Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (29 page)

"I had best feed Reith
afore he thinks I've forgotten him."

"I'm sure Laura is
wonderin’ where I am." Roan turned to the door, but paused to
regard Lachlan. "Lannie, are you really thinkin’ o' moving to the
States?"

Lachlan nodded. Although he
thought he was careful to guard his apprehension, Roan seemed to
sense it.

"This will always be your
home," said Roan softly.

"I know. But you see, I can
leave, because ma brither will be here, raisin’ his family and
carin’ for these old walls wi' the same devotion I have all these
years."

Swallowing hard, Roan
nodded. "Aye, tha' goes wi’ou' sayin’."

"Dinna dwell on what's to
come. Fegs, Roan, you'll have yer hands full, wha' wi' Laura and
the boys, and openin’ this place to the public. You willna have
time to miss me."

A strangled laugh escaped
Roan, and the tears in his eyes made them glimmer. "Wha' will I do
wi’ou'' yer sage advice?"

"Probably stay ou' o'
trouble."

Roan smiled, nodded, and
opened the door to the dining room. "Good night, old
mon."

"Good night, you Ingliss
swine."

It amazed Roan that what
once had been grievous insults between them had somehow become
endearments. As he crossed the dining room toward the hall he
flashed back to the verbal battle he and Lachlan had shared during
those first stormy days of their acquaintance. Back then, if anyone
had predicted that he and the ghost would eventually become
friends, he would have had them measured for a straightjacket and a
padded room. And now they were more than friends.

Blood brothers.

Brothers by choice, which
to him was more meaningful than if genetics had thrown them
together.

"In a way, genetics did,"
he murmured humorously as he started up the staircase.

He was on the fourth step
when a sound gave him pause. Frowning, he listened intently, and
when he heard the rap again he descended and went to the cellar
door at the side of the stairs. More than a minute passed while he
kept an ear to the wood. The sound didn't come again, but his
curiosity wouldn't let him walk away.

He thought about Laura and
Taryn's ghost. Was the unwelcome visitor in the cellar, or was he
so tired he was hearing things now?

Opening the door, he peered
into the bottomless darkness. A twinge of apprehension pricked at
his awareness. "Hello?"

No response.

Still, he couldn't shake
the notion something wasn't quite right. Gooseflesh rose on his
arms, and the hairs at the back of his neck squirmed against his
sensitized skin. He considered fetching Lachlan, but then told
himself he was overreacting. So what if he encountered a ghost? It
wouldn't be the first, but he preferred to believe only the living
now remained within the walls of Baird House.

His spine stiffened when he
detected what sounded like something dragging across cement. The
sound was so soft that he nearly convinced himself it was his
imagination playing tricks on him, but he had to know for
sure.

Taking a candle from the
bar and lighting it as he returned to the door, he held it out and
squinted into the shadows below. A grimace twitched on his
face.

What if this ghost were
endowed with Lachlan's previous abilities?

Could he be faced with a
physical confrontation?

"Damn me," he grumbled, and
took the first step before his courage deserted him.

By the time he reached the
cellar floor he was mentally berating his imagination. He stepped
away from the stairs and held out the candle. Although the meager
light left little for him to view from his standpoint, he convinced
himself he would find nothing to warrant a further search. Laura
would be anxious by now. He'd only told her he was going to make
sure the boys were still in bed.

He released a scoffing
chuckle and turned toward the staircase. He froze in shock when a
grotesque visage materialized within the golden glow of the
flickering candle flame. Pale eyes devoid of life stared at him.
Blistered cheeks puffed up and then the pursed lips expelled
air.

The flame
extinguished.

Plunged into darkness, Roan
snapped from his stupor, but too late. Two swift successions of
impacts staggered him, one just below the right collarbone, another
in his right shoulder. Excruciating pain turned out the light in
his mind. Internal darkness yanked him into its clutches, and he
collapsed to the floor.

Unaware that Roan lay
bleeding in the cellar, Lachlan ambled in the direction of the
carriage house with Reith's meal on a tray. He'd left by the
kitchen door, deciding to take advantage of the fresh air instead
of taking the shorter route via the front doors. The night was
cool, but the indigo awning above him was speckled with countless
resplendent stars, some seeming so close that he was tempted to
reach up to see if he could touch one.

He looked above him again
as he stopped by the new oak, and saw a shooting star in the
southern sky. Wonder gladdened his heart, and he thought about
Winston and Deliah, and hoped they were enjoying their stay in
Edinburgh. He wouldn't mind seeing the city again before he left
Scotland. Especially visit Edinburgh Castle, which majestically
crowned the core of an extinct volcano. He had seen it on his move
to Crossmichael, and had planned to one day tour its interior. That
hadn't happened prior to his death, and now the possibility of
seeing it with Beth made it all the more exciting.

Reith wasn't in the lower
part of the carriage house when he arrived. Thinking he might be
asleep in the loft, he called out his name but got no response. He
placed the tray on the cot and the coffeepot on the floor. The wood
stove was cold. No lanterns were lit. The latter he found on the
floor by one of the crates but he had no idea where Reith kept the
matches.

"Where are you,
lad?"

Silence.

Lachlan quirked an eyebrow
when he remembered Reith had talked about trenching the field.
Surely the young man wouldn't be working in the dark?

Lachlan spied a lit lantern
across the field before he'd fully exited the woods. With a rueful
shake of his head, he walked toward it, and was nearly upon Reith
before he saw him.

"Laddie, have you no
concept o' callin’ it quits for a day?"

Bent over the trench he was
expanding, Reith straightened into a kneeling position and peered
up at his employer. "I be nearly done wi' this section."

"Wi' a trowel?" Lachlan
asked disapprovingly. "There are shovels on the
property."

