Authors: Erin Grace
The first five miles were
long and tiring. The next two had tested her perseverance and if it wasn’t for
her stubborn resolve to find out some facts about Banth, she might not have
made the last three.
On the
outskirts of a village, she stopped by the roadside, sat and rubbed her aching
calves.
In her
haste to leave the manor, she’d only worn rubber thongs never designed for such
distances. Red, swelling blisters had formed between her puffy toes. Her lungs
ached and stomach threatened to relieve her of what little lunch remained
there. Though after what she’d done to Rowan, she deserved the discomfort.
Catching
her breath, she glanced at her watch and groaned.
Three
hours, forty-two minutes.
Hah. Some
athlete. She wouldn’t be breaking any world records today.
Welcome to
Lyndon
the old painted sign before her read,
vindicating her pain. Now she must find the gypsy. But where to start?
As she
wandered through the main street of the town, she thought about her last
encounter with the woman. She’d so readily mocked the gypsy only days ago, and
now she was asking for her help. God, how she hoped after all her trouble, the
clairvoyant wouldn’t reject her. She needed answers.
An advert
for the show containing directions hung on a lamppost ahead, and she followed them.
In a nearby field, the streamers and banners of the carnival fluttered in the
breeze. Carny folk bustled about, raising tents, pounding in stakes. As she
passed by them, many stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
Okaaay,
feeling creepy again.
An
enormous, ogre-like man approached her, his large hairy arms folded across his
chest. Shit. She tried to smile. “Hi. Could you please tell me where I might be
able to find the gypsy woman?”
He stared,
his gaze unwavering.
She flexed
her sore fist, ridiculous though her situation was. She’d never be able to put
even a dent in this mountain of a man. Sighing, she prayed it wouldn’t come to
that. Not now. She was far too tired.
“Okay…um…you
have a fortune teller travelling with you, yes? An older lady, about so high,
gray hair, held back in a bun. Is she here? No?”
Still
nothing. In desperation, she tried to catch the eye of others nearby, but they
all turned and went about their chores as if she didn’t interest them anymore.
Perhaps they didn’t like to mingle with non-carny folk
As he
stepped toward her, she jumped back and raised her hand to halt him. “Look, I
don’t want any trouble. I just need to talk to--”
“Colin!” a
familiar voice called out from behind the giant. “Now don’t you go being so
rude. The young lady wants to talk to me, not you.”
Breathing a
sigh of relief, she peered around the man. Ill-fitting teeth and all, the gypsy
woman smiled at her from a short distance away. Thank goodness. Slowly, the man
stepped aside and frowned at her as she passed, a snarl curling his top lip.
The old
woman leaned forward and whispered. “Oh, don’t you worry about him, lovely. He thinks
he’s being brave. He looks out for me, bless him.”
Taking her
hand, the woman led her over to a small caravan parked near a tree. “I don’t have
my tent up yet, but I don’t think it matters. Besides, I’ve got a nice mug of
tea waiting for you on the table.”
“Waiting
for me? But, how did you…” The gypsy looked at her, smirked and raised an eyebrow.
“Never mind.”
Once inside
the tiny van, the woman sat down and asked her to do the same. The mug the gypsy
placed in front of her contained tea with milk, a pleasant surprise. She’d been
prepared for boiled newt’s eyes.
“One sugar
was it not?” The woman winked with a knowing smile.
Shocked the
gypsy had remembered, she sipped the brew and sighed. God, she needed that. “Yes.
It’s perfect, thank you.”
“Good to
hear. Now. What do you need to know?”
Swallowing
more of the hot drink, she took a deep breath. Where to start? Somehow though, she
knew no matter how insane her story sounded, this woman would probably believe
her. “I need to know what is going on at Banth manor. Can you help me?”
“Been
seeing things, have you?”
“Yes. Yes,
I have. Weird things. Horrible, some of them. They started out as just flashes,
images and now….it’s as if I’m in the middle of them. It’s the same dream over
and over again, but each time it keeps getting longer, more detailed.”
“Mmm. The
manor has a troubled past, lovely.”
“But why
can I see all these things? I don’t take drugs, or even drink that much. And
I’m not a psychic or anything. Hell, I don’t even believe in all that crap.
