Everlastin' Book 1 (37 page)

Roan nodded and set down his
cup. “Her car is totaled. If the roads weren't a sheet o' ice, I'd
take her to Edinburgh. But I'm no' willin' to risk her and the lads
in ma car. It's fine for goin' short distances.”

He shrugged. “She's no' ma
concern, though, is she, Baird? I've got a life o' ma own. And
quite frankly, if I spend much more time around her, I'm likely to
pull her across ma knee and give her her licks.”

“I'll make it worth yer
while to see her through this.”

A mask of incredulity slid
down over Roan's face. “Wha' do you care wha' happens to
her?”

“Tis a loose
end.”

Leaning back in his chair,
Lachlan crossed an ankle over a knee. “I've decided to go
on.”

“Efter Beth?”

The laird gave a single
nod.

Here was Roan's dream
unfolding before him. His heart began to race wildly within his
chest. “When?”

“As soon as I have yer word
you'll see the womon and boys to Edinburgh.”

“How does this concern
you?”

“I want to go on, feelin'
like I've somewha' made ma peace here.”

Roan dipped back his head
and raked his fingers through his hair before looking at Lachlan
again. Since Beth's departure, Roan'd known something vital had
died in the ghost. Even when he was commanding Roan to leave and
not return, there had been no anger in the tone or bearing. A
ringing began in Roan's ears. He knew he had only to keep silent
about his suspicions regarding Beth, and his family would be free
of Lannie Baird forever. Agree to whatever the ghost wanted, and go
on with his life.

But it was not in Roan's
nature to deceive.

“Take the jewels and cash
them in,” Lachlan said dully. “See to it the womon and the lads get
back to the States as soon as possible. Do wha' you want wi' the
money. I'll have no use for aught where I'm goin'.”

Lachlan rose to his feet and
slid his chair in place beneath the table. “The wee chest is in the
attic. You know where.”

Looking up into Lachlan's
dismal face, Roan swallowed past the tightness in his throat to
say, “Aye. You were hopin' I'd thieve from you.”

“Tis unimportan'
now.”

Roan, his face reddening,
slowly stood. “Wha's gotten into you, mon? For a century and a
half, you've been unmovable from this damned house!”

“Aye,” Lachlan said, leaning
over the table and bracing a hand atop it. “Ye're a bitter mon,
Roan. Take a good look at me and see wha' tha' brin's you! The
house, the treasures, mean naught withou' someone to share them
wi'!”

Straightening, Lachlan made
a feeble gesture with a hand. “Sittin' talkin' to you here...weel
it made me realize wha' Beth was tryin' to tell me. Ma bitterness
toward yer bloodline sent her away. There is no' a treasure in the
world, Roan, tha' equals the love between a mon and a womon. But
then, laddie, you've never known true love, have you?”

Roan's face drained of
color. “Ma private life is none o' yer damn business!”

“I agree,” Lachlan said
softly. His features took on a surreptitious expression. “But
sometimes, Roan, I unintentionally link wi' a livin' soul. Tis how
I knew Beth was dyin'. Yer wife and son were on yer mind when you
were pullin' Laura from the motor carriage.”

“Enough! I'll take yer
damned insults, but I won't stand here and listen ta—”

“I understand sorrow and
grief,” Lachlan cut in heatedly, a hand raised to ward off Roan
from advancing toward the door. “Only anger was always mingled wi'
them. Anger toward Tessa and Robert; anger for all the dreams their
betrayal cheated me o'. Wha' did it gain me? You think you
understand the meanin' o' lonely? Let me tell you, laddie, you have
no' a clue.”

“You want ma word I'll see
the womon and her nephews to Edinburgh, you got it! But spare me
the lecture!”

Lachlan stared dolefully at
the man across from him. “I guess we each must learn in our own
way.”

He was beginning to fade
when Roan shouted, “Wait!”

Lachlan hesitated then fully
solidified himself. He watched Roan inwardly struggle with
something, and frowned. “Take whate'er you want from this house.
I'll no' be back to bother you or yer family again.”

