Haunted Ground (20 page)

Aidan spread his sleeping bag on the floor and stretched out on top of it without getting inside.  Good thing he had it in the back of the truck from the last time he’d gone camping with Declan.  Sleeping in the same room as Lexi wasn’t advisable under the circumstances, but he needed to be close enough in case she needed something during the night.  He hadn’t wanted to mention it, but he was actually pretty bruised himself.  Colin was slighter than him, but he was strong and wiry, and he’d done his damage that morning when he pummeled Aidan with all his strength.  Aidan could barely take a deep breath without feeling acute pain.  He should have let Doctor Delaney take a look at him, just in case he had a fractured rib. 

Aidan was actually glad to be on his own, since his head was spinning with all kinds of conflicting emotions that were fighting for domination inside his brain.  Today had been an emotional roller coaster that began with the realization that Lexi was in the cellar with Colin.  Aidan had to admit that his first emotion had been jealousy, the kind he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember.  The idea that something might be going on between those two left him feeling as if someone had just punched him in the stomach.  Little did he know that was still to come.  He went down after Lexi not only to make sure she was all right, but to put his mind to rest.  If Lexi was interested in Colin, he would just get his feelings under control and behave in a professional manner. 

When Aidan first came upon Lexi and Colin in the room, it took him a moment to realize that what he was witnessing wasn’t consensual.  It was dark, and all he could see was Colin pressing Lexi against the wall, which could have been something other than what it was.  It was only when he heard Lexi’s cry of pain and saw her bloodied face that he realized what was happening, and then he was overcome with another emotion
—
one he’d never felt until that moment.  He actually wanted to kill another human being, and had he been able to get away with it, he likely would have.  The idea that he could have been too late was enough to inspire a blind rage that drove him to keep hitting Colin long after he had him on the floor, and to lock him inside the dark, dank room just to scare him.  Aidan was glad when the coppers finally took him away to the precinct where Colin was safe from Aidan’s bloodlust.

Seeing Lexi so scared and vulnerable was enough to break Aidan’s heart.  He felt for this girl, and for the first time since Noelle, he wanted to love and protect someone with all his being.  Aidan thought that he might never find someone who was worthy of such devotion, but Lexi had unwittingly convinced him otherwise, and shown him that he needed to stop licking his wounds and allow himself the joy of caring for someone other than himself.  She wasn’t just lovely; she was warm and genuine, which was something Aidan responded to after the deceit of Noelle.

Aidan never made a conscious decision to be alone or taken a vow of celibacy, but after things with Noelle came to a head, he sort of retreated into himself, raising walls he didn’t know he was building.  He’d gone through the motions and went on with his life, but it wasn’t until Lexi showed up that he suddenly realized how lonely he’d been, and how sexually frustrated.  She was the first woman he’d found attractive in a long time, and he was terrified of doing the wrong thing and messing things up before they even began. 

Aidan sighed and tried to find a more comfortable position, acutely aware of his aching middle.  He thanked God that he’d been able to prevent the worst, but Lexi was still scarred physically and emotionally and would be for some time to come.  He’d have to tread very carefully and not rush her into anything she wasn’t ready for.  He couldn’t stop himself from kissing her earlier, and she had responded, but her response might have come from a different place than desire.  She felt gratitude, a need for comfort, and a degree of loneliness since she had no one to turn to in time of need other than him. 

He’d been reluctant to call Dot Martin that morning, but there was no one else he could ask to look after Lexi for an hour of two.  Dot was a good woman, but her ability to ferret out information was secondary only to MI-5.  By tomorrow, the whole village would know that something happened between Colin and Lexi that led to Lexi being banged up and Colin being locked up.  Aidan fervently wished that Dot’s desire for a job in Lexi’s hotel would put the brakes on her inexhaustible tongue, but that was probably too much to hope for, especially since Mildred Higgins was her bosom buddy, and Mildred was the heart and soul of the Upper Whitford rumor mill.  Well, that was village life for you.  It hadn’t been all that different on Skye when Aidan was a lad.  Living in small places inspired people with small minds to rule the roost.  Sometimes he wished that he could go to a big city like Edinburgh or London and just lose himself in the crowds, become invisible and inconsequential, and totally free.

Aidan stared at the ceiling, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come quickly.  Despite the open window, the room felt airless, so he finally gave up and decided to have a cigarette.  He’d quit a long time ago, but in times of crisis, he permitted himself one just to settle his nerves.  Aidan threw open the window, propped his hip against the sill and lit up, pulling the smoke into his lungs with a great sigh of satisfaction.  Why did something so bad feel so good? 