Sorry, I don’t mean to offend you.”
“That’s
okay. I’m used to it. More tea?”
“It’s just
that...I’m a scientist, a botanist, actually. I only know what’s real.”
“And faced
with the un-real, you can’t cope.”
“Un-real?
You mean the dreams?”
“Those
too.” The woman smiled and topped up her mug. “Help yourself to milk and sugar.
Perhaps something is trying to get your attention, lovely. Maybe, next time you
see these things, try to see what you are being shown.”
Oh no. More
riddles. Her brain couldn’t cope. “I am trying to see. I try to help, but can
do nothing. I shout, but no one knows I’m even there. What am I supposed to do
for all these people? And what am I going to tell Rowan?” She clasped the mug
tightly.
“You mean,
he doesn’t know?”
“Well, he
does now. Especially since I punched him in the mouth a few hours ago.”
Such a
coughing fit overwhelmed the woman, she almost dropped her mug. “You did what?”
“Yeah, I
know. But, that’s what’s happening to me. Now I’m even belting the man I love.”
Tears stung her eyes and her throat tightened, remembering the stunned look on
his face. She’d become a crazed monster.
“I see.”
The woman placed her mug on the table and straightened her glasses. “And, does he
love you?”
“I don’t
know. Perhaps. Maybe. But after my attack today, I wouldn’t blame him if he
cleared out and never spoke to me again.”
“Has he
said he loves you?”
“No. Why?”
“Strange.”
“You don’t
know the half of it.”
The woman
went quiet.
“Look. Can
you please tell me about what happened there? Maybe if I know, then I can understand
what is going on. I can’t take much more of it.”
“Very well,
lovely. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Great.
Please, tell me everything you know.”
“No, just
what I can.”
“Huh?”
“Now, the
story goes that there was a bitter feud between the two estates, Lord Donegal’s
and Lord O’Connell’s.”
“O’Connell?”
she interrupted. “That’s Rowan’s surname. Sorry, go on.”
“It had
been said, the feud spilled over into a bloody battle that claimed the life of
your ancestor Seamus Donegal. He was killed by one of the O’Connells.”
“So, are
you telling me that the manor is haunted by my ancestor’s ghost? No. I’m sorry,
I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Believe
what you wish, lovely. But something is trying to send you a message. Now apparently,
shortly after the battle, the lord O’Connell was returning through the forest
to his estate, riding ahead of his men, when he disappeared. No one knew what
happened to him. He was never seen or heard from him again.”
A silvery
shiver ran down her spine. “Never? Did they search?”
“Aye, but
no trace was ever found, so the legend goes. No body, no horse…no sign of a
fight or struggle. It was as if the earth opened up and swallowed him whole.”
“Where
exactly, did he disappear?”
“From what
I understand, somewhere in the woods behind the manor, the strip that runs between
the two estates. Well, it used to be two estates.”
“Then
what?”
“As it
happened, O’Connell hadn’t been married. So there was no heir to take charge.”
“What about
his family?”
“Oh,
cousins perhaps. Distant cousins from far and wide, but all with the same
intent, no doubt. To profit from his misfortune as much as they could.”
Ellen took
a long sip and gave the woman, who’d been so kind to her, an uncertain smile. How
could she repay her? She hadn’t even brought her wallet. “How do you know all
this? The people in town say they know nothing of any battle or feud.”
The gypsy
smiled. “Blessed are the ignorant, lovely. My family has lived in these parts
for over ten generations, all of them ‘healers’ as you call them. But, they
were all gifted with The Sight as well.”
“Sight? You
mean clairvoyance?”
“Yes,
though back then such gifts were never discussed, witchery being a very real
threat to us. But as herbal healers our talents were sought after and highly
prized. These days we’re laughed at, ignored, but we know better.”
“So, what
about the O’Connell estate now?”
The fortune
teller shrugged, the let out a deep sigh. “Not much to tell, really. The last I
heard, most of it had been divided and sold off. Even the original manor has
gone. Burned down years ago.”
“How is
then that Banth remains?”
