Haunted Ground

by Irina Shapiro

  “Maybe there’s something behind it,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but this is not made of stone. This is metal.” Aidan ran his hand over it and wiped off a layer of dust. “Let’s take it upstairs.”

  We laid our find on the kitchen table and carefully wiped away centuries of grime. The box must have been ornate at some point, decorated with carvings and possibly even stones, but now it was dark with rust and slightly corroded with age and moisture. It was locked, but it didn’t take long for Aidan to break the lock with a screwdriver from his toolbox. I peered inside, surprised to see something flat and brown.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “It’s calfskin. I think it’s a book.” Aidan carefully lifted the package out of the box and laid it on the table next to the box. Whatever was inside was wrapped in leather to keep it safe from the elements. Aidan began to unwrap the package as I watched with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t pages, yellowed and curled with age. The ink must have been black at some point, but now it was faded to brown, the words written in what appeared to be old English. The letters were written in an old-fashioned hand, and there were a few splotches of ink as if it had slid from the tip of the quill as the author paused to think of an appropriate word or phrase. Aidan lifted the first page and read a few sentences to himself.

  “This appears to be some kind of narrative, written in 1685 by one Anne Hughes. I’m guessing she was the first mistress of this house. Might make for fascinating reading. You just might find out who your mystery man was.”

  Aidan replaced the page and rewrapped the leather to keep the pages from being exposed to the light. I reached for the leather-wrapped package and held it against my chest, suddenly feeling possessive. I wanted to read it, but I wanted to be alone when I did, and I had to be emotionally prepared to find out what it contained. For now, I would hide it in my bedroom and return to it when I was ready.

  It seemed Aidan had much the same idea, since he took the parcel out of my hands and laid it aside as he took me in his arms. My heart skipped a beat as he kissed me and whispered, “Let’s go upstairs.” He didn’t need to ask twice.

  October 1650

  England

  Chapter 46

  Brendan could tell that the weather had changed without even setting foot outside. The wind howled in the trees and moved beneath the rafters of the roof, making the loft even colder than it already was. The temperature had dropped after nightfall, all the warmth soaked up by the stones from the glowing hearth during the day sucked out by the frigid night outside. Brendan pulled the thin blanket closer around himself, but he was still cold, and anxious. He prided himself on his ability to think a situation through and make the best decision, but for the first time in his life, he was torn in half; the fatal cut somewhere in the vicinity of his neck.

  His head screamed for him to put Rowan out of his mind and keep to his plan. He was in danger, not only from Jasper and the law, but possibly from Cromwell’s men. He had no indication that anyone was in pursuit, but he couldn’t rule that possibility out. Staying in a small village where he would be visible the minute he set foot outside was paramount to suicide. He needed to get away, and all Hallows’ Eve was the perfect time to slip away unnoticed. Besides, no matter how he yearned for Rowan, he had nothing to offer her at the present. She must have felt some affection for the man she was betrothed to, so maybe if he just made a clean break of it and left she would go on with her life and forget him. He had to admit that he would be heartbroken at the thought of leaving her and knowing that she would belong to another, but if he loved her, he had to do what was best for Rowan, and leaving was the only possible solution.

  The problem with this logic was that although Brendan acknowledged that his reasoning was sound, his heart did not seem to agree. It howled with agony every time he thought of never seeing Rowan again, and the memory of their kiss seemed to overshadow all coherent thought, the feeling traveling through his body until it lodged itself firmly in his loins, which ached unbearably and caused him great discomfort. Brendan finally couldn’t take it any longer and sat up, wrapping the threadbare blanket around his shoulders for warmth. He had to be a man about this and protect Rowan, if only from himself. He could bring her nothing but grief, and he had to be strong and just walk away from her. He could make it through ten days of agony until October 31st; he’d suffered worse. Brendan pulled the blanket tighter and put his head in his hands. He would tell Rowan tomorrow that he was leaving as planned, and she had to stay behind and marry Stephen Aldrich.

  He should have felt better with the decision finally made, but he actually felt ever worse than when he found out that his own brother meant to have him killed. He felt truly bereft and alone. You should be used to it by now, he thought to himself bitterly. God doesn’t seem to be on your side these days. Brendan must have eventually fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, a shaft of sunlight was moving across the floor, dust motes floating and twirling in the air, and the wind of the night before now calm and just a murmur outside the window. He supposed it was time to get up, but it’s not as if he had anywhere to be. His escape plan had been put into action and now all he had to do was wait for the day and hope that nothing went wrong.

  Brendan could hear the creaking of the bed as Reverend Pole awoke and went about his morning routine of using the chamber pot rather loudly, washing, and dressing. Once dressed, the old man stood at the bottom of the ladder and called out a greeting to Brendan before eating his meager breakfast and setting off for the day. Brendan hoped that Rowan wouldn’t come today. He’d made his decision, but it’d be easier if she weren’t there to test his resolve. He’d try to make it downstairs today and help himself to some bread and milk, as well as some water for washing. Brendan scratched his chin, annoyed with the thick growth of beard that now covered the lower half of his face. What he wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a close shave, but he had to do with whatever he could find downstairs. Reverend Pole probably hadn’t shaved in years. He had sparse, gray whiskers that matched the wispy hair on his head, but his chin was almost hairless and pink as a newborn babe’s.

