Haunted Ground (3 page)

September 1650

England

Brendan was dead tired by the time he rode through the gates of his father’s house about ten miles north of Lincoln.  He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on his homesickness, putting home firmly out of his mind as he followed the army from place to place and battle to battle, but now that he saw the house, he felt an overwhelming surge of affection for the place and the people in it.  Everything seemed unusually quiet, but then it was almost suppertime, so maybe they were all inside.  Brendan saw a face at the window, but couldn’t make out whose it was.  The weather hadn’t improved much, wisps of fog swirling around his feet and wrapping the house in its gauzy embrace. 

He was so tired, he wished he could just let someone else stable Iver, but there was no one about, leaving him to do it himself.  The poor horse deserved that much, having carried him all this way with little rest and not enough food.  Iver was happily munching on oats as Brendan finally set off for the main house, trying in vain to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.  His father would have much to say, none of it good, before he was welcomed home and given a meal and a chance to wash and change the clothes he’d been living in for nearly two weeks. 

“Brendan!”  Meg flew into his arms, letting him go just as quickly and wrinkling her nose at the smell that came off him in waves. “Thank the good Lord you’re home at last.  We heard about the victory at Dunbar.  You must be pleased.” She gave Brendan a curious look as he failed to show appropriate enthusiasm, but she took it for fatigue and went on talking as she slid her arm through his.  “There’ve been changes since you left – big changes.”  Meg didn’t get a chance to tell him what she meant as the door flew open and Jasper appeared on the threshold, a mug in hand.

“Well, well, look who’s home,” he said, stepping aside to let Brendan enter the front room which his father always used for seeing visitors and tenants.  The room was the heart of the house, since that’s where the family met as well and all the important decisions were made. 

“Where’s father?” Brendan asked, suddenly even more nervous about facing the old man.  He hadn’t come out to greet him, so he was still angry, probably waiting for Brendan to come to him and make his case.  Their mother wasn’t there either, but Brendan could smell the aroma of roasting meat and boiled vegetables wafting from the direction of the kitchen and assumed his mother was busy preparing supper.  He’d go see her in a moment. 

Jasper flung himself into a seat by the hearth and gestured for Brendan to sit across from him.  They were never allowed to sit in their father’s chair, but Jasper made himself comfortable, taking a swallow of his beer and silently toasting to Brendan as Meg handed Brendan a cup of cool beer, which was very welcome. 

“Meg, get Brendan some food, will you?” Jasper called out to their retreating sister as he turned his attention to Brendan.  “Father’s dead, Brendan.  Died of apoplexy, not long after you left.  I’ve been running the estate since.”

Brendan gripped the armrests of the chair, not knowing what to do with the terrible pain that coursed through him at the news.  They’d never made up their argument, and now he’d never get a chance to tell his father that he was sorry, and that Wilfred had been right all along.  His father had seen where this was all going long before it even happened.  Brendan thought his father unenlightened and resistant to new ideas and change, but his father had a much greater understanding of the world and man’s hunger for power. At least his father died without other men’s blood on his hands, something that Brendan could no longer aspire to.

“And mother?” Brenda asked, suddenly afraid.

“She’s sleeping upstairs.  She’s been poorly since Father died.  I’m surprised she’s lasted this long, truth be told.  I think she was waiting for you.”  A look of annoyance crossed Jasper’s face at that revelation.  He’d always maintained that their mother loved Brendan more, and although she’d denied it vehemently, everyone knew it to be true. 

“You look like hell, by the way,” Jasper said with a sour chuckle, “and a bath wouldn’t come amiss.”

Jasper, on the other hand, looked the picture of health.  He was about the same height as Brendan, but he’d always been stockier with a barrel chest and bulging muscles that strained the fabric of his shirt while he worked.  He looked well-fed and pleased with life, his face ruddy from spending so much time outdoors.  They were different in looks as well.  Whereas Brendan took after their mother with dark hair, hazel eyes and a bronzed skin, Jasper was fair like their father, his eyes more brown than green and light skin that quickly turned red from sun or wind.  