“Beth didn't pass on,” Roan
blurted, but as soon as the words passed his lips, he sighed with
relief.

A scowl darkened Lachlan's
face. “Wha' are you tryin' to pull, Ingliss?”

“I left the pub and was
headin' to Aggie's when I heard a voice in ma head say there was
trouble here. Actually, the voice said
you
were in trouble, and needed me. I
thought it ludicrous you would need me, or tha' I would give a
hoot, but I found maself drivin' here as fast as I
could.”

Lachlan remained as still as
stone.

“It was
Beth's
voice I heard,” Roan averred.
“She was the reason I showed up when I did.”

Still Lachlan remained
motionless, but the furies of hell were dancing in his dark
eyes.

“Damn you, mon,” Roan
gasped, and slapped his palms to the man’s chest. “We shared yer
grandfaither's scotch, didn't we? Why won't you believe
me?”

“I would know if she was
here, you swine.”

“Swine, am I?” Roan drew
back his shoulders and scowled at Lachlan. “I would dearly love to
send you on yer way, but I'm no' willin' to hide a truth to do it.
She's here, I tell you. Some...where. And she's probably smilin'
down on us because we managed to sit across from one anither
withou' goin' for the jugular.”

Lachlan looked about the
room like a man lost. When he began to walk around the table to the
far side of the bar, his movements were leaden, stilted. Roan
watched him, unsure how he actually felt about losing his one
chance to see the ghost gone.

Ghost. Spirit.

Beth had told him at the
gravesite, in so many words, that Lachlan was more man than spirit.
From that first moment when he had actually met the laird, Roan had
thought of Lannie as a man. And perhaps that was what had confused
Roan all along.

He watched the perplexing
laird sit on an antique spooning chair against the wall across from
the bar. “Wha's goin' through yer mind, old mon?”

Lachlan didn't look up at
the softly spoken words. “A poem ma grandfaither used to tell me
now and then. He never got over losin' his distillery.”

Turning his chair around so
that the back faced his host, Roan straddled it. He folded his arms
across the back and rested his chin atop them. “Wha' poem was
tha'?”

“One by Robert
Burns.”

“Ah, I believe I know
it.”

Lachlan looked up. “Do you
now?”

“Aye. It goes:

Thee Ferintosh! I sadly
lost!

Scotland lament frae coast
to coast

Now colic-grips and harkin'
hoast

May kill us a'

For loyal Forbes charter'd
boast

Is taen way!”

Roan reached for the bottle
of scotch and filled both glasses nearly to the brim. He passed one
to Lachlan then lifted his in a salute. “And on tha' note, to
Robert Burns, and yer grandfaither.”

Lachlan chuckled despite the
gloom still shrouding him. The rims of the glasses clinked then the
contents were swigged down. Roan gave a shudder and smacked his
lips.

“Roan, ye're sure it was
Beth's voice you heard?”

“I'm sure. Lannie?” Roan
squeezed an eye shut. “You suppose Beth caused Laura's accident a
bring us together?”

Lachlan scowled
thoughtfully. “No. She wouldna do somethin' like tha'.” Sighing, he
gave a shake of his head. “But she did use it to her
advantage.”

“Aye, seems so. She's a fine
woman. A gentle soul.”

“With a fiery temper to beat
all.”

A smile twitched at the
corner of Roan's mouth. “Aye, she's a temper. Women are funny
craitures. Just when ye're sure you know one as weel as you know
yerself, they up and change their stripes.”

“Ooh, I think they give us
the signs, right enough, Roan,” Lachlan said, a slight slur to his
words. “I think we men fail to read them in time.”

Roan thickly shook his head.
“I don't agree.”

Refilling his glass, he
returned the bottle to the table. “This is queer, you
know.”

“Queer, how?”

“I'm sittin' here talkin'
to a ghost,” he gurgled. “No' any ghost, but
you!
Am I in ma cups or
wha'?”

