A Season of Miracles (17 page)

But she did.

“I thought you might like to go riding again tomorrow. You couldn't have gone very far tonight. I know Daniel will be working with Eileen and Brad, but I don't have to approve anything until they get further along. I know you want to—”

“They won't mind one less chef tomorrow,” he said. “Riding will be great.”

“I'll ask Jimmy to see that Crystal and Igloo are ready for us. Is eleven all right? I'm taking Grandfather to the nine o'clock church service in town.”

“Fine,” he told her.

He was close, leaning against the pillar, dark blue eyes intent on her. She smiled awkwardly. “Well, I'm going on up, then. Full day. I'll see you in the morning.”

“You will.”

She turned around. Agatha, Amelia, her grandfather and Henry were playing a round of pitch. Jimmy and Brad were deep into a game of chess. She wasn't sure where the others were.

“Good night, all,” she called.

“Good night,” she received in return.

“Thanks again,” she said softly to Robert.

He was still leaning against the pillar, arms crossed over his chest, dark hair falling over his forehead, gaze fathomless as he watched her. “Shucks, ma'am, it was nothing,” he told her.

She turned and started up the stairs, she felt him watching her all the while.

As she reached the second floor landing, she hesitated, wondering if she should see if Daniel was in his room and just make sure that she wouldn't be needed during the day and that Robert would be clear to go riding. She walked down the hall to his room, thinking that since she hadn't seen him, he was probably there.

Just as she lifted her hand to knock she heard a woman's voice, hushed. “I can't, I can't. The way we're doing it is so…so…I shouldn't. Oh God, I've got to stop….”

There was a whispered return, much deeper.

The sound of tears.

Jillian realized that she was still standing there. Listening.
Eavesdropping.
When her cousin was obviously entertaining someone in his room.

She drew her hand back quickly and spun around, almost running down the hall to her own room. Once inside, she closed the door.

As she got ready for bed, she felt cold and shocked. Not that Daniel shouldn't have a lover. He was handsome, virile, masculine, and certainly of age. It was just that…

Who?

Gracie? With
Daniel?

Or someone else? Someone from town, a neighbor…?

She crawled into bed, and only then did she realize that she might have recognized the woman's voice.

Connie.

No! It couldn't have been. Joe was here. He hadn't been sledding with them, not when she had gotten there, anyway, but he had been at dinner.

Connie was with Joe.

And yet…that voice.

T
his time, when he awoke to see the figure of Milo Anderson seated in the chair by his bed, Robert didn't even allow himself to be startled.

He groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

“Go away. You're a dream. I'm only dreaming.”

“You're not dreaming. And Christmas is coming.”

“Great. Christmas comes every year.”

The apparition was silent for a minute, then Milo said quietly, “No, not for everyone.”

“Sorry. Really. No, I'm not. Hell, this is ridiculous. I'm apologizing to a dream.”

“Look, you did well today, but not well enough.”

Robert drew his arm from his eyes to stare at his dream visitor with indignation. “Not well enough? I hurtled across a highway, threw myself from a racing horse and caught Jillian before the sled could go crashing into the truck.”

“I said you did well. But did you look at the license plate of the truck and get the number? Did you inspect the fence to find out what really happened to it?”

“It was an accident.”

“No, not everything is an accident.”

“You sound like Douglas.”

“Of course. Douglas is involved.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind. You're not ready to understand.”

“I understand that I'm having a nightmare. What more is there?”

“The book. I've told you, you've got to read the book. She is in danger. It will come again—unless we can change things.”

“Great. So someone—apparently in Jillian's own family—is out to kill her. Before Christmas. And I've got a ghost haunting my dreams, a know-it-all ghost. So if you know it all, just whisper the name of the guilty party in my ear so when I wake up, I'll know who it is.”

“I don't know who it is,” Milo said, looking perplexed, shaking his head.

“You're dead, you're a ghost, you're omniscient—”

“I'm dead, I'm a ghost, yes. But I'm still here because she's in danger. I don't have access to any more information than you do. Except that I've read the book. And I believe.”

“You believe in what? Miracles? I don't mean to be cruel, but after all, this is my nightmare. You're dead and buried. There won't be a miracle. Unless you're thinking of making a comeback?”

