Love Everlastin' Book 3 (19 page)

"Poof
, we're back, and we're havin’ us a wee one. And I'm feelin’
no uncanny. No' maself." He glanced down at himself, then lifted
the pointed end of the poker and began to rap it against his left
palm. "Ma skin feels tight and there's buzzin’ goin’ round and
round in ma head. I dinna know wha' to do."

As he went on, he struck
himself a little harder in the palm with each word. "I canna be a
faither. Wha' possible use could I be to a child, bein’ dead as I
am? Fegs! This shouldna be happenin’. The ither side is forever! If
I dinna get answers soon—"

He released a guttural cry
and stared down at his left palm in horror. The poker fell from the
other hand and struck the floor by his black booted
feet.

"Lannie?" Roan probed, but
didn't move.

Winston went to Lachlan and
looked down at the leveled palm. A pool of blood filled it.
Lachlan's face turned as white as a sheet.

"Kevin, fetch me a clean
towel, please," Winston instructed the boy.

Roan stepped to Winston's
side and, seeing the blood welling up in the injured palm,
redirected, "Kevin, bring the first aid kit. And hurry."

Kahl joined his brother and
they sped out of the room.

"Lannie, ye’re...bleedin’,"
Roan murmured sickly.

Lachlan side-stepped around
the two men and walked to the back of the sofa. All the while, he
held up the palm which had been cut with the poker tip, staring in
stark disbelief at the vivid redness.

"It hurts," Lachlan
breathed, his dark eyes searching the men as if expecting them to
come up with a simple explanation. "Blood. Tis no' ghostly
blood."

"No," said
Winston.

A strangled chortle escaped
Lachlan. "I canna see through it."

"No," said
Winston.

"And ma hand—ma
arm—
pains me!"

Winston nodded. "You injured
yourself," he said simply.

A comical almost rueful
expression fell over Lachlan's face. "Injured maself, you say? Och!
How can a ghost injure himself?"

Winston swallowed past the
growing tightness in his throat then locked eyes with Roan. At
first the man looked at him in puzzlement, then gradually with
incredulity.

"You mean....?" Roan
croaked.

Winston nodded, and Roan
turned an astonished look at Lachlan. "Ma God."

"Wha'? Wha'!" Lachlan
shouted, angry that he couldn't grasp what was seemingly understood
between the two other men.

"Roan, I think it best you
let me talk to him," said Winston. "Keep the boys away for a time,
okay?"

Nodding, Roan headed for the
hall. "I'll be ou' here if you need me," he said to Winston, but
his gaze was fixed on Lachlan.

When Roan was out of sight,
Lachlan scowled at Winston. "Wha' is it you think you
know?"

"Your hand. Wha' does the
wound tell you?"

Lachlan watched several
drops of blood fall between his fingers to the floor. "Fegs. Tis
still bleedin’."

"Lachlan."

The former laird's head shot
up and he dealt Winston a fierce look of denial. "Tis tellin’ me it
hurts like bloody hell!" he roared, the injured hand trembling.
"Ghosts dinna bleed! And ghosts dinna feel real pain, only
experience remembered pain!"

Winston sighed. "Lachlan, I
don't know how, but you and Beth have been given back yer lives.
The psychic contrails tha' connected you and Roan—"

"The wha'?"

"—are gone. You're
alive,
Lachlan Baird. You
and Beth and your—"

Lachlan burst into a heated
tirade in Gaelic then concluded, "You're bughouse daft,
mon!"

"No," Winston said kindly, a
hint of a smile appearing on his lips. "Welcome to the twentieth
century, Lachlan. Your new life begins today."

Breathing heavily,
erratically, Lachlan repeatedly shook his head. "I dinna ask to be
brought back. I dinna want a new life!" He trembled violently,
tears streaming down his ashen face. "Ma life was tha' o' a ghost,
a bloody spirit, and no' aught else!"

"You were once a
mon."

"No! He hasna existed for a
verra long time, and I dinna want him to return! Lachlan Baird,
laird o’ Kist House, is who I am!"

