Everlastin' Book 1 (29 page)

Beth forced her revulsion
down and managed to appear reasonably calm. “I just had a talk with
Carlene.” She swung a sympathetic look at Roan, who was
straightening up with a furious glint in his eyes. “Mr. Ingliss, I
think you should go.”

“Are you ready to leave?” he
asked Beth, casting Lachlan a defiant look askance.

“Stay ou' o' this!” Lachlan
hissed. “Her place is here wi' me!”

Chagrin shadowed Beth's
face. “Lachlan, you don't own me.”

“Roan,” Agnes croaked as she
closed the distance on unsteady legs. She met Beth's unreadable
gaze, then shrugged deeper into her oversized coat. “Roan, come
away wi' me now.”

“Agnes, is it true you
attended my burial?”

The answer was clearly
written on Agnes' weathered face.

Beth swallowed hard past the
tightness in her throat. “Thank you. That was very
kind.”

“Ye're
the dead woman?” Roan whispered, looking at Beth with raw
astonishment. “The American woman who died a few months
back?”

A few months
back?

Beth gave a furtive glance
at the landscape. Yes. It was definitely winter.

“I've regretted ma words to
you, Missy,” Agnes sniffled. “I've regretted them a hundred times
and mair. I'm so sorry. So sorry this happened to you.”

There was no longer any
doubt in Beth's mind that she had actually passed on. What puzzled
her was the serenity she felt at having finally accepted the
truth.

“She's
the dead one, Aggie?” Roan rasped, his gaze volleying between
his aunt and the American, his face ashen and taut. But then he
blinked numbly at Lachlan's features, and it occurred to him that
if the old master of the place could appear so real, why wouldn't
the woman?

“Aye, we'll talk,” Lachlan
said gruffly, taking Beth by the arm and turning toward the house.
“Ingliss, I'll no' consider yer ou'rageous offer. Be here in the
morn to start work, or I'll be payin' you a visit you winna soon
forget.”

“Hold it, Lachlan.” Beth
wrenched free of his hold and fixed her attention on Roan. “Why did
you come here, Mr. Ingliss?”

“Tis business done!” Lachlan
snapped.

Beth shot him a warning look
then settled her gaze on the other man's face. “Well?”

“I offered him a
proposition.”

“You insulted
me!”

“You
old
bag o' wind!” Roan roared, jabbing
an isolated finger at Lachlan. “Yer threats don't frighten me,
Lannie. Visit me? I'll laugh in yer face!”

“Stop it!” Beth demanded,
placing her hands on each of the men's chests to keep them
separated. “Mr. Ingliss, exactly what was your
proposition?”

“Och—”

“Shut up, Lachlan. I'm
talking to him.”

Roan drew in a deep breath
and released it slowly. “I've been laid off ma job. I work
construction. Aggie told me abou' Borgie's trouble, and asked me to
take over until some ither arrangement could be made.”

With a pause, Roan raked a
dark look over Lachlan's stormy face. “I need to work this winter.
Wi' the masonry needin' repairs on two o' the chimneys, and the
rotted boards to be replaced in the carriage house, I offered to
work here till spring.”

“For board and pay!” Lachlan
hissed.

“For use o' the cot in the
carriage house, and a fair wage. Nothin' in this world would get me
to set foot in yer damned house.”

“I'd tear ou' yer heart if
you tried!”

“Enough!” Beth bellowed.
“The two of you are carrying on like children!”

“An Ingliss issuin' me
ultimatums!” Lachlan ranted. “Beth, darlin', you know I'm a patient
mon—”

Beth impatiently flagged a
hand to silence him. “You have a blind spot where the Inglisses are
concerned.”

“Wi' reason!”

“I think a hundred and
forty-nine year grudge is carrying things too far,” she countered
impatiently.

Lachlan began to spout off
in Gaelic. Beth allowed him several long seconds to spend his
outrage then lifted a hand in a demand for silence. To her immense
relief, the man beside her quieted, although he impaled Roan
Ingliss with his dirtiest look, one resembling that of a hovering
vulture waiting for its meal to draw its last breath.

