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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 31 & 32

September 17, 2020September 16, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

Every Monday and Thursday brings two more free chapters of my exciting historical paranormal romance novel, Return to Rhonan (that’s four chapters each week). Set mainly in the Scottish Highlands, the reader will find much to enjoy on this mysterious well researched journey.

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

All Available Chapters!

Return to Rhonan: Chapters 31 & 32

Chapter 31

Wearily, Jess returned to her room to see the answer phone flashing. Pressing the button, she listened to his voice, ’Jess – you have to stop this. We have to meet up. Nat has just told me about the attack. For goodness sake – don’t you think you have punished me enough? Please answer this message; I’m worried sick about you. I love you. Just answer – please.’

Tears sprung to her eyes, stupid – stupid pride. She should answer it – wanted to answer it; the bitterness replaced with yearning. Her hand hesitated over the phone. She realized how awkward it was for all concerned. The friends would feel obliged to invite him to the séance. It was after all his hotel. They couldn’t spurn him because of the quarrel. Maybe he wouldn’t turn up. Part of her felt relieved at the thought, but another part longed for him to be there. Taking a deep breath, she knew she had to get this together – meet it with dignity. Even if her heart did threaten to leap through her chest.

Dropping her hand to her side, she turned to the window, looking over the lake, the water dark and still, the mausoleum barely visible. Walking out to the balcony she clutched the wrought-iron railing as she whispered, ‘Murial – who are you? What do you want?

Re-entering the room, Jess shut and locked the large windows. She looked again at the phone; it was late; the wine had gone to her head; her speech might be fuzzy; she might babble, or not make sense – best to leave it until she was quite sober. But then, without the wine maybe she wouldn’t find the courage to phone him.

After undressing and donning an oversized tee shirt, she brushed her hair, plating it into two long braids and pinning them on top of her head. That familiar heaviness tugged at her eyes, as she climbed into the bed pulling the duvet up around her.

Murial struggled awake to Becky pounding on the door. ‘Milady, wake up, wake up.

Unlocking the door, she met the frightened eyes of the maid, ‘Oh milady tis terrible news – you must come quickly. Tis the village of Tanmore, the soldiers are tumbling the cottages.’

Splashing her face with water Murial flung on a fine lawn shirt hanging ready for her along with men’s underdrawers and her leather knee breeches. Oh God, this would happen with Duncan on his way to Jamaica.

Pulling on thigh-high boots, she snatched up her riding crop and belt with her short sword. Whilst buckling it on, she dashed after the maid, shouting out to her to run to the stables and see her horse was saddled. Meanwhile, she ran to Guy’s room. ‘Guy, wake up, wake up Guy,’ When he didn’t answer, she pushed the door open, only to find the cluttered room empty. Running down the broad oak staircase, she made her way to the dining room but again, the room was empty. Seeing a servant scurrying by she shouted, ‘Where’s Sir Guy?’

‘He’s saddling his horse in the stables milady, tis such a terrible thing – a terrible thing.’

Hearing the clatter of horses’ hooves outside, she ran to find Guy waiting for her, his delicate face paler than ever. ‘Come on Sis, seems the devils couldn’t wait.’

She saw John the footman already saddled up along with the kennel man and head groom. A couple of other male servants made up the group. At least if there was a skirmish, they had enough manpower and weapons. She just wished Duncan was with them. He would certainly have rounded up more men, and he was a formidable adversary.

As they rode to the village, Murial said, ‘So the estate owner is evicting them?’

Guy’s face was grim. ‘Aye – he wants the land for grazing.’

‘But surely he can’t do this – how can he turn a whole village out of their homes? There must be ninety families living there. They can’t possibly turn starving families out of their very homes?’

‘Tis within the estate owners’ rights. They can do anything they like with the land; you know the tenants have no rights at all.’

‘But we know these tenants. They are quite prosperous, built the cottages themselves. Do you remember? They saved the land, over four hundred acres, from the bog, split the stones up themselves and built the cottages with their own hands. Now that fiend is destroying their homes. I know the tenants have the rent ready. They are renowned for paying their rent upfront. Oh God – how is this allowed to happen?’

‘Tis avarice – selfishness. Many of the estate owners just treat their tenants like animals. Look at Father, he has them use tunnels. He has forbidden any of them to show themselves when he is in residence. He even has the tunnels running under the front lawns, so they cannot be seen. Only the house servants are allowed above ground and that is through sheer necessity.’

Before reaching the village, they could hear the screams, smell the air acrid with smoke, hear the roar of soldiers’ voices. The scene that met them tore at Murial’s heart. It was a picture from Dante’s Inferno no less. Thatch, slates and stones flew through the air as the infantry tore off the roofs of the cottages. A small canon boomed creating jagged holes in the stone walls, tumbling them to the ground.

Murial could see the villagers had been abed when the soldiers attacked the village. Some were half dressed, others still in their nightclothes. Men fought with spades and bits of wood only to be felled by armed militia. Women screamed holding onto doorposts, desperate to stay in a home now just a pile of rubble and burning wood. Their children sobbed clinging to their skirts.

Guy with Murial following, led the group into the melee of muskets, swords and blood, screaming for the soldiers to desist. Riding up to the Captain she shouted, ‘I order you to stop now, I am from Rhonan Manor and I order you by the name of the Earl to desist.’

The man trying to keep his horse quiet shouted back, ‘I take orders from the General – forgive me but this work must be done.’ Turning her horse away from him, she cursed, ‘Damn you; these are decent law-abiding people. You are doing the devils work this day Sir, the devil’s work.’

Guy rode to her side. ‘Tis no use Murial – there is nothing we can do. There are too many. Come let us go now. ‘

‘Never.’ She screamed, ‘I’ll fight them with every bone in my body. Come Guy raise your sword and fight. Charging into the crowd, she swiped at the soldiers working on the cannons, trying to pull others from their horses. They dare not touch her for she was one of the Quality, yet neither did the soldiers fall back. Guy, John and the other men bravely took on the attackers, swords in hand to be met with broadswords or knocked to the ground fighting to keep out of the way of the horses, rearing terrified, their eyes wide, hooves chopping air.

Leaping off her horse, Murial went to the aid of one young woman holding a baby whilst fighting to snatch some belongings from the smoking ruins, her child crying, clutching a rag doll. Using the flat of her sword, she struck a soldier on the back, whereupon, she rallied the horse around to hit another across the side of his head. Dazed, he looked at her with shocked eyes, before falling to the ground. She turned to help the woman, snatching up a frying pan, bed linen and some clothes before escaping from the flames.

Short of killing the soldiers, Guy and Murial were almost helpless. They could not turn them away. Horrified at the screams of the children, she looked to see older ones bravely trying to fight the soldiers with their bare fists only to be flung aside. As she raced towards them, to her horror, she saw a young man barley sixteen years old, try to defend his mother. Everything turned to slow motion as she ran to help him only to see the soldier lift his gun and shoot the lad in the head, hearing the mother’s anguished wail as he fell dying at her feet.

Holding the weeping woman struggling in her arms Murial screamed at him, ‘You bastard – I’ll kill you – kill you.’ Baring her teeth she let go of the mother lunging at him with her sword tip now pointed towards him. The force of her thrust knocked him down. Together they rolled in the dirt and ashes of the ruin, the man narrowly escaping a fatal blow as her sword bounced off his chest armour. The mother now screaming like a banshee leapt on him, fists flailing giving Murial the advantage. Snarling, clenching her teeth she yelled as she leapt to run him through only to feel herself lifted away. Guy’s voice rang out, ‘Don’t Murial – don’t hang for him.’

Still kicking, trying to escape his arms she cried, ‘He killed a child Guy – an innocent lad – I’ll murder him, run him through.’

Wresting the sword from her, he helped her back on her horse. ‘Murial – my braw brave girl – save yourself to help others. Tis all we can do now.’

Murial put her head in her hands and wept. As she wiped away the hot tears, she saw another child lying on the ground, her tiny body battered by horses’ hooves. Kicking her horse into a gallop she rode over to the Captain, who was still on his horse watching the heart-wrenching turmoil, she said. ‘You will rue this day Captain – don’t talk to me of duty – this is evil – the slaying of innocents.’

He turned a weary head to her, his eyes glittering, ‘He will pay for that act madam. Tis not our choice; this day will burn in our hearts. The order was not to shoot death into the crowd. That blackguard will not live to see the night – that I promise you.’

Murial turned her head to see the man now manacled, led out of the fighting.

Chapter 32

Jessie moaned, as if in pain, her body writhing between the sheets. Rivulets of sweat rippled down her face, running in beads onto her chest. She was living a nightmare – Murial had reached out once more and drawn her into the shocking reality of the Clearances. Part of her wanted to stay in the dream to see if Murial and Guy could help the victims, the other part of her struggled to escape experiencing the sheer cruelty meted out to the helpless tenants. Thrashing her arms, she fought to escape, to gain consciousness. Forcing her eyes open, she blinked away the sweat, feeling her clothes wet to her skin.

Swinging her legs off the side of the bed Jessie rose to walk to the bathroom. Switching on the cold-water tap, scooping up handfuls of cold water, and bathing her face, she looked into the mirror, seeing the violet shadows beneath the eyes, the horror in her gaze. Had that really happened? Had a landlord or estate owner been so callously cruel as to rip people from their own homes, burning them to the ground? Did he ever feel remorse for those wretched people, innocent law-abiding citizens and defenseless children?

They’d paid the rent, goddamn. Where were the laws to protect them? Jessie remembered the grim faces of the soldiers and something else in their eyes, a dreadful flatness, as if they were trying to blank out the devil himself. How did they feel as their horses stamped on the fragile bodies of the children, on the mothers trying to save them?

Why was Murial showing her these gut-wrenching scenes? Did she want retribution? But, how could Jessie help two centuries later? It had all happened – there was nothing she could do. It was like watching the appeals on television for Somalia, sending money only to know that thousands of pounds would be swallowed down the ever hungry throats of corrupt governments. It was too late for many of the helpless starving children. Even now in a century where technological advances challenged mortality itself, famines broke out. Even now, there were worlds of extremes, of celebrities earning millions, of children in the ghettos starving – dying.

Was Murial showing her because she wanted her descendents to know what she suffered? What Scotland suffered? Pouring herself a glass of water, she began to drink, only to find herself slipping back into the dream. No, this couldn’t be happening. Powerless to resist, she felt the trance, numbing her body, her mind, as she slumped in the chair.

Within hours not one cottage stood. After the departure of the soldiers, the former tenants picked among the smoking ruins. Murial worked alongside the evicted tenants. Nearby Guy and the men, hurled debris aside helping those half buried under fallen doors and rubble. Added to their despair, on the estate owner’s orders, no help was to be given them from neighbours in the adjacent village. They were to leave the estate for the coast before night.

Not even the children or babies were to be offered shelter. The stricken villagers now faced a night without food on the roads.

Murial, her face and clothes grimy with dirt and ashes saw a small cavalcade arrive. She managed to smile as Meg along with some servants arrived with a cart laden with food and clothes and bedding. It was mutually decided to ignore the estate owner’s orders and to build a habitable space in the ruins with doorposts serving to hold a roof of branches and turf. At least, that way they would have a couple of days to plan what they might do to survive the roads.

As night fell, so tenants from a neighbouring village crept in unseen to help. The stricken victims sat with hearts broken in the ruins of what was once a beloved family home. The remains of cherished kitchen dressers served as benches on which to sleep. These people through the toil of their own hands had enjoyed a certain prosperity, but even that did not save them when the estate owner claimed the very land on which the cottages stood.

Murial watched Meg handing out food, whilst she provided the half-naked villagers with warm clothes but sadly, there were not enough to go around, the villagers’ own clothes and bedding having been destroyed in the tumbling. Murial waved a weary hand to Guy, and others helping the men to try to build makeshift dwellings, chopping up branches, heaving loads of rescued turf. At least that would give them some shelter against the cold and rain of the night hours.

Dawn ushered in Hell. The soldiers were back to drive them from the very ruins. Again, with no warning, the broken people awoke to the thrum of horses’ hooves and the clash of metal swords. Murial opened her eyes to see the soldiers surrounding the ruins; weapons raised. Desperate cries wrought the air, ‘Ye canna do this? Oh dear God in heaven save us – save us oh Lord.’ The people scattered pausing to scoop up their sobbing children as they climbed from the mud and ashes of the blackened holes, their only shelter.

One woman fell to her knees followed by others who held up their hands in prayer. ‘Please Mary Mother of God, save us, save the wee bairns. Do not desert us Mother Mary – save our bairns.’

But, the only replies were the coarse curses of the solders as they dragged them praying from the ruins.