"When you've had time to
adjust—"

Agnes materialized, giving
both Winston and Lachlan a start. Her expression was surprisingly
guarded, her posture stiff, almost hostile. To Lachlan, she said,
"Beth is doin’ just fine. You’re the proud parents o' twins. A girl
and a boy. Both healthy."

Winston shrewdly observed
Lachlan, who stood frozen in shock and denial. The man's emotions
rolled over Winston like great, dark storm waves.

"I canna be a faither,"
Lachlan rasped, again shaking his head.

Agnes primly folded her
hands in front of her. Then her gaze fell upon the bloody hand and
she abruptly closed the distance and gripped Lachlan's wrist
between her cool, bony hands. Winston wasn't sure what to expect,
but it wasn't the flash of rage he glimpsed in her eyes.

"No!" she cried, releasing
him as if the contact had burned her. "It can’t be ye're alive
again!"

"I'm no'," Lachlan
whispered. "I'm...no'. Canna be. Canna be."

"Wha' abou' ma Borgie?" she
asked, desperation taking the heated edge from her tone. "Where is
he?"

Lachlan shrugged helplessly.
"I dinna know. Dinna remember much, right now."

Agnes backed away several
paces. Except in the faces of killers, Winston had never seen such
raw fury. "If you and Beth could come back, why no' ma Borgie? Why
no' ma Borgie?" She quaked, her fists clenched at her sides. "Why
no' ma boy, Lannie? Where is he? Wha' he did wasna so awful he
shouldna get a second chance!"

"Aggie...." Lachlan's throat
closed off with tears, preventing him from talking.

"Damn you, Lannie," she
gritted out, her eyes seeming too large for their sockets. "Damn
you! You've been given it all, haven’t you? Yer life. Yer womon.
Now...a son and daughter. All I ever really had was ma son. Where
is he?"

Numbly, Lachlan shook his
head.

With a wail of grief, Agnes
vanished, her voice lingering eerily in the room for several
seconds.

Roan lethargically entered,
his shoulders slumped, his eyes bright with tears as he stared at
Lachlan. "I sent the lads upstairs." He swallowed convulsively. "I
heard Aggie. So, you're a faither. Congratulations,
Lannie."

Lachlan briefly glanced at
Winston, then stared down at his still trembling palm. A rattling
wheeze escaped him. He swayed. Corrected himself and heaved a
liquid sigh. Grew paler. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and
he fell backward.

Spread-eagle on the hardwood
floor, an unconscious Lachlan Baird found escape from
reality.

Roan and Winston knelt on
each side of him, Winston gesturing for Roan not to touch him. "Let
him rest. We'll get his hand bandaged and try to get our wits abou'
us before he comes around."

"He and Beth are real? Back
for good?"

Winston nodded.

"Sweet Jesus," Roan
murmured.

* * *

Beth felt herself sinking
deeper into the mattress and pillows as she watched Laura leave
with her sleeping son. It had been a strange day, a long and hectic
day, and only now did she dare to think.

Beyond the open drapes,
night had fallen and a valance of stars could be seen twinkling
against the darkness. How many hours had passed she didn't know,
but she'd breast-fed the twins three times already. She was
exhausted, yet wired with energy. She was deliriously happy and
excited, yet profoundly miserable.

Mostly, she was
scared.

The familiar coziness of the
hearth-lit room helped to soothe her frayed nerves, but it also
perpetuated her unspoken fear that she was caught up in a very real
dream, one that would break her heart when she awakened and
realized she would never see her adopted home again except while in
a state of slumber, and she would certainly never be a
mother.

Lachlan, where are
you?

A burning sensation filled
her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. She attributed these to
remembrances, because of course she couldn't cry anymore. Tears
were for the living.

But where was Lachlan? He
was in the dream before she'd given birth....

In some ways, she wished she
could awaken and return to their existence in—

A shuddering breath escaped
her when she realized she couldn't remember much about the
afterlife. Elusive images fluttered at the perimeter of her
mind.