  ***

  Brendan stared at his face in the tiny mirror hanging off a hook beside Reverend Pole’s bed. The face that looked back was now clean-shaven and the hair was brushed and tied back with a leather thong, but the hazel eyes looked haunted and the skin was stretched more tightly over the bones of his face than he remembered, making him look world-weary. It felt good to be clean though.

  Brendan nearly jumped out of his skin as someone knocked softly on the door. He’d locked it just in case, but he didn’t think to close the shutters. Brendan stepped behind the bed curtain and watched as a shadow passed before the window. It was Rowan, and he was sorely tempted to let her leave, but good manners prevailed and he unlatched the door, letting her in. He was about to explain the locked door and his presence downstairs when Rowan simply walked toward him, wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

  “I love you,” she said simply, as if it was the most natural thing for a young girl to say to a man. Her lack of guile always left Brendan speechless with wonder. Most girls Rowan’s age were coy and calculating, instinctively playing the mating game with a view to catching the best prospect possible, but Rowan was as innocent as a child, trusting him with her heart without any reservations, without any suspicion that he might use her for his own pleasure and discard her as so many men would.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered into her hair, “but I must leave you.” Rowan just gazed up at him, her eyes full of pain and confusion, telling him that people who loved each other didn’t just walk away; they stayed and made things work. How could he explain to her the danger she’d be in with him?

  “Rowan, I must leave. I’m a wanted man, do you not see that?” he asked gently. He didn’t want
to bring up the fact that he would swing if caught so as not to cause her any more pain. She’d probably witnessed a hanging at some point in her life, and the image of the victim kicking at empty air as they soiled themselves and clawing at the rope at their neck was not something one quickly forgot.

  “I understand,” she murmured. “Brendan, please take me with you. I won’t be any trouble, I promise. I will come as your mistress if that’s what you want. I will never ask you for anything you don’t care to give, but please, don’t leave me here. I’ve already lost someone I loved, and I can’t live through that again. I won’t live through that again. I want to be with you.” She raised her face to his and shyly pressed her lips to his, letting him know that she was his for the taking. Brendan took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away, cocking his head to catch her downcast eyes.

  “Rowan, I want you more than you can possibly imagine, but I won’t endanger your life. I want you to be safe and happy.”

  “I will never be happy,” she cried, tearing out of his grasp and whirling away from him. “How can I be happy married to a man I don’t love? How can I love his child when I wish it were yours? Yes, I would most likely be safe, but I would never be happy.” She spun around, her eyes blazing in her small face, “I’ve loved you since I was twelve.”

  Rowan was hurt to see the look of confusion on Brendan’s face. He didn’t remember her; didn’t remember twirling her to the music or giving her a kiss on the cheek before he went on to dance with someone else. And he would forget her now. Tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving Brendan feeling heartbroken and helpless. What was he to do? Her words tore through all his defenses and left him reeling. Did she really love him so much that she would risk everything just to be with him? He’d never known such love before. Mary only wanted him for what he could give her, although she pretended to care for him, and other women whom he’d met over the past few years were nothing but common whores, willing to do anything for a coin. This girl was so pure, it broke his heart. Was he a fool to walk away from such devotion?

  “Rowan, do you understand the risk of being with me?” he asked softly, seeing a spark of hope in her eyes. “Are you willing to follow me anywhere and possibly live in poverty until I’m able to better our situation?”

  Rowan just nodded, a rosy flush spreading across her cheeks as she looked up at him with shining eyes. “You’ll take me with you?” she whispered. Brendan nearly laughed at the excitement in her face. She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she clasped her hands before her. “We’ll be together?”

  “The only way you’re coming with me is if we’re properly wed. I won’t make you my mistress. You deserve better than that, and I will do everything in my power to keep you happy and safe. May God help me,” he added under his breath as Rowan threw her arms around his neck kissing his face, her lips finally finding his. He didn’t push her away this time.

  “We’ll have Reverend Pole marry us,” she gushed.

  “He can marry us, but I’ll ask him not to enter the marriage in the parish records book until after we’ve gone. If anyone sees the entry, they’ll know I’m here.”

  Rowan just nodded happily. She looked as if she would burst with joy and although Brendan tried to keep a cool head, he suddenly felt swept up in her happiness. The thought of having her as his wife filled him with a quiet joy that he’d never known before. He’d give her a good life, a comfortable life, no matter what it took. Once they got to London, they’d stay with his friends, and he would find a way to earn some money before they sailed for the Colonies in the spring, so they would have something to start their new life with. Brendan sat on the cot and Rowan carefully perched on his uninjured leg, her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head against her breasts, enjoying a moment of contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d come here half dead, and he’d be leaving with a new life.