Murial knew it was useless to fight, but she could at least see they were not roughly handled, ‘Get your bloody hands off her.’ she cried as one soldier dragged a woman half dressed along the ground. Seeing her raised sword, he dropped the pitiful form.

Clutching a handful of clothes with the odd cauldron, the people were forced off the estate and onto the open road now, only the ditches could offer any respite.

Streams ran through some of the ditches, others were almost a bog. Wearily, Murial rode alongside the evicted tenants, a child on her lap, another clinging on behind her.

Riding alongside her with more children on his horse, Guy said, ‘Murial you’ve had no rest. You must go back to the Manor, rest, eat and then return in warm clothing.

Her eyes felt full of grit as she looked at him. ‘No, we have to see these people settled. We must do what we can now. Besides I would not rest. You know that. I am strong I can carry on.’

‘But Murial−‘

‘No Guy – please, there are over four hundred people here, let’s find somewhere for them at least for tonight. Thank God, some people from the other estates have ignored the threats of the estate owners; they have come en masse to help us. Even if it means they too could lose their homes. They’ve brought clothes, blankets, food, cooking pots, dry wood. They can help build the shelters in some of the dryer ditches. But, Guy it’s shocking, only yesterday these people were abed in their own homes, a fire in their grates, warm kitchens, pretty parlours and now this. They built those cottages Guy, saved the land from the bog. Not much is getting into the newspapers. These innocent hardworking people have done nothing to deserve such treachery. The world does not know yet. And when it does, it will be too late for many of them here.’ With a sob, she clutched the child to her breast.

Even in a state of shock, the courage of the Scottish people shone through, some singing, others talking quietly and yet others softly bewailing their fate. Yet, their spirit was not yet broken, neither did they blame their God, as they set to building the shelters in the ditches. Some men dug as others stamped down the ground. The women gathered branches and turf in readiness for the makeshift roofs. By nightfall, the fires were lit on the roadside and the food cooking, but it was not enough. Many tonight would go hungry for yet another night. Murial wondered how long the food would last. The neighbours could only share so much as they themselves were near starving.

Mud seeped into the bottom of the ditch as Murial awoke to light filtering through the branches overhead. The earthen walls of their tomb seeming to shake as the occupants awoke to a dull thudding. Pushing aside a couple of the branches overhead, she heard men shouting. ‘They’re here again – tis the soldiers.’ Murial tried not to disturb the sleeping child as she climbed to her feet. Her whole body ached from half sitting half lying huddled among the evicted tenants. Wearily, she wiped streaks of mud from for her eyes as she peered into the distance. Yes, they were coming; she could see the flash of sunlight on steel. Dear God – what now?

Groups of people were already about, as dawn peeled back the night. Joining Guy, who stood quietly talking to a group of men, she heard him say, ‘They will not attack us surely, these are ditches, the people must rest somewhere. They must be on their way to yet another estate.’ His words were cut short as the soldiers neared their weapons raised menacingly. A woman screamed; others began to shout as Murial watched some soldiers alight from their horses and begin tearing off the roofs of the shelters, dragging out the screaming people.

Her heart pounding Murial ran forward, what was happening now? Surely, they couldn’t be evicting them from the ditches, from mud-filled holes in the ground? Running to her horse, she untethered him and leapt on his back. She looked a mess; a beggar with a filthy mud streaked face, and dirt caked clothes, as she joined Guy, who was now speaking angrily to the Captain. She caught his words, ‘This is beyond belief Captain – how in hell’s name can you evict these people from the ditches? They are past the boundaries of the estate surely?

The Captain shook his head bringing out a map, ‘Sir; they may be beyond Lord Tanmore’s estate, but they are now on Lord Gallagher’s estate. They must keep to the roads until they reach the forests and the coast.’

Guy’s face whitened. ‘You can’t do this – in God’s name man they will perish for sure, tis only the bogs and the forests left to them.’ Shaking his head, Guy turned to see Murial approach. It’s no use Murial– there is nothing we can do.’

Murial bit her lip. For once, she was lost for words. Neither Guy nor she could start fighting; people would be hurt more than they were now. Looking at the Captain she said, ‘How can you live with yourself. Could you not have turned a blind eye to this? Could you not let these poor people rest? At least let the children eat?’

The Captain looked at her with dreadful eyes, his speech almost a whisper. ‘I am sworn to serve my General – t’would be treason to disobey. I and my men would be hung or shot madam. May God forgive me for this day’s work.’

Guy spoke softly, ‘Come sister, you are needed at the Manor – there are others there who are near starving – dying. Let us go.’

Murial bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears, as she whispered, ‘Captain let them eat first – please.’

The Captain bowed his head, ’Of course madam – then we must escort these people from the estates. Be assured no one will be hurt. Death will go hungry today.’

No part of this book may be stored, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Other Chapters

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

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books, fiction, historical romance, supernatural;

Return to Rhonan: Chapters 29 & 30

September 14, 2020September 6, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

All Available Chapters!

Return to Rhonan: Chapters 29 & 30

Chapter 29

Jessie jumped on, hearing the deep tones of a male voice. ‘That is miraculous – dramatic.’

Her heart beating a tattoo, she swept round to see an incredibly handsome man in his early twenties. His skin had a golden sheen, hazel eyes sparkling, hair glittering blonde streaks in chestnut waves falling to his shoulders. The clothes were immaculate if a little odd, pantaloons and a white frilled shirt with silk cravat, from which sparkled a diamond stickpin the size of a hazelnut. Astonished, she felt a rush of heat through her body, a yearning to peel off her clothes and appear naked before him. Her thoughts reeled as she fought for control. She knew some women couldn’t resist good-looking men, but this was ridiculous.

His eyes shone knowingly. ‘Tis beautiful, you are Jessie.’ Without the slightest hesitation, he strode towards her, opening his arms. She tried to tell herself this was a dream, a nightmare but felt his lips close on hers. Frightened, she found herself responding while trying to fight her desire. Their mouths touched, tongues tasted. Fevered hands stroked. Massaging her back, he pulled at her jeans, nudging her to the floor. Groaning – lost, she felt him pull away, as Dinah shouted in the distance. Astonished Jessie watched, as he vanished in a column of rippling air, gasped as a rush of wind swirled around her. Tears streaming, she pulled the tank top down, struggling to zip up her jeans.

Stumbling to the door, she looked down the path to see Dinah walking briskly towards her with George in tow. Strolling arm in arm behind them were Lucy and Nat. She tried to compose herself, giving a rictus smile.

As Di walked through the door, she glimpsed Jessie’s face. Turning quickly, she shouted out to the others, ‘Hey, give us a few minutes. Jessie’s caught up here.’ Putting her hands on Jess’s shoulders, she said, ‘Hey – you look like hell.’

‘I feel I’ve just been there. You won’t believe this, but a ghost tried to seduce me. That’s not the worst, I wanted it.’ Tears tumbled down her cheeks, ‘I lost control, this guy just stood there, and I was ready to … I didn’t even know his name, and I wanted him to ….’

‘God. Oh my God, Jess.’

‘You stopped it by shouting out to me.’

‘What – how?’

‘He heard your voice and then vanished. The air rippled; I heard it whoosh around me. Di it was a ghost – couldn’t have been human.’

‘Incubus. Oh God, it was an incubus. Did it…?’

‘No –’

Look, d’you want me to get rid of the others?’

‘No – no, I think they should know Di. It might be you or Lucy next time.’

Going to the door, Dinah talked in hushed tones. Silently, their faces tense, the friends trouped in. Lucy came straight over, holding her gently. ‘I’m sorry, Jess – this is horrific.’

George gave a troubled glance. ‘What the hell happened, Jess?’

Di opened a bottle of wine, pouring a generous measure into a glass for Jess. Handing it to her, she said, ‘Wish we had some brandy. This can’t be happening – it’s too much.’

George came over hesitantly and knelt before Jess, taking her hand. ‘Can you talk about it?’

Jess nodded and taking a gulp of wine, ‘It’s a living nightmare. First, Murial just appeared in my room. And now this, I’m surrounded by ghosts – it’s terrifying. – unreal. Murial was actually sitting at the desk. Flesh and blood. I just ran – that’s why I’m here.’

Di looked at them ‘This is far worse. They’re not going to let Jessie alone. But I don’t think the incubus is anything to do with Murial – it‘s too evil.’

Nathan cleared his throat. ‘The priest warned us about this. He said there was a darker force at work – that Murial was shielding us from it.’

Jess looked up. ‘Darker force?’

Nat shook his head, sighing. ‘We should have told you Jess, but we didn’t want to start a panic – we thought Father O’Reilly had cleared everything. But, he did warn that maybe he wasn’t strong enough – maybe we needed a Jesuit.’

Dinah scowled, ‘We should have known. Jess could have been seduced or murdered here tonight by a bloody demon.’

George muttered, ‘We’ve got to do something about this and quickly.’

‘What?’ Dinah got up and put her arms around Jessie. ‘What the hell can we do?’

Nat said hesitantly. ‘We’ve gotta tell Douglas.’

Jess lifted her head sharply. ‘No – no way. He’s a Neanderthal when it comes to anything psychic. I just couldn’t cope with that.”

‘Look, I know about the row. He’s hurt you.’

‘Bloody right, he has.’

‘Jess, he’s got a short fuse.’

‘That’s no excuse.’

‘He’s got a lot of things on his mind – a lot to lose. When he’s crossed, he’s got a tongue like a rusted razor. Look, did you know about the inheritance?’

Jessie’s eyebrows knitted together. “What? He did say something about an inheritance – but it was all so sudden – I just couldn’t take it in.’

Nat lowered his head as he said, ‘You all might as well know. We could be in deep shit soon.’

Turning to the friends, he said, ‘I know it’s no excuse for Doug’ acting like he did, but he’s pushed to the wall at the moment. Seeing as you all seem to be involved, I’d better explain.’

Taking a gulp of his wine, Nat leaned against the table. ‘Two years ago, my brother inherited this place. We thought it was great; we were bloody millionaires, a Manor, a ruined castle, and seven million pounds. Then the Solicitor told us Douglas wasn’t a direct descendent. He’s descended from Duncan’s younger brother Guy. There’s a codicil to the will, it’s due to run out at the end of this month believe it or not. Anyway, the Codicil says that if a direct descendent is found, then the whole estate reverts to them. Doesn’t matter what we’ve done to improve it. They take the whole lot and money.’

Jess tapped her foot, her mind seething. ‘So he thinks I want the estate?’

‘Yeah. Look, there’ve been so many fraudsters creeping out the woodwork, claiming this and that. We’ve been presented with wills on parchment made to look antique, or portraits they’ve sworn they’ve found in the attic when the truth is, they were painted the week before. Then there’re claims of old love letters, lockets.’

Dinah said sharply, ‘Lockets?’

‘Yeah, stuff people have bought from antique shops or found in a car boot sales, and then putting in a sketch or claiming it to be that of Duncan or Murial. Easily done, the two portraits are there on show in the gallery, and there’re copies of them dotted around. People even come with scraps of paper in old dolls.’

‘But surely the lawyers can trace the family back?’

‘Yeah, but these claim they were the love child of this or that person, so there’s no physical trace. Others know Duncan either drowned or disappeared, so they make up stories about the suicide. Slimy bastards. He’ll agree to an exorcism now, so far, he’s refused the Jesuit priest coming here, but he doesn’t have a choice. One thing I do know Jess – Doug’s crazy about you.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so after the way he talked to me.’ He’s breaking apart Jess. The guy’s in love with you.’

Chapter 30

Jess felt hope like iced water freezing the pain. He was in love with her? Then why be so bloody ferocious, but she could see the reasoning behind his flare-up. Did he honestly think she wanted the hotel that she would resort to fraud? But then, he hardly knew her. Even so, she’d felt that he really cared for her that it wasn’t just lust. After all, they’d talked long into the night. Did he really love her, or had he listened to his glands? ‘So what am I supposed to do, forgive him, kiss him for putting my heart through a meat mincer?’

Nat went to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. ’Just give him a chance. He’s got to deal with this now.’

‘How can I? I feel like a piece of shit that he’s just stepped in. But, thanks for telling me; it makes it a bit clearer. Not that I−’

Nat could sense she was hesitating. Douglas was in with a chance. Better to cut it short before she changed her mind. ‘Okay, leave it at that – just think about it.’

Jess resigned herself to the moment. ‘I could do with another drink. D’you want one?’ She wanted oblivion, to exorcise both the horror of the demon and the heartbreak of Douglas from her mind.

As she went towards the drinks, Dinah called out, ‘I’ll do that Jess, you just sit and relax.