She closed her eyes but for
a moment while she relented to a yawn. When she opened them, she
was startled to see a figure standing at one of the windows. For
just a split second, Beth thought she was looking at Cousin It, a
character from the Addams Family. Then she realized it had to be a
woman with unusually long hair.

Abruptly, the figure turned
and approached Beth's bedside. She was young, perhaps in her early
to mid-twenties, and beautiful. As the woman gracefully seated
herself to Beth's left, Beth couldn't tear her gaze from her
features. Beautiful wasn't the right word, Beth told herself. The
heart-shaped face had an angelic quality. Soft, innocent, and
timeless.

"Can I fetch ye somethin’
from the kitchen?" she asked, smiling at Beth. "I canna cook, but I
can bring ye some fruit or some o' Laura's fine muffins wi' a
slatherin’ o' Aggie's jam. I fingered one jar o' strawberry empty,
I did, and I can vouch tis grand, grand stuff."

Beth chuckled. "No, I don't
want anything, thank you."

The stranger sighed while
her vivid blue gaze boldly searched Beth's features.

"Who are you?"

"Deliah," she said without
hesitation, and smiled again. "I be Deliah."

A smile glowed on Beth's
face. The young woman was definitely strange, but she liked the
strangeness. "Have you been here long?" When Deliah glanced about
the room, Beth amended, "In Baird House."

"Verra long."

The answer perplexed Beth
then she pondered the reality of those dreams before asking, "Have
we ever met before?"

Deliah's slim, winged
eyebrows jutted upward. "In wha' way met?"

Again, the response baffled
Beth. Another yawn escaped her, making her eyes water. "I was just
thinking what a real dream this is, and why someone I don't know,
should be in it."

"No, Beth, tis no' a dream."
Deliah frowned prettily, the blue of her eyes brightening despite
her shadowed features. "I brought ye and Lachlan home. Tis where ye
both belong."

"You?"

For several seconds, Beth
held her breath. Then she realized she was kneading the bed quilt.
She could feel the cotton and wool fibers. Real enough. She could
smell the wood burning in the hearth. Again, real enough. She could
feel a slight cool draft across her face. Real enough.

"Beth, I have a story to
tell ye."

For nearly half an hour,
Beth numbly listened to the young woman's account of her life on
the Baird land, and how she came to be in the house. When she
finished, Beth couldn't respond right away. Her mind was churning
at a maddening speed. Doubts and belief warred inside her skull.
Then, in barely a whisper, she stated, "That's
impossible."

An endearing grin spread
across Deliah's mouth. "No mair impossible than returnin’ from the
dead," she said, with such calm logic, Beth blinked in
bewilderment. "Beth, I be truthful in all matters."

"But...."

Her eyes sparkling
mischievously, Deliah wagged a chiding finger. "No buts. We be wha'
we be."

"Can't you tell me how you
accomplished our return? Deliah, do you really have that kind of
power?"

Seconds passed while Deliah
thought through her response. Finally, she sighed and shrugged her
small shoulders. "Tis no' power in the way ye mean. Beth, remember
the night ye carried Viola off into the heavens?"

A chill passed through Beth
and she nodded.

"Just afore tha' ye were
inside the wall, tryin’ to work up the courage to leave Lachlan
behind. Ye were fiercely scared o' wha' the afterlife was like, but
ye knew ye had no choice but to get her away from the house. I
remember wishin’ at tha' time, I were ye, and had yer kind o'
courage."

Tearfully, Beth murmured, "I
had no choice. She would have eventually killed the
boys."

"Aye, and ye were scared for
Lachlan's soul." Gently, Deliah clasped Beth's left hand between
her own. "Ma kind canna harm a livin’ thing, Beth, nor interfere
wi' the spirit o' a human. MoNae has strict rules and, although I
be lost from ma people, I must abide. I couldna stop Viola, and I
couldna stop ye from removin’ her from Baird land. But I could and
did connect ye and Lachlan to me and Roan wi' somethin’ akin to an
umbilical cord. Ye were never completely in the afterlife, but in a
plane atween the two worlds."