“Donegal
had been married, to an English lady of all things, and had two heirs before he
was killed. Soon after his death, his wife packed the family up and moved back
to England. Many of their kin have come and gone there in the years since,
never choosing to stay very long.”
“I’m not
surprised,” she muttered. “Must have been the plumbing.”
“The place
holds a lot of bad energy, but it would be sad to see it go. I’ve never cared
much for golf anyway.”
“I never
mentioned about it being turned into a golf resort.”
“You
didn’t?” The gypsy gave her a devious smile and patted her hand. “Fancy that.
You’re a strong woman,
lovely. Know that.”
She placed
her mug on the table. “I don’t feel very strong.”
“You’re
going to need all your strength for what is to come.”
A lumped
formed in her throat. “What do you mean?”
“Hmm? Oh,
well, will you look at the time?”
She reached
out and caught the cuff of the woman’s sleeve. “Please, what did you mean?”
The woman
turned to her. “Just trust your heart, lovely. Just trust your heart.”
All the way
home, the gypsy’s last words preyed on her mind. She wasn’t strong. A few bad dreams,
and she’d fallen to pieces. Say what she wanted, the heavy sense of foreboding
in her gut told her it was more than that, and the old woman was right.
Damn.
Near midnight, she finally
reached the gates of Banth Manor. Exhausted and full of trepidation, she stood
before them, ready to collapse. Between fatigue and the night chill, she couldn’t
even feel her legs anymore.
All the way
home, tales of ghosts and haunting had spun webs of fear, but were nothing compared
to the pounding of her heart as she’d thought about what she would say to
Rowan.
She could
only apologize to him for what she’d done and hope to God he’d understand. Ignoring
the churning feeling in her stomach, she stumbled down the pebbled driveway and
headed toward the back of the manor.
If anything
dared get in her way of a soft bed, she would slay it without mercy.
Opening the
back door to the kitchen, she stepped into darkness. The room was cold and empty,
dark as pitch. No one seemed to be about. Tears welled in her eyes. Maybe Rowan
had left after all.
She
couldn’t blame him.
“You’re
home. I was getting worried.”
“Daniel?”
Her heartbeat jumped. Hell. “What are you doing here? Did Rowan let you in?”
“Rowan? No,
I let myself in. The door was unlocked. You really should be more careful, especially
with robbers about. I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you,
Ellen.”
What was he
doing there? She didn’t want to be left alone with him. “I appreciate your concern
but...”
He gestured
to a large bag on the table. “Since you didn’t have time to go out for dinner,
I brought you something to eat.”
Her legs
quivered in agony, as she propped herself against a chair. “That was very sweet
of you, but to be honest, I’ve just walked a long way and I’m really tired.
Couldn’t we make it another time?”
A strange
smile tilted his lips then he reached forward and brushed her cheek with the
back of his hand. A cold chill ran the length of her body, making her forget
about her pain.
“Of course,
Ellen. I understand completely. We’re so alike, you and I.”
She stepped
back, away from his touch. “We are?”
“Of course.
Both dedicated to our work, and we never have time for anything else. Such a pity.
We should make time.”
“Right.
Well, it’s late and I think you should go now.”
He clasped
her hand and brought it to his lips, kissed it then let it go. Hell.
“Sleep
well, Ellen.”
Angry, she
pasted on a smile. “I will.”
As soon as
he walked out the back door, she shut and bolted it. Strange young man. It had given
her the creeps to have found him waiting there. What was his game?
She’d have
to avoid him.
Her dirty
blistered feet were swathed in dozens of tiny plasters the gypsy had given her,
and felt like lead as she dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom. She opened
the door, and a chill draft licked around her ankles. No fire in there either,
or lamps, just soft rays from the moon shining through the windows. Too bad.
God, she was tired.
Kicking off
her thongs, she groaned, collapsed down on the bed, tucked up her aching legs and
pulled a cover over her. Lord, she was exhausted--mentally, emotionally and
physically.
As much as
she’d wanted to talk with him, finding Rowan would have to wait until morning.
* *
* *
Sitting at
the library desk downstairs late the next morning, the gypsy’s stories of
bloody battles and feuding lords weighed on her and she groaned in frustration.
