Hope Everlastin' Book 4 Read online

  HOPE EVERLASTIN’

  Book 4

  by

  Mickee Madden

  ***

  Smashwords Edition

  © 2011 by Mickee Madden

  ****************************************************

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Mickee Madden

  ***

  For Steve and our children Gwen, Steve and Brehan, and our

  grandchildren Eric Brandon, Dameon Michael and Christopher. Aunt

  Donna. Steven and Mary, and their children Ashley and Patrick.

  Matt and Grace, and their children Erik, Kahl, and Alby. Gerri and Anna.

  ***

  Sandy, mentioned first in this list because she loves to whine,

  Marsha, Rosella, Guy and my son, Steven, Jr. for critiquing me

  through another book. Thank you!

  ***

  Denise Little. Always.

  ***

  Donna Kater, Heather Moon, Cindy Stapleton, Trisha Mitchner,

  Kathleen (Meeka) Lombardo, Angie Wheat and Betty Cimarolli.

  Just because.

  ***

  Also, my heart-felt thanks to the readers, especially those whose

  inspiring letters keep me pounding at the keyboard with new purpose.

  ***

  Last but not least, Lachlan, who is of the belief there can

  never be too much written about him.

  ***

  Glossary

  anither/another — aught/anything — bahookie/buttocks — brither/brother

  canna/cannot — corbie/crow — couldna/couldn't — craiture/creature

  daith/death — didna/didn't — dinna/don't — faither/father — haud yer wheesht/

  hold your noise — havena/haven't — ither/other — mair/more

  mair'n/more than — maist/most — mither/mother — na canny/unnatural

  naught/nothing — orra/odd — shouldna/shouldn't — thegither/together

  verra/very — wasna/wasn't — weel/well — willna/will not / winna/won't

  wouldna/wouldn't

  ***

  For information on up-coming e-books by Mickee Madden

  please contact her at: [email protected]

  Aberdeen, Scotland

  ***

  On a storm-driven night at three minutes before midnight, Ciarda MacLachlan Baird gave birth to her fourth and last son, Lachlan Iain MacLachlan Baird. In front of dying embers at the hearth, she'd suffered her labor alone while her husband and sons attended to the business of completing a merchant ship across town. She was a woman accustomed to a solitary existence. From the time her sons could walk and talk, they became solely Guin’s, their father's, to mold into his future partners. His heirs.

  She ceased being their mother; was instead the woman who cooked and cleaned for them. By the third son, she expected no more from her family. Ever.

  Until this night.

  From the instant Ciarda had conceived this child she'd known he would be different, and had feared his birth more than she had feared anything in her life. No longer, though. Not only did he bear the dark red hair of her forefathers, but she sensed through something more powerful than maternal instinct that he would always be her son, one whose destiny had yet to be written.

  In the years to come, Ciarda cherished Lachlan above all else. It saddened her to watch him struggle for his father's attention and approval, and to prove himself worthy of participating in the family business, something his brothers, for whatever reasons, were bitterly against. Lachlan was younger than Angus by seven years, Gavin by ten, and Patrick by twelve. By the time he had a fair idea of what his father's business entailed, his brothers were gradually taking over.

  Lachlan was never one to settle for the odd jobs meted out to him by the older Baird males. He was blessed with a sharp, inquisitive mind and a talent for succeeding at whatever he applied himself to. His mother had once told him his brothers felt somewhat threatened by his ability to learn and adapt. She always encouraged him to experience life and all it had to offer, often telling him that the world did not revolve around the Baird business nor the dictates of his father and brothers, and that of all her sons, he alone was a true MacLachlan.

  Unlike his siblings, Lachlan was a dreamer. As a boy he had an imaginary friend named Onora, who he believed was his guardian angel. She often told him in his dreams that the world was his to explore. Told him that as long as he kept his mind open to all possibilities, the secrets of life would offer themselves to him.

  During his formative years, he seldom did anything without consulting her first. He respected her wisdom and trusted her to watch over him.