"I was usin’ one, earlier.
I be usin’ the trowel now to loosen up these rocks,
sir."

"Tis night!"

"Sir, I can see by the
lantern's light weel enough."

Lachlan crouched at the
young man's side and humorously looked him in the eye. "You lookin’
for a raise in wage, are you?"

A rueful grin appeared on
Reith's mouth. "If aught, I be tryin’ to earn the clothes on ma
back."

Lowering his head below the
line of his shoulders, Lachlan gave it a shake and looked up with a
paternal frown. "Have I been harsh wi' you?"

Startled, Reith said, "No,
sir!"

"Then pray tell, Reith, why
do you feel so bloody compelled to break yer young back as you
are?"

Reith rested his buttocks
on his heels. "Ma back be fine, sir. I told ye I like to work.
Besides, unless I be no' bone weary when I lie down, I canna sleep
for thinkin’ o' ma wife."

Lachlan stood. Reith
followed suit and said, "I didna mean to complain, sir. It was but
an explanation why I dinna mind workin’ so late."

"Yer dinner's in the
carriage house."

On cue, Reith's stomach
grumbled. "I havena much to go," he said, looking down at the
trench. "Mayhaps anither hour's work."

"At least eat first."
Lachlan's tone took on a teasing lilt. "Steak, and potatoes in
their jackets, bread, and a pot o' coffee. Naught tha' will taste
good once cold."

"I am a wee
hungry."

"By the sounds o' yer
stomach, yer mair'n a wee in need o' nourishment. If you must, the
work will be waitin’ for you when ye're done."

Reith offered a grateful
smile. "How does a mon become so wise, sir?"

Lachlan laughed. "You
silver-tongued devil, you. Wise, you say? Weel, ma lad, tis a sorry
fact I've no' a wise thought in ma head, itherwise, I wouldna be so
prone to trouble, aye? Now, come along." He lifted the lantern by
its handle and passed it to Reith. "I've a date wi' ma
Beth."

They walked silently until
reaching the woods, where Reith stated, "Tis good to see ye so
happy, sir. Ye deserve no less."

Lachlan looked wistfully up
at the stars and sighed. "You'll see yer wife soon," he said, the
conviction in his tone taking Reith aback.

"I be no' sure tha's good
news."

Lachlan looked at him,
perplexed. "Why?"

Reith shrugged. "Tis too
soon to expect her forgiveness."

"Was yer wrong so
great?"

Lowering his head, Reith
murmured, "Aye."

"I canna imagine you ever
hurtin’ anyone."

Reith looked up. "Sufferin’
can either break a mon or build his character. I refused to be
bro-ked."

"Who made you
suffer?"

"I pray ye, sir, dinna ask
me. I shouldna spoken o' it. I be aware ye have the knowin’, but
learnin’ o' ma past will only confuse ye."

Lachlan chuckled. "Confuse
me mair'n dyin’ and returnin’ to the land o' the
livin’?"

He sobered when Reith gave
a solemn nod.

"I willna pry," Lachlan
said on a sigh of resignation. "But I want you to know you can tell
me anythin’. Wha’ever is in yer past, it canna alter ma opinion o'
you."

"Thank ye, sir."

Patting Reith on the
shoulder, Lachlan said, "Eat yer supper. I'll see you in the morn
wi' yer breakfast."

"Taitneach aislings,
sir."

Pleasant dreams.

"You speak
Gaelic?"

"Aye. Tis ma first
language."

Lachlan grinned
appreciatively. "Twould be grand to speak in ma native tongue now
and then."

Reith nodded then lifted a
hand in a parting gesture and headed for the carriage
house.

Lachlan watched him for a
moment before taking the path through the woods which led him to
the south side of the house. Instead of going on to the front
doors, he leaned against the cold brick of the wall a few feet away
and stared up at the stars. He was convinced he was the luckiest
man alive. The
Lucky Baird
of old had been carried over to the new
Lachlan.

His steps buoyant, he
entered the house with thoughts of snuggling next to Beth. It had
been a long, exhausting day and he was glad it would soon be over.
Beth had not mentioned her murder since that morning but it
remained at the periphery of Lachlan's mind, gnawing at his resolve
to leave the past behind him.

He looked down at his left
hand. It was suddenly numb, somehow leaden, and when he tried to
move the fingers he couldn't.

"Old age," he
muttered.

Entering the house, he
headed for the staircase. A maddening, tingling sensation pulsed
through the hand. He paused on the bottom step and forcefully
worked the fingers. They moved sluggishly like disembodied digits
attempting to function through the willpower of someone gifted with
telekinesis. The concentration necessary for him to accomplish this
small feat soon tired him.

He was on the third step
when a piercing pain lanced his right shoulder. Staggering to the
first floor landing, he leaned against the balustrade and
breathlessly massaged the area.

"I'm fallin’ apart," he
muttered.

He sucked in deep breaths
to clear away the nauseating roaring in his ears. Now his entire
system tingled. He glanced down at his legs, asking himself if he
trusted them to carry him to the third floor. It would be bitter
irony if he plunged to his death on the stairs—an insult to the
powers that had brought him back, only to have his corporeal
existence diabolically work against him.

It crossed his mind to call
out to Beth, but he was reluctant to worry her needlessly. Besides,
if he did take a fall, he doubted she would have the strength to
stop it, possibly breaking her own neck for her
troubles.

Grimacing at the image of a
double catastrophe, he peered up the staircase. It seemed an
inordinately long climb, now, the stairs looming and
intimidating.

"Fegs, mon! Get a
grip!"

His hearing cleared of the
internal noise. The numbness waned. The left hand still felt odd
and somehow disconnected from his wrist, but he was grateful for
whatever blessing came his way at this point.