“What's unfair about hiring
him?” Beth asked Lachlan calmly. His gaze shot to her own,
questioning her sanity.

“Is there masonry work that
needs to be done?”

“Aye, but—”

“Is there rotted wood in the
carriage house?”

“Aye, but—”

“Then it seems to me you
would want someone you could trust to do the work.”

Lachlan's spilled breath
frosted about Beth's face. “Trust an Ingliss?” he asked shrilly.
“Are you daft, womon! Dinna you listen to a word I
said—”

“Tessa
drove the knife into your heart,” Beth said, “and it was
Robert who walled you up in the tower. These people haven't done
anything to you!”

“Tis in their blood
ta—”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Beth
sighed with exasperation. “You keep telling me this is my home,
too. Well personally, I'd like to know the repairs were in the
hands of a man I trust.”

“You
trust?” Lachlan said in a barely audible voice, and slapped a
palm to his brow. “Weel, why should you no' trust the mon, eh? It
was no'
yer
blood
the Inglisses spilled, was it?”

“When could you begin the
work, Mr. Ingliss?”

Roan couldn't help the laugh
that shot from his throat. The woman might be a ghost, but her
spirit was mightier than any living person's he'd ever met.
“Monday.”

“Monday, then,” Beth said
resolutely.

“A dirk in ma eye!” Lachlan
exploded. “I'll no' have this Ingliss workin' ma home!”

“You're not. I am.” Beth
looked at Agnes. “I'm sorry all of this has been so upsetting to
you. I give you my word, nothing will happen to your
nephew.”

“I hope no', Missy,” Agnes
said nervously, her gaze trained on Lachlan's stormy
countenance.

“Assure her, Lachlan,” Beth
said, giving Lachlan's arm a jab with an elbow. Then, leaning to,
she whispered in his ear in warning, “Darling, must we get ugly
about this?”

Lachlan frowned as he looked
into Beth's eyes.

Ugly?

He could hear her thoughts
as clearly as his own. She was threatening his treasures again.
“Ye're an unscrupulous womon,” he grumbled.

Beth offered a smug half
grin to Roan and Agnes. “He'll behave, I promise. Agnes, it was
good to see you again.”

Agnes allowed a smile to
slip past the tautness of her face then linked her arm with her
nephew's. “Come now, Roan. The cold is settlin' in ma
bones.”

Beth turned her attention to
Lachlan. “We have a few matters to discuss, don't we?”

Before Lachlan could
respond, Beth linked an arm through his and gave him a pull in the
direction of the house. Roan remained as still as a statue until
the couple was beyond the front doors then he turned and looked
down at his aunt with wry amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You could have warned me
the lady was a ghost.”

“She took me by surprise,”
Agnes murmured, staring forlornly at the front of the house. “Do
you think she'll stay wi' him?”

Roan glanced at the house.
“Hard to say. She sure keeps him on his toes.”

A frown doubled the wrinkles
on Agnes brow. “Why would she stay, though?”

Placing a hand on her back,
Roan directed his aunt toward the van. “Just keep in mind, auntie,
our purpose in comin' here.”

“But she's a kind lass,
Roan. It's so unfair she's stuck wi' the likes o' Lannie
Baird.”

“Careful gettin' in,” Roan
chided as he helped his aunt onto the passenger seat.

“I'm no' so old I can’t
buckle maself in!”

With a low chuckle, Roan
kissed Agnes on the cheek. “Sorry, love.”

“Sorry enough you'll forget
yer silly plan?”

“Oh, no. I've sworn to
banish tha' mon from our lives, and I intend to see it
through.”

A look of despair dulled and
clouded Agnes blue eyes. “You've seen how human he can appear at
times, Roan. No' an exorcist in all o' Great Britain could banish
him. His hate for us runs too deep.”

Roan's eyes hardened as he
looked again upon the house. “He has a weakness, Aggie. Tha' womon.
If she decides to leave here, he'll follow her.”