She’d hoped by involving Rowan in her quest to translate the letters they would
become closer, but she’d failed.
A noise
came from the outside the window beside her. Window? Oh no, not again. The room
changed before her very eyes as she stood and went to the doorway of the
library. “Please be dreaming,” she whispered, and walked out into the grand
hall.
It was just
another vision, had to be. Then voices came to her, from people crying out in agony
and fear. Her blood ran cold. She hadn’t been mistaken.
The battle.
At a dead run, she flew across the mosaic tiled floor, pushed the front door
open and stepped outside.
The
tragically familiar sight of people running and chaos erupted all around,
except now she could hear their frantic cries for help. In the courtyard, the
group of soldiers stood there as before, this time with a taller well-dressed
man who spoke to them. The man from the library. He rested his hand on one of
the men’s shoulders as if reassuring him of something. Then he stopped and faced
her.
Lord
Donegal.
She froze.
Could he see her?
He walked
toward her, stopped only a foot away. She swallowed hard and opened her mouth to
speak. He seemed not to be looking at her, but through her. Hell. They probably
still couldn’t see her. She turned around, following his burning stare. A man
on horseback came toward them.
A cold
shudder wracked her. Foreboding returned, twisting her insides.
She glanced
over her shoulder. Soldiers were mounting their horses and helping people flee.
Meanwhile, Seamus Donegal walked back into the manor. “Wait. Donegal, Lord
Donegal! I need to talk to you. Warn you.” She ran to keep up with him, stepped
into the great hall, and when he disappeared into the library, followed him.
The room
was old again. No conservatory, just the large study. A familiar scene, but slightly
different.
Her ancestor
sat behind his desk and placed his sword on the table, but this time, someone approached
behind her. A dark, angry presence. Goosebumps rose all over her body. Every
hair stood on end. She couldn’t look. Donegal was going to be killed, and she
had to do something, but what?
Her heart
thumped fast. Determined-sounding footsteps echoed along the hall, getting
closer to the room. Donegal didn’t move.
Panic raced
through her. Come on, wake up! Please wake up. She didn’t want to be there any
longer, couldn’t face more bloodshed.
“Oh.” Her
breath caught as thousands of electric shocks surged through her, froze her to the
spot. A flash of movement made her look down. The apparition of a hand
appeared, coming through her stomach, followed by a leg and torso.
Speechless
as the horrible sensation continued, she shook. Then the entire body of a man had
passed through her. She buckled over, wanting to be ill.
Dazed,
unable to breathe as though she’d been punched in the gut, she tried to block
the pain, and looked up. The two men argued in the middle of the room, but now
the sound was garbled, like she was listening under water.
Donegal
seemed to be trying to reason with the aggressor, who stood with his back to
her.
“Rowan,”
Donegal called out.
Rowan?
Her stomach
twisted. She moved closer to the pair, and dread gripped her. The strange
figure was tall, broad shouldered. He seemed familiar – too familiar.
“No,” she
muttered to herself, shaking her head. “It can’t be.”
She shouted
at the men to stop, but they didn’t seem to hear her. As they picked up their swords,
she jumped back. The glint of steel flashed through the air. Pots and lamps
were struck and smashed, spilling their contents over the room. The fight
escalated to brutal swiftness.
Then, as if
it were a movie in slow mode, the entire scene crawled. Donegal fell back and hit
the floor. The attacker turned to him and raised his sword.
And in that
moment, time stood still.
She raised
her hands to her mouth and tried to scream. Nothing came out. The scene was deathly
silent. Shaking her head, she dropped to her knees and clasped her body tightly
with her arms.
It was
Rowan.
Face
twisted with hate and anger like she’d never seen before, he plunged his sword downward,
toward the stricken lord. The scene faded away, leaving her kneeling on the rug
beside the cold, black fireplace in the library.
Her eyes
stung with tears she fought to hold back. Running, she headed up the stairs,
reached her bedroom and slammed the door.
Her heart
felt ready to explode.
“No!” Gasping
in the sudden breath of air terror, she continued to deny the horrific vision.
It was just
a dream. And, not Rowan. Couldn’t be him.
