He’d been at Reverend Pole’s for nearly a week now, but neither his aunt nor uncle had come to visit him. He understood their reasons, but perhaps they felt relieved to be rid of him, although he didn’t really believe that. Uncle Caleb was the type of man you could trust implicitly; the type of man you wanted next to you in battle, and in life. Brendan always relied on first impressions, and Uncle Caleb was the type of man who on first impression appeared to be a man of sound judgment and stout principle. He could not be bought or cowered, and would do the right thing, if only to appease his conscience. Brendan trusted Caleb with his life.
Aunt Joan was also a kind woman, much like his mother when it came to those she loved, and she’d always treated him like a son. If they hadn’t come, it was for his own safety, he reasoned, needing to feel that someone in this world besides Meg and his mother still cared for him.
Brendan perked up as he heard movement downstairs. Reverend Pole was back from church, so it must be around noon. Brendan stilled in an effort to hear any sounds made by Rowan, but it seemed Reverend Pole was alone. It would make sense for Rowan to go home after the service and have Sunday dinner with the family. She likely wouldn’t come at all today. The thought depressed Brendan, but he resolutely put it out of his mind, cursing himself for a fool.
The creaking of the ladder announced the imminent arrival of the reverend. It took him a long while to make it up to the loft, especially if he were carrying something in one hand. The poor man was a mere shadow of the man he’d been only a few years ago at Maisie’s wedding. He was gaunt and frail, his rheumy eyes faded with age. They must have been blue once, but now they were more of a washed-out gray, almost colorless, as was his face. Brendan suddenly wondered if he would ever get to grow old, and if there would be anyone by his side when he did.
He hadn’t had much time to dwell on the future in the past few years, especially since it was assured, as long as he came back alive. He’d marry Mary, inherit the estate, and go on much as his father had, content in the knowledge that he’d done his bit to try to bring about change and improve the political process of this country. Brendan cursed himself for a fool once again, smiling humorlessly at his own naiveté. Young girls didn’t wait patiently while men pursued their own ends; fathers had the power to alter the line of succession, and a fight for freedom was sometimes nothing more than a struggle to further one man’s ambitions. Fool!
The reverend finally made it up and placed a plate of cold roast pork, pickle and bread on the wooden trunk as he took a moment to catch his breath. There was a wheezing noise coming from deep inside his chest as he sucked in air, almost in vain since he was still out of breath. It took a few minutes for the reverend to finally recover from his ordeal, making Brendan feel terribly guilty for putting the old man into this position.
“How are you, my boy? On the mend, I hope. I know I’m a poor substitute for Rowan, but she’s with her family today. They’ll be joined for Sunday dinner by Stephen Aldrich and his children. It’s become their custom of late.”
Brendan took a bite of pork and chewed thoughtfully, making sure not to bite down too hard with his aching tooth. The pork was a welcome relief to the bread, which despite the milk felt as if it’d lodged in his throat. Was there some significance to Reverend Pole mentioning this bit of information about Stephen Aldrich?
“I don’t recall meeting him in the past. Is he a friend of my uncle?” Brendan could see from the reverend’s expression that he had been anticipating the question and he took a moment to answer, thinking how to phrase it best.
“I suppose they’re friends, but he’s Rowan’s intended. They are to wed in the spring once Stephen’s year of mourning for his wife is at an end.” Brendan’s look of misery wasn’t lost on the reverend, who told him of Rowan’s engagement on purpose to subtly discourage any affection he might harbor for the girl.
“I’m sorry, Brendan, but I thought it best you knew. She’s not likely to tell you herself, so I took it upon myself to be the bearer of sad tidings. I might be an old man, but I see the look on her face after she’s been up here with you, and I have every reason to suspect the feeling is not one-sided.”