  In between working odd jobs for his father and brothers, Lachlan met a Frenchman named Millard Barluc, a moderately known swordsman at the time. He'd taken a fancy to seven-year-old Lachlan and was pleased by the boy's request to satisfy his curiosity about the history of the sword. Soon, he began teaching Lachlan swordplay, which two years later led to Lachlan taking fencing lessons from another Frenchman, Charles LaForte, a friend of Barluc's. The training he received from both mentors helped him to develop irrevocable confidence and self-esteem, and taught him to discipline his growing impatience with his father and brothers.

  When Lachlan was twenty, his maternal grandfather died. Lachlan took it harder than even his mother. It was then that Barluc told Lachlan and his parents that he was planning to enter a swordsmen's tournament which would span most of Western Europe during the next two years. He wanted Lachlan to go with him.

  Ciarda didn't want her youngest son to leave, but Guin insisted it was time Lachlan was cut free of her apron strings. Lachlan went with Barluc, but only because of his father's propensity to take out his displeasure of his son on Ciarda.

  Lachlan made good use of the tournament circuit during the ensuing two years. He competed and won more often than not against contestants in his category, then turned his small winnings into a sizeable fortune through various gambling endeavors during their travels. Barluc would shake his head in wonder at Lachlan's good luck at cards and dice. Would shake his head and laugh when Lachlan bested gypsies at their own games.

  The Lucky Baird, he called Lachlan. The nickname spread across Western Europe, and usually greeted Lachlan when he and Barluc arrived at a new city. Wielding steel or gaming, he met each challenge with a grin and an attitude of that win or lose, life was a grand experience.

  Lachlan didn't spend all of his time competing and gambling. He also took every opportunity to mingle with merchants, seamen, dockmen and the owners of shipping companies, accumulating an inside understanding of what happened after a ship was built and claimed by its owner. He studied comparative building techniques of other countries and, during the tournament's stay in Italy, learned the art of Italian molding. His insatiable craving for knowledge and outgoing personality made it easy for him to approach strangers and gather information. Whether his friends and acquaintances called him "The Crazy Scot" or "The Lucky

  Baird," he was duly accorded the respect he earned.

  However, the man Lachlan had become still could not sway his father and brothers' opinions of him.

  When he returned to Aberdeen, he was grief-stricken to discover that his mother had died eight months prior. No one
had made any attempt to let him know. His resentment for his father and brothers grew tenfold, for they refused to tell him how his mother had died. Months later, a family acquaintance, Giles Towne, finally spoke up while sharing a lager with Lachlan at a local pub.

  Ciarda had broken her neck during a fall down the staircase in her home.

  According to Towne it had been a terrible accident. During the man's conversation, though, strange images flashed through Lachlan's mind. Of his parents arguing about him at the top of the wide staircase. Of Guin shoving Ciarda in a fit of rage. He could hear his mother's bones breaking as she tumbled down the wide steps. Could hear her silence when she sprawled onto the first floor landing, where she remained motionless and pale while her husband remained atop the staircase, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

  Lachlan never again questioned her premature death, but he would always harbor an aching void in that part of his heart that was hers alone.

  Guin Baird had retired shortly after his wife's death, and remained a recluse in the family home. The business was in dire tax arrears, and was on the verge of closing. Lachlan obtained a shrewd barrister to draw him up a contract with his father and brothers. In exchange for investing a portion of the fortune he had amassed into the company, he would own fifty-one percent of the business. Resentfully, they signed the document, but not before warning Lachlan the maneuver was considered a blow against the "family."

  Regardless, Lachlan took over the reins. During the next ten years, despite his brothers fighting his decisions at every turn, Baird Ships excelled, from cargo ships to schooners.

  Lachlan worked with the builders, teaching them all he'd learned from the craftsmen in France, Italy, and Germany. The demand for luxury ships was especially on the rise, and the contracts for schooners the business received were almost more than the employees could build within the allotted time. Somehow, deadlines were always met, and the company expanded year after year.

