Love Everlastin' Book 3 (40 page)

On the table, cold,
partially used black candles stood in makeshift tin holders,
forming lines to each side of a jeweled dirk. The blade gleamed
eerily and he could make out a Celtic knotwork border surrounding a
strip of runescript down its center length. The handle was black
with raised intricate silver patterns snaking around the jewels. He
recognized the dirk. He'd once seen it embedded in Laura's chest
not so long ago.

He sucked in a breath and
regretted it immediately. The air was stale and reeked of
perspiration and an assortment of foods.

Pork rinds.

The taste filled his mouth,
and yet he had never eaten one.

The room was approximately
twelve feet by twelve feet, dank and cold and as quiet as a tomb.
Three feet away was a planked door with a hook latch. It was
engaged. Beyond the door, he could hear the approach of a slow
gait, attired feet scuffing across the floor. Panic gripped him as
he watched the hook slowly lift itself from the loop. Lift and lift
until it was standing straight up and then became motionless. Then
the door began to creak open.

Winston's eyes flew open.
Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he stared into darkness,
confused and frightened and inwardly struggling to get a fix on his
whereabouts. Then he heard—

Snoring.

He almost laughed his relief
was so great. Lachlan was snoring on the cot some fifteen feet
away. It wasn't as dark as he'd first thought, for now that his
eyes had adjusted, he could make out Roan's sleeping bag on the
dirt floor a short distance away, and the lump within it that was
Roan. Winston was safe and snug within one of his own, ten feet
from the still warmth-giving wood stove.

Closing his eyes, he shifted
slightly within the thick downy softness of his—hopefully—temporary
bed.

Deliah.

He hoped if he thought about
her hard enough, then when he fell back to sleep, she would return
and visit him in his dreams.

* * *

When Winston awoke the next
morning, it was to moans induced from aching flesh and muscles, and
stiff joints. His own grumbled laments joined in as he peeled
himself out of his sleeping bag. Apparently, they hadn't fared all
that well from the brawl at Shortby's. It had just taken time for
their bodies to protest.

In turn, the men went out
the back door and relieved themselves, then grouped in front of the
stove which Roan had fired up immediately after awakening. They
each sat atop empty crates, elbows braced on their upper legs, and
working their mouths against the dryness and foul tastes coating
their tongues. After a time, they coyly glanced at one
another.

Roan grumbled, "I need
coffee. Lots and lots and lots o' strong coffee."

"I wouldna mind a hot bath
and a shave," said Lachlan, running his left palm across the coarse
stubble along his jawline.

Winston sniffed and grumpily
eyed Lachlan. "I wouldn't mind if you had a bath,
either."

"Ha...ha."

Roan briskly rubbed his
hands up and down his face then made a feeble attempt to run his
fingers through his unruly hair. "Coffee, a hot bath, a shave, and
Laura to warm ma bones. No' too much for a mon to ask, is
it?"

Winston released a cynical
chuckle. "Only if you have a death wish. I don't think the ladies
have had enough time to cool down."

"I can guarantee you, Beth
will be hot for some time," Lachlan said with a grimace. "No' tha'
I can blame her." He looked askance at his companions and grinned.
"But we had us a grand time at Shortby's, aye?"

"Grand?" Winston asked
indignantly. "Fists slamming into ma face is no' ma idea o' a good
time."

Roan shrugged. "Actually,
those goons got the worst o' it. Canabra looked like a bloated
tomato when I got through wi' him. Felt bloody good, it did. He has
always irked the bejesus ou' o' me."

Despite his split lower lip,
Winston laughed. "Wha' was the redhead's name?"

"McKenna," said
Roan.

"Ah, MacKenna. Abou' two
minutes into the brawl, he knew he'd taken on more than he could
handle. Canabra and Markey didn't have the good sense to know when
to call it quits."

"Aye," Lachlan said
wistfully. He glanced at his swollen, raw knuckles with a look of
pride. "I wouldna mind facin’ off wi' tha' Markey again. Dinna
think he'll be urinatin’ straight for some time."

