Everlastin' Book 1 (11 page)

Beth nibbled on an orange
slice while watching the old woman pour herself a cup of
tea.

“Your no' wha' I expected,
Missy.”

“Have you worked here
long?”

“All ma life, it seems,” she
grumbled. She met Beth's earnest eyes and smiled to reveal stained
teeth. “Been an Ingliss in this cursed house too long, we
have.”

“Ingliss?” Beth dabbed at
her mouth with the napkin then placed it on the table. “Is your
husband a descendant of Tessa and Robert Ingliss?”

The old woman let the
question simmer in her mind while she took several sips of her tea.
When she looked up, Beth was startled to see something darkly akin
to anguish in the faded blue eyes staring at her.

“Ma boy's faither never
married me.”

“Forgive me. I didn't mean
to pry.”

Agnes shrugged it
off.

“Are you a
descendant?”

“Aye. I'm one o’ the cursed
clan. And how would you know abou' we Inglisses?”

“A cabbie told me the
history of this house.”

The old woman remained
silent for several long seconds, her attention on the contents of
her cup. One gnarled finger absently dipped in and out of the hot
liquid. When she looked up again, a pang of unease churned in
Beth's stomach.

There was a strange
lambency in the ancient eyes watching her. Beth tried to attribute
it to the woman's age, but some deep inner sense told her there was
something very odd—almost
haunting
—about the cook.

“Miss Carlene talked mair o’
you than much else. I understand, now. You've a good soul, but
that'll change if you stay here too long.”

A chill curled up a Beth's
spine. She tried to smile, but her facial muscles were too tight.
It didn't help matters when a cold shriveled hand shot out and
clamped about her wrist. All of her willpower was necessary to not
pull away from the old woman.

“Has Lannie molested
you?”

A comical expression seized
Beth's features. “The ghost?”

“Aye.”

“I think...he-umm...looked
in on me the first night. All I could see was a green
mist.”

“He'll come to you, as
pretty as you are. He's vile.”

Beth tried not to appear
amused by the old woman's strangeness. “The ghost...he's going to
come and molest me?”

“Listen to this old womon,
silly girl. Leave while you can. This house is cursed!” Her voice a
hoarse whisper, Agnes went on, “Lannie's the devil, himself. Get
ou' and don’t look back!”

“Enough!”

The deep voice boomed from
behind Beth, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin. She jerked
around to see Lachlan standing in front of a massive
fireplace.

Agnes' hand turned to ice
before the coarse skin slipped over Beth's wrist and away. Beth
watched as the woman awkwardly rose from her chair and stepped away
from the table, her watery gaze riveted on Lachlan.

Inexplicably, Beth's stomach
knotted.

“Tis rude to fill the lass's
head wi' nonsense, you old corbie!” he scolded Agnes as he crossed
the room and came to stand at Beth's left elbow. “Tis late morn.
Return to yer family and be mindin' yer own affairs.”

Beth couldn't take her eyes
off of Agnes's deathly pale face. There was fear there but also a
hatred so fierce, Beth felt it to the core of her being. Anger
erupted in Beth, overwhelming and so wretchedly vile, she could do
nothing but quake in its throes.

Agnes snorted contemptuously
at Lachlan. “I've the kitch—”

“It'll wait.”

Agnes looked down at Beth
with a silent plea. But the laird's piercing dark eyes could be
felt on her soul. Releasing a raspy sigh, she patted Beth on the
shoulder and shuffled off in the direction of the
kitchen.

“You must forgive the
meddlin' old fool, Beth.”

Fighting down the threat of
nausea, Beth weakly rose to her feet. Every nerve in her body
seemed to be on fire. Her face flushed, her eyes as bright as
sapphires, she forced back her shoulders in a gesture of
defiance.

“How dare you talk to her
like that,” she managed, glaring at Lachlan.

A look of scolding darkened
his countenance. “The bletherin' womon was abou' to fill yer head
wi'—”

“Who are you to interfere
with what is said around here?”