  Still, the older Bairds looked upon Lachlan as an outsider.

  Once, when Lachlan was twenty-seven, his brother Angus had commented that Lachlan would always be a MacLachlan. He'd said this disparagingly, as if their MacLachlan lineage were something to shun.

  Granted, Angus, Gavin, and Patrick Ian had their father's fair coloring, light brown eyes, and light brown hair, while Lachlan bore his mother's dark auburn hair and near-black eyes. He was taller and more broad-shouldered. His features were more chiseled than rounded like theirs. But coloring, bone structure and size should not have been enough to cause their refusal to accept him. No matter how often or how forcefully he demanded to know the basis for their animosity, his brothers remained smugly reticent.

  With his father barely able to look at him and not through him as he had all of Lachlan's life, Lachlan decided at thirty to sell his share of the business to his brothers, and for an exorbitant sum, at that. One that he felt would justify the others ridding themselves of him forever. As an added bonus to leaving, all of his mother's belongings were given to him, including the relics and furniture she'd brought into the marriage. It was as if his father and brothers wanted all trace of her stripped from the house. Stripped from their lives.

  Wealthier now than the Baird men collectively, he moved to the lowlands, where he eventually built Baird House.

  He returned to Aberdeen only to find himself a proper Highland bride then returned to his estate with Tessa Aiken and her brother, Robbie, full of dreams for their future.

  Soon after, his still bride-in-name-only, and Robert Ingliss—who he discovered was her lover, not her brother—murdered Lachlan and walled him up in the tower of the Victorian mansion. It should have been the end of "The Lucky Baird."

  Instead, it was only the beginning.

  And only upon his death did his true destiny finally become engraved into the annals of time.

  HERE THE DEVIL LIES

  LACHLAN IAIN BAIRD

  13/2/1811—?/1844

  Chapter 1

  With the advent of night, the temperature dropped to the high thirties in Crossmichael, Scotland. Roan Ingliss and Lachlan Baird sat on separate crates in the carriage house, briskly rubbing their hands within the heat emanating from the wood stove. Two lanterns provided them with adequate visibility. Their dinner basket had been emptied two hours earlier, and lay at Roan's feet.

  The previous night, Lachlan, Roan, and Winston Connery had gotten into a brawl at Shortby's Pub in town. Their women, fed up with the "scotch" taking precedence over them, had strongly suggested the men move into the carriage house for a time. No one was more to blame than Lachlan, himself.

  He hadn't taken his re-emergence into life all that well.

  No, that was an understatement. In truth, he was more afraid of life than he had been of death. His reluctance to face his new responsibilities had caused a rift between him and Beth, and had somehow started a war of wills between the other men and women residing at Baird House. Thus far, only Winston had mustered up the nerve to face his love, Deliah. That morning, he'd gone back into the main house and hadn't been seen since. Either Deliah had turned him into the "nubby toad" she'd threatened to on a few occasions, or—

  "Tis a fair wager he's snuggled up wi' her," said Lachlan a bit testily. "As we should be wi' our women."

  Roan grunted. He rapidly ran his hands up and down his face then raked his fingers through the unruly loose curls of his light brown hair. "If you remind me once mair o' our sorry predicament, I'll throttle you, Lannie."

  An amused glint shone in Lachlan eyes as his gaze swung to Roan's profile. "Jaggey o' heart, are we?"

  Again Roan grunted.

  Silence companioned them for a time then Lachlan released a long, woeful sigh. "I keep thinkin’ abou' ma children." He shivered, snugged deeper into the blanket draped about his shoulders, and leaned closer to the stove. "How did you react when you first learned you were goin’ to be a faither?"

  Roan stared off into space for a moment then said, "Stunned. Adaina and I had already decided to separate. I thought she was trying to spite me at first—for no' being the husband she wanted. I didn't even believe her till she started to show."