Aidan took another drag and stared out into the night, his hand stilling as he brought the fag to his lips.  There it was, just as Lexi had said, the candlelight in the nonexistent second-floor window of the ruin.  Aidan couldn’t see the man clearly, but he knew he was there.  The tiny pinprick of candlelight shone like a beacon in the night.  He stared at the candle for nearly an hour, until the occupant of the ruin blew it out and presumably went to sleep.  Not until that moment had Aidan truly believed Lexi had seen something.  He thought she might have an overly active imagination, or had seen someone from the village wandering around, but now he had seen it for himself and had no choice but to believe.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered as he went back to his sleeping bag, knowing he wasn’t sleeping tonight.

October 1650

England

Rowan threw a shawl over her shoulders and slung a basket over her arm as she quietly let herself out of the house.  It was just before dawn, and her aunt and uncle were still asleep, their snores resonating through the house and bouncing off stone walls.  They used to get up earlier, but since Rowan came to live with them, she’d taken over some of the morning chores to give her aunt some respite.  Aunt Joan was often in pain, especially when the weather was cold or damp, her joints swelling and stretching her reddened skin to the breaking point.  Joan never complained, but Rowan saw the pained expression on her face, her mouth compressed into a thin line as she kneaded the dough for bread with her swollen hands and tried to ignore the pain.  Rowan usually just put a gentle hand on her aunt’s arm, letting her know that she would knead the dough and do the laundry, while her aunt wrapped a thick cloth around a hot brick and held it in her hands to relieve the worst of the pain.

Rowan had already milked the cows and left the milk on the table, away from the mischievous cat who tried to get into it at every opportunity.  Aunt Joan called the cat Evelyn, but Rowan thought of it more as Evilene, although she never failed to admire the cat’s determination to get at the cream or claim the warmest spot by the hearth.  Rowan had lit the fire and moved the hook holding the porridge pot closer to the flame so the food would be hot by the time her aunt and uncle woke.  Now she was free to go see Brendan. 

Rowan made her way to the henhouse, slipping through the gate as quietly as she could, so as not to disturb the dozing hens.  She’d collect some eggs and take them over to Reverend Pole’s.  Brendan’s appetite had greatly improved over the past few days and he would enjoy having some eggs for breakfast, served with bread generously spread with fresh butter.  She rarely came over at breakfast time, but today she’d make an exception.  The poor man was probably tired of eating stale bread and drinking the ale she’d left for him the day before so as not to make the poor old reverend climb the ladder. 

The shirt she’d sewn for Brendan was carefully folded and stored at the bottom of the basket, covered with a cloth just in case one of the eggs broke or some butter from the crock got onto the fabric.  She smiled as she gently extracted the eggs, her soul filling with joy at the thought of seeing Brendan.  She hoped Reverend Pole would go to the church, as he often did, to work on his sermon or prepare for a christening that was to be held later today for the Simmons baby.  She wanted a few hours alone with Brendan, hours that filled her with a happiness that warmed her for the rest of the day as she went about her chores, humming quietly, her eyes smiling at the memory of being with him.

Rowan was surprised to find Brendan sitting on his cot fully dressed, reading a book.  He’d read her a few snippets from the
Canterbury Tales,
and she was torn between blushing with embarrassment and giggling with mirth.  How clever to write stories that could produce such emotions all at once.  Maybe they could read some more today.  Her mother had taught her to read when she was a child, but there were no books in Uncle Caleb’s house, save a prayer book that he took to church.  Come to think of it, there probably wasn’t a book to be found in the whole village.  These were hardworking, simple people; people who wouldn’t spend their money on frivolous entertainment when the money could go to buy food or much-needed tools.  She wondered where Brendan got the book, since he never mentioned it.

“I couldn’t stand lying there in my nightshirt any longer,” Brendan said by way of greeting.  “I know I can’t actually go anywhere, but getting dressed made me feel a bit more human.”  He smiled at Rowan’s look of reproach.  “The wounds are better.  They’re not seeping blood anymore, and some of the soreness is gone.”  Brendan grinned at Rowan.  “I know, I know; I have to be careful or they’ll open right up again.”

