Time Everlastin' Book 5 (36 page)

Och, I can,
Broc thought.

"We're kin, Broc MacLachlan.
Tis all tha' matters now."

"I love Taryn."

Lachlan's eyebrows hiked up
and he smiled crookedly. "I've no doubt you do. And she,
you."

Broc cupped his hands,
filled them with water, and splashed his face. "May I ask ye
somethin', Lachlan?"

"Aye."

Broc thought over his words
before voicing them. "Am I right for her? Can I make her
happy?"

"Some months ago," Lachlan
said without hesitation, "I would have said no one could make her
happy." He grinned wistfully. "Tis a different womon I see now. You
see, Broc, no one knows better than I tha' findin' a true love, a
destined love, is wha' life is really abou'. Wi'ou' ma Beth...well,
I wasna whole afore she came into ma life. Tis so wi' Roan and
Laura, and Deliah and Winston."

"Deliah's the fairy
princess?"

"Aye, wi' the new
bairn."

"Wha' o' Blue and
Reith?"

Humor danced in Lachlan's
eyes, and he shrugged. "They're still strugglin' to find their way
back to one anither. It'll happen...in time."

"Will the ithers accept me,
ye think?"

"They already
do."

"Why?"

Lachlan heaved a sigh. "Wha'
really is troublin' you?"

"Tis a different world now,"
Broc murmured.

"Och, aye!" Lachlan laughed.
"But people are people, wha'ever the calendar. You have some
catchin' up to do, but think o' it as part o' the adventure. As I
do. I tend to cling to the old ways." He scrinched up his face
ruefully. "Beth sets me straight, right enough."

This last broke a grin
through Broc's taut muscles.

Lachlan abruptly stood and
headed for the door, saying, "You've clean clothes on the bed. I
couldna find trews in yer things, so you've a loan o' some o'
mine."

"Trews?" Broc said
sickly.

"Aye."

"I've never worn them, and
will be bloody damn if I do now!"

Lachlan planted his hands on
his hips and regarded Broc through a paternal frown. "The first
sight o' yer bare bahookie and the women will pounce on
you."

"I'll be
careful."

"Suit yerself. But the Baird
House women rule here, make no mistake abou' tha', and they have
funny notions abou' some o' the old ways o' thinkin' and
actin'."

"I consider maself
forewarned," Broc grumbled.

With a nod, Lachlan
disappeared into the bedroom. He returned minutes later carrying a
half-empty bottle, in time to witness Broc cradling the white bar
of soap in his hands and inhaling its fragrant scent.
Self-conscious, Broc lowered the bar into the water and eyed the
bottle.

"Thought a swig or two would
help you brace yer spine," Lachlan grinned, and held the label out
for Broc to read.

Broc lowered his gaze to the
now murky water. "I canna read but Gaelic," he said.

"Tis scotch."

Broc's head shot up and his
eyes brightened. "Scotch, ye say?"

"The finest in all the
world, if I do say so maself."

Lachlan uncorked the bottle,
took a long swallow, then passed it to Broc, whose unsteady hand
immediately guided it to his mouth. Several gulps and a rolling
shudder later, he smacked his lips and released a boom of
laughter.

"Tis fine and a spine
bracer!" he exclaimed, and held the bottle for Lachlan to
take.

"Anither?" Lachlan
asked.

Broc shook his head and
chuckled, "No' on an empty stomach."

"Wise mon."

Broc sighed contentedly and
sank into the water until it reached his chin. "Now be off,
Lachlan, and let me finish ma bath." Lachlan was nearly over the
threshold when Broc added, "Thank ye. For everythin'."

Lachlan nodded. "Can you
find yer way to the parlor when ye're through?"

"Aye, I think
so."

"Macleod called.
Yer
Braussaw will be
delivered in three days."

"Thank ye."

"Beth's cookin' lamb
stew."

Broc grimaced.

"The lamb stew?"

"No. Love it. Been over two
hundred years since I've had it. Dinna ken, though, if ma stomach
will handle food yet."

"See you downstairs,"
Lachlan said, and left.

Broc remained thoughtfully
quiet for a time. The scotch had warmed his belly and blood, and
chased off the anxiety that had clung to him so tenaciously. He was
mellow now.

Not so afraid of what was to
come.

Not so afraid of
himself.

Not so afraid of the truths
he needed to reveal.

When he had scrubbed every
inch of himself, he pulled the stopper. He washed his hair with the
sweet smelling shampoo and rinsed it beneath the cold water of the
tub faucet. He was out of the tub and towel-drying himself when he
glimpsed his image in the mirror on the wall above the sink.
Momentary shock melted away to curiosity. He stepped closer,
closer, until the cool surface of the sink stopped him. He knew
what a mirror was, but had never seen himself in one, only in
surfaces of water, and he had never taken the time to really look
at himself.

Little wonder he had given
Taryn such a fright.

With the longer version of
his beard, he understood now why she had called him a barbarian. He
didn't resemble a man of twenty-eight, but someone far older, whose
hardships had chipped away the essence of the man. Broc hadn't
physically aged, but his mind certainly had. A look that reminded
him of his father's eyes, stared back at him. Eyes that told of
years of labor and disappointments. Eyes that more often than not
revealed hopelessness for his family and village's
future.

Ian William MacLachlan had
been a stern man, heavy of hand and incapable of showing his only
son open love or respect, but nonetheless a man who had managed to
provide for his family.

Broc had hated him for many
years. Had ventured to the standing stones, desperate to bring back
something that would meet his father's approval.

Something that would
exonerate him in the eyes of his people.

"Yer da be a good mon," his
mother had often said, but each time her voice would break before
saying "da."