“Thank you, Reverend, but no apology is needed. Rowan is a lovely girl who’s been very kind to me, but I have no claim on her, and nothing to offer any woman at the moment; not until I reclaim the estate from Jasper.” Brendan continued to chew, but the pork suddenly tasted bland and chewy in his mouth, as did the fresh bread which now felt like dust on his tongue. He didn’t know why he was so upset; as he told the reverend, he had no right to be, but his stomach was in knots and he suddenly felt sorry for himself, not a quality he admired. Brendan carefully set the plate aside and took a sip of ale, grateful for the cool liquid which washed the bitterness from his mouth.
The old man smiled apologetically as he reached for Brendan’s hand. “That’s not all, I’m afraid. I have some bad news that has nothing to do with Rowan. I spoke with your uncle after church today. He can’t come to see you for fear of giving away your hiding place.” Reverend Pole looked toward the little window, his face a mask of misery. “It seems that some men came looking for you yesterday, informing your uncle that you’ve been accused of murder. They mean to bring you to justice.”
Brendan just stared at the reverend. Of course he had committed murder, but it was in self-defense. It was kill or be killed, so how could anyone prosecute him for that? In fact, how could anyone know it was him anyway, since there were no witnesses and the only person who might know was Jasper? Brendan voiced his argument to Reverend Pole, who shook his head sadly, a look of pity in his colorless eyes.
“It seems some items belonging to you were found by the bodies.”
“What items?” Had he dropped something as he fled? He barely had anything on him other than his sword, a purse with a few coins in it, and the bundle of food Meg had given him for the journey.
“There was a prayer book with your name in it and a ring your father had given you on your eighteenth birthday.” Brendan nearly gagged at the injustice of it all. It was ludicrous. He had not had a prayer book on him, and the ring his father had given him was still on his finger. He hadn’t taken it off since the day he proudly put it on, so whatever ring was found at the scene of the attack was not the one. Jasper had obviously planted these things when he found his men dead in an effort to tie Brendan to the crime without having to explain his own part in it. A venomous snake in the grass, his brother was.
“Brendan, the penalty for murder is hanging, and as a reverend, I wouldn’t be treated kindly for aiding and abetting a criminal.”
Brendan felt as if icy fingers closed around his heart, making it difficult to breathe. “Are you asking me to leave, Reverend, or telling me politely that you are going to turn me in?” Brendan asked through clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists. The reverend laid a hand on his arm in a conciliatory gesture, suddenly realizing the way he must have sounded.
“Neither, my boy. I know that you are innocent in the eyes of God, and that’s good enough for me. I will hide you for as long as it takes, but I simply wanted to alert you to the situation and explain why your uncle hasn’t come to see you. We must be very careful, for Rowan’s sake as well. She has her own reasons to fear the law, so let’s not do anything that might endanger her.”
Brendan opened his mouth to ask, but Reverend Pole put a gnarled finger to his lips, shaking his head. Whatever Rowan had done, was between him, her, and God, and he wouldn’t speak a word against her. Brendan nodded in understanding, respecting the man that much more. If Rowan wanted to share with him, she would, but he wouldn’t pry. She was risking her own safety to care for him, and he was eternally grateful, regardless of what secrets she carried in her heart.
Chapter 25
Stephen Aldrich helped his children into the wagon and waved a last goodbye to Rowan. She waved back, but her gaze seemed to focus somewhere just behind his head, her shoulders hunched as she wrapped her sha
wl tighter around herself against the early evening chill. Rowan usually waited until they were well on their way before going back inside, but today she spun on her heel and disappeared through the low doorway before the wagon even left the confines of the yard. Stephen had been looking forward to seeing her all week, but something seemed different today, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Caleb mentioned that Rowan had been helping Reverend Pole with some housekeeping since the old man could barely manage for himself these days, but Stephen saw no reason why that would so alter his future bride.