A mocking smile touched the
chiseled mouth. Beth became immediately disoriented. It was as if
something had vacuumed her anger and replaced it with an
intoxicating consciousness of his virile configuration. Standing so
close to him now, she couldn't help but notice how handsome he
was—not movie star handsome, but that rugged, brutish sort of
countenance that invades the fantasies of lonely women.

With all the casualness she
could muster, she walked away from him, stopped, and turned to look
at him again. A dark green silk shirt, of the same style he'd worn
yesterday, hung loosely on his shoulders, the full poofy sleeves
only partially hiding the muscular contours of his arms. The shirt
remained unbuttoned to where it was tucked into the waistband of
his dark, snug pants, and he was again wearing the black knee-high
boots. Her gaze lingered on his exposed chest, on the patch of
dark, curly hair that tapered to a point above his
waistband.

An uncomfortable warmth
rapidly spread through her.

No man had ever affected her
like this. But then, she'd never encountered anyone of Lachlan's
caliber. Bold, proud, and arrogant as hell. It was as if he
possessed the ability to reach into her mind and challenge her to
resist him.

“Are you through lookin' me
over?” He laughed low at her chagrin and took a step in her
direction. “Aye, there are the wee stockish Scotsmen—” He leaned to
and flashed bright white teeth in a grin. “—then there's me, aye?
If I say so maself, I'm a strappin' mon. Ye're no' the first womon
to get a flush in her cheeks at the sight o’ me,
darlin'.”

His boastfulness delivered
Beth from her stupor. “You conceited, arrogant pup.”

“Pup, am I?” Laughing, he
folded his arms against his chest. “Am I to believe you dinna find
me pleasin' to the eye? Ah, Beth-darlin', yer eyes tell far mair’n
yer tongue. Ye're as smitten wi' me, as I be wi' you. Difference
is, I'm no' afraid to admit I'm attracted to you.”

Beth inwardly cursed the
telltale dark blush in her cheeks. It was bad enough she did find
him attractive, but she was damned chagrined to know that he was
aware of her thoughts, almost as if he was a mind reader. But if he
was truly that, he would have known the fantasy playing through her
mind before she'd fallen asleep last night, and he would be the one
blushing.

On second thought, she was
sure the insufferable man had never blushed a day in his
life!

The door to the kitchen
opened and Agnes waddled in on her thin, bowed legs. Without
looking at Beth and Lachlan, she walked directly to the table and
began to gather up the tray.

“I told you to leave it,
womon,” Lachlan said in a threatening tone.

Rage, insidious and foreign
to Beth, swamped her. “You're not her employer!”

“Tis all right, Missy,”
Agnes said submissively, heading toward the kitchen with the tray
clutched in trembling hands.

“No, it isn't all right!”
Beth cried.

Agnes stopped and looked at
the couple. “She'll no' take yer guff,” she huffed, a look of
satisfaction directed at Lachlan.

His brooding eyes swerved to
deal her a warning look, and before she could stop it, the old
woman released another snort.

“I'll be goin' home as soon
as the dishes be done. I don’t want a clarty kitchen greetin' me in
the morn.”

Beth watched Lachlan with
deepening resentment. If she didn't know better, she would swear he
was the master of Kist House. Baird House. The animosity between
the cook and groundskeeper almost held substance, and it disturbed
her, especially since she seemed so receptive to its
presence.

“I dinna give a hang for yer
kitchen, clarty or no'! I'll no' be wastin' ma valuable energy
arguin' wi' you!”

“Damn yer energy, and damn
you to hell, you devil!”

Lachlan stiffened. His
expression hardened with lethal anger even as he silkily responded,
“Devil, am I?” He pointed to Agnes. “And where be tha' lazy,
greetin' teenie son o’ yers? Yer years have been mair'n fulfilled
here, womon. Tell Borgie
his
time has come. I'll see him on the morn,
lest
he
be wantin'
a visit by none ither than maself!”