Roan and Winston
laughed.

"Course," Lachlan sighed,
squirming on his crate, "tha' bootin’ I got to ma arse will have me
crappin’ crooked for a week o' Sundays."

Winston choked on his
laughter, and Roan swiped aside a tear of laughter which had fallen
onto his cheek.

"Damn," Roan chortled, then
heaved a breath to get himself under control. "I don't think we
should go to Shortby's anytime soon. Silas was madder than I've
ever seen him."

"We paid for the damage,"
said Winston.

"Aye, but—"

A rap on the front door
brought the men to their feet. Roan dashed ahead and threw open the
door. Leaning beyond the threshold, he spied Laura heading toward
the house, then glanced down and saw a large picnic basket in front
of his feet. With a shake of his head, he lifted the basket, then
closed the door and returned to the men in front of the hot stove.
Adequate morning light streamed in from the window to the left of
the stove. Seating himself back on his crate, he placed the basket
on his lap and lifted the lid.

"Laura's no' too angry," he
said cheerily, holding up a large thermos for the others to see. He
handed it to Winston, then removed three cups and passed them to
Lachlan. "We have a fryin’ pan, spatula, six eggs, and a sliced
section o' ham." He continued to rummage, then, "Some nicely diced
potatoes and a tub o' butter. Plastic dishes. Spoons, knives, and
forks." He looked up and frowned. "No pepper or salt, though. Hmm.
At least we won't starve."

"I designate you the cook,"
said Lachlan to Roan.

"Why me?"

"I'll cook," Winston sighed,
"after I have a cup o' coffee."

An hour later, their
stomachs full and the thermos emptied, they lethargically stared at
the potbellied stove. Roan burped. Lachlan scratched the back of
his head. Winston breathed deeply and lowered his eyelids
half-mast.

"Now wha' do we do?" Winston
asked.

"I'm for a bit mair sleep,"
said Roan, and yawned.

"I need to burn off some
steam," Lachlan murmured, then stretched and released an
eye-watering yawn of his own.

"Why is it every time one o'
us breathes, this place reeks like a brewery?" Winston
asked.

"Have to breathe," Roan
quipped.

Lachlan's eyes took on a
mischievous gleam. "There was a time...."

"Don't get me laughin’
again," warned Roan with a chuckle. He sobered and used his right
thumbnail to unwedge a piece of ham from between two of his lower
teeth. "We could shovel ou’ the driveway. I noticed some broken
limbs on the rhododendron hedge, and the handcarts could use
reloadin’ wi' wood and kindle. I'm sure there's plenty to do to
keep us ou' o' trouble."

"Aye," said Lachlan, "and we
should shovel the snowdrifts away from the house. Dinna need water
gettin’ into the cellar."

Lachlan noticed Winston's
frown and asked, "Wha' are you thinkin’ abou'?"

"The dirk," he
replied.

Lachlan's eyebrows shot up
and he glanced at Roan. "Are we talkin’ abou' the infamous
MacLachlan dirk? The one wha' done me in and nearly killed
Laura?"

Winston nodded, his gaze
intently searching Lachlan's bemused features. "I was dreaming
abou' it last night. Why did you call it the 'MacLachlan
dirk'?"

"Ma maternal grandfaither
gave it to me. Ma mither hailed from the MacLachlan clan. Both
sides o' her family were MacLachlan bred and true for as far back
as the clan's beginnin’s. Her faither wasna happy when she married
a Baird, although, he was good to ma brithers and me. Grandfaither
was a gruff old bugger, he was, and wi' the whitest hair I have
ever seen on a mon.

"For some reason, he really
took to me when I was verra young. When I was abou' nine, he told
me I had the knowin’. To this day, I still dinna know wha' he meant
by tha'. He took me fishin’ and huntin’ maist weekends, up till
abou' the time I was twenty, and many a time we camped beneath the
stars and he would tell me stories o' our family
history."

