Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (17 page)

"Your family, I know," she
said coolly.

"Right. They could tell me
the sky was pink, and I would believe them. But you, lass...we're
mair strangers than anythin’ else."

"As you said, that's not my
fault."

"Aye. Is there no Scottish
left in you, Taryn?"

"I've spent the past
twenty-one years in the States. Dammit, what do you expect, Roan?
No, I don't have your accent, and I tend to be American blunt and
American crude when cornered. That doesn't make me any less your
sister!"

"I wasn’t talkin’ abou' yer
accent or yer crude behavior ou'side the house. Wha' I'm referrin’
to is the coldness I see in yer eyes. You were a bonny brat as a
girl, wi' eyes tha' sparked life when you were up to no good. Wha'
I see now is a stranger who looks at me as if measurin’ me for a
kist."

"A what?"

"Coffin," he replied
impatiently, disappointed that she had lost her knowledge of the
Scottish language.

"Thanks."

Taryn considered telling
them all to go to hell in a hand basket, but decided it would only
make her "mission" more difficult. Her original plan had been to
cozy up to Roan, play the kid sister to the hilt, then disclose
what she'd uncovered with all the emotional fanfare she could
muster. But alas, she was left no choice but to expose the family
skeletons with the bluntness of an anvil.

"Perhaps I take after
Robert Baird," she said, glancing down at her manicured fingernails
with their dark red polish.

She looked up in time to
see her brother wince as if in pain. It occurred to her she should
feel something for him, something kinful, but he was only a larger
version of the jerk she remembered.

"You keep referrin’ to this
Robert Baird," Lachlan said with an air of boredom. "Wha' I find
maist intriguin’ was yer comment abou' this man's legal name bein’
Ingliss."

Taryn eyed him through an
unreadable expression. God, he was a lot of man. She'd bet a
month's wages he was hung like a horse. He was too damn masculine
for his own good. So...virile. So...nineteenth century.
So....

Forcing herself to withdraw
from that runaway train of thought, she focused her attention on
her brother. She was a bit surprised to see how gaunt his features
had become. He looked older, somehow. For the first time, she
realized how tense he was. Did he already know?

"Do you remember Papa
Ailbert?"

"Vaguely remember hearin’
abou' him," said Roan wearily. "Faither's great grandfaither,
wasn’t he?"

She nodded. "He published
six short stories in his heyday. Guess I inherited the writing bug
from him. Anyway, he was also a ritualistic journal keeper. Ever
read any of them?"

The question was delivered
with an air of lightness, but Roan's eyes narrowed on
her.

"No. Why?"

"Papa Ailbert was also a
historian of sorts, especially when it came to the family." She
sighed and flicked a glance at her fingernails again. "After
reading his journals, I couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't
actually trying to unburden his soul, poor man."

"Get on wi' it,
Taryn."

The way Roan rolled the R
in her name caused a delightful thrill to pass through her, and she
realized just how hard her parents had worked to get rid of their
accents.

Collecting her thoughts,
she said, "Anyway, he came to this house at the turn of the
century."

"Baird House?
Why?"

Roan's clipped tone gave
her pause. "To interview Tessa Ingliss. It didn't go too well. She
ended up demanding he leave and never return."

Laura jerked as if she'd
been pinched. Staring off into space, Laura/Tessa stated in an
accented monotone, "He came to the house wi’ accusations tha’
Robert's faither had masterminded the Baird-Aiken
marriage."

"How could you possibly
know about that?" Taryn asked, her eyes wide. She looked at Roan
and accused, "So you do know about Guin Baird!"

Lachlan shot to his feet,
his face darkened with hostility. "Wha' has
ma
faither to do wi' Robert
Ingliss?"

Taryn felt as if she'd been
thrust into the heart of a tornado. The room was so thick with
tension it clung to her skin. Her gazed volleyed between Lachlan
and her brother, who rose to his feet like a man afflicted with
arthritis. His face was shockingly pale and taut. It alarmed her to
see him like this, but she couldn't bring herself to offer him a
kind word, let alone reach out to him.