Lachlan flashed a silly
grin. “We're both in our cups. Tell me, Roan, were you ever a wee
in fear o' me?”

“The truth?”

Lachlan nodded.

“No' really. Now, yer womon
rattled me, she did. Her words cut deep and true. Maybe she
affected me because I knew she spoke from her heart. I couldna
understand wha' a fine woman like her saw in the likes o'
you.”

“You just insulted me,”
Lachlan slurred.

“No. I'm pissed. Did I tell
you Kevin bit me?” Roan lifted a leg and braced it on the back of
the chair. Tugging on the hem of his pants, he chortled, “Right on
the calf of ma leg. He's the youngest. Three, I think. He likes to
bite. As stubborn as his aunt.”

A grin split Lachlan's
bobbing head. “You repeat yerself a lot.”

“Do I now? Did I tell you
the lads are real horrors?”

“Aye...you...did.”

“Hmm. Did I tell you Alby,
the middle lad, tried to set fire to the rug in the room they're
in?”

Lachlan grimaced and shook
his head.

“Seems the lad has a
fondness for settin' fire accordin' to Laura. Little wonder the
stepmither left.”

Now Roan grimaced. “Little
wonder Laura is such a sour puss.”

“Pretty, is she?”

Roan looked genuinely
befuddled. “Hard to say. She's a little thin'. The top o' her head
abou’ reaches ma shoulder. Green eyes. Pretty green eyes, but she
frowns and scowls too much. Hey, Baird?”

Lachlan squinted at
Roan.

Roan tried to stand, swayed,
and plopped back onto the seat. “I think we're really
pissed.”

With a throaty chuckle,
Lachlan cranked himself up onto his feet. Once standing, he was
forced to brace an arm against the wall to stop from keeling over.
“I've got to find ma Beth.”

With a grunt, Roan rocked to
his feet. He tripped over the legs of the chair and crashed into
Lachlan. Spirit and man went down hard, but they were laughing as
they wrestled into sitting positions.

“Why would she put me
through so much pain?” Lachlan asked, laughter bubbling within him.
“They say they love you, then—” He sliced a hand across his
throat.

The gesture prompted a burst
of laughter from Roan, and raising his hand, he pretended to dirk
himself in the heart with an invisible knife.

“They put it in and twist
it, Baird. We men have always been at their mercy.”

The laughter
escalated.

“For wha', I ask
you?”

Roan quickly sobered. “A wee
pleasure.”

Now Lachlan sobered, and
draped an arm about Roan's shoulders. “God, I miss her.”

“Beth?”

“Aye. But I'm gettin' mad as
hell now.”

With the help of the chair
and table, Lachlan pulled himself up on his feet. When he looked at
Roan, the man was staring dumbfoundedly up at him.

“You know, she could have
calmly explained wha' she considered to be ma faults. I'm a
reasonable mon.”

He reached down and clasped
Roan's outstretched hand. Hauling the man up, he nearly fell over.
Their legs rubbery beneath them, both men sat atop the
table.

“Fine scotch,” Roan slurred,
smacking his lips.

“Ye're definitely in yer
cups.”

“No' as pissed as
you.”

Lachlan turned slightly
toward Roan, his eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “Shall we see
which o' us makes it to our room withou' fallin' on our
lips?”

A secretive smile played
across Roan's mouth. “You have an extra landin' to climb, you old
fool.”

“Why do you always call
me
old
this and
tha'?”

“You're a damn sight older
than me,” Roan chuckled. “By a hundred years and mair.”

“Truth be, Ingliss, I was a
wee younger than you are when I died. Ghosts dinna age, you
know.”

Roan took a long moment to
ponder this information. “When ye're right, mon, ye're right.” He
looked Lachlan straight in the eye. “You know, had things gone
different back then, you would be ma ancestor.”

Sliding off the table,
Lachlan grimaced. “Perish the thought.”

“But then you wouldn’t have
had a reason to be hauntin', would you?” Roan murmured.