Lachlan chuckled and went
on, "Maist frightened the hell ou' o' me. Apparently, our wee part
o' the clan was fraught wi' mair'n its share o' strange characters.
One o' his brithers believed himself to be a werewolf, and he wasna
the maist peculiar o' the lot, either."

Roan grinned through a
grimace, while Winston smiled and shook his head.

"Anyway," Lachlan went on,
"the MacLachlan dirk was originally found by ma grandfaither's
great-great-great uncle, Broc. Rightfully, it should have been
passed down to ma oldest brither, Patrick, but ma grandfaither said
I had the knowin’ and I was to protect it."

"Protect it from wha'?"
asked Roan.

Lachlan shrugged.
"Grandfaither wasna always good abou' explainin’
details."

"Considering how it was used
to kill you and nearly killed Laura, I would think the dirk needs
protecting against," said Winston.

Lachlan shivered.
"Perhaps."

"Are the gems real?" asked
Winston.

"Aye. In all, three emeralds
and three sapphires on one side, and five rubies on the ither.
There were originally six rubies. I dinna know when the one came
lost. Long afore I received the dirk."

Winston gave a low whistle,
then, "Do you know wha' the runescript reads?"

"No. Do you?"

Winston grinned ruefully.
"No. I was just curious. Do you know where it is now?"

"Last I saw it was when I
removed it from Laura and placed it on the ground next to
me."

Roan frowned. "Come to think
o' it, I haven't seen it since. I never even gave it anither
thought efter tha' night."

"Winston," Lachlan began
hesitantly, "do you know somethin’ you're no' sayin’?"

Winston released a laugh and
held up his hands. "No. Like I said, I dreamt abou' it and was
merely curious. Actually, it was only a fragment o' the dream I
had."

"So, naught to worry abou'
the bloody thing then?"

"Lachlan, I swear I'm no'
hiding anything from you."

A gust of breath ejected
from Lachlan. "Thank God. To be truthful—wi' no disrespect for
Grandfaither's trust in me—I wouldna care if I never saw it
again."

"I'll second tha'," said
Roan and rose to his feet. He stretched his arms, then the small of
his back as he walked to the door. Opening it and stepping just
beyond the threshold, he filled his lungs with fresh
air.

Winston finished re-packing
the basket, while Lachlan positioned the crates against the wall
perpendicular to the stove wall. Carrying the basket, Winston
followed Lachlan outside to where Roan now stood by the new oak,
inspecting the trunk.

"Have a look," said Roan,
running his right hand over the rough bark. "It's grown since last
night."

That wasn't all Winston
noticed. "Is it ma imagination, or is the temperature over fifty
and the snow and ice melting?"

"Spring has arrived," Roan
grinned.

Lachlan surveyed the
landscape. "Aye, so it has. Overnight, no less. It'll take a while
to melt all this, though."

"Look," Roan said pointing
to one of the branches. "Buds. This tree wasn't even here two days
ago. And have you ever seen a trunk like this? It's
incredible."

Winston tipped back his head
and regarded the highest branches. With the exception that the
leaves hadn't come out yet, the oak looked as it had in his
dream.

"Magical, Deliah would say,"
Winston murmured, then glanced down at the basket. "I'm going to
try to get into the kitchen. I want to empty this and clean up the
dishes and utensils."

Lachlan passed Roan a
hopeful look, then swung his gaze to Winston. "It wouldna hurt if
you happened across one o' the women and mentioned how sorry we
are."

"Laura and Beth are mair
likely to watch their tempers around you," said Roan. "You bein’
our guest and all. And Deliah was mair concerned for our well-bein’
than she was angry."

Winston arched an eyebrow.
"Have Beth or Laura ever threatened to turn either o' you into a
nubby toad?"

"She couldn't." Roan
shrugged. "She wouldn't." Comical doubt masked his face as he
asked, "Would she?"

"Until you see me return in
the flesh, watch where you step," Winston said dryly. With an airy
salute, he headed toward the house.

Lachlan murmured, "Brave
mon."

"Or foolish."

The two men locked gazes a
moment, then Lachlan laughed.