Only now did Broc understand
the life that had shaped his father. Gone was the mischief, the
sparkle in his eyes that his mother and others claimed he'd had
since a small boy. Gone was his conviction that his family—when he
married and had his own children—would fare better, that he would
be a better provider, a better man than his father.

How did he know?

The troubled depths of his
eyes was all revealing.

Dropping the towel to the
floor, he lifted wet strands of hair and sourly regarded them.
"Time to reveal yerself, Broc Ian MacLachlan."

Resolutely, he lifted the
straight edge razor and smiled at his reflection.

* * *

"May I hold him?"

Taryn's query surprised
Deliah, although Taryn had been playing on the floor with the twins
moments ago. She passed the swathed bundle into Taryn's waiting
arms and smiled at Winston when Taryn cooed at the squirming infant
as she settled into a wing back chair across from them.

"He's beautiful," Taryn
grinned. "What's his name?"

"Willem Chance Connery,"
Winston said, his tone laced with pride as he draped an arm about
Deliah's shoulders.

"Willem efter ma cousin, who
rules a kingdom in County Cork, Ireland," Deliah said.

"Willem is one of our most
respected kings," said Blue.

"Why Chance?" asked Taryn,
stroking the infant beneath his chin.

"Because he's the offspring
o' a fairy and human," replied Winston.

Taryn crooned, "I like the
cadence of the collective name."

"Aye," agreed Lachlan, who
stood with an arm braced on the mantel. "Taryn, plannin' on
mitherhood in the near future, are you?"

Taryn blushed. "Depends on
Broc, don't you think?"

Roan, sitting on the floor
in front of the hearth and stacking blocks with the twins, cast his
sister a broad grin. "This can’t be ma sister."

"Ha ha," she huffed then
chuckled when Willem gurgled. "I wouldn't mind having
children."

"You don't like us," Kevin
quipped. He, Kahl and Alby sat against the coffee table, watching
the twins knock down Roan's efforts to build a block
tower.

Taryn rolled her eyes then
wrinkled her nose at the brothers. "Guess I was pretty mean to you
before. How about if we start anew?"

"Criminy, she's in love,"
Kahl grumbled.

"Broc has hair like a girl,"
Kevin said, watching Taryn intently for her temper to flare. He
frowned when she laughed and passed his brothers a baffled look.
Alby, ever the diplomat, shrugged off commenting.

"He's a little scary
looking, isn't he," Taryn said, "but he's a good man, boys. He's
brave and kind and—"

"Yep, she's in love," Kevin
sighed.

Laura, sitting on a settee
and watching Roan, smiled and smoothed a hand over her protruding
stomach. "Love is a good thing, boys."

"Yeah, right," Kahl said
sourly. "It turns people's brains into mush."

"Tis good mush," Lachlan
said and winked at the brothers.

Reith entered the parlor. He
offered smiles to everyone, sobering when his gaze locked on Blue,
and stopped alongside Lachlan. "The car's unpacked."

Lachlan straightened away
from the mantel. "You didna have to do all tha' work, lad. I told
you I would take care o' it efter dinner."

"Aye, sir, but I had help.
Several dozen arms and wings, I did."

Lachlan smiled in
appreciation.

"We left the treasure in the
library, sir, and Taryn and Broc's belongin’s in her
room."

"Thank you," Taryn
said.

"Ma pleasure.
Sir?"

"Reith," Lachlan sighed.
"Ye're a prince—a king once Blue—"

"Never happen," she gnashed
out, glaring at Reith.

Low chuckles circled the
room.

"As I was sayin'," Lachlan
went on, "callin' me sir—"

"Be yer due," Reith said
unequivocally, his regal tone brooking no argument. "Ye will always
be ma mentor, sir."

His chest swelling with
pride, Lachlan clapped Reith on the back. "Did you see Broc when
you went to Taryn's room?"

"Aye."

"Did he say if he planned to
join us?" asked Lachlan.

"Aye. Soon."

Lachlan frowned comically.
"A wee succinct in yer answers, lad."

Reith grinned. "Weel, ye
could say we startled one anither. He wasna prepared to see ma
wings engaged, nor I...."

"Nor you, wha'?"

Reith shrugged. "He's a fine
lookin' mon, cleaned up, sir."

"Broc?" Lachlan sputtered
then cleared his throat and offered Taryn an apologetic grin when
she narrowed her eyes in his direction. "I only meant, lass, he's a
wee rough around the edges."

"Maybe I should go upstairs
and—" she began, cutting off when Reith raised a hand.

"He'll be down shortly,"
Reith assured. "Oh!" He pulled something from inside his shirt and
handed it to Lachlan. "I wasna sure where ye wanted
this."

Beth left her chair and came
to stand to Lachlan's right. "What is it?"

"Ma mither's journal,"
Lachlan said solemnly, running his thumbs over the aged
leather.

"Wha's wrong?" Beth asked,
linking an arm through his.

"Fegs, lass," he sighed.
"Her life is on these pages. Such as it was."

"Have you ever read
it?"

"No. Broc has, though. He
knows mair abou' her than I do."

"Why haven't you read it?"
Beth said.

"Canna bear to read her
sorrows in her own words."

"You're assuming she didn't
write about what also made her happy," Beth chided. "People write
down their innermost thoughts, hoping one day someone will read
them. Someone will connect with the words. Your mother was an
incredible woman, Lachlan. Don't be afraid of what's in this
book."

Lachlan wrapped an arm about
Beth's neck and pulled her close for a kiss. When he lifted his
head, he said, "I didna do enough for her."

"She gave you life," Beth
said tremulously, "and in return, you brightened hers. From what
you've told me, she never doubted your love for her."

"Aye, she knew, but no
matter wha' I said or did, lass, I couldna penetrate her sorrow. Ma
existence brought her grief."

"Lachlan, no—"