Everlastin' Book 1 (6 page)

“You have long fingers.
Beautiful hands,” he said in a low, amorous tone.

“You're certainly not shy
about flirting,” she said nervously, withdrawing her hands and
crossing her arms against her chest to give her a place to tuck
them away.

A solemn smile touched his
mouth. “I admire beauty in all forms, darlin’. Inner beauty as
well. Would you like a fire to warm the room?”

“No. No, I'm sure I'll be
warm enough.”

“A warm body to snuggle up
ta?” he grinned.

The heat of her blush
reached her toes. “G-good night, Lachlan.”

He sighed. “Good night,
Beth.” He started toward the door then turned and searched her face
for a long moment. “Dinna ever be afraid in this house. There's
naught here tha' would harm you.”

“I'd like that in writing,
please,” she said with a nervous little laugh. “Oh, is there a
portrait of Lannie Baird in the house?”

For a moment, Beth thought
he would not answer her. He was staring at her with something akin
to impatience.

“Hangin’ above the mantel in
the room across the hall.”

“The locked
room?”

Lachlan smiled and a flurry
of excitement swirled about her heart. Whatever she expected next,
it was not for him to close the distance between them and plant a
gentle yet lingering kiss on her lips.

“Pull tha' cord if you need
aught,” he said, straightening up and pointing toward the bed. “I'm
across the hall, too.”

Beth gave a visible start.
Why did that piece of information thrill her, and yet cause a
sinking feeling deep within her?

Lost to self-consciousness,
she asked inanely, “You sleep in this house?”

“Aye. In a
big...
looonely
bed.
Does tha' distress you?”

“N-no. Why should I care if
you sleep lonely—in a lonely—never mind.”

In an absentlike gesture,
Lachlan brushed aside a curl at Beth's temple. “I could sleep in
the carriage house. There's a cot—”

“N-no, of course not. I
don't mind you sleeping in the same house with me. It's just that I
didn't know groundkeepers slept in their employers' houses,” she
added lamely, heat rushing through her body at the mere idea of him
sleeping so close to her.

“Depends on the importance
o’ the mon.”

“Are you always so...” Beth
frowned for a moment until the right word came to her.
“...
outgoing?”

Tucking his thumbs into the
waistband of his trousers, he gave a slow shake of his head. “Only
when I'm verra comfortable around someone. This can be a lonely
house at times. Your bein’ here is like a ray o’
sunlight.”

He smiled inwardly when Beth
shyly looked off to one side. “There's extra blankets in the cedar
chest at the foot o’ the bed. Our nights can get a wee
chilly.”

Beth stiltedly nodded in
acknowledgment, and Lachlan sighed deeply.

“Lass?”

She looked into the
disquieting depths of his eyes and experienced a fluttering
sensation low in her abdomen.

“Sometimes I can be a
blusterin’ fool. Some say I have no' a single social grace abou'
me, and tis true for the maist part. But I am a mon who knows wha'
he wants.”

“What is it you want?” Beth
asked in a whisper of a tone.

Lachlan gave a slow roll of
his eyes before answering. “Ever elusive happiness. For the mon who
hesitates, it slips through his grasp and becomes nigh impossible
to reclaim. Do you understand?”

“I don't believe it's ever
too late to go after a dream.”

“Spoken from yer heart, as
weel it should,” he murmured. He bent to kiss her again, but she
placed her palms to his chest and gave him a nudge.

“Good night.”

An impish gleam lit up his
eyes. “It could have been. Sweet dreams, Beth.”

When the door closed behind
him, Beth went to the bed and stretched out on her stomach,
propping up her chin on upturned palms.

It was too incredible to
believe a man like Lachlan was truly interested in her. He was
handsome, charming, and witty. And surprisingly tender and profound
at the most peculiar moments. She hadn't given a thought to a man
in her future—let alone her
near
future—until she'd met him.

Rolling onto her back, she
stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. She knew she was vulnerable,
especially to a man like him. It just seemed too incredible his
attentiveness could stem from anything more than his flirtatious
nature.

Tyler Jackson.

“Don’t go there,” she said
in a soft voice.

The memory surfaced
nonetheless.

Too painfully shy to date,
she was nineteen when she finally gave in to Tyler asking her out.
After two years of fantasizing about him, the date went badly. The
evening consisted of a greasy hamburger and fries, a movie that had
more sex than plot, followed by a parking adventure that left her
tasting soured popcorn butter on his breath and struggling against
his roaming hands and rushing fingers.

What few young men she had
dated, seemed interested in only one thing. It was always
about
sex
. No
romance. No getting to know each other.

Then dating was no longer an
option.

It disturbed her to realize
her heart was primed to fall in love, but at least her mind was
prepared to wage resistance.

She understood only too well
what isolation and loneliness could do to the psyche.

“One day at a time,” she
whispered.

Drawing herself up into a
sitting position, she gazed absently about her surroundings. She
couldn't help but wonder how she was going to feel in the
morning.

Waking up in such a
magnificent house.

In
Scotland.

Alone.

She frowned at the latter
and rose from the bed. A chill moved along the skin of her arms.
Hugging herself, she sighed deeply.

Never would she have
imagined being lonelier than those weeks following her mother's
death. But she felt it now. An isolation so intense it almost
possessed substance.

Her throat
tightened.

She wasn't particularly fond
of the shadows accompanying her. Candlelight did not hold the
renowned romantic ambiance when one was alone, in a manor, in a
strange country.