Nat said, ‘I think I ought to go tell Douglas about this.’

Seeing his lips set in a grim line, Dinah said, ‘I don’t know that Jess will take him back. I’m sorry I know he’s under pressure, but he was a bastard.’

Nat grimaced. ‘There’s more to it than you know Di. It’s not just the hotel there are other things involved, I just can’t tell you what they are. It’s personal.’

George sensing the strain Jess was under, tried to divert her attention. Walking over to the piles of mixed oils on the palette board said, ‘Never thought you’d mix so many colors, I mean for the green you’ve mixed yellow, blue, purple, brown. Hmm. Intricate.’

Realizing that George was trying to help, Jess answered, ‘For green, you get a multitude of shades from mixing the blue and the yellow. Grass or trees have so many facets of color, especially if it’s been raining; the sheen of water on leaves, for instance, picks up miniature rainbows.’

Dinah was happy to lighten the situation. Sipping her drink, she said, ‘Is the painting psychic art or normal?’

‘Normal. It’s a landscape of the lake and the island with the mausoleum.’

‘Come on, let’s have a look.’

Jess shook her head. ‘It’s only in the first stages. You won’t see much honestly.’

Seeing Jess’s face lift a little, George said, ‘Come on, then we’ll christen it with a toast.’

Raising her shoulders in resignation, Jess turned the canvas towards them, only to feel horror like liquid lava plow through her body… ‘Oh my God – What’s? What’s happened? I didn’t paint that – I didn’t paint her.’

The others surged forward. Dinah put her hand on Jess’s shoulder. ‘Christ – it’s Murial.’

Jess took a tight breath as she looked at the canvas; Murial faced them standing in the interior of the mausoleum. The painted moon cast deep blue and purple shadows through the leaded light windows. Jessie’s heart beat rapidly as she peered at another figure half-submerged in darkness by the corner of the open tomb. Jessie murmured, ‘It’s inside the Mausoleum. The island, the lake has gone. I didn’t paint this – I really didn’t paint it.’

Gazing at the figure, Lucy whispered, ‘Whoever is doing the haunting is not letting up.’

Dinah shivered, looking around her. ‘It must be Murial. She really means to get through to you, Jess. Is she here d’you think?’

Jess felt the goosebumps rise on her arms. ‘I can deal with Murial, as long as I don’t see her that is – it’s just the other – the demon.’ Having said the word, splinters of fear stabbed her spine.’

Nat muttered, ‘We’ll get the exorcist in for that.’

Going nearer, Jessie examined the shadowy figure in the shadow of the tomb. ‘I can hardly see it; it’s too deep in the shadows. It could be a man, I think.’ Stepping nearer, her heart almost leaped out of her chest as she made out the golden streaked hair, the cravat, and knee-high boots. ‘It’s him – it’s him. The thing that attacked me. How could this happen?’

Lucy shivered, rubbing her arms. ‘This is spooky.’

Dinah rushed forward, ‘Christ. You sure?’

‘Yes, it’s the same hair, clothes. I did not paint this, I really didn’t.’

Nat growled. “God – this is weird stuff.’

Dinah went nearer the painting. ‘Jessie, there’s some red hairs stuck on the canvas. I can see them glinting.’

Jess frowned. ‘The paint’s wet.’

Biting the tip of her tongue, Dinah carefully lifted a few long red hairs from the canvas. ‘See?’

Nat’s eyes glinted. ‘You sure you’re not mucking around with us, Jess. That’s your hair.’

Jess whirled around on him. ‘Now you sound like your brother. Why would I do that?’

Dinah said, ‘It’s an apport – that’s what it is.’

George echoed her, ‘An apport? Never heard of it.’

‘Sometimes a spirit will leave something, often as a gift or a thank you or as a reminder. It just manifests out of the air.’

Lucy said, ‘I’ve heard of that, but I thought it only happened in a séance.’

Dinah replied, ‘Oh no, there’s been thousands of apports over the centuries, in all sorts of situations. Anything from jewels to stones, to clothes – books.’ She held the strands up to the light. ‘It’s definitely hair.’

Nat said, ‘Do they have any roots?’

Lucy croaked. ‘Don’t – that’s awful.’

‘Well, we could maybe get some DNA.’

Jess said, ‘That’s a thought.’

Dinah examined the strands. ‘Yeah, they’re some roots – Christ – a living ghost?”

Lucy murmured, ‘I don’t know how you can handle that, Dinah, I just couldn’t.’

Jess peered at the painting. ‘There’s an inscription on the bottom of the tomb. I can’t quite read it. See?’ She pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the empty tomb.

Dinah knelt to get a better look. ‘I can see it, Jess, but I can’t make it out.’

Jess bit her lip. ‘I shall have to get a magnifying glass – there’s not one here.’ Turning to Nat, she said abruptly, ‘You say the priest did the exorcism? Did any of you see anything?’

Nat shook his head, ‘I wasn’t there; it was Douglas and the priest.’

‘So, did they see anything?’

‘No, not really, but they did find an old writing desk up in the attic. It was covered in maggots. They were alive squirming; the stench was awful.’

Jess shivered, thinking of the writing desk in her room. Surely, it couldn’t be the same one? Douglas had been uncomfortable with it when she first saw it. So, he knew the place was haunted. Why hadn’t he warned her?

‘Is it a malign spirit?’

Nat shook his head, ruffling the brown lock on his forehead. ‘Well, as I said, O’Reilly was adamant Murial was haunting the Manor, but she was protecting us from a dark spirit infesting the place, a demon.”

‘Some ghosts can be murderous.’ Dinah said, ‘They can physically hurt someone, then there’s the mystery of Duncan.’

Lucy murmured, ‘Maybe he didn‘t drown.’

Nat shook his head. ‘No-one’s sure if it was suicide or something else. Our solicitor says he might have gone after Murial – who knows?’

Raking fingers slightly trembling through his hair, George muttered, ‘Welcome to the house of death.’

Dinah gave a short sharp laugh. ‘Come on, let’s be practical about this?’

Hunching up slim shoulders, Lucy interjected, ‘Practical? What’s practical about a bloody ghost?’

George raised bushy eyebrows. It wasn’t like Lucy to swear. She was obviously frightened out of her wits.

Dinah tried to smile reassuringly, rubbing Lucy’s arm. ‘Nat we need that Jesuit exorcist quickly – like tomorrow. How soon can you get hold of him?

‘It’ll take time, you know. The church officials will have to arrange meetings about it. The Archbishop will have to agree it. Then they’ve got to get the right priest.’

‘We haven’t got time. I think while we’re waiting, we should hold a séance. After all, we have the apport. That may attract Murial – maybe she’ll give us a message or tell us what she wants’.

Lucy walked over to George to clutch at his arm. “Now you really are frightening me. No way – there’s no way I’m going to any séance. I’d die – die of fright.”

Nat, ignoring Lucy, said, ‘If we did a séance, we’d need a medium.”

Dinah said, ‘Jess is a medium.’

Jess retorted swiftly, ‘I’m not – for want of repetition. I just draw them – a psychic artist is quite different from a medium. I don’t go into a trance, or have spirits manifesting through me. Neither do they talk through my mouth. ‘

‘You do go into trance Jess or at least a different state of consciousness to draw or paint them. What about the hypnotic trance, meditation?’

Jessie spluttered her face whitening. ‘Yes, but like Lucy, I’m petrified of them. I’d pass out if I saw a ghost.’

‘Come on, Jess, you know your guide will protect you. Red Cloud isn’t going to let one manifest unless you give permission.’

‘Guide?’ Idly patting Lucy’s arm, George said, ’So what’s that?’

Pouring another glass of wine and handing it to Jess, Dinah said, ‘Spirit guides choose their mediums or channels. They also guard the portal to the spirit world so that no malign spirits can slip through.’’

Jess nodded, ‘Although, sometimes an evil spirit does enter the earth plane.’

‘Yes, but it’s very rare, Jess.’ said Dinah. ‘Red Cloud is a high-level guide.’

‘Red Cloud?’ George raised his eyebrows.

‘Red Cloud was the guide of the Welsh medium Estelle Roberts. It was through her that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made his first contact with his son. He’s also Jess’s guide.

Jess said softly, ‘Maybe we could just sit as a circle? I mean no deep trances or that sort of thing.’

George beamed, ‘Great idea – great. What about now?’

Shaking her head, Jess said, ‘No. I’ve had enough to contend with tonight. Anyway, I’d need to get the room ready, and besides, it’s late.’

Looking over to Nat, she said, ’I‘ve only got a small table in the suite. Is it possible for you to get us a bigger one for five?’

George looked at Lucy. ‘You in?’

Lucy shook her head. ’I couldn’t really.’

‘Aw, come on, Sis. We’re just gonna sit in a circle, no trances, okay?’

George beamed when Lucy nodded. ‘So that‘s set then?’

Looking at the portrait, at Murial’s soulful face, the shimmering strands of hair, Lucy shivered.

Jess bowed her head, ‘Look – I need time. It’s all been too much. Can we just leave it for the time being.’

Nat frowned. ‘It’s not going away Jess – sooner we get this sorted the better.’

Dinah putting her arm around Jess said, ‘I think Jess needs some space, how about a week from now?

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 27 & 28

September 10, 2020September 6, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 27 & 28

Chapter 27

Looking at her hated persecutor, Murial hissed, ‘What the hell do you think you are doing? Get out now.’

Maximillian’s rejoinder was a fierce grin as he held her down in the chair. ‘I think we have some serious talking to—‘

‘I think not – either you leave now or I shall—‘

‘Shall what – tell your precious Duncan? Forget not that your father died in a duel – it can be so arranged for your lover. So hear me out.’

Murial’s hand slid to the small drawer in the escritoire. ‘I have nothing to say to you – you swine. If uncle even thought you—‘

‘So how would you explain my presence, my sweet? How would you explain your secret trysts with my brother? One word from me, and you would be banished to stay with a distant Aunt. But in return for your favors, I am willing to remain silent.’

‘My favors? Begone. Begone before I —’ She whipped around the dagger now in her hand.

Startled, he stepped back. ‘Now, what a pretty sight. Put it down Murial – let us discuss this amicably – I do not wish to use force.’

‘Just try it.’ She now rose to her feet facing him, the dagger before her, her body tensed to spring.

Putting his hands up, he said, ‘Then I shall repair to the Earl and to my mother. You leave me no choice. I will —‘

A voice said from the shadows, ‘You will what?’

Max whipped round to see Duncan emerge from a door beside the bed. ‘If you so much as say a word to the Earl or our mother, I will tear your head off..’

Max paled, seeing his brother draw his saber from its scabbard, the steel glittering in the candlelight. As he backed away, Duncan said, ‘You do realize that I manage the affairs of the estate. I decide what is paid. Any funding is under my jurisdiction. Father is frail – in his dotage. Besides that, he is failing fast. So think carefully now, last week alone I met your billets for over four thousand pounds. On that note, I should warn you that I shall not meet such exorbitant amounts in future. So be very wary of what you threaten brother. ‘

Max sneered. ‘So you think father will allow this chit to become your mistress – that he will allow you to ravage her under his roof?’

‘Be careful of your words, for you speak of my future wife.’

‘Wife? How ton is that? You will be ostracized, marrying a penniless bastard?’

Duncan flew at Max, his saber tip now prodding his chest. ‘Take care I do not run you through.’

Murial whispered, ‘Take care – he is a viper – God knows he could arrange with his fellow rakes to waylay you.’

‘Then, I shall kill him now. Come, brother, what shall it be sword or pistol?’

Max, now pale, almost shivered, the sneer replaced with a quiver of fear. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘You are unworthy of a duel. It would be against my honor to call you out—you miserable piece of chicken shit. I have a better idea. As the second son, you should by now be thinking of a commission – although Wellington has no use for a coward, tis time you took up your sword against the little Corporal.’

Murial’s eyes widened; the fight against France invading Portugal was on the turn. The Anglo Spanish, Portuguese front was slowly pushing France back. The Peninsular Wars were in favor of Wellington.

Retreating, almost bowing, Maximillian stuttered. ‘I concede defeat brother. My lips are sealed.’

Duncan gave a merciless smile. ‘I hear your words but cannot rely on them; for that, I shall immediately purchase a commission for you – the Infantry– junior class. Cornet or Ensign, I think.’

Max slumped on the chair, his hands trembling. ‘You wouldn’t do that – surely – that is a junior position.

‘To carry the flag is an honor brother – imagine a reformed rakehell carrying the colors.’

‘Surely you would not do this. I am too old for an ensign. ‘

‘Maybe so, but it is what our funds can afford.’

