Haunted Ground (18 page)

October 1650

England

Rowan forced herself not to yank her hand away as Stephen shyly reached for it during their walk.  On fine days, they took a walk after Sunday dinner, Stephen talking of his farm and the children, and of the life they would have once they were married, and Rowan enjoying a few hours away from the never-ending chores and the attention of a kind, loving man who was soon to be her husband.  Stephen always made her feel cherished and safe, but today she felt a restlessness that was new to her.  Rowan had to admit that she had never before minded Stephen’s attentions.  His hand was large and warm, swallowing her smaller one and making her feel like a child walking with a parent.  She’d even allowed him to kiss her a few times.  The kisses were just like Stephen himself; tender and loving, but not terribly exciting. 

Rowan fully accepted that she would have to share her bed with this man once they were married, and the knowledge neither enticed nor repulsed her.  It was a fact that she acknowledged and was willing to live with.  She knew that Stephen would never hurt her and be careless of her feelings or health.  He’d already lost one wife, and he would do everything in his power to prevent losing another.  He already had a son, so there would be less pressure to produce a male heir to take over Stephen’s farm once he was gone.  Rowan was sure Stephen would want children with her, but he wasn’t the kind of man who wanted to see his wife pregnant with a new babe every year.  Some men thought it proved their virility, regardless of what it did to the poor women who barely had time to recover from one birth before they were with child again.  Few of them survived into their forties, worn out by the demands of their children and hard work that never seemed to end.

Stephen smiled at Rowan as he squeezed her hand a little tighter and continued talking of the successful harvest.  He did very well this year at the market and thought that the extra money he earned could go toward something Rowan might want for the house.  It wasn’t often that a woman of her station was presented with an opportunity to go shopping, but the suggestion left her flat.  The idea of sharing a house with Stephen for the rest of her life suddenly seemed frightening and made her feel short of breath, as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. 

“Are you ill, Rowan?” Stephen asked, his eyes full of concern.  “You must be tired after such a long walk.  Would you like to go back?”

Rowan smiled in gratitude and allowed herself to be turned in the direction of the village, eager to get home.  It was too late to go check on Brendan, but at least she would have a few extra hours to work on the shirt she was sewing for him. 

***

A merry fired crackled in the hearth as Rowan bent over her work.  She’d have the shirt finished by the end of the week.  She could have finished it sooner, but she took extra care with the stitches, making sure her work was perfect and the shirt didn’t look like something made for a farmer, but a piece of fine clothing for a gentleman.  She smiled to herself, picturing Brendan wearing her handiwork.  She was sure he’d be pleased.  She blushed slightly as she caught Uncle Caleb’s look.  He was standing by the hearth as he filled his pipe with tobacco from a small leather pouch at his waist, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire.  Rowan knew Uncle Caleb felt awkward around her, not knowing what to say to the girl who’d suddenly gone mute, but he did his best to let her know that he cared about her and her wellbeing.  Caleb patted her on the shoulder before stepping outside to smoke his pipe, followed by Aunt Joan, who frequently joined him on the bench for a few minutes of fresh air and conversation.  It was a fine evening, if a little chilly, and their soft voices carried on the wind, washing over Rowan as she went about her work. 

She had to admit that she felt different these last few weeks.  She’d built a wall around herself after what happened to her mother, and the wall had served her well.  Her heart had begun to heal, albeit very slowly, and the fear came only at night when she couldn’t sleep, or worse, when she could, and she dreamed of that horrible night, the flames leaping into the darkening sky and the screams that would tear at her heart for the rest of her days. 

Rowan had made herself nearly invisible in her need to recover, to heal.  She just wanted to feel safe without drawing attention to herself, but suddenly that was changing.  It’d been a long time since she felt the desire to speak, but these past few days the words suddenly came alive again, building up and colliding with each other in a desperate attempt to break the dam that she’d so carefully constructed.  They threatened to tumble over the top, cascading in a fierce torrent that would wash away the last remnants of the barrier, finally allowing her to feel free and move forward.  She wasn’t ready quite yet, but she felt things beginning to thaw, like ice on a lake after a long winter.  The cracks were starting to appear, and eventually the ice would start to melt, releasing her heart.

