Everlastin' Book 1 (5 page)

“The herrin' loves the merry
moonlight,

The mackerel loves the
wind,

But the oyster loves the
dredgin' sang,

For they come o’ a gentle
kind.”

Beth pondered the words for
some time before asking, “What does it mean?”

“I'm hungry, and thinkin’ o’
fish, I guess.”

The laughter in his tone
brought a smile to her face.

Despite his unnerving
proximity, the tension in her body ebbed. Something she couldn't
define tingled along her skin. With it came a sense of loftiness,
as if she were absorbing his ease and contentment, his
confidence.

“Wha' do you think o’
Scotland?”

She shrugged within the band
of muscular arms embracing her. “What I've seen is wonderful, but I
really haven't had a chance to see much.”

“You'll come to love it
here. Maybe almaist as much as me.”

Mindless of what her next
move might provoke, Beth innocently turned in his arms and looked
into his eyes. “I can't understand everything you're saying. Your
accent is very thick.”

Lachlan's smoldering dark
gaze settled on Beth's shapely mouth. He wanted to tell her what
her dulcet tone did to him, what her physical presence meant to
him. Keeping a tight rein on his desire to possess her on this very
spot, he grinned crookedly.

“I'm speakin’ as slow as I
can. Beth. I'm glad ye're here.”

“Are you?”

“Aye. I've waited a long
time to meet you.”

Beth felt a sudden
compulsion to laugh. She didn't know why, but she could feel a
giggle working itself up in the pit of her stomach. The idea of
succumbing to this also struck her funny at this peculiar
moment—peculiar because every nerve in her body was sensitized by
the man's mere presence. A quirky smile was playing on his lips, as
if he were able to read her mind, or understand that part of her
which was at the outer reaches of her comprehension.

She was almost thirty. Not a
schoolgirl.

So why did her heart rise
into her throat when his hands came to light on her upper arms? A
pleasant electrical sensation passed beneath her skin, leaving her
a little lightheaded, a little breathless.

Why was she unable to move
or speak when, while staring into her eyes, he began to lower his
head?

Cool, chiseled lips covered
hers in a teasing, almost experimental kiss. She stood immobile
while her insides were pumping, swelling, twisting and bursting.
She experienced a spiritual soaring and swooping then soaring again
as the kiss deepened. Sinewy arms enveloped her, molding her
against the length of his i hard body. She became lost in a sense
of rightness, of belonging as she'd never known—

Stranger.

The word detonated in the
confines of her skull and she reacted like a startled kitten.
Wrenching out of his arms, she braced herself against the fence.
Mortification scorched her skin. A streak of moonlight passing
through the branches above, ran aslant across his face,
illuminating his mesmerizing eyes.

Beth tried to speak, to say
something—
anything
—to break the suffocating silence between them.

When she found her vocal
cords wouldn't respond, she pushed off the fence and lit into a run
along the path. Low branches and brush scraped and clawed at her.
Blindly, desperately hoping she was going in the right direction,
she continued on. The stillness was all around her once again. If
not for the chill of the drizzle—

She ran into something solid
and would have fallen backward if not for steadying hands on her
shoulders.

“Have a heart,
lass!”

Beth's vision
cleared.

“A simple
no
would have
sufficed!”

Her temper erupted. “Hold
it!”

“Yer hand, you say?” A
roguish gleam lit up his features as he reached out, but Beth was
quick to slap his hand away.

“Stop manhandling me,
Mr.....”

“Lachlan. Tis a wee late to
be formal now.”

Blood rushed up into her
face. “I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong
impression.”

“Fegs, lass!” he laughed.
“You've a fine temper.”

“I'm tired and cold. Now, if
you'll excuse me—”

“No' so fast.” Lachlan gave
a sober shake of his head. “Tis me to say I'm sorry. I got a wee
lost in yer beautiful eyes back there. And I'm afraid I'm an
incorrigible tease. I've never been able to resist makin’ a
beautiful womon blush.”

Although every nerve in her
body was as tight as a spring, she managed to stare into the man's
eyes without wavering. “You've had your fun.”

“Aye, and I felt yer own
appreciation to ma verra soul, sweet darlin’. But I'm modest enough
to know it was the moonlight and no' ma kissin’ skills tha' put
tha' sparkle in yer eyes. Alas—” He sighed deeply. “—I'll have to
practice wi' you in the cold light o’ day to know when tis me
stirrin’ yer blood.”

Straightening back her
shoulders, Beth glared at the silent laughter in the man's handsome
face. “I didn't come all this way just to entertain you, you
twerp.”

Lachlan's dark brows peaked.
“Twerp, you say? Would tha' be a good twerp, or a bad
twerp?”

“Personally, I don't care
how you translate it.”

“Would help if I knew wha' a
twerp was,” he said absently. “Let me fix you a cup o’
tea.”

“I'll fix my own, thank
you.”

Passing Lachlan, Beth
trained her gaze on the front of the house some fifty feet away.
She was nearly to the outer doors, believing the puzzling man had
given up, when he dashed in front of her and opened the entry for
her. Bowing at the waist, he motioned her into the
house.

He was again at the second
set of doors before her.

“Lachlan,” she sighed, a
foot up on the bottom of the three stone steps. “I'm too tired to
play cat-and-mouse.”

“Darlin’, I gave Carlene ma
word I'd watch efter you. Besides, it wouldna be right to let you
suffer a moment's boredom here now, would it?”

A smile strained to appear
on Beth's lips. “Is this what I have to look forward to until
Carlene and David return?”

With a mock wounded look, he
reached down, clasped her hand then drew her into the house. Beth
closed the door behind her. She was beginning to wonder if the man
understood the word “no”, or had ever been denied a thing in his
life. He was the most carefree person she'd ever met.