‘Such a lowly rank would be a slur on the family – surely the rank of lieutenant—‘

‘You do not deserve such consideration. But, as the status of cornet would demean our family, I am willing to strike a deal. Lieutenant, it is, but I will make immediate arrangements for your departure.’

Cowed, Maximillian rose stiffly from the chair, walking with bowed shoulders to the door.

Once the door closed, Duncan walked over to Murial, taking her in his arms. ‘My darling – I hope he did not hurt you.’

Murial stroked his face, ‘I had my dagger ready, but I must admit to feeling relieved when you appeared. How did you know?’

‘I have him under watch since the incident at the lake. I have also taken John into my confidence. He is a loyal and courageous servant and one on whom I can depend. He too has been watching your door in the night hours.’

‘Why did you tell him we were to marry? Surely it is much too early to think of such things, and besides, you have not formally asked me.’

Towering above her, he cupped her face in his hands. His heart glowed as he gazed into those glittering green eyes, at the small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her delicate nose. ‘I have said we shall marry – but if you want me to go on bended knee, I will.’

She frowned, ‘But what will the Earl say and aunt Flavia?’

We shall keep it from them until I feel it is right to make it public. Meanwhile, we have our secret passages, tunnels, and the shack on the island. See it as a romantic interlude before we lead our lives proper.’

Murial giggled, ‘Then yes, I would like you to go on bended knee. ‘

Smiling, Duncan sheathed his sword and laying it on the bed, walked over to her. Kneeling on one knee, he took her delicate hand, seeming so small in his. ‘Murial, will you consent to be my wife. Please say yes and make my world complete.’

Laughing, she bent to him, kissing him on the lips, her passion smoldering.

Taking her in his arms, he said, ‘We shall marry and then leave for Jamaica.’

‘No darling I cannot – I cannot bear to leave the tenants now. More and more landlords are evicting the farmers and the laborers. Without help, so many more families will starve – so many more will suffer death. I could not live with myself to leave the children.’ Bowing her head, she sobbed.

Clutching her to him, Duncan held her to his chest, stroking the wild curls. ‘Hush sweetheart – hush. We shall marry, and as soon as we can, we will make our home in Jamaica. But for now, if needs must, I will go alone. Both our general manager and overseer on the main plantation have been killed, others on the neighboring plantations are sore beset. Our slaves must be emancipated, There is a group of us owners who now strive for that. Many of the younger slaves flee for safety to the hills. The maroons are better to live with than those scoundrels that have seized power.’

‘Then we must wait to marry.’

‘No, my darling. I shall arrange for Father MacDonald to marry us this very week. I will make it more than worth his while to keep our secret. Besides, he has cared for us both since childhood. We could not have a better protector.’

Chapter 28

Although her stomach begged for food, Jess didn’t really want to eat; nothing appealed to her. It had been over a week since they last met. Douglas had called, left messages, but she refused to have any contact with him. But for Dinah, she saw no-one, using room service for meals, spending most of her days out touring the area by cab. If it wasn’t for Daisy, she would have left the hotel already. The Merton Hotel would not accept any dogs, and there was no way she would put Daisy in strange kennels. She’d heard from Dinah that Douglas was distraught. Even though her cousin urged her to at least contact him and talk it out, she was adamant. Besides, it was so embarrassing. How could she possibly face him?

Her stomach rumbled. Biting her lip, anger rose up through the anguish. Was she going to suffer for him? Although the thought seemed rather belated after all the tears shed during nights of tossing and turning. She’d phone for room service, but tomorrow she would brave the dining room with Dinah. Wandering into her lounge, she wondered if she was losing her sanity. Had all that happened? Were the dreams, psychic trances, or nightmares? Lifting her head, she became aware of an odor of sea-weed. It was familiar. The sea was a couple of miles away, but there was a strong breeze today.

As she turned to her laptop, she stood transfixed, her heart leaping, blood rushing to her head. A young woman sat writing at the desk, rust-red curls cascading down a slender back, the skirt of water silk brocade sparkling in the late afternoon sun. God – was it, Murial – would she turn around – would she try to … whimpering, paralyzed with terror, thoughts scattered through her mind. This was a ghost – a nemesis – a ghost. Trembling, she felt adrenaline coursing through her veins, unlocking the paralysis. Almost screaming, she ran to the door. Dammit – dammit she’d locked the bloody thing. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the lock, half-screams mounting in her throat. Hearing the key turning, she tugged the open and flew into the passageway, her legs now pumping towards the lift. But, she couldn’t wait; besides Murial might follow her to the elevator, she might be stuck in the lift with her. She ran to the fire exit door and pulling it open, clattered down the stone stairs. Swearing under her breath, God, God, don’t let her follow me – please. No way was she ever, ever going back into that room.

A startled Aileen watched her rushing through reception. Turning to Margaret, she said, ‘The ween’s terrified, looks like she’s seen a ghost. I’d better go after her.’ As she moved her wide girth from the chair, she walked surprisingly swiftly to the main doors looking down the balustrade and then the paths. A few people were out walking, but Jessie was not in sight. She turned back, panting slightly as she reached the desk. ‘No sign of her. Maybe we should call his Lordship?’

Margaret shook her head, ‘He might be a wee bit miffed at that Aileen, after all, it could be just a wee quarrel, and maybe with himself. They did go off for a picnic together last week. No Hen, best we stay out of it.’

Shaking her head, Aileen sank into the chair, reaching for her Kindle. ‘Aye, best we dinna interfere, I suppose.’

Rushing past the Orangery to the studios, Jess was relieved to see small electric light bulbs sprouting from the grass verges lighting the darkening paths. Each pine logged cabin came complete with daylight lamps, a selection of easels, shelves for paints, and a table for sketching, an artist’s delight. There was even a projector for digital graphic artists along with a computer with the latest software. Security cameras discreetly placed amongst trees and flowering shrubs ensured the safety of the hotel guests.

Feeling more secure now, Jessie found her studio. Unlocking the door, she peeped in. She sighed with relief; it was empty. Thank God – no terrifying figure in any of the corners. Picking up her mobile, she clicked on Dinah’s number only to receive her answering message.

‘Hi there, glad you contacted – obviously I am not here at present. Please leave a message – I love them. I will get back to you as soon as I can. Have a good day – evening – night.’

Damn, she was most probably with George, wrapped in his arms, while here she was shivering and petrified. Taking a deep breath, she put the mobile on the table and began exploring the room. Already deposited in the corner of the room, was her chest of paints, oil pastels, soft pastels brushes, palette knives, mahls, oil thinners, and textures. A cardboard container holding her boxed canvasses lay just inside the door. Yet, even this painter’s paradise did not relieve her fear. Dinah and Lucy warned Murial might appear, but Jessie was not ready for it. Perhaps she should give up psychic art altogether. But, the thought niggled that she should see a professional medium. Maybe he or she could cast light on what was happening to her; hopefully, show her how to avoid manifestations.

Right now, she needed to lose herself in the paints, feel the tubes as she squeezed the soft oils onto the palette board, spread her fingers through the mess. Besides using brushes to paint, Jessie used her own fingers, knuckles, and heel of her hand to spread the oils on the canvas. She needed the smell of oil and turps, the touch and color of the paint on the canvas,

She was impressed with discovering the disc player with a selection of classic and pop. Maybe some R & B or Tchaikovsky would alleviate the terror simmering through her muscles. Hours passed, as she concentrated on the canvas, the juddering in her heart now stilled. Already, the first stage of the painting was finished; the lake with the island shrouded in trees, quartz stone glittering in a splash of moonlight. Stained-glass windows cast a rainbow of shifting patterns on the water. As she drifted deeper into the creative zone, she did not see the face at the window peering in, or seconds later, hear the footfall behind her.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 25 & 26

September 7, 2020September 6, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 25 & 26

Chapter 25

Douglas wanted to join her, but the damn phobia stopped him. He knew the panic would hit like a cannonball exploding on site. First paralysis, then fixed eyes, the fight for breath, knees buckling. Oh yes, with more to come, sweat pouring from his forehead, stuttering when he tried to speak. He felt and looked like an idiot. She was a psychologist okay, but would she want an affair with a candidate for a locked ward?

Anyone who’s suffered a panic attack will remember that first time it happened. It hits without warning, no prior twinges, fears. The victim could be in a restaurant just about to pick up their knife and fork, or at the checkout, starting up the car, anywhere. Then the game begins, hiding it, avoiding places or things where it might erupt like Vesuvius vomiting lava on unsuspecting villages. Trouble is with this game, there are only two players, the panic attack and the victim. People even think of their panic as a living entity that attacks with claws and teeth, without mercy.

Only Nat understood the depths of his panic, his terror of putting his foot into a lake. It was like asking someone with a fear of heights to walk near the edge of a cliff, or someone with claustrophobia to crawl through collapsing caves. This was the only lake where he felt safe. Nat said it could be because the bulrushes hid the water. Whatever it was, he had this sense of belonging, security, even peace. Nowadays, the thought of walking into a lake could bring on the first stirrings of the panic attack; that’s when he had to move quickly. He couldn’t let her know. He wanted to be in her bed, not on her therapy couch.

Douglas caught his breath as she walked through the bulrushes, looking like a pre-Raphaelite water sprite, the strands of scarlet hair glistening on wet skin. Picking up a towel, he waited for her, draping the towel around her shoulders, rubbing her back and arms. Twisting her round to face him, his fingers swiftly untied the thin strip of silk covering the rounded curves. As Jess gasped, he picked her up and took her to the bank and the blanket.

As Douglas laid her down he said, ‘I wish this was a bed of silk and satins, for that is what you deserve.’

‘You sound like a poet.’

‘At times like this, I wish I was. I struggle for words to describe you, your skin as soft as a rose petal, your hair like liquid rubies, your figure a Grecian Aphrodite. That’s just about as much as I can manage.’

She looked at him, his naked upper body, like a painting of an Italian God; the chiseled features lightly beaded with perspiration, his hair blue-black in the sun. How could she resist him? She quivered as his hands stroked and massaged, her breath quickening as she saw the craving in those electric blue eyes. Responding, she pushed into his body, curves flowing into angles as he stroked her back, his hand sliding down to her buttocks, pulling her towards him. She wriggled nearer, playing with the wet locks of ebony hair curling on his shoulders. Her hands followed the bulge of his arm muscles; iron-hard, while her fingers pulled lightly on the black curls, the broad chest with the light black curls, his nipples hard to her touch. He brushed aside the trailing red locks, to kiss her slender neck, nipping at her ears until she squealed. Finding her mouth, he tasted the honey sweetness, smelling the lavender, her favorite flower.

Her blood thudded in her head, she wanted this, but it was too soon, she’d never had sex with anyone on the first date, he’d think she was fast and loose. Drawing away from him, she whispered, ‘Too soon – let’s take this—‘

His lips covered her protests, his strong hands drawing her into him, she felt the hardness of his pecs against her breasts, the soft brush of his hair. She shuddered as his lips now found her nipple hardening to his touch. Groaning, she gave in, what the hell, he was gorgeous, it was hot, and she wanted him. Her hands went to his back, her nails slightly raking the hard flesh. She heard his gasp, ‘Darling – I want you – so bad.’ She responded arching towards him, She felt his knee between her legs widening them as he lowered himself on her. Lifting himself on his hands, his tongue licked and flicked down from breasts to the navel tickling and teasing, before going lower.

Douglas gazed down at her quivering body, at the moist lips, the hardened nipples. His fingers moved to soft the triangle of curls slipping inside velvet folds, taking her to ecstasy.

She awakened to something tickling the sole of her foot, opening her eyes, she saw him kneeling on the blanket beside a picnic basket.

‘Okay, my little mermaid – food. Let’s eat.’

Sitting up, she smiled, watching him setting out chicken infused with thyme and sage. Her mouth watered at king prawns in a light Marie Rose sauce, fresh lettuce with chopped tomatoes, cucumber, and the scent of coriander. Bring out a small bottle of champagne from the icebox he said, ‘Let’s celebrate.’

‘What?’

‘Us – now I know I’ve captured a siren, a mermaid.’ Grinning, he winked mischievously.

For a moment, Jess caught her breath – mermaid? Wasn’t that what Duncan called Murial? Shrugging, she let it go. She couldn’t keep dwelling on it.

As Jessie bit down on a slice of chicken, she said, ‘Don’t you swim at all?’

‘No, I have a thing about water, I’m okay swimming in the sea, but for some reason, I can’t stand lakes.’

‘Have you ever tried?’

‘Nope, anyway, forget it. Let’s enjoy the meal.’

Jess remained silent. He obviously was not happy talking about it.

