Everlastin' Book 1 (41 page)

“Do you foresee any problems
wi' Ingliss havin' legal possession o' ma property?”

“No.” Her sagging bosom
heaved with her watery sigh. “I'll have the deed transferred to his
name.”

“You have ma undyin'
gratitude, dear lady.” To Roan, Lachlan added, “In the future, how
abou' knockin' on ma bedroom door?” He paused a moment. “The little
womon and I have a lot to make up for.”

“Right,” Roan said, but in a
sound that resembled a strangled breath.

* * *

Beth opened her eyes. The
room was cast in inky darkness. The hearth was cold. She was on her
side, a cheek cradled in the hollow of Lachlan's bare shoulder. One
of his arms was beneath her. The other was draped over her
waist.

Running her fingertips
through the curly hair on his chest, she asked, “Are you
awake?”

“Hmm.”

“I'm so proud of
you.”

“We're a good team,
lass.”

“When we're not
arguing.”

Lachlan's deep chuckle
vibrated beneath her fingers. It made Beth smile until she became
conscious of a familiar tingling throughout her body.

“We're fading
again.”

Lachlan turned his head and
kissed her on the brow. “Dinna be sad, love. We'll be back in a few
hours.”

“Lachlan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you,
darlin'.”

“Lachlan?”

He grinned in the darkness.
“Hmm?”

“You have something planned
for Roan, don't you?”

“Planned?”

“You always wanted children
in this house,” Beth sighed as she snuggled closer to his
diminishing solidity. “I like Roan. He has a good
heart.”

“Aye. He's a fine mon. And
he'll be a good husband to Laura.”

Beth groaned. “You're
not....”

They faded into the night,
their essences wrapped about one another. “I am,” came a deep
chuckle.

The sound lingered in the
empty master bedroom, echoing eerily for some time. But the rest of
the household was unaware of it, sleeping soundly.

C
hapter 15

A scream wrenched Roan from
his deep sleep. Groggily stumbling out of bed and to the door in
the dark, he muttered choice invectives. He was sure one of the
boys was at it again. Two days had passed since the laird's
declaration the house was to be turned over to him. Two of the
longest days of his life.

Laura was a bundle of
nerves. Roan, himself, was at his wits end. The house was simply
too large to keep track of three willful lads. One way or the
other, he had to get the family to Edinburgh before he lost what
little sanity he had left.

The instant he opened the
door, an acrid smell assailed his nostrils. Then something stung
his eyes, making it impossible for him to look into the dimly lit
second floor hall.

The scream came again, but
this time he realized it was Laura crying out his name.

Then it dawned on him what
was happening and something in his mind snapped.

Taking three paces into the
hall, the heels of his hands pressed against his closed eyelids, he
mistakenly attempted to call back to Laura.

Searing smoke filled his
lungs. His hands dropped away as a curtain of blackness threatened
to descend on him. He staggered blindly. Hitting one of the walls,
he keeled over face down on the floor.

“Roan!”

The voice penetrated his
daze with the effectiveness of a sharp blade. But it was Adaina's
voice he'd thought he'd heard as he had seven years ago when she'd
screamed his name moments before he'd helplessly witnessed her
being swallowed up in a billowing rush of flames.

“Jamey,” he choked,
struggling to get up onto his hands and knees. “Hold on,
son!”

An explosion rocked the
house.

One of the paintings on the
wall came down. A wooden corner of the frame struck him on the
temple. Pain radiated through his head and neck, eliciting an
immediate sense of vertigo to overwhelm him.

Tears streaming down his
cheeks, he inched on hands and knees in the direction of the boys'
room. At the far end of the hall, flames lapped up the walls, and
curled across the ceiling.

The shrill cry of a child
gave him the stamina to force him-self on. When he finally arrived
at the bedroom door, a violent coughing fit trying to expel the
smoke in his lungs, he turned the knob and fell across the
threshold. After a moment, small hands gripped his wrist and began
to tug, but he could not stir himself beyond the gray haze of
near-unconsciousness.

“Scared,” three-year-old
Alby whimpered, tugging again and again in a futile attempt to
revive Roan. “Want my mommy, mista. Want my mommy!”

With a moan, Roan turned his
head in the direction of the voice.

Coughs racking his thin
little body, Alby buried his face in Roan’s neck. He didn't like
the big, gruff Scotsman, but he desperately needed an adult to
cuddle him. He was afraid, yet knew not why. His brothers were
gone. His aunt hadn't heard his cries. His eyes burned and it hurt
to breathe.

“Jamey, boy,” Roan rasped,
struggling to draw a breath into his aching lungs. “I'll save you,
son.” Sitting up, he drew the trembling boy into his arms. “Don't
look back,” he murmured, lost to another time, another similar
disaster.

Somehow, Roan managed to get
up onto his feet. He carried Alby into the bathroom. Placing the
child into the tub, he climbed in and turned on the cold water tap.
Alby furiously cried, swinging out his fists at him as Roan
proceeded to thoroughly soak them both. Then, Alby thrashing and
whimpering within his weakening arms, Roan blindly stumbled back
into the large bedroom.

He stopped, teetering on his
rubbery legs, his bloodshot eyes widening at the sight of flames
filling the doorway.

Not again!
he mutely cried, cradling Alby tightly against
him. “No' ma son, again!” he shouted then fell to his knees as
coughs agonizingly pummeled his chest area.

Where am I?

Adaina and Jamey were
dead.

He'd seen them
die.

He'd identified their burnt
remains.

So where am I?

“Roan!”

The feminine voice seemed
omnipresent.

“Adaina.”

His head bobbing on his weak
neck, he squinted about his surroundings. “Take Jamey. I'm
dyin'.”