“I know.  I’m dead on my feet.”  He wanted to ask Jasper about their father’s final days, if he might have forgiven Brendan for leaving, but he couldn’t form the words, didn’t want to cry in front of his younger brother.  He’d ask Meg later.  She’d let him cry and hold him like she used to when he was little and she was his big sister.  He gave her a grateful look as she handed him a plate of mutton and some fresh bread.  Despite his sour mood he was starved, his body crying out for nourishment after months of living mostly on biscuit and cheese. 

“We heard about Dunbar, of course,” Jasper continued.  “Four thousand dead and ten thousand taken prisoner.  What a victory,” he exclaimed, taking stock of Brendan.  “Have you killed many?”

“Enough.”

“Enough for what?” Jasper asked, eager to hear more about the battle.

“Enough not to want to do it anymore.”  Brendan didn’t elaborate, but Jasper caught on fairly quick.   

“So, you’ve deserted, have you?” he asked, eyes bulging with shock. 

“I have.  I don’t have the stomach for it anymore.  Father was right about all of it.”

“And our men?” Jasper asked, his eyes full of scorn.  “All dead, I presume, just as Father predicted?”

“They are.”  Meg made excellent mutton, but at the moment it tasted like ashes in Brendan’s mouth, seasoned with bitterness, guilt, and the knowledge that nothing could undo the wrong he’d done to the families of the fallen.  They’d only gone out of loyalty to him, not to the cause, and now they were all dead, their families about to be disabused of the hope that their men were coming back. 

“Brendan, do you know what they do to deserters?” Jasper asked, his eyes surprisingly merry.  “You can’t stay here.  You can rest tonight, but must leave first thing in the morning.  They’ll come looking for you, and if they do, we’re all in danger.  Your allegiance to Cromwell has kept us out of harm’s way these past few years, but now that you’ve done a runner, there’s nothing to protect us from the Roundheads.  You need to lie low for a time
—
a long time.”  Jasper gave Brendan a searching look, his mouth stretching into a sly smile.  “Besides, I’m now lord and master here, and you need to leave.”

“What do you mean, you are lord and master?” Brendan asked, shocked.  He was the eldest son, their father’s heir.  It’s only natural that Jasper would take over with father dead and Brendan gone, but now that he was home, Jasper would need to step down.

“Oh, have I forgotten to mention it?”  Jasper paused for dramatic effect, his eyes dancing with joy, “Father disinherited you after you left and signed over the estate to me in the event of his death.”  Jasper’s face was a joker’s mask of triumph and undisguised glee.  He’d been saving that particular morsel for the right moment, and this was it.

Brendan felt as if he’d just been kicked in the stomach by a horse.  Would his father have really gone that far to punish him?  He’d grown up knowing that he was going to take over when his father died.  The family had extensive holdings and Brendan would be a wealthy man, but if what Jasper was saying were true, he’d be left with nothing, especially if he couldn’t stay and share in the profits of the estate.  He’d saved most of his soldiering pay and had a purse full of coin, but that was about it.  It wouldn’t last him more than a year, even if he lived frugally.

“Where am I to go, brother?” Brendan asked, bitterness filling his soul.  He’d always known Jasper was one to look to his own interests, but he never thought his own brother would boot him out for fear of harboring a deserter.  Or maybe this was just a handy excuse for getting him out of the way so that he couldn’t challenge Jasper’s claim to the estate.  This was the only home Brendan had ever known, and now he was being banished, possibly forever.  Jasper wouldn’t relinquish hold on the estate after getting a taste of power.  He wanted to be the undisputed master, and the best way to accomplish that was to get rid of his older brother once and for all.

Jasper shrugged, turning his face to the fire.  “Go to mother’s kin.  They’ll take you in, if only for mother’s sake.  Uncle Caleb’s always had a soft spot for you on account of having no sons of his own.”  He turned as Meg entered the room once again, quiet as a mouse.  “Meg, draw a bath for Brendan,” he called out, signaling that the conversation was over.  Brendan rose to his feet and silently left the room.  He needed to think before he acted, and not do anything rash.  Jasper was his brother after all
—
his blood. 