“I'll tell him!” Agnes
hissed. She started again for the kitchen. “No' tha' it'll do me a
shillin' o’ good!”

As the kitchen door closed
behind the old woman, Beth released a pented breath. She narrowed
her eyes on Lachlan, her mind working to deliver him a sound
scolding when a sharp pain knifed the base of her skull. A feeble
whimper spilled past her lips. Cupping her hands over the back of
her neck, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and tried to ride
the pain past a point of tolerance. But it only intensified, and as
she closed her eyes against it, the room began to spin. Her legs
were weakening, threatening to buckle. Numbness was spreading
swiftly through her left arm.

Panic clutched her heart.
She began to sway. Then, just as she was about to give in to the
encroaching blackness, something solid scooped her up. A low,
deeply concerned voice whispered above her, “Steady, lass. I've got
you.”

Through slitted eyes, she
watched him carry her into the parlor and sit her on one of the
sofas, then seat himself alongside her. She wanted to tell him to
go away, but the crushing pain on the fragile bones in her neck
made it impossible. She'd been having these headaches for nearly
five months now, but never had they been so severe, or come on so
quickly without warning.

“Sit quiet. I'll be back wi’
a cold cloth for yer brow.”

The instant he left the
room, fear solidified in her chest and spread throughout her
system. The pain completely encompassed her head. Her eyes were
opened but she couldn't see anything beyond a glare of brilliant
light in front of her. Her ears were bursting full with the sound
of her racing heartbeat and the gravelly sound of her lungs
straining to breathe. Tears streamed from the corners of her
eyes.

“Here you go,” Lachlan said,
sitting beside her.

His soothing words were
accompanied by a cold wet cloth being gently pressed across her
eyes and brow. She tried to unclench her hands, but could not get
beyond the fear the pain conjured up in her imagination.

Slipping the cool fingers of
one hand to the back of her neck, he began to tenderly massage the
tension knotting it. “Hang in there.”

Beth's attempt to speak came
out as a hoarse breath.

“I know it hurts like hell,
lass.”

Pulling the cloth away, she
managed, “Piece of cake.”

She blinked hard in an
attempt to dispel the haze in front of her. She wanted to see his
face. He sounded genuinely concerned for her, but with him it was
hard for Beth to separate his true feelings from his
teasing.

Lachlan sighed before
angling his head to kiss her lips. He meant it to be a tentative
kiss, but at the instant he would have drawn away, he experienced
an urgency to taste her more completely than he had the previous
night. One hand framing the side of her face, he ignored her slight
shiver and fully captured her mouth. She didn't resist his playful
plundering of the contours of her lips, his nipping her lower lip,
his mouth forcing her lips to part. But he did notice hesitancy on
her part to let him fondle her tongue with his own, so he withdrew
and satisfied himself with the more chaste kissing of which she
seemed more comfortable.

Threading through the desire
meshing inside him came the realization of Beth's lessening pain.
He smiled, his thumbs massaging her temples while he kissed her
slow and languorously. It was a mental struggle, but he managed to
retain his psychic bond with her to monitor her condition. That had
to be his first priority, although he desperately wanted to lose
himself inside her.

Beth felt warm and
secure—surprisingly secure in spite of the fact a man who was still
a stranger to her, was kissing her in the most incredible way. She
didn't feel threatened. She wasn't afraid of him at all. The
migraine had evaporated to little more than a memory. All that
remained was an aftermath of languidness, a familiar numbness now
in the back of her head and neck.

She wanted to protest when
he stopped kissing her, but she didn't. Before she could respond to
the undeniable earnestness his dark eyes betrayed, the sound of a
vehicle rolling away over the gravel in the front yard brought home
the ugly scene that had transpired in the dining room.

Agnes had gone home.
Disappointment with Lachlan's darker side lodged in Beth's
heart.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.
Sitting back, he lifted a troubled gaze to the portrait across the
room. “I shouldna have caused a scene like tha'.”