Closing the door, Roan
walked around to the driver's side and climbed in behind the wheel.
He started the van before Agnes spoke again.

“You have three days to
change yer mind.”

Roan gave a determined shake
of his head as he started the van forward. “Nine generations o'
sufferin' is enough, Aggie. I'll no' fail. Have a little
faith.”

“Faith, ha! Lannie's got
poor Miss Staples trapped here, torturin' her for all we
know.”

Releasing a groan, Roan
pulled out onto the main road. “She doesn't strike me as the kind
o' womon to be strayed from her own mind. If anything, she gave me
the impression she's runnin' the show.”

“Maybe,” Aggie murmured
thoughtfully.

A soft thud outside brought
Roan to roll the van to a stop. He hastened out the door, Agnes
anxiously watching for his return. When he appeared at the open
door, she stared in open-mouthed horror at what he held dangling
upside-down in his hand.

“Good lord!” she squealed, a
hand placed over her racing heart. “You've killed one o' his
birds!”

Climbing back onto the
driver's seat, Roan nonchalantly tossed the dead peacock on the
back seat.

“The damned thin’s have the
run o' the place,” he said, turning the ignition. “He won't miss
one.”

“Oh lord, oh lord, you dinna
know him! His precious bird, Roan! He's names for every one o' the
flock!”

Roan grinned wanly as he
steered the van off the access road. “So we have Roger stuff the
damn thin', and we'll put it in plain sight. Baird will never know
the difference.”

Agnes hurriedly blessed
herself. “Now ye're thinkin' he's a fool? We're doomed.”

Casting his aunt a sideward
glance, Roan scowled. “No we're no'. Aggie. We're soon to be
emancipated.”

She would be sixty-eight in
a few weeks. She had worked at Kist House for, on-and-off, thirty
years. Most of her life had been spent fearing and trying to
outsmart the devil whose presence cast such a terrible pall over
her family.

Yes, she had thought Roan's
plan a viable one at first, his convictions and strength of
character rekindling the hope she'd thought was lost long
ago.

Her clan was still sizeable.
There were others who would work at the Baird House with a little
nudging from her. They all feared the threat of visits from the
ghost, the intrusions into their personal sanctuaries—their homes
and work places. But Roan....

Now out of work, with too
much time to think, her nephew had somehow gotten the crazy notion
that he could alter their lives for the better.

Dear Roan, who had lost his
wife and young son to a terrible fire in their home last year.
Roan, who, whatever his personal feelings toward a family member,
could always be counted on in a pinch.

And now she was going to
lose him to Lannie Baird's wrath.

She was so positive of that,
she wept from within.

C
hapter 11

Although her mind was
elsewhere, Beth handled a number of the brass collection on the
shelves by the fireplace in the parlor. Several hours ago, after
leaving Roan and Agnes, Lachlan had beelined for the bar, telling
Beth he wouldn't be long. Overly conscious of his dark mood, she'd
decided it was best she gave him a little time to collect
himself.

She'd made the decision to
hire Roan Ingliss out of pure spite, although she hadn't a clue how
she was going to actually pay the man. There was still a modicum of
anger in her toward Lachlan for his unorthodox method of procuring
himself a lover and companion. He should have told her the truth
right away, given her the option to decide what to do with what
life she had left, and where she would die.

Oddly, she felt no animosity
toward Carlene. She had felt her friend's anguish, and heard the
fear clear enough in her tone when she'd spoken of
Lachlan.

“I didna think you'd deny
me a
guid-willie-waucht,”
Lachlan slurred, lifting a half-emptied glass of
scotch in a shaky salute as he weaved into the room.

After a moment of offering
up a prayer for patience, Beth slowly turned to face him. There was
no doubt in her mind that he was very near to falling flat on his
face.

Resting an elbow on the
mantelpiece, he noisily chugged down the rest of his drink. He
grimaced as the fiery liquid made its way to his stomach then he
gave a theatrical shudder and tossed the glass into the blazing
hearth.