Edward Sexby pulled his hat lower over his eyes to shield them from the brightness of the afternoon sun.  He loved these rare days when everything seemed just a little brighter and more intense; the senses in tune with nature.  It was a feeling second only to being in battle, when one felt unbearably alive knowing that any moment could bring death.  Those were the moments he lived for, the moments when he felt as if he was exactly where he was meant to be.  Many men took up arms, but few really enjoyed the clash of steel, the screaming of frightened horses, and the exquisite feeling of driving a blade into a man, his eyes full of shock and disbelief as he realized that he’d just been killed. 

Sexby prayed every night that he would die in battle and not as an old man sitting by the hearth with a rug over his aching bones waiting to expire.  Death on a battlefield was honorable; death of old age was feeble, especially if one died alone with no wife or children.  Once in a while, Sexby regretted not having married or siring a son or two, but everything he’d seen in his thirty-four years led him to believe that surrounding yourself with love could only lead to unbearable loss.  He wasn’t a man given to pity, but even he could feel something shifting in his heart as they slaughtered the Catholics in Ireland; men, women, and children whose only crime was to worship in a way different from those of the invaders.  Sexby, himself, didn’t believe in God.  What kind of God would tolerate the horrors that people inflicted on each other, but then again, who was he to question the ways of divinity?  Maybe it was all part of a greater plan, and one day people would look back on this period of history and declare it a time of enlightenment and change
—
not slaughter and chaos.

Edward Sexby threw the reins of his horse to Will Barnett and unlaced his breeches to relieve himself.  Barnett had picked a picturesque spot by a lively stream to set up camp for the night.  The lad had quite a romantic streak when he wasn’t murdering people.  There were still a few hours of daylight left, but Sexbydidn’t mind stopping early.  He’d volunteered for his assignment for one reason and one reason onl
y
—
to get a break from the fighting.  No matter how much a man loved his wife, he still needed to fuck someone else’s from time to time, and Sexby needed a change of scenery. 

He’d chosen Will to accompany him for a reason as well.  Besides having no conscience, the boy hero-worshipped him and was very eager to please, which was a rare convenience when traveling.  Will took care of the horses, prepared food, and best of all, left Sexby in peace as they made their way south.  At eighteen, Will had been a mercenary for several years, and a good man to have at your back in a fight.  Sexby didn’t think taking Brendan Carr prisoner would require much manpower, but it was good to have a natural-born killer like Will at his side.  He’d met Carr several times over the past few years, and although the man was a competent fighter, he didn’t enjoy the kill, so wasn’t as dangerous of an opponent.  Besides, Sexby had no intention of taking him openly and honorably.  He was no fool.  The best way to apprehend Carr would be to ambush him when he least expected it and wasn’t armed.  The hardest part would be to keep Will from using unnecessary force just for the sheer pleasure of it. 

Sexby stretched out on a nice, lush patch of grass by the fire as Will set about preparing their meal.  They’d purchased, and that’s a term he used loosely since he paid a fraction of what the food was worth to the terrified goodwife, some pork sausages, cheese and bread in the last village they’d passed.  The appetizing smell of sizzling sausage filled the autumn night and made Sexby’s mouth water.  He’d eat and get some much-needed rest before continuing on tomorrow.  He sighed with contentment.  This was practically a holiday.

I woke up in the morning to rain lashing against the windows and a howling wind rattling the panes in a way that left me eager to stay in bed.  I wouldn’t be able to work outside today, so I would be pretty much confined to my room in order to stay out of the way of the men.  At this point, the house was beginning to look like something out of a war zone with holes in the walls, toilets standing in the hallway waiting to be installed in the additional bathrooms, and pipes gleaming through gaps in insulation and drywall.  My room was the only sanctuary at the moment, not counting the kitchen, which Aidan would work on last per my request. 