Treading back through the bog, her body tingling from his attentions, Jessie didn’t mind the mud-spattered sneakers. His whispers flooded her mind, especially as he murmured they should do it again soon. As she clutched her bag, she remembered the locket. Would it be a good time to tell him? Why not? After all, one of the reasons she was here was to find her ancestors, her origins – one of Prissy’s ambitions, before death took her so cruelly.

She’d often talked about coming to Scotland to search for the ancestors, but they’d never known where to start. All Prissy had were the two scraps of paper, both water stained with most of the writing obliterated. As they passed the Orangery, Jess saw a wooden seat nestling between Syringa bushes still sweet-scented although no longer in bloom. ‘Douglas, d’you mind if we sit for a moment? I have something to show you.’

For some reason, she felt nervous even as he hugged her close when they sat. Taking the fragments of paper from her purse, she said, ‘One of the reasons I came over here was because I wanted to search for my ancestors. We know that my ancestor lived in a shack in America, actually built a lodging house for the lumberjacks. Her name was Morag, but that’s as far back as we can trace. Sadly, all she had were these two scraps of papers. One story is that they were given to her by the ship’s doctor. But, there’s no way we can trace that. There were so many ships, so many lost at sea. It’s a shame really as it was Prissy’s dream. And then there’s this. She handed him the velvet bundle containing the locket. It’s only small, no value, but to us, it’s a family heirloom.’

Douglas examined the two scraps of paper ‘What a shame, the water’s almost dissolved the ink. I can see Mur … could be Murial and yes the ‘R’ could stand for Rhonan. I haven’t heard many names starting with Mur … might be able to track it down.’

Lifting the locket from the velvet pad, he said, ‘This is quite beautiful. Turning it over, he read out the inscription on the back ‘Forever United LDR to MM 1810.’

Jess said, ‘Open it.’ She held her breath. Surely he would recognize himself?’

Douglas felt his body tighten a slow buzz in his head; the portrait was him, and dammit, there was no mistaking the looks. ‘Good God, so these are over two hundred years old.’ He examined the gold, then looked down at the inscription once more. ‘The letters could stand for Lord Duncan to Murial something or other.’

Jess pursed her lips, smiling impishly. She was so excited. ‘Exactly. Look at the two braids of hair, one black the other red. I know they’re dusty and faded, but it does point to—’

‘Is this a trick?’ Douglas’s tones razed her ears like sharpened steel. ‘When did you paint this portrait? Last week? How many of these do you think I’ve been presented with – too many. Ever since I inherited the Manor, I’ve had these bloody people claiming to be the true heir of Rhonan. Every damn fraudster produces one. As for the locket, it’s hardly tarnished to be such an age. Jess, why have you done this? You’re breaking my heart. Don’t tell me this is a fraud? Really what do you take me for?’

Jess felt her heart pumping in her head. ‘Douglas, what are you saying?’

‘You know … why do you need Rhonan? You have an empire, hotels strung across the world. Why Rhonan? You are making out you’re the lost heir, aren’t you? I’ve seen so many of these bloody portraits all claiming to be of Duncan. It makes me sick?’

‘Douglas, what’s wrong – why are you so angry?’

‘Angry? Too right, I’m bloody angry. So many fraudsters creep along with bits of birth certificates, bits of marriage certificates, bits of hair, even old dolls with messages sewn in them. Every trick in the trade – dresses – shoes. Lying through their bloody teeth. How could you do this? I’ve fallen in love with you for Christ’s sake. How could you?’

He stopped, his jaw bunching into a white knot as he gazed at her beautiful face, the skin blanching, her mouth open. Pushing the papers and locket into her hands, he said, ‘Tell me it’s not true. Jess – tell me you’re joking – I can’t take this. I stand to lose everything Jess, the hotel, but most of all, my daughter.’ He punched the wooden seat with his fist making her jump, winced as he hit it again, drawing blood. Jess watched as he jumped up, the blood seeping from his knuckles, watched him walk away, her heart juddering, breaking. Leaping up, she threw the papers and locket in her bag, the tears stinging her eyes, spilling, burning her cheeks. He’d ripped her heart out – the bastard.

Chapter 26

Scrabbling in her bag for her sunglasses, Jess slipped them on. She kept her head down, hoping she wouldn’t meet anyone. She needed to get to her room fast, to shut the door on everything and everyone.

She felt someone grab her arm. She stiffened; surely, he hadn’t come back? She felt a rush of rage and then a surge of disappointment as she heard Dinah’s voice. ‘For God’s sake Jess what’s up?’

As her cousin hugged her, Jess said, ‘I can’t talk. I just can’t….’

‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs.’

She didn’t want Dinah with her, couldn’t face anyone seeing her like this. ‘I’m okay; I just need to be alone right now.’

‘Do you think I’d leave you like this? Come on.’

Once inside the Mermaid Suite, Dinah went to the drinks’ cabinet. Pouring a good measure of brandy, she handed it, Jess. ‘Come on, get that down you. What on earth has happened?’

Sipping the brandy, Jess felt it sting her throat, warm her stomach.

‘Come on, Jess, what’s happened?’

‘It’s a mess, Dinah, a mess.’

There were no secrets between them, Jess let out the events of the afternoon, the laughter, kisses, the swim, the love that ended in horror.

Dinah crossed her arms, angrily, ‘How the hell could he do that. As if you’re bloody well interested in his hotel, God you could buy this place with the petty cash.’

‘It was the way he said it. So cold, accusing me of being a fraud, telling me he loved me and then walking away.’

‘Some love that is – kicking you in the teeth.’

‘It’s over before it’s even begun. I just feel rotten. I’ve never done that before Di’, met a guy and then slept with him on the first date. Now I feel awful.’

‘Maybe he’s got a hang-up about this hotel. Maybe he’s in debt or something.’

‘He’s got hang-ups, alright. I knew something was wrong when we first got there. Some phobia about water, I think.’ Jess bit her lip, putting the brandy glass back down on the table. ‘Di we had a great time. We were so close, so soon, and then he went and tore me to shreds’.

‘Sadist – can’t trust some of these guys. Maybe when you’ve both cooled down, you could talk?’

‘No. I’m not a bloody masochist. I never want to see that bastard again. If I did, I’d hit him.’

Dinah raised her eyebrows; when Jess got mad, she got physical. She remembered when Jess slapped a guy in public. But then Nigel was such a bastard. Not only did he have affairs with Jess’s so-called friends, but he’d also taken her money. Pete was the only one who wanted her for herself. Shame, they split up.

‘I just want to leave Dinah. I can’t stay here, not after this.’

Dinah felt pebbles slither in her stomach. ‘Leave? ‘Visions of George surfaced his body hard against her, his tongue in her mouth. ‘Are you sure?’

Jess caught the quiver in Dinah’s voice. Immediately she realized – George. It would be hard on Dinah if they left. She seemed to be getting close to the guy.

‘It’s George, isn’t it?’

Dinah bit her lip.

Jess said quickly, ‘I can’t stay here, Di. You can, if you like, I’ll just move to somewhere close. ‘

‘I really like him Jess, well more than like. But I’ll come with you. George and I can still get together.”

‘Look, you stay here, really. I’ll book a suite at the Merton Hotel. But then…’

‘What?’

‘I’ve just remembered Daisy’s coming in a few days. I don’t know if the Merton accepts dogs. Oh, God, what a mess.’

‘You don’t have to see the guy Jess. I mean, he’s caught up most of the time. Look, why don’t you have a nap, freshen up, and come with me to George’s class this evening? It will brighten you up.’ She frowned, George was waiting for her to go boating on the lake. But she couldn’t leave Jess like this. He would just have to wait. But, he was an easy-going guy, he’d understand.

‘No, thanks, Di, I couldn’t face it. I’ll just hang around here for a while – get some rest. ‘

‘Honey, are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m just going to shower and then lie on the bed for a while.’

As Dinah left, she said, ‘I just hope I don’t meet the guy – I’ll have a few choice words to say to him.’

The shower blended with her tears as powerful jets expunged the fetid aromas of the lake. It promised to be the perfect love affair, but now it gurgled away at her feet. Putting on the toweling robe, the softness comforted as she walked to the windows, pulling the curtains together to block out the late afternoon sun. As she walked to the bed, Jess did not see the ghostly figure walk behind her.

Jess felt her chest heave as Douglas’s face captured her mind, the gleam in his eyes, the soft laugh as he pulled her to him. Weeping, she buried her head in the pillow, unaware of the figure standing at the foot of her bed, unaware of crying herself to sleep.

Donning a silken robe from a warm linen nightrail, Murial went to the escritoire. Just time to write a few notes to Brianna before retiring. Although she did not have good news to impart, at least she could share her misgivings with her sister. Although not related, they were closer in spirit than blood sisters. Growing up together, they shared many a childhood secret, many a girlish dream. The quill raced across the page, she loved the smell of fresh parchment, the slight acidic odor of the ink. Musing, she wrote of Duncan’s plans to attend a meeting of the Lords to plan a defence of the tenant farmers. As her quill sped across the page, she did not hear the door opening or soft feet padding across the deep pile of the carpet until hands grasped her from behind. Gasping Murial turned her head to see the gloating features of Max.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 23 & 24

September 3, 2020August 30, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 23 & 24

Chapter 23

Once beyond the withdrawing room Murial imperiously dismissed the maid. Watching the girl lift her skirts, bustling away, she whispered to Duncan, ‘You damn rakehell.’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘What on earth is the matter?’

‘You know. How dare you. You dog.’

Frowning, he looked down at Murial, his black eyebrows knitting together. ‘You are surely suffering from the vapours, my love.’

‘Bollocks, I am not your love. You are a bastard. Treated me like a harlot, a trollop.’

Duncan realized she was in earnest. Tightening his lips he said, ‘We will get to the bottom of this – what’s happened?’

Punching his chest, she said, ‘Aunt has told me everything. You shit.’

He stiffened; Murial could out swear him when angry.

Pushing the door open , he kicked it closed. Dumping her on the bed, he stood over her, his arms crossed. ‘By God, this is not like you. I can only think you’re out of your wits.’

She struggled up, her bosom swelling with rage. ‘Out of my wits. Who’s the buxom blonde? I hear you are quite obsessed with her.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘The vision with big blue eyes at the drum. The one with whom you have a rendezvous in London.’

‘The vision? Hah – she was with Max. He asked me to stand guard whilst he relieved himself. What was I supposed to do? Refuse? She said she was thirsty so I fetched her drink and sweetmeats.’

‘And the fight?’

‘Fight?’

‘You know what I am referring to my Lord – the fight over the – the vision.’ Growling she yanked his hair.

‘Ouch .’

‘Don’t try and pretend – you fought over her.’

‘Oh that? Nothing to do with the chit. A mere scuffle. A miscreant cheated, marked the cards. He had the effrontery to deny it until I held up the evidence. He did not offer his apologies just up and left the room. He was a waste of time, so I decided to let him go. He is lucky no-one else called him out.’

Realizing he was innocent of any flirtatious advances towards the buxom beauty, she frowned, ‘Oh God Duncan, I think Aunt Flavia knows about us.’

‘Mama has said nothing to me, not even a hint.’ Pulling her into his arms, he said huskily, ‘Now my little vixen, ‘I have something for you.’

Murial’s eyes widened, as he handed her a small jewel box covered in eggshell blue velvet. Gasping with delight, she took out a solid gold locket on a chain.

‘Open it, there’s a surprise….’

Murial cried out in delight as she gazed at the miniature portrait of Duncan.

Holding her tightly, he murmured, ‘Wear me close to your heart, my little mermaid – read what’s on the back.”

Murial turned it over “Forever United LDR to MM, 1810.”

Hugging her passionately, he said, ‘Now let’s add the braids for posterity. When we’re old and grey, we can look back on how we used to be.’

She shivered feeling a draught of cold air sweep over her. The threat of the Clearances came to mind that feeling of foreboding. ‘God willing we live that long.’ Dismissing her foolish fears, she pulled at a ringlet handing him a few red-gold strands.

Taking them from her, he said, ‘You’ll never be old to me Murial. Searching through his jacket, he pulled out a tiny pair of scissors decorated with mother of pearl, ‘We need a little more than a few strands. Come cut a lock of mine, and I’ll cut yours.’ Grinning, Murial cut a lock of his just behind his ear and handed him the scissors. Gently he cut a sizeable curl from her hair. Weaving the strands of hair together, she placed them under the delicate glass of the locket. ‘There now, Duncan, I will treasure it. It will never leave me. It will be a family heirloom – our family.’ Again, a rush of despair swept over her. ‘Duncan, if I should die, would you marry another – would you give this locket to her?’