Although her throat had
partially closed off, she managed to go on. "Papa Ailbert was
summoned to the deathbed of a distant uncle, who told him he had to
pass on a secret before he died. It was—"

Roan/Robert cut her off,
his voice strained and hardly sounding like his own. "I couldna
stand the guilt. A few months efter Tessa and I married, I couldna
look at her no mair wi’ou' thinkin’ o' wha' I'd done."

"What are you talking
about?" Taryn asked, believing her brother had lost his
mind.

"Be quiet, lass," Lachlan
warned her. "Leave him be till he's finished."

As if in a daze,
Roan/Robert went on, "I went to see Uncle George, ma mither's
brither. He'd never approved o' me, but he was always there when I
needed him." A sour laugh rattled in his throat. "And I really
needed his advice at tha' time."

Roan/Robert looked across
the room and stared bleakly into Lachlan's dark eyes. He knew from
the laird's rigid bearing that the man was in pain, the
anticipation of what was to come evident in the gaunt lines of his
face. The memories were freed from Roan's subconscious. Now he
understood the bond that had kept his soul tied to
Lachlan.

"My mither was a wild
girl," said Roan/Robert.

"Roan!" Taryn cried,
outraged that he could say such a thing about their mother. She
didn't realize Robert was talking through her brother.

"Haud yer wheesht!"
Lachlan barked at Taryn.

As if unaware of the
interruption, Roan/Robert continued, "Her parents couldna control
her. She had an affair wi' a married mon, and eventually gave birth
to his son. Her faither refused to have anymair to do wi' her. He
demanded she no' use the family's name on her bastard, but she
defied him still, instead, addin’ anither ‘S' to the end o'
it.

"My faither visited now and
then. He was a cruel mon, but ma mither loved him. I heard wi' ma
own ears his promise to wed her. Said he despised his wife and
couldna go on pretendin’ he had any feelin’s left for
her."

Taryn wanted to shout at
him, to tell him to stop ranting and acting so insane, but her
insides were cold and she couldn't stop shaking. Something was
happening that she didn't understand. Intermittently, she could
almost swear she could see a translucent face appearing in front of
her brother's when he spoke, flicking on and off like a spectral
mask.

"But he didna marry her.
When I was thirteen, he came to the house. Ma mither was cryin’ she
was so angry wi' him. It was the first time I heard her raise her
voice to him, or defy his wishes. She demanded he leave his wife.
Ma mither told him she had given up her family for him, and her son
deserved to know his half-brithers." He sneered the next words.
"She told him she would tell Missy Ciarda the truth."

Lachlan murmured a prayer
in Gaelic, and Roan's features became lax as the spectral mask
became more defined.

Only the spectral mouth
moved as Robert said, "She never did. Passed away two years later
o' a stomach ailment. I went to live wi' Uncle George. He wasna
happy abou' it. He had his own family, and money was scarce. One
time, no' long efter I moved in, he told me I had four
half-brithers who were livin’ like royalty. He resented them all,
and said he was o' a mind to expose the Bairds' secrets and let the
mighty Guin get a taste o' his own medicine.

"When next I saw ma
faither, I was twenty-four. He came to the textile mill where I
worked wi' ma love, Tessa Aiken. He took me to an isolated park,
where we sat on the grass and he told me he needed ma help. Said he
was desperate for ma help. His youngest son had returned to
Aberdeen to choose a bride. He said this son, Lachlan, had tried to
ruin the family business. Had taken maist o' their fortune,
includin’ wha' he had put aside for me.

"I was enraged by all I
heard. Enraged to make this so-called brither pay for denyin’ me
wha' was rightfully mine. Ma faither told me o' a plan and,
although I didna believe Tessa and I could carry it through, I
needed to try."

Roan/Robert's bleak
expression became enhanced with torment. He stared at Lachlan, his
shoulders slumped. "Years afore, I'd told Tessa ma faither had died
when I was verra young. All she knew abou' the plan was tha' this
mon, Lachlan, had wronged ma family. Twas why she went along wi'
it. She never knew ma faither had asked me to...murder ma
brither."

