors of all sizes, a large rocking horse, two bins of toys, were
gone.

And what remained in the
attic was coated with a thin layer of dust. Something she had not
seen since her arrival in the house.

Swallowing a scream, she
dashed down the narrow, steep stairs, and didn't slow her pace as
she made her way to the main floor. Mindless of her nudity, she was
about to turn in the direction of the front doors when a woman's
laugh, rich and vibrant, brought her to an abrupt halt.

Blood seeming to pound at
her temples, Beth gaped at the closed parlor door.

The same woman laughed
again.

Beth was hesitantly opening
the door when a male voice said, “She seldom tires, as you can see.
Maist women would be nursin' a case o' the vapors efter such a long
journey.”

Even before Beth fully
opened the door, she knew the voice had not belonged to Lachlan.
The instant she spied the laird standing beside a short, well-built
man, and a stunning blond woman sitting on one of the sofas,
Lachlan spoke.

“No' ma darlin' bride,”
Lachlan boasted, bending and planting a kiss on the woman's
fair-skinned brow. He lingered bent over for a moment longer to
look deeply into her eyes then straightened with a grin splitting
his face.

Beth experienced a painful
stab of jealousy, and her temper flared at the idea of Lachlan
going through this performance to punish her for avoiding him. But
if such were the case, why were his eyes soft with undeniable love
as he stared down at the woman like a love-sick
adolescent?

“Lannie,” the blonde cooed,
her low tone seductive. “Might I trouble you for a
brandy?”

Lannie?

Breathing heavily, Beth
stepped into the room and slammed the door behind her at the same
time Lachlan called out, “Merra!”

Not only did everyone ignore
Beth's presence, but the slamming of the door went unnoticed as
well. A moment after Lachlan's shout, a young woman dressed in a
long, somber dress, a white apron and cap, entered the opposite
side of the room from the dining room door.

“Aye, Master
Baird?”

“Fetch yer mistress a
brandy, please.”

“Peach, if you have it,” the
blonde said to the second woman.

“Aye, ma'am.” She looked at
the men standing shoulder to shoulder at the blonde's side.
“Anythin' for you, sirs?”

Lachlan flagged a hand of
refusal. The other man flashed his teeth in a grin before replying,
“Scotch.”

With a bow of her head, the
dark-haired woman hurried off through the door.

“Lannie?”

Lachlan smiled down at the
blonde.

“I would dearly love a
bath.”

“I'll have—” He stopped and
puffed up his chest. “I'll tend to it, maself, darlin'. Robert,
keep an eye on her?” Lachlan winked at the man. “I canna have ma
bride gettin' lost, can I?”

Robert gave a shake of his
head. “I'll guard her wi' ma life.”

Lachlan began to walk toward
Beth, who stood frozen in disbelief. She stared at him through
widened eyes. Although she had no doubts that this was Lachlan, he
looked very different. Younger, somehow. His skin was no longer
pale, but deeply tanned.

He was nearly upon her when
she remembered her state of undress. Folding her arms against her
breasts, she stammered, “I'm s-sorry. I didn't know—”

He stopped, reached through
her, and swung open the door in the space she was occupying. Before
she could gather her wits, he walked through her and closed the
door behind him.

A mist of tears filled
Beth's eyes as she bewilderingly gazed at the couple several yards
away. They were staring at her, or at least she believed so until
the man said with unmistakable animosity, “He'll no' be easy to put
off.” Coming around to stand in front of the blonde, he scowled.
“Tessa, I canna bear the thought o' him touchin' you.”

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

Beth gave a shake of her
head as it dawned on her what was happening. She was caught up in
another hallucination. Why else would the man and woman be dressed
like something out of the mid nineteenth century?

“Tessa,” the man groaned,
dipping back his head, his features deeply carved with
need.

“The poor sod will never
have me, Robert.” Running a hand over the rigid erection concealed
beneath his fawn-colored trousers, she peered up through thick,
pale lashes. “Tis you I love. His paughty hands will never touch ma
skin, I promise.”

Robert Ingliss sank to his
knees and hungrily pulled the blonde into his arms.

For several long seconds,
Beth watched them passionately kiss then stormed across the
room.

“You slut!” Beth wailed,
stopping alongside the couple. “Stop it! Stop it!”

Tessa straightened back, her
head turning in each direction, her eyes wide with
suspicion.

“Wha' is it?” Robert asked,
vainly trying to kiss her.

“I thought I heard
somethin',” she whispered.

Robert released a nasty
chuckle and pinched her chin between a thumb and forefinger to
force her to look at him. “It'll take his lordship a while to run
yer bath. Dinna tease me, Tessa. I winna stand for it. I need your
mouth on ma cock.”

Tessa leaned forward to kiss
him. But before their lips touched, Beth reached out to give the
woman a shake. Her hand passed through Tessa's shoulder. The blonde
sprang up onto her feet, her face deathly pale, her azure eyes
seeming too large for her face. Robert stood, his dark look
questioning his lover's strange behavior.

“Canna you feel it?” Tessa
asked in a low, husky voice. “Cold as death, it was.” She looked
beseechingly into Robert's eyes. “We're bein' watched,
Robert.”