***

The water was steaming hot as Brendan shed his clothes and got in.  He’d talk to Jasper in the morning and get him to see sense.  He could just stay out of sight for a while and hide out on the estate.  There was no need to leave.  Jasper was just surprised by Brendan’s arrival and fearful for his position within the family.  If their father had truly signed over the estate to him, then there was nothing Brendan could do but accept Jasper as the heir.  They could both live off the estate.  God knew there was enough for a dozen men.  Brendan sank deeper into the water, enjoying a few moments of bliss before scrubbing the grime of the past few weeks away.

“Brendan.”  Meg slipped into the room, quietly closing the door behind her and kneeling by the tub.  “I tried to tell you before, but didn’t get the chance.”

“It’s all right, Meg.  We’ll work it out.”  Brendan tried to reassure her, but deep down, he wasn’t feeling very confident that Jasper would be willing to work anything out.  In this instance, he held all the cards.  “Why aren’t you at home with your children?” Brendan asked, surprised that Meg was still there.  At this time of the evening women were at home seeing to supper and preparing their children for bed. 

  “Brendan, I have to talk to you,” she whispered, watching the door with a look of naked fear in her eyes. 

“What is it, Meg?  What’s happened?”  Brendan touched her face, needing to see her smile, but her lips were pursed and her eyes darted hither and thither as she began to soap his back.  “I have no proof, mind, but I believe father didn’t die of natural causes.  He was in robust health just days before he collapsed,” Meg whispered urgently.  “Jasper had father make out a deed naming him heir.  Father wouldn’t have done it, but he was so angry after you left, he was ripe for the picking, and Jasper was relentless in his campaign to become the heir.  Father died only a few days after the deed was signed.  I think Jasper had a hand in it,” she murmured.  “I wouldn’t put anything past him these days.”

Brendan turned to face his sister, his mouth opening in a silent O of shock as her words sank in and took hold, painting his homecoming in a different light.  “Are you suggesting that Jasper killed him?” 

“Was there anything to suggest that he had?” Brendan asked, his mind reeling.

“About a week after Father died, I’d gone to see Old Bertha.  Remember her?”  Old Bertha had been called ‘Old’ for as long as anyone could remember, although she likely wasn’t older than fifty.  She was a wisewoman, skilled in the ways of healing and midwifery.  Everyone in the surrounding area came to Old Bertha for medicinal potions, love charms, and just good old advice.

“The boys were running a fever and I went to fetch some willow bark.  We fell to talking and Bertha happened to mention that Jasper had been to see her recently.  Now, why would Jasper, who’s not been ill a day in his life, go to see Bertha? Hmm?”

“What are you suggesting?” Brendan hissed as he heard footsteps in the other room.

“I am suggesting that Jasper might have purchased some poison.  A death from poison could easily be mistaken for apoplexy.  It’s not as if there was a physician to attend father.  He died and was buried, so no one would be the wiser.”

“Meg, Old Bertha is a shrewd woman, one well-versed in the ways of human nature.  Do you think that if Jasper came and bought poison and a few days later his father died of apoplexy, she might not have been suspicious?”  Brendan was surprised by the stubborn look on Meg’s face.  She’d always been so calm and practical, and now she sounded nearly hysterical, her fears getting the better of her.  He wished he could reassure her somehow, but at this point, he had no idea what to believe.

“Perhaps, but as you pointed out, she’s wise enough to know when to keep her mouth shut.  With Father gone, Jasper is now the landlord, and Bertha lives on his land.  What good would it do her to start trumpeting her suspicions?  He could have her evicted, or worse…  Maybe telling me was enough to soothe her conscience.”

“Meg, even if that were true, you don’t have a shred of proof.  So Jasper went to see Bertha.  He could have been suffering from constricted bowels, for all you know.  Or maybe his humors were out of balance from all that drinking.  He wouldn’t be the first or the last to seek some tonic from the wisewoman.  Had she actually said that he bought poison?” Brendan asked patiently.

“Well, no,” Meg conceded.  “Maybe you’re right.  I just haven’t been myself lately.  It’s all been too much to bear.  I didn’t get a chance to tell you about Rob.”