Duncan caught her feelings – dark – morbid. ‘Darling I could not live if anything happened to you – I’d jump in the ruddy lake−.’

‘Don’t say that – don’t−’

‘Tis true –what is life without you? You are my life. Soon you will be my wife. ’

Again, the air seemed to close in on her, sucking away her breath as she held him close in her arms, stroking the black curls falling on his shoulder.

He sat up. ‘Come, let me put it on. I have already told Mama that it is for your birthday, so you can wear it freely.’

The smile left Murial’s face, her eyes becoming a denser shade of green as she said, ‘We must be careful like I said, I think she knows. I fear Uncle’s wrath. If he should find out….’

Duncan stroked the back of her slender neck, “There is nothing father can do. He is too dependent upon me. As you know, when I took over the estates, he was deeply in debt. It will take me years to reach solvency.’

‘I fear his anger. Sometimes I have this awful feeling – like some dark-winged presence hovers over us waiting to pounce.’

***

Downstairs, the Countess paced the room. So, Tom, the groom, had not been lying. Silly child. Silly beautiful girl. The Earl would never countenance this misalliance. For sure, she was not of their blood, but society would not accept such a marriage. It was akin to incest. The Quality demanded a flawless liaison untainted by the slightest suspicion of nefarious suggestions. As their ward, Murial was accepted in polite society, her past as the love child of the Earl’s sister-in-law obliterated. They made it known that she was a distant relation, the orphaned child of a Monsignor. He owned a chateau on a small estate whose dispute over cards, ended in a fatal duel.

She sighed; she loved this headstrong girl, with all her heart, would do everything she could to ensure her happiness, but this was too much. The good name of the Earl could not be besmirched, could not be the subject of gossip or suspicion in the gaming rooms. Besides, it would also mar Meg’s chances of a suitable match.

Chapter 24

Jess stood under a jet of tepid water, massaging shampoo through hair, hanging in scarlet tendrils to her waist. She’d woken up half-dressed to the sun streaming on her face. What in God’s name was happening? Again, she’d experienced that lethal tiredness only to wake hours later from a dream that felt more like a trance state. It had to be; in the dream, she was fully lucid. Was it a haunting? Was Murial possessing her, or was it maybe a Past Life? But why was she experiencing them? What was the purpose? Had he been flirting at the drum? The Countess was a right bitch.

Toweling her hair in the bedroom, Jess made up her mind not to tell Douglas about this latest dream. After all, he didn’t really believe in it, so it wouldn’t be fair to push it. Wrapping herself up in a soft robe with a towel on her head, Jess went to the writing desk. The inner vision she had first had of the young woman writing at the desk was now clearer. After seeing the portrait, she could identify her. It was Murial. She shivered, her skin crawling. The room looked so innocent, so fresh, in the morning light, but was it haunted? Would Murial manifest? God, she would die of fear. Maybe she should ask for another room? But she had only spent one night in it. He would think she was unbalanced and it would put him off.

Her stomach clenched as she pictured the lean angles of his face, startling blue eyes framed in black lashes, those broad shoulders, and large soft hands. She felt again those hands stroking her back, his tongue in her mouth. God he was a fast mover. Was she ready for that passion? Alternatively, would he think her too easy? All she knew was her body was on fire for him. It almost frightened her. Douglas could seduce with just one flash of those incredible eyes.

***

Jessie was glad of the sloppy sun hat, the wide brim shading her face, the cool tank top, and mini denim shorts ideal for the weather. Underneath, she wore a scarlet bikini. The emerald one was too sexy. Douglas was raunchy enough without turning him on with a skimpy string top and thong.

He strode along by her side, dressed in an unbuttoned pale blue shirt and jeans with a slick leather belt. She felt herself responding to the black bristles on his chest and toned torso. He had automatically held her hand while carrying a picnic basket with towels slung around his neck.

Passing the glass-framed building on their left, he said, ‘The Orangery was built in around eighteen hundred. They were all the rage then. They actually grew pineapples and oranges there along with some exotic flowers.’

‘Hmm. It’s huge.’

They had plenty of money, squandered it really. Now watch your head, we’ll cut through these trees. That’ll bring us out on the Ha-Ha.

‘The Ha-Ha? Never heard of that before.’

‘In the large estates, they kept sheep or cattle that fed on the grounds, so they put them in fields some distance from the Manor, the ditch was to keep them from wandering on to the lawns and gardens of the house. Sometimes it was used as a deer leap as well.’

‘I shall have to remember that – makes for a great conversation piece.’

‘Uh uh, watch your step now.’

He helped her climb down into the ditch, catching her in strong arms, holding her close as he nuzzled her neck and nipped her ear. Laughing, she struggled but gave into a deep kiss. She felt her stomach ripple in response, as his tongue met hers. Laughing, he almost carried her up the ditch. She froze as she reached the top. ‘They’re not cows. They’re bison.’

‘Yep. Don’t worry, we’ll skirt along here; it will bring us out onto the path.’

She clutched his hand out of fear. Could one of those great beasts make a run at them, topple down the ditch after them? ‘No, I can’t. I just can’t go near them.’

‘It’s okay; we’re going through this electrified gate; it will take us to the bog.’

So this was his idea of a romantic afternoon?

Seeing her startled look, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I know the path.’

She laughed, ‘In my dream, I was really getting sucked into the mud.’

‘Follow behind, it’s not very wide, but it’s dry.

Walking behind him, she looked down to see her sneakers covered in mud. So much for a dry path. Douglas trudged on ahead, oblivious of her slipping and slithering behind him.

She frowned as she called out, ‘so you call this dry?’

He shouted back, ‘You’ll get used to Scotland. It’s wet land, but beautiful. Ah, here we are – the lake.’

As Jess caught up with him, she felt reality slipping away. ‘I’ve been here in my dreams for so many years.’ she said, ‘I can hardly believe it. The grassy bank, the minute sandy beach, the bulrushes, reeds, everything is the same. All I need now is for Duncan and Murial to appear.’ As she gazed, reality merged with dream. She felt cold, lost.

Catching her mood, Douglas caught her to him, ‘It must be quite a shock to dream of something and then find it’s real. Come on, have something to drink.’ Laying out the blanket on the bank, he opened the picnic box handing her a cold bottle.

Jess took it gratefully, holding the icy glass to her forehead. He seemed much more relaxed when talking about the two dream lovers.

‘Truth is Jess, I’ve got a thing about water – lakes. Okay, to look at, but not to go in.’

Realizing he felt awkward, that perhaps he had a phobia of water, she said nothing but began peeling off her top and pulling off the denim shorts. Douglas whistled as he gazed at the slender figure with the full breasts held up by a band of scarlet silk, it was evident she’d had a bikini line strip. God, he felt his arousal immediately, aware it would make its presence known in seconds. He was thankful he had the towel in his lap. Christ, if he didn’t have the damn phobia, he‘d be running into the cold water right now.

Jess, aware of his reaction, smiled inwardly. Turning sideways to him, she nonchalantly walked to the bulrushes.

Douglas watched her pick her way through them, parting the tall reeds to dip her toe in the water. He heard her shout, ‘God, it’s freezing.’

Jess waded further until the freezing water reached her thighs. Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward her arms stroking through the water. She felt the sun on her back warming her, the water feeling quite temperate. It was glorious. The only thing missing was him by her side. She’d even had the wicked idea they could have played out here, touching, grabbing, kissing. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers playing with the dark hairs bristling on his chest. What was wrong with him? He definitely feared the water. Was it a phobia? Had he nearly drowned before? Had someone near to him drowned? Alternatively, was there a boating accident? Swimming to the center of the lake, she floated on her back, watching a hummingbird fly overhead. Its green feathers sparkled, the long blue beak iridescent in the sun.

Her thoughts returned to Douglas, it must be a phobia. But it couldn’t be. He said he loved coming to the lake, spent his time chilling out here. Anything to do with lakes should be an anathema to him; even a picture or talking about one would arouse symptoms of panic. It was strange. If it was a phobia, then it was a nasty one, a primeval fear, a fear that could lead to psychotic states. Would he talk to her about it?

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 21 & 22

August 31, 2020August 30, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 21 & 22

Chapter 21

Jess spoke hesitantly, ‘It’s good of you to check the room, but honestly, I feel a bit stupid now. It was, after all, only a dream. I panicked at the thought of an exorcism being carried out – shades of the Exorcist. I’m scared stiff of seeing any ghosts.’ The room looked innocent, the lights enhancing the blue silk-covered walls, the gilt on the chairs glinting.

Douglas smiled. ‘You had every right to be frightened – especially with Lucy talking about the exorcism, it would scare anyone.’

‘Come in – sorry I haven’t unpacked properly yet.’

She gasped as Douglas caught hold of her arm, swinging her round to him. He bent, brushing her lips, his hands stroking her back, pulling her closer. Her mouth opened to the soft tip of his tongue, her body quivering as she felt the hardness of him, the thigh muscles tensing against her.

Hearing her soft groan, his arms tightened around her, his tongue tasting the sweetness of her mouth, as he swiftly unzipped the back of her dress. She pulled back, lightly slapping his shoulder. ‘Hey, this is a bit fast.’

He loosed her immediately unrepentant and stood back, running his fingers through her tangled curls. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you. God, you’re beautiful.’

Jess grinned, ‘I thought you’d come to search the room. So, if you’d zip me up, I’ll get you a drink, what would you like?’

Before doing so, Douglas could not resist stroking the curve of her spine, only to feel her shudder in response. ‘Oh, God, don’t do that. I’m trying to resist you.’

Douglas laughed, ‘So I’ve found your weak spot. I’ll know what to do next time.’

Going to the drinks’ cabinet, she said, ‘Brandy?’

‘Yeah, thank you, just a snifter.’ He walked through to the sitting room, his eyes glancing over to the escritoire. She’d obviously been working on it, as the lid was down with her laptop resting on top. Beside it were some papers and a jeweled Parker pen. Although the priest had been quite insistent that it was haunted, it looked innocent enough, especially with the addition of a computer. How could an inanimate object have any powers or influence? He didn’t believe in that nonsense anyway. Jess interrupted his thoughts as she handed him the brandy. To his disappointment, she sat in one of the chairs to the side of him.

‘It’s good of you to be so concerned, Douglas. It’s just I’ve always had this horror of physically seeing a ghost. The dream I could cope with, but not the idea of an exorcism.’

‘So tell me more about the dream.’

‘I don’t know about that, you seem so touchy on the subject of Murial and Duncan.’

‘I promise I won’t be. It’s just there are a few things I haven’t explained – personal things. But go on, tell me.’

She sipped at the brandy. ‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Of course. I’ve got all night.’

Jess grinned, ‘You wish.’

Douglas sipped the brandy and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, you get what you wish for.’

‘Ouch, what a cliché.’ She decided to recount the route to the small lake that she often took in her dreams. ‘The dreams always start in fragments, then it becomes clearer. I‘m walking through trees, there’s a ditch and some kind of open ground. I pass some long-haired and very shaggy cows with huge horns, which terrify me, and then I’m struggling through muddy hassocks….’

Douglas felt the skin on his arms crawl. She hadn’t been at the Manor long enough to scout the grounds. She’d described the way to the lake, the trees by the Orangery, the ditch in the Ha-Ha, the field, and the boggy ground.

His heart quickened, as she said, ‘The bank rises some distance from the lake, there are stones and a circle of small rocks nearby. Sometimes they would shelter in the hut. Duncan built it with stones and mud from the bog – you could say the hut was their love nest.’ She stopped a flush rising up her throat. ‘Err … it’s sexy.’

Douglas grinned, ‘Now I am interested.’ Even as he joked, his throat felt dry. She was describing his hideaway precisely.

‘The lake is surrounded by bulrushes and then clumps of reeds, so it’s quite difficult to wade or swim there I should think, although the couple in my dream loved it. They always raced to the Willow tree on the other side, but first, they had to wade through the bulrushes. It’s always so vivid. I can see it in my mind now, as I talk. The willow tree is huge, hundreds of years old, well, at least in my dream. It’s surrounded with silver birch with clumps of rhododendrons, the ancient copper beech trees leading into the forest.’

He said quickly, ‘You know, not only have you described somewhere where I go for a bit of privacy and time out, it’s a place that’s difficult to reach, so it’s quite deserted. Now with you dreaming about the names and that particular spot, it could have been the perfect place for Murial and Duncan – seeing as they were lovers.’

‘Not lovers exactly, although very near it. But, you did tell me about Duncan before I had the nap, so I could have just included it.’

‘Hmm – one thing that puzzles me. If you’re a psychic artist, why the fear of ghosts?’