I forced myself to get out of bed, got dressed, and went down to make some breakfast before the workers arrived.  I had a mad craving for a cheese omelet and a strong cup of coffee.  I might also have to borrow Aidan’s truck and drive into the village to get some more supplies since I was running short.  At some point, I would have to consider getting a car or truck of my own.  Eventually, I would have to start scouring the countryside for furnishings and bits and pieces I could use for period detail, not to mention stock the kitchen with food once I had actual guests to feed.  I supposed I could arrange for some kind of weekly delivery from the grocery store, but I hoped to be able to provide local produce and maybe some delicacies that were not to be found in Mrs. Higgins’s shop. 

I poured myself a second cup of coffee and stuck a piece of toast in my mouth as I prepared to make my way upstairs.  The men were already outside, unloading their tools in the pouring rain.  I watched Aidan run up the steps, his hair dripping rainwater as he burst through the door and wished me a good morning. 

“Want some coffee?” I asked as I tried not to stare at his sodden T-shirt which clung to his chest in a way reminiscent of Colin Firth in
Pride and Prejudice;
a scene I had watched many times and never grew tired of. Whereas another man might look like a drowned rat, Aidan managed to look sexy in the extreme, his hair spiky and his dark lashes tipped with drops of rainwater which he wiped away absentmindedly as he smiled at me.

“Thanks, but I just had breakfast.”   Aidan threw his wet jacket over the banister and brushed his hair off his face in a gesture of irritation, his eyes on Colin and George, who were arguing as they walked through the door.  I wondered why he kept Colin on, since he clearly annoyed Aidan, but I wasn’t about to ask.  Instead, I wished the men a good morning and returned to my sanctuary determined to be productive.

After a while, I got bored with sitting in my room, my restlessness preventing me from working on my future website which just didn’t look as I wanted it to, or bring me to the right place when I clicked on a particular tab.  I actually had a strange desire to see the tomb in the basement again.  I couldn’t help thinking that maybe we’d missed something, some vital clue that could lead us to the identity of the man.  The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that the man in the basement and the ghost in the ruin were one and the same.  They had to be.  It made a convoluted sort of sense.  They would have lived around the same time, and it was possible that whatever prevented him from being buried in the churchyard was what kept his soul tethered to this particular place, unable to move on for eternity. 

I tried not to think too much about the man in the ruin, but I found him dominating my thoughts, especially at night when I couldn’t sleep and watched for the pinprick of light that was his candle dancing amid the sinister darkness of tumbled stones.  I lay in bed wondering about who he’d been and what happened to him to cause him such pain.  I’d never believed in ghosts or put much stock into what people said about troubled souls not being able to pass on, but this man just broke my heart, and in some naïve way I wanted to help him in any way I could, if such a thing were possible.  Now that there was some physical evidence of his existence, I had something to go on, but it wasn’t enough to solve the puzzle.

I shut my laptop with a sigh of exasperation and made my way to the ground floor.  No one seemed to be around; the men dispersed throughout the house as sounds of banging reverberated through the foyer.  Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust, blanketing every surface like a coating of snow on a winter’s day.  I’d tried cleaning a little every evening after the men left, but it was futile, so I just gave up, leaving it all for later when the work was finally at an end; whenever that may be.

I grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen counter before opening the door to the basement.  Aidan had replaced the burnt-out lights and several naked bulbs bloomed in the darkness, the path dimly illuminated, but still just as intimidating. 
Don’t be a coward
, I told myself as I descended down the stone steps,
there is nothing to fear
.  After all, no one was in the basement besides a man who’d been dead for hundreds of years.  He couldn’t hurt me.  Still, I walked as quietly as I could, loathe to make any unnecessary noise and disturb the tomblike silence of the basement.  I noticed that some of the cobwebs had been cleared away since the plumber and his men had been down there several times over the past week.  Once the work was finished, I would have the cellar cleaned out and the wine racks restocked, but for now, I had to contend with it looking like something out of a low-budget Halloween special.