Funny, how he always seemed to know what she was thinking.  Rowan placed the plate of eggs on the stool in front of him, gratified to see his expression.  “Thank you, Rowan,” Brendan said as he tucked into his breakfast.  “I don’t know how Reverend Pole survives.  He seems to live on bread, milk, and prayer.  Not enough sustenance for me.  Would you like to share?” 

Rowan shook her head.  She’d taken a bite to make sure the eggs were tasty before taking them up to Brendan.  She’d cooked them in butter and added bits of pork and chives for flavor.  She enjoyed watching him eat.  She fancied that with every bite he got stronger and healthier, thanks to her, but that was a double-edged sword.  Once he recovered, he would leave, and her life would go back to normal.  The thought made her sick.

Brendan cleaned his plate and set it on the floor, inviting Rowan to come sit by him on the stool.  He saw her looking at the book, but before he read to her, he wanted to talk, or more accurately, he wanted her to listen.  He wished he could discuss his plans with someone, but Rowan was the only person who came to see him.  Reverend Pole hardly ever came up, and getting up and down the ladder was out of the question for Brendan since the wound in his leg would open right up if he kept bending it.  He needed a little more time.

“Rowan, I’ve written this note to Uncle Caleb.  Will you deliver it for me?  It’s very important.”  Brendan handed the folded sheet of paper to Rowan and watched as she stuffed it in her pocket, her face full of questions.  He’d thought long and hard, cooped up as he was in the airless loft day after day, and finally came up with a plan.  All Hallows’ Eve was in ten days’ time, which would give him enough time to heal sufficiently to sit a horse.  In this village where everyone knew each other, setting off in full view of the villagers, even at night, would result in his arrest, but All Hollows’ Eve would provide the diversion he so desperately needed.  He’d consulted Reverend Pole, and it confirmed his belief that he was handed a unique opportunity. 

Reverend Pole planned to go out that night and do what he could to put a stop to the abhorrent Pagan and Catholic rituals that still festered in this part of the country, even after the Reformation, but he knew that all his efforts would be in vain.  Some beliefs held sway over the people, even if they had outwardly rejected them.  In the mind of the villagers, All Hallows’ Eve was the beginning of the darkest and most frightening part of the year, a time when people remembered their dead and faced their own fears.  Even Christmas, which shone like a beacon of hope on the shortest and darkest day of the year, did little to lift the pervasive gloom that lasted till spring.  On the night of October 31
st
, many farmers surrounded their fields with burning straw to ward off evil spirits, and people gathered around pitchforks crowned with a ball of straw set alight, and prayed for the souls of their dearly departed. 

By November 1
st
, the appetizing smell of Soul-Mass cakes would be wafting from nearly every house, ready to be given to the poor who went from door to door singing Souling Songs.  Each cake eaten would represent a soul rescued from Purgatory.  Brendan hoped that someday someone would eat a cake for his soul, for surely he was going straight to Hell after all the men he’d killed in battle and during the occupation of Ireland. 

At the time, he’d thought he was doing the right thing, but he’d had much time to think since coming to this village, and his conscience was not clear despite reassurance from the reverend.  Reverend Pole assured him that, as a soldier, he killed in the line of duty and not out of any sense of personal vengeance or bloodlust.  Killing in times of war was not considered murder, but a duty fulfilled, so Brendan shouldn’t fear for his soul, but Brendan wasn’t convinced.  Maybe killing men on a battlefield wasn’t a sin, but killing terrified women who were running for their lives, their children clutched to their breast as they stumbled, fell and were trampled by the hooves of the huge warhorses that bore down on them, was not an honorable endeavor. 

Nor was it honorable to kill someone simply because they didn’t worship in the same way.  They all served the same God after all, unlike the Saracens who were slaughtered during the Crusades.  The Church had proclaimed the killing to be God’s will, just as Cromwell told his men that what they were doing was just and the will of God, but was it? Or was it just the justification powerful men and the Church used to achieve their own ends and keep the foot soldiers in line, like sheep?

Reverend Pole promised to pray for his soul, as well as help him with his plan.  Few people would be surprised to see a reverend out on All Hallows’ Eve, calling to the people to abandon their heathen ways.  It was one of the few nights a year, along with Midsummer night, when people chose to turn to the old ways, going back to traditions that started long before the march of Christianity across England.  Reverend Pole had reluctantly agreed to give Brendan his spare set of clerical robes, which would hide Brendan in open view.  Few people looked past the robes to see the man underneath.  They would simply think that the bishop had sent an extra man to assist the elderly reverend in trying to stamp out the Pagan rituals which were so repugnant to the Church.  In other words, the perfect night to flee.