  Brendan stretched out on the cot with Rowan pressed against him. He wouldn’t touch her until they were married, but it was nice to feel her body against his. She was so warm and soft, and willing, which made things that much harder. It was also difficult to ask her what he wanted to know, but he felt he needed to try. He knew so little about her, and it was important to know what had caused her such lasting harm.

  “Rowan, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to, but what happened to you before you came here?” Brendan tried to keep his voice low and non-threatening, but he felt her stiffen against him and wrapped his arms tighter around her in a silent promise of protection. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he repeated, sensing her alarm.

  “No, I think it’s time I spoke of it. It won’t make it any easier to live with, but you have a right to know.” Rowan lapsed into silence for so long, Brendan thought she’d changed her mind, but then she finally began to speak, her voice very low, as that of a small child who’s afraid of the dark.

  Chapter 47

  Rowan closed her eyes, the images taking shape once again after years of being kept at bay, locked in a part of her mind where they couldn’t hurt her. She’d woken up screaming for months after she came to Aunt Joan and Uncle Caleb, the horror seeping into her soul and leaving her shaking and helpless, thrashing in her bed until Aunt Joan finally managed to calm her down, usually with a cup of mead. The nightmares grew less frequent over the years, but the memory of that night was still there, as it always would be till the day she died.

  “My mother was always knowledgeable about herbs and plants. She’d learned it from an old woman who lived in their village when she was a girl. She often went into the forest to forage for roots and leaves and make them into salves and potions.” Rowan sighed and pressed closer to Brendan as she continued.

  “My father forbade my mother to tell anyone of her skill. He was wary of the people in our village, but my mother said that he was just being overly cautious. These people were our friends and neighbors, and everyone knew her for the kind, God-fearing woman she was.”

  Rowan grew silent for a moment in an effort to get her shaking voice under control. It was still a little hoarse from years of disuse, and her throat ached from suddenly speaking so much at once as well as from the tears she was swallowing back.

  “My mother begged my father not to leave, but he chose to take up arms and fight for his king. He died at Adwalton Moor in 1643. My mother tried her best to keep things going, but the two of us struggled to manage the farm. It was too much work for a woman and child. Some days we barely had enough to eat.” Rowan grew silent, remembering the hardship of that awful winter. Her mother had grown thin and silent, her lovely face suddenly lined and gray from lack of food and too much worry.

  “A neighbor’s child had gotten ill, so my mother went over with some willow bark tea to help bring the fever down. It helped, and the woman was very grateful. She gave my mother a few eggs and helped spread the word, which is exactly what my mother was hoping for. Within a few months, our fortunes improved. People had no money to pay, but they traded food for remedies, and that helped us a great deal. My mother also made love charms for the young girls. She said they were just a bit of whimsy, but the girls believed that a love charm could help them win the heart of the one they loved.”

  Brendan held Rowan close and kissed her temple. He could guess what was coming, but Rowan needed to speak of it in order for the memories to loosen their hold over her.

  “There was one girl in particular. Her name was Ellie, and she often came by our cottage, eager to learn anything that my mother had to teach her. She was lively and anxious to learn, so my mother showed her the different flowers and roots, and taught her how to mix them together to ward off fevers and prevent festering of a wound. I used to help out, too. I’d grind things in a mortar or chop up roots and boil leaves for tea. Those were happy times. We’d sit around the table and my mother would tell Ellie and I stories about knights and ladies, and the great astronomers like John Dee, who Queen Bess used to c
onsult before making any important decisions. My mother thought John Dee was a wizard and could probably turn brass into gold.”

  “What happened then?” Brendan asked carefully, sensing that Rowan was becoming more agitated as she spoke.

  “Ellie had her heart set on a boy from the village. Edgar, his name was, and he was apprenticed to the blacksmith. She dreamed of marrying him and asked my mother about what happened in a marriage bed, since her own mother wouldn’t tell her. My mother laughed at her and teased her, but I think she told her in the end. That made Ellie want him even more. She thought that if she got him to kiss her, he’d ask her to marry him. Edgar did kiss her, and possibly did more than that, but it was Daisy he made an offer of marriage to. Daisy’s family owned the smithy, so Edgar would inherit the lot once Daisy’s father died. Ellie’s family was barely scraping by, like us.”

  Rowan turned on her side and pressed her back against Brendan’s chest. She couldn’t bear to look at him as she told the rest of the story, so he just held her close and let her talk.

  “Ellie was heartbroken when Daisy and Edgar announced their betrothal. She was sure that Edgar loved her and only wanted Daisy for the smithy, but there was naught to be done. The banns were read, and the date of the wedding set. A week before the wedding, Daisy was found dead with a piece of seedcake still in her hand. She’d been poisoned. My mother was the only person in the village who knew about remedies and poisons, so suspicion instantly fell on her, even though she had nothing at all to gain by killing Daisy. Daisy’s mother called my mother a witch, and stood in the village green screaming her accusations of murder and calling on the people of the village to punish the witch.