Jessie bit her lip. ‘It’s alright thinking about it or drawing it, just so long as I don’t see it in the flesh.’

‘Yeah, I guess that goes for a lot of people. So the psychic art? Have you always had visions of ghosts?’

‘Yes, from a child. I also have premonitions of the future. I used to frighten the family quite a lot as I would draw someone – always with a small angel floating beside them. I would tell my aunt or uncle that the angel was taking this person to heaven. Trouble was, they would find out that person had really died and recently.’

‘So, it’s like a gift or something. I don’t want to be rude, Jess, but I’m a skeptic – yet, open-minded about it all. Have you ever seen anything physically?’

‘No – thank God, and neither do I want to.’

‘But why do the art if you have this fear surely it would be better not to have anything to do with it?

‘It’s not that easy. The visions will come wherever I am or whatever I am doing. They are spontaneous. Generally, it’s through dreams, or inner visions, which I draw or paint. One day I remember clearly, I was on the beach and drew some gravestones in the sand. My aunt asked who they were for, and I said for they were for her and my uncle. As I was often right, they asked how long in the future. They told me I said, “Oh, years yet –when I’m ten.” I was about six or seven at the time.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Much to their relief that did not come true.’

Douglas laughed with her. ‘Scary. Your aunt and uncle seem nice people.’ Really he was wondering why she never mentioned her parents.

‘Ah yes, well, my step-mother was my aunt, my mother’s sister. Her name was Prissy; she brought me up along with my uncle, who was my aunt’s brother, Uncle Tim. Err ….’ She paused, taking a tight breath. ‘My mother died when I was two months old. My father died in a hunting accident when I was three. My aunt moved around. She had homes in Canada and America. After she died, I moved back to America. I was born there, went to Harvard, made lots of friends, so it seemed the right thing to do. I set up a practice with Dinah in Bedford-Stuyvesant.’

‘You’ve had it tough.’

Looking at the sudden pallor in her cheeks, the stillness of her body, Douglas went across to her. Kneeling by her side, he took her small hands in his as he said, ‘How about you and I go exploring tomorrow. I’ll show you the lake and bring your bikini and towel; they say it’s going to be a scorcher.’

‘That would be wonderful. Thank you. But look, I’m beat; I really do have to go to bed.’

‘Sure, I don’t have any pajamas, but I’m wearing boxer shorts.”

She giggled. ‘I need to sleep. Time you left.’

He grinned. ‘That’s the furthest thing from my mind. But, look just one thing.” He rose to his feet, lifting her with him. Clasping her in his arms, he felt the soft roundness of her breasts, the curved angle of her hip against him. He warily held her buttocks, pulling her in closer as he nuzzled her neck. ‘Just an appetizer.’ Finding her lips, he pushed his tongue through, flicking the inside of her cheek. God she tasted so sweet. He felt her shudder, her body tense. Maybe, there was just the chance that he would be carrying her to the bed. However, her hands gently pushed him away.

‘No – let’s take this slowly, okay?’

He growled sexily as he smiled, ‘No, it’s not okay, but I can wait.’ He left reluctantly. She was enchanting, intriguing. He tried to lay his suspicions to rest. She was a millionaire, no way did she show any hint of wanting to take over Rhonan. She was an idealist committed to her vocation and also deeply passionate about her art.

Locking the door behind him, Jess wandered over to the dressing table, taking out a small silk bundle. Carefully peeling away the silk, she looked at the blue velvet box aged with yellow and brown spots. Lifting the lid, she gazed down at the locket, old gold embellished with the same intricate design as the one Murial wore in the portrait. Could it be the one? Was this a key to that lost ancestor?

Opening the locket, she looked at the miniature painting of a young aristocrat, his face fit for any Grecian sculpture, the full lower lip, that faintly menacing look. It could be mistaken for Douglas in Regency dress. From another purse, she took out two fragments of paper tattered and flocked with age, some of the writing was obliterated. The first a narrow strip held the letters Mur…. born October 1792… R – The second, female … Mor … at sea 1811… definitely part of a birth certificate, of course, her ancestor Morag. That much she did know. It was carefully treasured, handed down from generation to generation.

Nothing was known of Morag’s history before the shack in America. But, she had to find out, after all, that was really the purpose of her visit to Scotland to find her ancestors. She wanted to feel whole, to be part of something. With the death of both her parents, she could never rid herself of feeling so isolated, leading a liminal existence on the edge of society.

Awful tiredness crept into in her eyes, spreading to the muscles of her body. What was it? She’d slept heavily in the afternoon. Maybe she was going down with summer flu or something. Leaning forward, she examined her eyes in the mirror, unaware of a still figure on the balcony watching her through the window. Silently, the wraith pressed her face to the glass as she clutched the small bundle to her breast.

Fighting almost overwhelming tiredness, Jessie tried to undress. Stepping out of her dress, she collapsed across the duvet, slipping into kaleidoscopic pieces of dreams, images rising, flying across the screen of her mind. She did not see the figure pass through the window into the room and stop for a few seconds watching her. Silently, the woman floated onto the bed, settling down by Jessie, stretching out a skeletal hand to stroke her bright hair.

Chapter 22

The Countess Flavia languidly pushed a stray ringlet from her cheek as she lay on the chaise longue of embroidered blue silk. A King Charles Spaniel snuggling among the muslin folds of her dress. Yawning, she said, ‘Murial, you look a wreck as usual, and you smell like a rank reed. Why oh why do you insist on bathing in that filthy lake of yours.’

Murial stiffened. That was the first time she’d complained about the lake. Was she suspicious? Had someone spied on them? But how could they? Duncan had a special shortcut through the bog. Her aunt could not possibly follow; neither would she instruct a servant to spy on them. The news would spread like wildfire. ‘Aunt Flavia, it’s healthy – I love it.’

‘The stuff of childhood. Hmm, well go bathe and dress becomingly; the Earl of Whitney will soon be here with his Mama to pay you his attentions. I am sure he is going to offer for you. ’

‘Oh, Aunt, he’s as limp as a lettuce leaf and equally as boring.’

‘His fortune is not boring, and it is high time you were wed. What is wrong with you? He is heir to vast estates.’

‘He is ugly – shorter than me with tiny eyes and no chin.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake girl, good looks won’t bring you a mansion, maids, dresses, and a fine carriage in your drive. You can have your lovers after you marry – just be very discreet. That is the way of it. Now bring the face screen over here. That fire is too fierce today, my makeup is dripping.’

Murial looked at the thick paste of lead and beeswax masking the lovely face of the Countess. Most women in the district used it, as they suffered from bad skin due to the pox, measles, or just too rich a diet. It looked quite horrific when the paste started to melt.

‘Really, Aunt, I have other aspirations than marriage. I am caught up in helping the tenants.’

‘Tis not our affair.’

‘Aunt, I cannot possibly think of marriage with all the suffering going on. I need time to help – and besides, I would choose my own husband. I want to marry for love – not wealth. And, I certainly do not wish for lovers after I marry. What a shallow life. No love, only lust.’

‘Don’t be such a romantic you have been reading those silly romance novels again. Murial, your marriage will ensure your future – look, you are a penniless girl. But, because of your beauty, you have some serious suitors vying to offer for you. Their offers would include a sizeable sum settled on this estate. It would help your uncle and me enormously. Now enough. Pray, bring me the face screen.’

‘For your information, Aunt, I am reading some political essays by the admirable Edward Ellice.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, girl – stop arguing and fetch me the screen.’

Tutting, Murial carried the small oval screen on a carved mahogany stand to the Countess, who yawned again, delicately stretching out her hands in front of her? “We have those ghastly ladies coming tomorrow to do some stitching.”

‘Aunt, it is good of you to arrange it. It will help the tenants so much. We must try to ease their suffering.’

‘I know you have great regard for them Murial, but I don’t want you going near the cottars. God knows what diseases you could pick up. Besides, you could bring it back to the Manor, and then where would we be?’

Murial rejoined with some asperity. ‘Some of those peasants, as you call them, are descendants of the Scottish Chieftains. Look at poor Robbie McGregor; he can trace his ancestry back to Domnall Breac, King of Dairaida.

‘Oh,, really Murial, not another tirade. That is history; you cannot dwell on the past.’

The Countess’s eyes held a faint menace as she said, ‘Have you heard the news? Duncan met a ravishing girl the other evening, at the drum. I hear he is quite besotted. Stood up for every dance with her, even fetched her some ratife and sweetmeats.’

Murial felt her heart leap. ‘Really, I have not heard of it. Who is she?’

‘The daughter of Lord and Lady De Beauville. They are renting a Mansion near the sea renovated in the Palladian style, no less.’

‘Honestly, all this money flowing like water and our tenants starve. Aunt, can’t you persuade Papa to waive the rents? He’s now talking of evicting them. How can he? Please speak to him.’

‘Oh la, you and your good works. The situation will right itself, you see. Now, as I was saying, Duncan paid such attention to this vision – nearly came to blows with another young blood who sought her attentions. I fear he is smitten. She is of good family, so there could be a match.’

‘What does she look like?’

The Countess narrowed her eyes. ‘La, she has the largest cornflower blue eyes and golden hair. She is an Aphrodite, they say – a vision. Tis high time Duncan married. She will visit with her Grandmamma in London, who quite dotes on her. I am of a mind to send Duncan to oversee our house in Grosvenor Square at the same time. It would be an ideal way for them to meet. You shall see her soon enough. I have invited her here for the stitching with her Mama.’

Murial sat down quite abruptly, her stomach quite tense. Surely, he would not betray her? Hot tears threatened to fall as the Countess said silkily, ‘Why Murial, what is the matter? You look quite affrighted. Pray, what irks you?’

Pulling out her kerchief, she held it to her cheek, ‘Just dizzy, that’s all. I’ll have to go and lie down.’

‘I will ring for Bicks to bring the brandy.’ As the Countess rang for the abigail, the door slammed open, and Duncan strode in, his frockcoat unbuttoned and riding crop at his waist.

Instantly aware of Murial’s pallor, he almost ran to her. ‘Murial darling, what is it?’

The Countess noting his anxiety, the way his arms crept around the girl, said quietly, ‘Tis the vapors – I have rung for brandy. Here give her some vinaigrette.’

Taking the sponge from the maid, Duncan held it under Murial’s nose. Squeezing her eyes at the strong smell of hart’s horn, Murial glared at him. ‘I need to go to my room. I would be grateful for your assistance.’

Duncan swept her off her feet, hefting her up on his chest he strode from the room calling to the abigail, ‘Becky come with me, attend your Mistress.’

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 19 & 20

August 27, 2020August 24, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

Mark your diary, because every Monday and Thursday, I will post two chapters of my exciting historical paranormal romance novel, Return to Rhonan (that’s four chapters each week). Set mainly in the Scottish Highlands, the reader will find much to enjoy on this mysterious well researched journey.

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

All Available Chapters!

Return to Rhonan: Chapters 19 & 20

Chapter 19

Nat watched Douglas talking with Jessie, saw the interest in his eyes, the way he lightly gripped her shoulder. Maybe his brother was ready to get involved. It was about time. He had been too long on his own, too long yearning and fighting for little Marnie. The court battle for half-custody of the child was still raging. As he suspected, his ex-wife, now aware of his inheritance, was fighting for half share of the money and estate. It looked like she could possibly win. It just didn’t seem possible. After all, she was the one that left Douglas for another man, tore his heart and life apart, taking his little daughter as well.

Seeing his brother’s interest in Jessie, Nat thought it was time to get to know this beauty, time to nurture a budding relationship. ‘Ah, so you’re the artist who’s renting a studio with us?’

‘Psychologist really and I try at art – psychic art that is.’

Dinah interrupted, ‘Come on, Jessie. You’re well known – sold many paintings in America and Europe.’

Jess grimaced. ‘I think they sold mainly because they were portraits of dead relatives. I just hope I get it right.’

Nat raised his eyebrows. ‘My brother’s an artist – you two should have a lot in common.’

Douglas smiled, ‘A thwarted artist. That’s why I taught it; oh and history, mainly fifteenth to the twenty-first century.’

Changing the subject, Jessie said, ‘I must say this place is beautiful. I was so amazed when I first saw it. I mean, I know it’s in the brochure, but in real life, it is incredible. I’ve shared it on Facebook and tweeted it already.’

Dinah now resting back on George’s shoulder, said, ‘So have I.’

Looking at Nathan, Lucy said, ‘I’m sure I can get my group to tweet it as well. The lake is particularly gorgeous with the lily pads, reeds, and bulrushes, and then there’re the moorhens, swans; the ducks are cute. I’ve even seen a hummingbird – absolutely beautiful.’