Hell, what
was she thinking? It couldn’t have been him. That scene had to have happened
hundreds of years ago. She wiped the stream of tears from her flushed cheeks.
Surely it was just a dreadful vision.
Yet, as she
walked over to the bed and sat down, she shook. A terrible knowledge clawed at
her, refused to go away.
“Ellen!”
She jumped
and looked at the bedroom door. Rowan.
“Ellen,
open the door. I need to see you.”
An answer
stuck in her throat.
What to do?
Her heart yearned to let him in, but a new found fear kept her at bay.
She stood from the bed and
edged toward the window. Flashes of lightning lit up the room.
Rain pattered softly upon
the glass. “This is insane,” she muttered. “I love him. He would never hurt
me.”
The
pounding on the door grew louder, more intense. She put her hands over her
ears. “Just dreams. They were just dreams.” Her pulse raced until she began to
feel dizzy. “Enough!”
Everything--Rowan,
the visions, the robbers, the strange events, all swirled about inside her like
a monsoon of epic proportions. And soon she’d burst.
Arms
wrapped around her waist, she paced the cold wooden floor.
“Damn it,
Rowan! What is going on? I need to know the truth.” The banging went silent. “I…I
didn’t want to tell you, but you are starting to frighten me, and I don’t need
that right now.”
Breathing
deep, she pressed herself against the bedroom door, then slid down and sat on
the floor. “Rowan, I’m seeing things. Terrible things. It started the day I
came here. I thought at first they were just dreams, silly nightmares, but soon
after I was reliving the same scene over and over again, each time in more
detail--except I was awake. Rowan?”
Silence.
She took
another deep breath and drew her knees up to her. “I can’t explain it. I’ve
tried. You must think I’m crazy, but I’m becoming paranoid.”
“Ellen.
Please let me in.”
Oh God. His
voice was so soothing, like honey. She closed her eyes and touched the door.
“No, just
wait. I…I haven’t finished. I had another vision just now and it frightened me.
This time I was in the library again and a man was there. It was Lord Donegal.
As I watched, another man entered the room. He seemed angry, vengeful. The two
fought. Donegal was murdered, Rowan. And when the killer turned around and
faced me…it was you.” A strangled laugh escaped her. She rested her palm
against her forehead. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “But, it couldn’t be you,
could it. It was just a vision, something that happened long ago. But, the
letters…”
She reached
over and brushed her fingertips down the burnished wood, tears blurring her vision,
aching to hold him. He was so close. She wanted to feel his lips upon her
again. She was insane.
“Ellen,”
came through in a soft, but determined tone. Sighing, she drew in a stuttered
breath. “I must talk with you. Now. I’m coming in, but before I do, I beg for
your understanding. You must trust me,
tine mo chroi
.”
Tine mo
chroi
? She knew what that meant now. Fire of
my heart. “Rowan.”
“Stand away
from the door. Please, stay back.”
Shaking,
she rose, her legs barely able to hold her. Not knowing quite what to expect,
she moved to the window.
Wait. She
hadn’t unlocked the door for him.
As she
started for the door so he wouldn’t break it down, a pale hand passed through
it. She gasped, and despite her fear, was fascinated. The figure of a man
followed the hand. She stepped back further, which enabled her to fully take in
the ghostly sight. The man was tall and broad, green-eyed.
Her knees
almost gave way. “Rowan,” escaped her on a gasp.
For the
longest moment, she stood staring at him. He looked formed of mist, yet...
“Tell me I’m dreaming. That this isn’t real.”
Then he
moved toward her. She stepped back, and he heaved a sigh.
“You’ve no
need to fear me,
tine mo chroi
. I am what I am.”
A surge of
anger pushed through the haze of disbelief. “And, what exactly are you? A
ghost? A-a spirit? Oh God, now I’ve completely lost it.” She nodded and began
pacing the room. “Yep. That’s it. Dr. Ellen Quinn has finally cracked under the
pressure and bought herself a one way, first class ticket to the funny farm.”
He reached
out, took hold of her arms. The heat and hardness of his palms penetrated her
skin. He was real again, or solid. Hell, she didn’t know what to think. Never
had she been so confused.