It wasn’t that anything was outwardly different in Rowan’s actions. She set the table and served him as she always had before taking care of the children, but she barely looked at him, and when she had, it wasn’t a look of tenderness, but one of apprehension. Had he done something to offend her? When could he have? They hadn’t seen each other since last Sunday, and everything seemed right as rain then. He hoped she wasn’t having second thoughts about marrying him. He’d only asked her a month ago, so it was possible that she still wasn’t sure. Perhaps it’d been too soon, but few men waited more than a few months after their bereavement before casting a net for a new bride. They didn’t have the luxury of mourning, not when there was a house to run and children to be minded. At least Stephen’s children were old enough to fend for themselves, but there were many in the village who were left with babes, and had to marry as soon as possible to provide their children with a caretaker while they were out working to put food on the table.
There were those in the village, he knew, who thought him a fool for courting Rowan. They believed her to be soft in the head, and not fit to be the wife of any man, but Stephen thought differently. Rowan was beautiful, kind, and smart. He’d felt awfully sorry for her when she first showed up a few years ago, frightened and silent, and hoped that in time she would recover, but it was not to be. He didn’t mind the silence though. His first wife, Agnes, talked nonstop, always complaining or berating him for something he had or hadn’t done. He’d loved her when they first married, but as the years wore on, he often wished that she would just leave him be. The pregnancy had been a surprise; he thought they were past all that, and was more than happy with the two children that they already had.
Agnes had been even more difficult during the final months, but Stephen did everything in his power to keep her happy and comfortable. She wasn’t a young woman anymore, and her condition was taking a toll, making her tired and cranky. She couldn’t stand for long periods of time and her ankles and feet swelled to twice their normal size, forcing her to go barefoot on the cold earthen floor of their house in the dead of winter. Poor Agnes was constantly shivering with cold, no matter how much wood she threw on the fire to drive out the chill. Her back ached incessantly and it took her hours to finally settle down and go to sleep, her tossing and turning keeping Stephen awake when his body was exhausted from the day’s work and begging for a well-deserved rest.
The babe was very late, according to the midwife, and kept growing inside the womb, getting larger by the day.
By the time the pains finally came, Stephen prayed for them both, but it did no good. The child was too big, and after four days of labor, both Agnes and the babe were called to the Lord. In a way, it was a blessing that the child was never actually born, as it wouldn’t be buried in hallowed ground without the sacrament of baptism; instead relegated to a quiet corner of the yard where dogs would come sniffing at the grave or hogs would root for acorns. Agnes was buried in the cemetery by the church, the fully-formed baby still inside her — together in life and death. Stephen took Lizzie and Tim to visit their mother’s grave every Sunday after church. Agnes had been a good and loving mother to them, and deserved their sorrow and respect. But after they paid their respects, Stephen took them to Caleb’s house for Sunday dinner. It would do them good to get used to Rowan and her ways before they married, so the adjustment would be an easier one.
Stephen tried not to think of what married life with Rowan would be like. It wasn’t proper to think of her in that way, but sometimes late at night, he pictured her warm, naked body beneath his and he nearly burst with longing, wishing the spring would come soon and he could finally make Rowan his. He’d give her a child if she wanted one, but he’d asked the midwife for ways to avoid pregnancy, and he would do it if he could, to keep her safe; to keep her alive.
Chapter 26
Jasper hurled a chicken leg into the fire and watched with satisfaction as it sent a shower of sparks into the chimney, the fire burning brighter for just a moment before resuming its merry crackle. He hadn’t bothered to light the candles, and the shifting shadows cast by the flames were the only light in the room, the gloom a fine reflection of his mood. It’d been over a two weeks since his accursed brother had come back, and everything had gone awry from the moment he set foot on the estate. Even Meg had changed toward him, her once affectionate gaze chastising him and judging him every time she walked into the room. She’d become a right venomous shrew, she had, especially since the death of their father, her eyes always full of accusation and scorn.