My footsteps echoed on the flagstone floor as I stealthily made my way toward the hidden room at the back.  Aidan had left the key where we found it, and I pulled it out of the alcove and inserted it into the old iron lock, using both hands to turn it.  I removed the lock and set it aside before picking up my flashlight and opening the door.  The room was colder than the rest of the basement, the air trapped inside smelling of dust and something else that I couldn’t identify.  It wasn’t unpleasant though; it was the type of smell one found in old churches
—
a little musty and woodsy.  All that was missing was incense and some Gregorian chants.

I made sure to leave the door wide open so that the light from the light bulb shone through the opening and painted an elongated replica of the door on the stone floor.  It wasn’t much, but it made me feel better.  The sarcophagus was there just as before, sitting on its plinth as it had done for centuries.  I held the flashlight in my left hand as I traced every inch of the surface with my right, looking for anything that might be an inscription of some kind or even a coat of arms, but there was nothing aside from what Aidan and I had found before – just the name and the dates. 

Part of the pattern chiseled into the stone was worn away, the nose of the effigy chipped off, and the hollow eyes staring at the low ceiling as they had been for centuries, but when it had been new, the casket must have been magnificent – the work of a true artist.  It must have taken considerable time and money to produce something so fine, so someone had cared enough to commission this tomb and try to recreate the likeness of the man within.  Someone must have loved him.  Someone in this village.

I hadn’t heard anyone approaching, but I suddenly had the distinct feeling that I was no longer alone.  The room grew darker as something filled the low doorway and blocked out the light from the bulb, sending shivers of dread down my spine.  I knew I had no reason to be afraid, but logic didn’t play into my reaction, my over-active imagination suddenly conjuring up the ghost who was displeased to find me trespassing in his burial place.  I was terrified.  I spun around on my heel, hoping to find Aidan, but was surprised to see Colin leaning against the stone wall, a small smile playing about his lips. 

“Oh, Colin, you startled me,” I said.  “Were you working on something down here?” 

Colin didn’t bother to answer me as he shut the door behind him, throwing the room into near darkness.  He advanced slowly into the room, his eyes never leaving mine as he closed the space between us.  I couldn’t really see his expression since my flashlight was lying atop the lid, the beam of light pointed at the ceiling, but I was certain it wasn’t a friendly one. 

“Colin?  Can I help you?” I asked again, but he just cocked his head to the side and stopped about two feet away from me.  “Well, I’ll be going now,” I said and made to get around him, but he suddenly stepped into my path, effectively blocking my way to the door.

“Colin, please move,” I demanded in my best authoritative tone, but he continued to stare at me, unbudging.  His silence scared me more than the fact that he was blocking the exit.  It meant that whatever he meant to do wasn’t negotiable.  He didn’t want to engage.  I tried to get around him again, but he grabbed me with both hands and slammed me against the wall, scraping the back of my head and my hands on the rough stone.  I tried to break free, but he held me tighter, his thighs pressing against mine in an effort to keep me pinned.

“What do you want?” I cried, now really scared.  His face was inches from mine, but the pool of light on the ceiling did nothing to illuminate his features, so all I saw were the whites of his eyes and the gleam of his teeth in the darkness.

“It’s not what I want; it’s what you want.  You wear those sexy summer frocks and tight jeans in order to entice me.  I know you do.  You watch me as I work, and you smile at me, hoping I’ll notice.” His breath was ragged, his voice low and laced with malicious intent as he pressed himself even closer. 