“Don't be gruesome,” Milo said with a shudder. He leaned forward. “I'm not coming back. It wasn't meant to be. But I was part of it, and I left too soon this time around. I guess that had to happen. But you have to wise up, Marston, or you'll lose her again.”

“Look…”

In the darkness of his room, Robert sat up. He had spoken aloud.

There was no one there.

He groaned and crashed back to his pillow. Why in God's name was he having such bizarre dreams? He hadn't been drinking tonight, except for a single beer with dinner.

He rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head. He needed to get back to sleep.

He started to drift.
Don't dream, don't dream, don't dream,
he told himself.

But he did dream again, and though he knew he didn't want to dream, he was aware that he was doing it.

In his dream, he was rising, slipping on his robe and padding barefoot out into the hall to the second floor landing.

And he was walking…down to the library.

Inside, on the huge desk that was the centerpiece of the room, was a book. He walked over to it. Ran a finger over it. The book was very old. Hundreds of years old, he thought. He looked at the cover, looked at the spine, at the pages.

Then he sat down to read, telling himself it was a remarkably vivid dream.

January 3rd, 1661

We fled today, though we did not flee so much as a result of the war, the impending death of the King, or the new regime. We fled because of the burning. Because of the horror we inflicted after the burning.

Because we were too late, and should not have been.

He wanted death.

Michael could not endure what had happened, and not even the vengeance he extracted could allow him to stay. We headed to the North Country, and will fly far and fast. He thinks, I believe, that he can outrun the horror.

Who could have known?

I should begin from the beginning.

I will never forget the day they met, though it was long before the tumult began. She was the daughter of Lord Alfred, the kindliest of men. Tolerant of her headstrong ways, and knowing, of course, that she adored him in return. She was a lady, to the manor born, and she used her position
over
Michael, nose in the air, words ever teasing, haughty, yet filled with a laughter that wound him quickly around her little finger, though he would not let on. I warned him when first we saw her by the spring that she was Lord Alfred's daughter. But he paid no heed. She accosted him to do her bidding, and he complied, yet whatever she asked, he overdid, bringing water, helping her to drink so that it spilled over her, setting her upon her horse with such a flourish that she slid from one side to the ground upon the other. She but laughed, promising him that he should pay, and he told her that he would pay forever, that he was forever her servant, spellbound.

They parted ways then, of course. But I saw the way they looked at one another.

They met again the following day, in her father's own hall. For her father would be riding off in support of the King, and Michael, the finest of soldiers, would captain the troops he had raised. Within the hall, she taunted him. He called her spoiled, willful and a silly child. She said then that he should stay away, and he told her that he could never stay away, for he was enamored. Indeed, he was certain he loved her.

There had been some talk of a marriage between her and Sir Walter, distant kin, a man well versed in the way of the soldier, the churchman and the politician, for he had, at one time, befriended the King, and at another time he had sat with Cromwell and agreed with his position that the King and the church had become corrupt. Already there was talk of treason. Alas, the King was arrogant, oh, indeed, arrogant. He was, in his mind, God's anointed, incapable of treason. He was the state, and the state was him. Michael had ridden with his son, had served the Prince, and therein found his loyalty. The King was beloved by his family, was an educated man, with great dignity. His son was charming and more. Brave.

Sir Walter had been appointed sheriff of the county and had come at Lord Alfred's request. Lord Alfred knew Sir Walter to be crafty and cunning, a man to straddle a fence, but he thought that best for his daughter, his heiress. Should things go badly for the King, the fact that Sir Walter straddled fences so well would be in his favor. He had a way about him. He was the law in a lawless time, was judge and jury. This could not be a bad thing in such hazardous days, Lord Alfred thought.

Lord Alfred was a good man, a man who loved his daughter. But it is truth to say that he did encourage a match between his daughter and Sir Walter. The latter was an extremely handsome man, powerful, determined. And he had coveted Morwenna for years by then, waiting, biding his time. He had been her friend; she had, perhaps, cared for him.

Until Michael.

I was not with him the day that love first created madness between them. But I had seen that look in their eyes, and later, being with the two of them, it was impossible not to see the passion that had risen between them. There was a war to be fought, but they had time together. Long days by the spring. Nature made their bed, sky and air were witnesses to their love. Yet, as Michael watched the change of things, he feared for her. He still had to go to war, for that was a soldier's duty. He was her father's man, defender of her father's honor.

