all.”
Lachlan looked upward, tears
filming in his eyes. “If you're tha' determined to guard yer
secrets, there's naught I can do to help you.”
“I never asked for your
help.”
“Take solace in this,
darlin': If it was yer intention to knock me down a few pegs,
you've succeeded. I'll no' intrude again.”
His promise should have
awarded Beth a modicum of satisfaction, but regret seared her
heart. She looked up, expecting to see him standing behind her.
Cold shivers moved along the skin of her arms when her darting gaze
could not find him.
Looking about the room once
again, she tried not to dwell on the weighty, oppressive stillness
closing in around her. But again it struck her how utterly alone
she was in this strange land strange land. Tension curled its
fibers across the back of her neck and skull. Without thought, she
reached out for the brass knob and gave it a turn. The door easily
opened. For a moment, she stood frozen. The front hall stretched
out before her, its silent greeting manifesting an almost
unbearable tightness in her throat.
Then she noticed that the
sliding wooden doors nearest the front exit were open.
The room beyond proved to be
a library, its walls lined with dark-stained bookshelves. The
furnishings were sparse in comparison to the other rooms in the
house. An overstuffed, Victorian sofa and two matching chairs of
red, broad-plaid upholstery. A coffee table of cherry wood. Two
round end tables of the same wood and design. An enormous braided
rug on the floor, situated under the coffee table and extending to
a red-brick fireplace with a red and black-veined Victorian
mantelpiece.
Entering the room, she began
to halfheartedly looked over the numerous titles on the
bookshelves. Several minutes later, bold red lettering on a large
volume caught her interest. Plucking the book from the shelf, she
drolly glanced at its colorful jacket.
“The Lore of Scotland.
Ghosts and folklore. Way to go, Beth. As if you're not spooked
enough.”
But at least it would take
her mind off Lachlan.
Curling up on the sofa with
the book, she drew across her legs a colorful afghan that was
draped on the back of the sofa then began to scan through the pages
of print and black and white sketches.
As the morning waned, her
headache worsened. The pain was not the recurring migraines she
usually had, but it was enough to make her want to sleep it away.
Plumping one of the embroidered pillows beneath her head, she
curled up on her side. She placed the heavy book on the floor by
the sofa and folded her arms against her chest. Within seconds, she
was fast asleep.
She dreamed of Carlene,
standing within a green fog, her arms held out to Beth. “Hurry,” she implored, urging Beth to run toward
her, but no matter how hard she tried to breach the distance, Beth
could not reach her. “Beth, I'm running out of time. You must
hurry! Lachlan's watching. He’s watching!”
When Beth woke up four hours
later, she was exhausted. Her bent legs were cramped. Ignoring her
lightheadedness, she sat up and ran her hands down her face. A dull
ache thrummed at the back of her neck.
“Some vacation,” she
grumbled and worked her mouth to relieve its dryness.
She groggily stared into a
well-stoked fire across from her. It was several seconds before it
dawned on her that the hearth had been cold prior to her nap. The
wrought iron stand next to it was missing several logs.
A ragged breath spilled past
her lips when she looked down and saw that the book was not where
she had left it. Her movements slow and shaky, she rose to her feet
and went to the shelf where she'd obtained the volume. There it
sat, snugly in place, making her question whether she had actually
taken it down at all. She reached out but stopped herself from
touching the book.
“Get a grip on yourself,”
she said, striving to cast off the gloom of her
thoughts.
She left the room and closed
the doors. A staccato of heavy rainfall could be heard upon the
glass
Lachlan looked upward, tears
filming in his eyes. “If you're tha' determined to guard yer
secrets, there's naught I can do to help you.”
“I never asked for your
help.”
“Take solace in this,
darlin': If it was yer intention to knock me down a few pegs,
you've succeeded. I'll no' intrude again.”
His promise should have
awarded Beth a modicum of satisfaction, but regret seared her
heart. She looked up, expecting to see him standing behind her.
Cold shivers moved along the skin of her arms when her darting gaze
could not find him.
Looking about the room once
again, she tried not to dwell on the weighty, oppressive stillness
closing in around her. But again it struck her how utterly alone
she was in this strange land strange land. Tension curled its
fibers across the back of her neck and skull. Without thought, she
reached out for the brass knob and gave it a turn. The door easily
opened. For a moment, she stood frozen. The front hall stretched
out before her, its silent greeting manifesting an almost
unbearable tightness in her throat.
Then she noticed that the
sliding wooden doors nearest the front exit were open.
The room beyond proved to be
a library, its walls lined with dark-stained bookshelves. The
furnishings were sparse in comparison to the other rooms in the
house. An overstuffed, Victorian sofa and two matching chairs of
red, broad-plaid upholstery. A coffee table of cherry wood. Two
round end tables of the same wood and design. An enormous braided
rug on the floor, situated under the coffee table and extending to
a red-brick fireplace with a red and black-veined Victorian
mantelpiece.
Entering the room, she began
to halfheartedly looked over the numerous titles on the
bookshelves. Several minutes later, bold red lettering on a large
volume caught her interest. Plucking the book from the shelf, she
drolly glanced at its colorful jacket.
“The Lore of Scotland.
Ghosts and folklore. Way to go, Beth. As if you're not spooked
enough.”
But at least it would take
her mind off Lachlan.
Curling up on the sofa with
the book, she drew across her legs a colorful afghan that was
draped on the back of the sofa then began to scan through the pages
of print and black and white sketches.
As the morning waned, her
headache worsened. The pain was not the recurring migraines she
usually had, but it was enough to make her want to sleep it away.
Plumping one of the embroidered pillows beneath her head, she
curled up on her side. She placed the heavy book on the floor by
the sofa and folded her arms against her chest. Within seconds, she
was fast asleep.
She dreamed of Carlene,
standing within a green fog, her arms held out to Beth. “Hurry,” she implored, urging Beth to run toward
her, but no matter how hard she tried to breach the distance, Beth
could not reach her. “Beth, I'm running out of time. You must
hurry! Lachlan's watching. He’s watching!”
When Beth woke up four hours
later, she was exhausted. Her bent legs were cramped. Ignoring her
lightheadedness, she sat up and ran her hands down her face. A dull
ache thrummed at the back of her neck.
“Some vacation,” she
grumbled and worked her mouth to relieve its dryness.
She groggily stared into a
well-stoked fire across from her. It was several seconds before it
dawned on her that the hearth had been cold prior to her nap. The
wrought iron stand next to it was missing several logs.
A ragged breath spilled past
her lips when she looked down and saw that the book was not where
she had left it. Her movements slow and shaky, she rose to her feet
and went to the shelf where she'd obtained the volume. There it
sat, snugly in place, making her question whether she had actually
taken it down at all. She reached out but stopped herself from
touching the book.
“Get a grip on yourself,”
she said, striving to cast off the gloom of her
thoughts.
She left the room and closed
the doors. A staccato of heavy rainfall could be heard upon the
glass
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