“I smile at everyone,” I countered as I struggled against him.   I didn’t bother to argue with him about my clothes.  My summer dresses were relatively modest, as were my jeans.  They were what any woman my age might wear, but Colin seemed to think differently.  He was panting now, his erection pressing into my pelvis as his hips ground against mine.

“Your shirts are stretched so tightly across your tits, I can almost see your nipples, and it excites me.  I know you want it; it’s obvious.”  He raised my arms above my head and grabbed both my wrists with his left hand as he slid his right hand up my bare leg, lifting the skirt of my dress.  I gasped as I felt his finger slide into my underwear.

“Colin, please, you misunderstood.  I wasn’t trying to lead you on.  I’ll dress more modestly, I promise,” I whimpered, but I could see from the look on his face that nothing I said would make any difference.  He was in a grip of madness, one fueled by lust and delusion.  He clearly believed that I had toyed with him and meant to play him for a fool.  Had he planned this or had he followed me on the spur of the moment, eager to take advantage of the opportunity I unknowingly presented him with?  My mind was spinning out of control as his fingers slid inside.  I needed to say something that would make him doubt his purpose, but at the moment, I had no idea what that might be.

“Colin, please…”

“Shh,” he said, his voice laced with irritation.  “Stop fighting it.  You know you want it.  All you slags are the same.  You protest, but deep down you want it so bad you can barely see straight.” 

My heart began to hammer against my ribs as his fingers slid even deeper, probing and violating.  He was taking his time, enjoying the game and toying with me the way a cat toyed with a mouse before it killed it.  He clearly wasn’t expecting anyone to find us, and the thought made me physically ill.  I was completely at his mercy, and mercy wasn’t something he was about to dole out.

“Mm, isn’t that nice?” he murmured.  “You are so hot.”  Colin pulled his hand away and slowly licked his finger, his eyes never leaving mine.  “Want to taste?” he asked playfully as he ran the finger over my lips.

“Colin, please, let me go,” I begged, but he just gave me a vicious grin before shoving his hand between my legs again. 

“Your knickers are in the way,” Colin panted, and tore them off with a practiced motion.  He continued sliding his fingers in and out, then began to rub my clitoris with his thumb in an effort to arouse me.  “I can tell you like that,” he whispered in my ear.  I was now trembling violently, knowing that he wasn’t going to just stop at fondling me.  He wanted more.  Colin suddenly withdrew his hand and yanked down the front of my dress, exposing my breast as the fabric tore.  He cupped it in his rough hand and brought my nipple to his mouth, licking it before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard.  His touch repulsed me, and his hardness against my thigh terrified me.  I tried to scream, but Colin clamped his hand over my mouth and nose, effectively preventing me from breathing.  I continued to struggle, but it was pointless.  He was grinding against me now, his mouth open and panting.

“Now, promise not to scream and I’ll take the hand away.”  I nodded in acquiescence, simply because I needed oxygen in order to stay conscious.  Colin finally took the hand away as I gulped air into my lungs, but my relief was short-lived as he unzipped his jeans, and I felt flesh against flesh as his cock rubbed against my pelvis. 

Oh, dear God
, I thought,
he’s going to rape me down here and no one will know
.  Suddenly, an even more horrible thought occurred to me.  What if he locked me in this room and didn’t tell anyone?  By the time anyone thought to look down here I might be dead.  A sob escaped from me as I tried to fight him again, but he swiftly turned me around and slammed me against the wall knocking the wind out of me.  I tasted blood as the cut in my cheek began to bleed more profusely from being rubbed against the stone.  Colin used his knee to push my legs apart, and I cried out as I felt him trying to enter me from the back. 

He was breathing hard, his frustration mounting as I tried to swivel my hips to keep him from achieving his goal.  He slammed my head against the wall to subdue me as he tried again, but I pressed myself against the wall, making it harder for him.  I could feel his hard prick between my legs, his hand guiding it inside me when suddenly Colin let go, and I crumpled to the floor, sobbing and shaking.