"She
drove the dirk into ma heart," Lachlan accused.

"We were in love,"
Laura/Tessa murmured. "So poor, love wasna enough. I knew Robbie
couldna pull off killin’ Lachlan. Despite everythin’, he liked him.
I think he...
respected
him. But it wasna Robbie tha' Lachlan wanted to bed. I couldna
stand the thought o' any man touchin’ me but Robbie, so I...I took
the initiative to spare him."

Her hardened gaze cut to
Lachlan. "But you couldna just die, could you? I drove tha' blade
straight into yer heart, but you held on, tormentin’ Robbie even
efter yer daith!"

"Tessa!" Roan/Robert
growled.

Taryn wanted to run from
the room, but she knew her legs wouldn't support her. They were all
insane! Worse yet, it was contagious! Now she was seeing a
superimposed image on Laura's face. It was translucent, yet blond
ringlets at the sides of the face and icy blue eyes were clearly
visible.

"You had everythin’ handed
to you yer entire life," Laura/Tessa said scathingly to Lachlan.
"You betrayed yer faither and brithers, and nearly destroyed
everythin’ yer faither built. Why should I feel sorry for the likes
o' you? You thought you could buy a wife!

"Aye...I hated you,
Lachlan! Aye...it felt bloody good plungin’ tha' dirk into yer
miserable heart!" Breaths roared in and out of her lungs. "I would
do it again for Robbie! For me!"

A whimper escaped Laura and
she swayed then gripped the mantel and steadied herself. The
ghostly imaged vanished. Eyes wide with horror, she stared at
Lachlan. "That wasn't me!" she cried. "Lachlan, I couldn't stop
her!"

"Tis no' yer fault, Laura,"
said Lachlan. He glanced down at Beth's stricken face, sat beside
her and draped an arm about her shoulders. "Are you feelin’ jaggey,
Beth?"

She stiltedly shook her
head, her gaze riveted on Roan. "Go on."

Roan/Robert appeared dazed.
Lachlan watched him for a moment, stood, and approached him until
they were within arm's reach of each other.

"Robbie—" Lachlan had to
clear his throat in order to go on. "Was the money, the life-style,
worth killin’ me for?"

The light brown eyes of
both Roan and Robert stared with stricken solemnity into Lachlan's
face. A single tear fell unchecked down his cheek, and Roan
swayed.

"For the rest o' ma life, I
couldna close ma eyes wi’ou' seein’ yer eyes those last seconds as
I walled you up in the tower. If only you had been angry at me...at
the injustice and the betrayal. If I could have just seen anger in
yer eyes, I could have convinced myself wha' we'd done was for the
better.

"I told Uncle George wha'
I'd done," Robert went on, "and he kept sayin’, 'Yer own brither.
Yer own brither'. Like I didna know wha' a monster I was, already.
I made him promise you would be properly buried when Tessa and I
were gone...
dead.

"As you know, I was first
to die, but I waited for her spirit to leave her body on her death
and then hastened her through to the ither side so you couldna keep
her here. I denied you even tha' pleasure. Tha' wasna ou' o' spite,
though, Lachlan, but for the sake o' yer own soul."

Silence domed the room for
excruciating minutes. Taryn's skin crawled as she stared
apprehensively at the two men. She could no longer believe this was
a cruel joke on her brother's part. The drama was too real, the
emotional torment of the men more than a seasoned actor could
possibly portray with such realism.

"I wrote a full confession
and gave it to ma uncle," Roan/Robert said dully. "He passed it on
to his son, who passed it on to ma son Robert when Tessa died. Twas
Robert who had you buried in the field. Twas Robert who exposed his
parents' heinous crime, but kept secret ma Baird
lineage."

"Say the words," said
Lachlan, his voice hardly more than a hoarse whisper. "Roan canna
be free o' you till you do. I've no fondness for you, Robbie,
brither or no', but Roan means a lot to me, and I willna have him
bear yer bloody guilt anither day."

The superimposed image
broke up then returned, the ghostly visage a mask of sorrow and
poignant regret.