He pulled her down a
narrower, secondary hall that ended at the kitchen. As if
thoroughly enjoying himself, he urged Beth to sit at a two-chair
table in the corner of the spacious room, then swaggered to the
antique stove and flamboyantly swung a kettle up into a hand. Beth
watched him, a smile straining to resist her efforts to subdue it.
He had somehow made her experience more emotions in one day than
she had in years. Resting an elbow on the table, she lowered her
chin onto the upturned palm, and watched him.

He certainly was a
character, someone who could have easily just returned home from
pirating on the high seas.

Pirate.

Yes.

His shoulder-length, dark
auburn hair. The powerful breadth of his shoulders and back,
accentuated by the white shirt he wore, a shirt very much like what
the pirate-types had worn centuries ago. Black, snug pants covered
his slim hips, rounded backside, and muscular thighs, and tapered
into shiny black, knee-high boots. But minus an earring. Although
if she woke in the morning and found him wearing one, she doubted
she would be surprised.

“How do you take yer
tea?”

Beth reluctantly withdrew
from her reverie. “Excuse me?”

“Your tea, lass.”

“Straight's
fine.”

Lachlan cocked a brow in her
direction and smiled. After a few seconds, he walked to the table
and set down two steaming cups, one in front of Beth, one where he
was lowering himself onto a chair across from her.

“I knew we had somethin’ in
common, lass. Straight tea and kissin’ in the
moonlight.”

“Just what do you do around
here?” Beth asked, forcing lightness in her tone to camouflage her
nervousness.

He shrugged. “A bit o’ this,
a bit o’ tha'.”

“Have you worked here
long?”

“Depends.”

Beth stopped in the process
of taking a sip of tea and lowered her cup. “On what?”

“Some say I dinna work at
all.” He shrugged again. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you.”

“So tell me then, wha' do
you think o’ Baird House?”

Beth took several leisurely
sips of her tea before answering. “It's magnificent.”

“Aye, tis tha', but I've a
feelin’ you've mair to say abou' the place than wha' yer eyes tell
you.”

Beth frowned and smiled at
the same time. Whether it was the man's presence, or his cryptic
statements, he possessed the uncanny ability to raise the hairs on
the back of her neck and arms. “What a curious thing to
say.”

“No' really.”

Setting down her cup, she
folded her arms atop the table. “What do
your
other senses tell you about this
place?”

A secretive grin touched
upon his mouth. “Well, there's a good feelin’wi’in these walls. If
you close yer eyes and keep yer fears at bay, you can hear the
heartbeat o’ this house.”

“Oh, pl—ease!”

“Dinna laugh, Beth,” he said
with a sad smile. “Some say this house is alive. It has a soul, as
everlastin’ as tha' o’ a mon or a womon.”

“That's eerie,” Beth said
quietly, staring into her cup.

“No. Tis the thinkin’ o’ a
man who loves this place.”

She looked up, her gaze
instantly drawn to his eyes. Again she had that feeling that he was
reading her mind, somehow looking inside her. It was disconcerting,
and yet, comforting in some odd way.

“Have you ever been to the
United States?”

“No.” He sipped his tea then
lowered his cup. “I've never had a mind to leave Great Britain once
I settled here.”

“That's a shame. There are
lots of places in the States I think you would enjoy.”

The mischievous laughter
returned to his eyes. “Especially on moonlit nights wi' the right
womon, aye?”

“You have a one-track
mind.”

“A wha'?”

Standing, Beth lifted her
cup. “Never mind. Look, I-umm, I hate to be a party pooper, but I
really am tired.”

“O’ course. Forgive me.” He
rose to his feet, leaving his cup on the table. “I'll walk you to
yer room.”

“I can find my way, thank
you.”

“In the dark?”

Beth experienced a chill of
a start. She'd just realized the gas lamps in the kitchen and main
hall had been lighted. She wasn't sure why this bothered her, but a
suspicion was nibbling at her outer consciousness, trying to
surface something to the fore of her brain. “Did you light the
lamps?”

“Aye.”

“When?”

“A while ago. Why do you
ask?”

Beth released a nervous
chuckle. “Don't mind me. Jet lag.”

“Jet lag?”

“You know...crossing the
ocean by plane? The time difference?”

A frown puckered Lachlan's
broad brow. “I'll have to take yer word for it. Let me get a candle
to light our way.”

Beth didn't feel the nervous
twitching within her stomach again until the ascent of the stairs.
By the first landing, it was all she could do to keep her hand
steady enough to keep her tea from sloshing over the gold-rimmed
lip of her cup. The golden glow of candlelight gave the staircase a
completely different look. With Lachlan by her side, she watched
the surrounding shadows through troubled eyes. She'd always hated
the dark, but she had discovered the soft, dancing glow of the
candle did more to feed her imagination than any inky
night.

Things moved.

Shadows stretched eerily,
creeping up the walls.

As if sensing her unease,
Lachlan's strong fingers closed over her free hand and gave it a
squeeze. She didn't look at him. Without relaying how comforting
she found his gesture, she steeled herself not to give in to the
jitters.

He opened the door to her
bedroom and walked in ahead of her. Placing the candle on the
mantel of the fireplace, he turned to face her. His features cast
in shadow, she found herself straining to discern his expression as
she walked up to him.

“Thank you. I can manage
now.”

Lachlan looked down and
quickly entwined his fingers through Beth's. Before she could
gather her wits about her, he lifted one of her hands and pressed
the back of her knuckles to his mouth. A sensual shiver moved
through her as she locked eyes with him.