“Or abundant in
imagination,” she murmured.

Massaging the back of her
neck, she cast a look of despair in the direction of the
door.

“I wonder if he plays cards.
Knock, knock. Oh, Lachlan, would you care for a game of Gin Rummy?
Oh. Okay. How about Go Fish?”

She grimaced.

“I'd settle for a deck to
play a game of solitaire—not that I could see much in this
lighting.”

Something intruded upon her
awareness.

Turning her head sharply to
look at the windows, she tried to swallow down the feeling of her
heart rising into her throat. Impressions bombarded her. A strong
sense of not being alone filled her completely. Straining to see in
the dim, flickering light, she held her breath.

The air about her stirred.
Gooseflesh broke out all over her skin.

“Lachlan,” she called, but
the sound was little more than a hoarse whisper.

He had told her he was
across the hall. She could cry out and hope he didn't believe she
was a hopeless weakling who was spooked by a mere draft.

Or...she could go to his
door.

Shivering, she gave her head
an adamant shake.

Scratch that. You don’t
need to encourage him, Beth.

If she approached him now,
he would construe it as her wanting more than a little company to
temper her jitters. Old houses were infamously drafty. Baird House
was no exception.

But it did no good for her
to repeatedly tell herself this.

Hastily changing into her
nightgown, she left her day clothing on the floor and scrambled
beneath the bed covers, which she cowered beneath. Pain throbbed at
her temples. Tears pressed behind her eyes.

“Dammit, get a grip on
yourself,” she whimpered as something air-light moved against her
exposed cheek. She yanked the covers over her head, her deathlike
hold cramping her fingers. After several long minutes, the
ridiculousness of scaring herself like this elicited a dry chuckle
from her.

A cry rang out.

For a horrible moment, she
feared she had released the unearthly wail.

Those damn birds!
she thought.

Unclenching her hands, she
turned onto her side and folded her arms against her chest.
Although the covers remained over her head, she found herself
laughing.

“Beth Staples, it's pretty
bad when you cringe at the cry of a bird.”

She continued to laugh,
flexing her legs between the warmth of the bed and
covers.

“Mary had a little lamb, its
fleece as white as snow; and when Mary lost her little lamb, it
came back to haunt Baird house. Ha-ha.”

She drew in a deep breath.
This was no way to spend her first night in Scotland. Determined to
prove to herself that she was alone in the room, she bolted up,
tossing back the covers.

For the first second, relief
washed through her. Then she spied movement at the foot of her bed.
She watched as a greenish mist shifted as if in response to her
unexpected action. The flame atop the candle flickered, almost
extinguished, and righted once again. Her gaze cut briefly to it,
then back. The mist was now positioned to the left of her bed. Its
soft glow dimmed. Seemed to fade before brightening and moving
closer.

“Lannie?” she choked. “No.
No, go away. I don't believe in ghosts. Go away.”

The mist inched closer.
Jumping from the bed, Beth ran for the door. She turned and yanked
on the knob but the door would not budge.

“Lachlan!” she cried,
pounding her fists against the recessed wood panel. “Lachlan,
please!”

At the same instant she
looked over her shoulder, the mist was upon her. Utter coldness
seized every part of her. A wheezed gasp of breath rushed from her
lungs. Turning her back to the door, her mouth agape, she fought
against the panic swelling within her. The mist had completely
enveloped her. Green. Sparkling, the intensity of which increased
with every passing second. Despite her terror, she sensed a
presence within the anomaly.

Sensed something trying to
communicate.

A scream ejected from her
throat.

In the next second, the mist
evaporated. A weeping Beth sagged against the door and lowered
herself to a sitting position on the floor. Another cry escaped her
when a loud rap on the door startled her.

“Beth!” The door cracked
open, ramming her back and shoulders. “Lass, get away from the
door. Beth, do you hear me?”

The concern in his tone
snapped her from her shock. Getting unsteadily to her feet, she
stepped back several paces as Lachlan pushed wide the door and
crossed the threshold. Although she wanted to fling herself into
his arms, she stood as still as a statue, her eyes seeming too
large for her face.

Lachlan went to her, his
arms readily drawing her stiff body into them. “Wha's wrong,
lass?”

“Something...touched
me.”

Framing one side of her face
with a hand, he peered deeply into her glazed eyes. “Touched
you?”

She nodded stiltedly.
“Lachlan...is this place haunted?”

His attempt to laugh the
matter off fell short. “Some believe so.”

“Do you?”

“Och, aye.”

“Lannie? Is it Lannie
Baird?”

Placing a hand at the back
of her head, Lachlan urged her to rest a cheek against his chest.
For a time, he stared off into the shadows of the room, his gaze
troubled. “He wouldna hurt you.”

Beth shivered before winding
her arms about Lachlan's middle. “I...I really didn't think he
would. It just...took me by surprise.”

A sad smile moved along his
mouth. “First time Carlene encountered him, she nearly screamed the
walls down.”

“Carlene?” Beth looked up
into his eyes. “She's seen him?”

“Aye.”

“David?”

“He was a bit mair steady
abou' Lannie.” His smile deepened, drawing Beth's focus to the
seductive fullness of his mouth. “Once Carlene got used to the
idea, she took a likin’ to the old boy.”

“When I told her the cabbie
had said this place was haunted, she denied it.”

Lachlan shrugged. “She
probably didna want to spook you.”

Spook.

A laugh gurgled in Beth's
throat as she pressed her brow to his chest. “Very funny. I feel
like such an idiot.”