Then, when they rode away, when banners were flying and the stirrup cup had been drunk, Lord Alfred so innocently lent fuel to flame, telling Sir Walter that he must guard all in his absence—his home, his law, his daughter. Sir Walter assumed then that she was both his ward and his betrothed. He loved her, in his way. Loved her with a sickness. For he suspected her affair with Michael. She made her feelings evident.

Once, when the soldiers had leave while the conflict raged, I don't remember the date, but it was while hope still stirred in the hearts of all Royalists, Michael took her secretly to wife.

I remember the night. I see it clearly in my mind's eye, and it
was
clear, for there was a full moon, no cloud in the sky. They stood together in a copse of blossoms, she so beautiful, he so tall and powerful, the knight triumphant, the soldier who would not fail. She did not want him to go to war. She was afraid for him, afraid he would fail, because it became more and more evident that Cromwell would prevail. But a man could not turn his back on his beliefs; she would not love him could he do so. And at first, she was merely scornful of her father's warder, Sir Walter, for remember, once he had been her friend. He loved her. She thought herself safe.

They met, through it all, infrequently. He was there for her when her father fell to a grave illness and was returned to recover at his ancient estate. Lord Alfred was wounded in body and soul; many a day he did not gain consciousness. When he did, he was aware only of the past; he did not remember the war, nor the King's plight, nor the soldier who had risked his own life to save him and bring him home.

Sir Walter held power. Tremendous power.

But she ignored the dictates of the man who was now her guardian and thought he would make himself her husband, lord of the castle, and powerful, even in the Protectorate that Cromwell would lead. On the first night of her father's return, she slipped away to be with her husband. It was then that Sir Walter went to her chambers, ready to tell her that there would be a marriage now, that she would be safe with him, whichever way the wind should blow.

She had friends within the castle. Jane, her maid, Garth, the groom. Jeremy, her father's old assistant. Jane, hearing that he was coming, made a figure in the bed of blankets and pillows, and when he came, she told him that her lady slept, deep in grief at her father's condition. And Morwenna did grieve his illness, greatly, yet found solace in the arms of her husband. Who better to wipe her tears?

That night, Jane's ruse was respected.

But Michael had a few days to tarry, and one night, when Morwenna was gone to his arms again, Sir Walter pushed past Jane, entered the room and found that his ward was gone.

The next day he threatened her.

She would not be threatened. She did not see the danger. She told him that though she cared for him, she would never be his wife.

It was from that night on that he began to call her witch.

Subtly, he spread rumor. Aye, she was a witch. What else but magic could give a maid such compelling beauty that she should so entice men? He was a good man, a Godly man, and she made his mind stray again and again. Aye, it was a pity that so many could be so fooled! There had been a time, a Christian time, when the old ways had been tolerated, when wiccans had still peopled the hills. For though we were a land known as England, we bordered that country which was Wales. The people there were filled with fancy and superstition, and it was a way of life, one that they enjoyed. But when James of Scotland became James I of England, he brought with him a fear of witchcraft, and suddenly, in the midst of war and sadness and bloodshed, the country was filled with witch finders. They were not the King's men, nor Cromwell's, they were the law. It remained the law that a man should not steal, nor commit murder, though Cromwell sought to murder our King. But witches! Mostly pathetic old women, they were tortured into admitting to pacts with Satan, to dancing with him, bearing his young, selling their souls to kill a neighbor's pig or put a pox on an enemy. They were used most heinously, prodded, broken, dunked, and yet it was all within the ways of the law, or what remained of the law. Sir Walter, you see, was both sheriff and master of the castle, and half convinced himself that he was like God, doing God's work and, when the tide began to turn, doing the work of the country. He was Cromwell's man, and therefore, when the King's cause began to fail, he could accuse her of treason and heresy as well as witchcraft.

It was England, after all. By the law, witches were hanged.

Heretics and traitors could be burned.

Morwenna loved her soldier, her knight. She made light of her situation, saying that she would not desert her father. He wanted her to come away; she wanted him to quit the army. He could not desert the King's cause until he was so ordered by the King. She would not leave her father.