“I'm caught between the two
worlds. Get up, Roan! Dammit, get on your feet!”

Despite the pain in his
eyes, Roan managed to glimpse a transparent image in front of
him.

“Beth?”

“The lower floor's consumed.
Get up, Roan. The best I can do is give you a little help. You must
go out one of the windows. It's the only way out.”

After several attempts, Roan
managed to get onto his feet again. “The window?” he
choked.

Swiftly, a dark cloud
materialized above Roan's head then expanded across the room.
Thunder roared. Lightning flashed.

Befuddled, Roan folded
himself over the child in his arms. Alby's sobs and gasps for
breath tried to breach the stranglehold of death's waiting arms,
but Roan was declining quickly, weakening with each passing second.
The gash at his temple had stopped bleeding but the side of his
face and neck were a dire testament to the blood he'd
lost.

Another explosion came from
below.

“The gas lines,” Beth
whispered in his head.

“Gas,” he croaked, jerkily
attempting to straighten up. A flash of lightning pained his
eyes.

Gas....

At first, his fevered mind
was only aware of coldness. Then it began to dawn on him that he
was standing amidst a deluge. Lifting his face to the hovering
cloud, he lapped at the blessed relief the rain offered.

Then he felt a blast of air
pass through him. The sound of glass exploding turned him in the
direction of the windows. One of them was completely missing. Only
an orifice to the night remained.

“Hurry, Roan. I don't know
how long I can keep this up.”

Flames tried to cross the
threshold, sizzling and hissing as they became caught beneath the
driving force of the rain.

“Beth, I'm too scared to
chance carryin' the lad—”

Roan looked down at the wan
face of the unconscious boy in his arms.

Alby.

Jamey was forever lost. And
whatever it took, Roan vowed, he would not let this child be taken
by fire as well.

But when he went to the spot
where the window had been, he could not see to gauge an
escape.

“Jump!” someone shouted from
below. “Hurry, mon! We've a catch!”

“Roan, you have no choice.
Drop Alby. Roan! Do it now!”

Shouts rose from the east
yard. After a moment's struggle with fear, Roan held the boy out as
far as he could beyond the portal. Then, with a mute prayer for the
boy's safety, he released him. Roan trembled violently for what
seemed a very long time, until he heard a man shout that the laddie
was safe. Then voices were shouting for him to jump.

A whooshing sound came from
behind Roan. The rain had stopped. Unbearable heat pressed against
his back.

“Roan, I'm too weak to do
anymore!” Beth cried. “For God's sake, jump!”

“Roan! Don't be afraid!
Jump!”

Recognizing the second
female voice, Roan murmured a sickly, “Laura.”

“Roan please! The men down
here will catch you in the blanket!”

Blanket?

Roan's head seemed to spin
faster and faster.

Wood creaked from every part
of the house. Fire roared in his ears.

Planting his bare feet on
the remains of the window sill, he precariously balanced himself
for several more seconds. He couldn't shake the memory of his wife
becoming consumed in flames. He couldn't cut off the remembrance of
the sounds of her screams.

Then he was sailing through
the air. Instinctively, his arms and legs scrambled to halt the
flight, to touch upon something solid. But there was nothing but
flight. Terrifying flight.

Something caught the length
of him, but his momentum didn't stop. He bounced up and, when he
came down, struck hard ground.

“Good lord!” someone cried.
“Gentle, now! Get him away from here! Hurry, now!
Hurry!”

Barely conscious of being
lifted by his arms and legs, of being carried off, he strained to
force his lungs to accept air. Then he was on laid upon a blanket
on the ground, and was covered by numerous coats.

Another explosion. And
another, the force of which elicited cries among the growing
spectators gathering on the private roadway. Window panes exploded
outward from every side of the house.

“Roan! Roan, did you see
Kevin? I couldn't find him! Roan!”

Roan opened his eyes. After
several moments, he was able to focus somewhat on Laura's
features.

“Kevin?” he rasped, his
throat raw.

Laura burst into tears and
drew the boys in her arms closer against her. “I couldn't find him.
And I couldn't reach you.”

“Stand clear!” a rough-voice
man ordered.

A large shape went down on a
knee to Roan's other side. “Roan, laddie. It's Ben. Yer pub mate.
Can you hear me?”

“Aye,” Roan wheezed. “I'm
no' deaf.”

Resisting the hands trying
to keep him down, he sat up. Coughs seized him. Ben's hand
none-too-gently clapped him on the back several times.

“Take it easy, mate. You
swallowed down some smoke, by the looks o' it.”

“Jamey.... My
son—”

Reality cruelly returned
home to Roan. He stared into the rounded face of his old friend,
and felt a swell of tears lodge in his throat.

“Jamey's gone, mate. But you
saved the lad here.”

Roan squinted at Laura then
at the back of the boys' heads she kept pressed against the hollows
of her shoulders.

“Kevin,” he said. He was
about to push up to get on his knees when excruciating pain razored
through his left arm.

“My arm's broken!” he gasped
then doubled over during a coughing fit.

“Lucky it’s no' yer back,”
Ben said gravely. He looked at Laura, then again at Roan. “She
claims one o' the lads didna make it, mate,” he said solemnly. He
glanced up and scowled, and bellowed to the crowd pressing closer
for a look at Roan, “Get back! If you can’t lend a hand, go home,
the lot o' you!”

Roan.
“Roan.”

In front of the curious
spectators, Beth materialized and immediately knelt to one knee in
front of the new laird of Baird House. “Are you all
right?”

Roan nodded. With Beth and
Ben's help, he got up onto his feet. Neither he nor Beth noticed
the sickly shock on Ben's face, or the awed expressions of the
strangers filling the roadway.