He’d told Brendan the truth; Wilfred Carr had died of apoplexy, but he hadn’t quite signed the legal document Jasper had then made public to the rest of the family. Father had raged at Brendan for leaving and threatened to cut him off, but his bark had always been worse than his bite. In time, he would have forgiven his son, and everything would have gone on as before had Jasper not tried to add fuel to the fire by riling his father up and skillfully maneuvering the conversation to Brendan’s disobedience and desertion. But, no matter how angry his father had been, he’d never have disinherited his firstborn. Wilfred Carr was a man of tradition, and it was the eldest son who inherited the lot, not the spare one who hardly merited any notice unless something happened to his older brother. Jasper had idolized Brendan until he realized one day that although they were equally reared, they were destined for entirely different lives. It wasn’t Brendan’s fault that he came first, but Jasper needed a target for his resentment, and it was easier to hate Brendan, especially after he left, than to take issue with their father who wouldn’t countenance any breach of tradition.
Forging the signature had been easy enough since few people had ever seen Wilfred Carr sign his name. He wasn’t a man of letters and could barely read, finding education to be an unnecessary burden for a farmer. He had a good head on his shoulders though, and a talent for making profit; taking their estate from near poverty to prosperity since he’d taken over on the death of his own father, who found a lot more solace in the bottle and a pair of dice than in hard work. It would have all been so easy and natural had Brendan just got himself killed on some battlefield, but he’d come back, expecting to claim what was rightfully his, and Jasper panicked. Brendan would have challenged the document, and Jasper would be exposed for the fraud that he was.
Sending the men after Brendan had been a form of insurance. They were meant to make it look like a robbery, taking Brendan’s purse and horse and leaving his body on the side of the road for some passerby to find, but things didn’t quite go as planned. Instead, Brendan was gone and the men were dead, their families now Jasper’s responsibility. He’d gone after the men when they failed to come back, and was nearly sick to his stomach when he came upon the mangled corpses strewn on the ground, the earth soaked with blood and flies already buzzing over the bodies as the crows began to gather sensing a fresh kill. The horses were grazing nearby, oblivious to what had happened and enjoying the lush grass that grew at the side of the road.
Jasper gulped lungfuls of air, his guts twisting and writhing with fear and shame. What if Brendan had recognized the men and figured out Jasper’s part in this ambush? He might accuse him of attempted murder and have him sent to gaol, or worse. No, that would never do. Jasper jumped off his horse and paced in agitation, his brain working feverishly until inspiration struck. He rummaged in his saddlebag looking for the prayer book. It had been Brendan’s, but he left i
t behind when he took his leave and Jasper sometimes took it to church when he couldn’t find his own. Brendan’s name was carefully scrawled inside the front cover, written years ago by a ten-year-old boy who was just learning his letters. Wilfred Carr hadn’t bothered with learning, but he made sure his son got an education from the village reverend, an education that would serve him well once he became master of the estate. Jasper threw the book on the ground and pulled off his ring. It wasn’t the ring his father had given Brendan, but it would do in a pinch. No one would know the difference. All he had to do now was raise the alarm and make sure that the items were found by the bodies, incriminating his brother and sending him to the gibbet.
Jasper rubbed his stubbly jaw as he stared into the dancing flames, his fingers making a rasping sound against his skin. At least he still had Mary. He’d better move up the wedding just in case. He meant to have her, and have her soon, and the quicker he got a child on her, the better. He’d mark her as his own, physically and legally, and no man would be able to take her away.
Jasper rose from his chair with a grunt and drained the remainder of his ale. It was time for bed, and tomorrow would be a better day, especially if Brendan was found and dragged off to prison to await his murder trial and subsequent execution. In the meantime, Jasper would spend a few pleasant moments fantasizing about his wedding night as he pleasured himself in the darkness of his bedchamber to relieve the mighty cockstand he was suddenly sporting. Soon it would be a reality, and he would finally be able to slake his lust on his willing bride. Yes, things were bound to get better, he thought as he climbed the stairs.
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