“I plan to leave on All Hallows’ Eve,” Brendan confided in Rowan.  “I just need Uncle Caleb to provide me with a horse and provisions for a few days.  Once I’m safely away from here, I will go to London.  I have some friends who will see me through the winter, and then I’ve a mind to sail to America.  I…”

Brendan opened his mouth to continue, but stopped mid-sentence, seeing the look of anguish on Rowan’s face as silent tears slid down her cheeks.  Her face was a grimace of such suffering that he dropped to his knees in front of her, heedless of his wound, and pulled her to him in an act of silent comfort.  Her cap slid off her head, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders and over his arms.  It was heavy, the strands silky and almost glowing in the morning sunlight pouring through the little window. 

“What is it, lass? Have I said something to upset you?” he whispered into her hair, inhaling its scent.  She must have used some kind of flower oil when washing her hair because it smelled of late-summer roses and possibly chamomile.  Brendan pulled her closer as she shuddered against him, sobbing into his shoulder, her breasts heaving against his chest.

“Hush now.  What upset you so?”  Brendan held her away from him and lowered his head to gaze into her downturned eyes.  “Rowan…”

“Don’t leave.  Please, don’t leave me.”  Her voice was so low, Brendan thought he must have imagined it, but she finally looked directly into his eyes and said it again, a little louder this time.  “Brendan, please don’t leave.”

Brendan wasn’t sure what shocked him more, her speech or the fact that she was asking him to stay, but he tried not to show his surprise as he took Rowan’s face in his hands.  “Sweetheart, I have to go; you know that.  I’m a fugitive accused of murder.  Sooner or later, someone will find out I’m here, and then it will be the gallows for me.  I must leave this place.  And you must get married.  I will call myself content if I know that you’re well and happy.”  But Rowan just shook her head, fresh tears swimming in her eyes. 

“I can’t marry him.  Not now.  Not since you came,” she choked out.

Brendan’s mind screamed for him to stop and come to his senses, but he wasn’t listening.  His heart suddenly felt lighter than it had in years, his soul reaching for this beautiful girl who was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that she loved him.  It was wrong of him to encourage her, cruel to give her any hope, but he wasn’t thinking clearly as his lips brushed against hers, and felt them open to him, hungry and searching for something she thought only he could give her.  She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his in an act of surrender and trust, and he accepted it and kissed her with all the passion he’d been suppressing for the past few weeks.  He’d never felt this way about Mary.  He wanted her, lusted after her, planned to make her his, but he never felt tenderness or the need to protect that he felt toward Rowan.  He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe, and use his love to shield her from anything this life could throw at her that it already hadn’t. 

His mind reeled as she finally broke the kiss and took his face in her small hands.  Her eyes were shining with love as she whispered his name, making it sound unbearably beautiful, tumbling from lips that hadn’t spoken in years.  Somewhere at the back of his mind, Brendan wondered if Rowan would continue to speak or grow silent again, but it didn’t matter.  She’d given him a tremendous gift, one that he had to keep secret until she was ready to share it with the rest of the world. 

He finally began to come to his senses, something that was equivalent to plummeting to the earth from a great height and being smashed to pieces.  What was he to do now?  He had nothing to offer her, not unless he was able to prove his innocence and reclaim what was rightfully his, and he had no ammunition with which to fight.  All the evidence was against him, with not a single witness to support his claim.  Well, actually there was one, but he didn’t dare ask.  Meg had suffered enough, and Jasper would make her life unbearable if she spoke out against him.  Besides, the magistrate would need tangible proof, not the suspicions of a grieving daughter and widow.  Women were rarely taken seriously in a courtroom setting, especially ones believed to be in the grip of strong emotion. 

Meg had her suspicions, but no solid proof.  Brendan had to admit that he’d never seen his father’s signature, or had any document that could be used to compare to the signature on the accursed piece of paper which disinherited him.  He had no proof, just as he had no proof that he had been set upon by Jasper’s thugs.  There were no witnesses, no case.  Most men wouldn’t be mad enough to attack three armed horsemen, but it could be argued that they provoked him somehow or insulted his honor, causing him to charge them in a fit of insanity.  The end result was still the same.  They were dead, and his belongings were found close to their corpses.  The best plan was still to flee to London before he was arrested and tried.  But what about Rowan?