  "Efter Jamey was born?" Lachlan asked softly.

  A fond smile wove its way through the tension in Roan's face. "The instant I laid ma sorry eyes on him—" His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "I was never prouder or happier. He was such a wonder, and brought more joy to ma life—for wha' little time he had on this earth. I've often wondered wha' he would look like now. Whether he would think me a good faither, or the loser his mither thought me."

  "I didna mean to open the wound."

  Roan gave a nod. "I know you didn't." He shook his head as he plucked absently at a loose wool fiber along the edge of the blanket covering his shoulders. "When you lose someone, Lannie, you can't shake from yer mind the wha' ifs or the regrets. Every cruel word and deed eats at you till you think you'll go mad, even though you know tha' person is beyond you redeemin’ yer worth to them."

  "I've only ever lost maself," Lachlan said with a comical lilt to his tone. "And in the grand scheme o' life, twas but a wee loss, I'm sorry to say."

  His eyes twinkling, Roan chuckled, "Ye're incorrigible."

  "Tha' I am. Roan, why is it the womon carries the child and suffers givin’ birth, but tis the mon who feels threatened?"

  "Maybe it has to do wi' the financial responsibility o' havin’ children. Tha' and the emotional commitment it takes to bein’ a parent. Women seemed to be blessed wi' an incredible ability to adapt. Look at Laura. A career womon never really wantin’ children, and she inherits three rowdy nephews. Aye, she panicked at first, but her maternal instincts were quick to surface. No' sure how I would have coped if I'd found maself in her position. Wha' hurts like hell is knowin’ she could raise those lads just fine wi’ou' me."

  "I dinna agree wi' tha', ma friend. Laura needs you as much as the lads do. Dinna sell yerself short."

  "Ah, maybe so. I'm just in the d
umps, so Kevin says."

  Lachlan frowned thoughtfully, then said, "I've been thinkin’ abou' ma faither. He was never around much, and for tha' I was grateful. He had a mean streak up his back tha' was as wide as his arse."

  A grin tugged at Roan's mouth. "Quite an image you paint."

  "Aye. We had no love for one anither. Love, understandin’, and security...that's wha' a parent is abou'. Ma faither was a terrible role model, and I spent wha' I had o' ma life tryin’ no' to be anythin’ like him. I was determined to be kind where he was cruel, and strong where he was weak, which is why I canna understand why I withdrew like I did from Beth and the twins. I've never backed off from a challenge, Roan, and yet their wee faces filled me wi' such terror, I got lost in fears o’ inadequacy. I was mair afraid o' disappointin’ them than o' abandonin’ them."

  "Was?" Roan asked softly, delighted that Lachlan was finally coming around.

  Lachlan nodded. "Aye, I've come to ma senses." He gushed a breath in vexation. "Little wonder Beth is furious. She's left no choice but to fall into the role o' parent, while I take to sulkin’ and scotch. I'm goin’ to have a devil o' a time undoin’ this mess."

  "Are you still plannin’ to approach her in the morn?"

  Lachlan released a strangled laugh. "Aye, but I wish I could don armor first. She has a fine temper, and I wouldna change tha' for all the scotch in the land." He sighed deeply. "But I've never been such a fool afore, nor seen her so angry and hurt."

  To Lachlan's amazement, Roan began to laugh, its deep rich sound filling the carriage house.

  "Have you gone daft, mon?"

  Roan's mirth wound down. "Sorry. I got this image o' Beth comin’ at you wi' a fryin’ pan."

  "You are daft," Lachlan grumbled.

  "No. Wha' really struck me funny was seein’ in ma mind Laura doin’ the same to me. Women may be called the weaker sex, but you and I know differently."

  "Aye," Lachlan chortled, and clapped Roan on the shoulder. "A fryin’ pan ma thick skull could take, but I wouldna put it past ma Beth to do me a mair serious deed." He grimaced and grew quiet for a few moments. "I've too many swords and the like in the house."