Jess turned to Douglas. ‘Talking of the lake that reminds me, I saw the girl again. You know the one I told you about earlier? Well, she was standing right by the Mausoleum. I could just see her through the trees. It was a beautiful shot with the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows onto her hair. Here, I’ll get it for you.’

Reaching into her bag, she took out the small digital camera and switching it on gave it to Douglas. ‘There are two, so just stroke across.’

Studying the shot, he scrolled across to see the other, his eyes narrowing. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t see anything. It’s a great picture of the lake and the mausoleum, but there’s – no girl.’

Jessie frowned. ‘That’s peculiar. I’m sure I saw – absolutely sure. I even dreamt of her today. She is so like the woman in my dreams. In fact, I’ve been dreaming of this couple for years. They’re lovers actually, in the nineteenth century. The girl always looks like me and now come to think of it, the guy has your coloring and looks.’

Dinah laughed, ‘So Murial and Duncan could be you and Douglas in a Past Life.’ Then he’s handsome, this dream lover.’

‘He’s not my lover. Wish he was.’ The words slipped out before she had time to retract them.

‘Murial? Duncan? You know their names?’

Remembering his tense reaction earlier to the name of Duncan, Jessie decided to play it down. Her therapist’s intuition told her it was taboo territory, and she would not be pulled in. ‘I didn’t think it was important – it’s trivial really, just a dream.’

Unaware of Jessie’s deliberate evasion of the subject, Dinah interrupted, ‘Yes, but one that’s been haunting you for years.’ Looking at Douglas, she said, ‘That’s one of the reasons we’re here to find these lovers.’

Nathan sensing the rising tension, said, ‘yeah well, it’s a well-known rumor, even a legend about them, Duncan drowning himself in the lake and Murial disappearing.’

Dinah squeaked, ‘Murial – why that’s−‘

Nudging Dinah with her foot, Jessie said, ‘I don’t really know too much about the names or places.’

Douglas tensed, looking at Jessie, ‘So, you’ve dreamt of Murial?’

‘It’s all a bit vague really – I can scarcely visualize Murial now.’

Sensing Jessie was hedging, Dinah kept quiet. Something was going on here, an undercurrent.

Trying to smile, Douglas said, ‘funny you should know the names though.’

Jess gave a short laugh. ‘I really don’t remember too much about it. You know what dreams are – I usually only recall fragments.’

Douglas felt his heart slump. Jessie was referring to actual names, dreams. What else was to come? Would she claim some entitlement to the estate? He needed to find out more. ‘So what were the fragments?’

Dinah frowned. He seemed a really nice guy, so friendly but something was wrong, his voice was lower, tighter. Of course, Jess remembered the dream; she’d told her everything over dinner in explicit detail. She was obviously trying to tone down the importance of the lovers of Murial, especially. She was trying to hide something. Why? Jess nudged her under the table, stopped her saying anything further. Why hadn’t she said anything? She decided to change the subject of the lovers. ‘You know Murial is quite a common name in New York. So many of the Scots moved there in the early eighteen hundreds. The Landlords forced thousands of them to emigrate.’

Nat just prayed these two gorgeous girls were not frauds leading up to a claim on the estate. It was too much of a coincidence that they knew both names. But to be polite, he said, ‘We know about that. There’s a museum about an hour’s ride from here. It gives the history in detail along with early lithographs, videos, newspaper articles, and letters. It’s harrowing, something you never forget. The landlords were vicious, so I understand – forced the tenants to the Coast, in the early years many were forced to emigrate

To her surprise, she heard Douglas speak quietly to Jessie, ‘Have you been to the portrait gallery?’

Jessie shook her head, puzzled. ‘No, haven’t had time, really.’

‘Oh, it’s just that there are portraits of Murial and Duncan in there.’

Jess felt her stomach sizzle. Douglas really had a thing about these two long-dead people. Was there some ghastly secret he was trying to hide?

Hurriedly, feeling awkwardness, Dinah said, ‘Jessie is a medium you know. She could have picked up their spirits. Maybe they’ll make an appearance.’ She laughed awkwardly.

‘No I’m not Dinah, I’m a psychic artist. I only draw the spirits. They can’t come through me.’

Hearing the irritation in Jessie’s voice, Douglas breathed deeply from the diaphragm. He had to get a hold of himself. He really was getting paranoid about people claiming to be the long lost heir of Duncan and Murial. He had so much to lose, not only the estate and the hotel but Marnie, his baby. Her little face loomed before his eyes, those plump rosy cheeks, large dark eyes, and hair curling to her shoulders.

He became aware of the bewilderment in Jessie’s eyes. What was wrong with him? Here was a lovely young woman, breathing innocence, absolutely gorgeous, and he was going on about Murial and Duncan. He had to stop it, stop the obsessive thoughts. She had no need of money, was a multi-millionaire for God’s sake. Besides, he was deeply attracted to her, wanted to get to know her, wanted his hands on her. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. ‘So you’ve never read of them then?’

Jessie felt a ripple of irritation, in clipped tones she said, ‘I’ve told you about Duncan, and as Dinah said, Murial is a familiar name in America among the Scots. It’s only a dream, though.’

He saw the green eyes flash, a fiery female – went with the hair. So, she wasn’t the vulnerable woman he’d thought. He could sense she was annoyed, and he didn’t blame her. But, he couldn’t explain his irrational behavior; go into the will and the fraudulent claims – not here, not yet. It would look as if he suspected them. He would surely lose her before they’d even started. ‘I’m sorry it’s just that what you’ve said has shaken me. We were not sure that Murial and Duncan were even lovers.’

Nat murmured, ‘Yeah, me too. You see Jess, Murial was purported to be Duncan’s mistress or wife – but no-one really knows. Then you come all the way from America and confirm they were in love if not lovers sexually. Well, at least you’ve dreamt about it. It’s uncanny. Her suite is still here with the original name – the one you are staying in. Well, we presume it to be hers.’

Feeling somewhat mollified with their explanation, she still felt her body shiver. In the dream, he called Murial, his little mermaid. ‘You mean I’m staying in the same rooms?’

‘Yeah. As I said, it had that name painted on it when we moved in, so we kept it. Father O’Reilly swears blind they are Murial’s old rooms.’

Lucy interrupted, ‘I’ve heard she’s supposed to haunt the Manor. Father O’Reilly carried out the exorcism to try and banish her, didn’t he?’

Nat felt his body grow cold, ‘Oh God, he’d told Lucy about the haunting mainly because they’d arrived a couple of days before the exorcism. He saw Douglas’s lips tighten. Jessie was terrified of ghosts; what the hell would happen now? Jess frowned, her hand going to her neck. ‘Haunted? You mean she actually haunts the Manor, and I’m staying in her suite? Not bloody likely.’ She glared at Douglas.

Chapter 20

Douglas felt sand churn in his stomach. She looked ready to walk out. Why the hell couldn’t he keep his suspicions under wraps, and why the hell couldn’t Nat keep his bloody mouth shut? He had to think fast, his most valuable guest could be checking out on her first night. ‘According to Father O’Reilly, it’s all clear.’ He knew he was lying through his teeth, knew that the priest warned of a darker power than Murial. To the priest, she was a sweet young woman, who protected people from the darker power. He felt his jaw bunch into a knot as he waited for Jessie’s response.

‘You mean to say you carried out an exorcism, and you didn’t even warn me? Who do you think you are?’

Nat bit his lip, she was a force to contend with when roused, the pale skin of her cheeks now aflame, her eyes like emeralds glittering.

Douglas interrupted, ‘Look, we can move you. Move you right now. We have another suite. It does not have all the amenities, but we can move you.’

Dinah cut in. ‘Those are gorgeous rooms, Jess.’

Nat interrupted ‘The best we have−’

Dinah shot him a glance as if to say ‘shut up’ and continued speaking. ‘It’s all set up for you and Daisy. If the place has been exorcised, then it should be fine. Look, I’ll stay with you tonight. Just let’s try it out. You’ll soon know. You’ll sense it anyway.’

Douglas’s hope of bedding Jessie slipped away. Gritting his teeth, he waited for her reply.

Jessie took a deep breath, holding him mesmerized as he watched the swell of her full breasts. ‘Oh, alright – just for tonight.’

Douglas cut in. ‘Look, I’ll come back with you, I can scour every corner.’

Nat intrigued with the situation still sought answers. Had Jess maybe dreamt of their Murial? Lightening his voice, he said half laughingly, ‘Hey, why don’t we all go and see this famous portrait of Murial? See if it’s like the woman you photographed today.’

Douglas caught his breath, why did Nat have to drag that up again. What was up with the guy? Yet, he referred to the woman by the lake and not Murial. Looking at Jess, he could see she did not resent the underlying allusion to Murial; in fact, her eyes brightened. ‘Now that would be interesting.’

Dinah laughed in assent, ‘Yes, that would confirm there is some kind of spirit life. We spiritualists are always looking for proof. ’

Nat rose to his feet, ‘Come on, bring your drinks with you. There’s a ‘snug’ as they call it on the same floor. It was the name given to a women’s bar, as they were not allowed in a pub. We’ve turned it into a nice little bar, quite cosy.’

The oblong gallery was tastefully decorated with deep burgundy offsetting the gilt-framed canvasses. Lightly holding Jess’s elbow, Douglas led her to a large rectangular painting in a gilt frame. Mounted on the wall beneath it, was a brass plaque with the words, The Right Honourable Earl of Rhonan. ‘Duncan, our erstwhile ancestor. As you know, already it’s rumored he killed himself when Murial disappeared.’

Jessie looked up at the image, her heart beating a tattoo. ‘It was the same portrait as the miniature in the locket, obviously painted by the same artist. The dark locks tousled on the forehead, the eyes that pierced the full bottom lip. God, he was handsome, as handsome as the guy standing beside her right now. Douglas and Duncan could be one and the same person.

Dinah interrupted her thoughts, ‘Now that’s uncanny, you can see the genes running through the generations, you’re his spitting image, Douglas.’

Jessie caught Dinah’s slight nod, the silent message in her eyes. She, too, realized the close resemblance to the portrait in the locket. Later they would have a lot to talk about.

Nat laughed, ‘Nothing like me, I inherited my mother’s genes.’

Lucy smiled, thinking he was quite a dish, also a looker but in a different way to Douglas, his face more rugged, the hair a rich chestnut brown and hazel eyes to die for.

Douglas moved towards an oval-shaped canvas on the far wall, his grip tightening on Jessie’s shoulder. He felt her slight tremble as she looked up at the portrait, ‘Oh my God.’

Dinah whispered, ‘Jessie, it might as well be you. Spooky,’

Lucy murmured, ‘Same green eyes, red hair.’

Silently Jessie moved forward, her eyes fixed on the gold locket. It had the intertwining spiral of the ancient Celts the same pattern as the one as she had in the dresser drawer upstairs.

Dinah seeing her look at the locket, kept quiet. Jessie obviously wanted to keep it a secret.

Douglas asked, ‘So is she anything like your mysterious lady of the lake?’

Jessie bit her lip, ‘Yes – exact. She’s also the exact image of the woman in my dream. So, it seems I’ve inherited the Scottish looks’. She was glad Dinah had taken her lead and not mentioned the locket. Something was wrong. Douglas seemed to be in some kind of conflict over Murial – but why?

She felt his fingers stroke the back of her neck, felt her immediate responses as ripples of desire streaked through her body. God, what a dilemma. He angered her, yet she’d wanted him from the moment they’d met in the foyer, wanted his hands on her, her skin flushing hotly at the mere thought of those lips on hers.

Douglas took Jess’s hand, ’Let me show you the younger son Maximilian, next in line to the earldom – he was a rake – member of the Hell Fire Club.’ He stopped before the portrait of a young man with a somewhat cynical expression in the blue eyes. In contrast to Duncan’s dark locks and full bottom lip, his hair was a light brown with blond streaks, the lips whiplash thin. Jess’s heart quickened. He was the man in the dream hiding behind the trees watching the lovers. But, after the peculiar conversation in the bar, she was not going to mention it. Studying the fashionable frockcoat, the striped vest, and pantaloons, Jess said, ‘He looks like he’s got a mean streak. There’s no softness about him is there?’

Douglas shook his head, ‘Quite a nasty specimen, gambling, dueling. According to my solicitor, he was a member of the Hell Fire Club – Satanism. But come and see the sister, Margaret.’

Jess looked up into the soft blue eyes of a young woman with blonde ringlets, posing in a low cut dress of blue satin with lace trims. ‘’She’s lovely – so different from Murial. She looks gentle, whereas Murial has a kind of wild energy about her.’

He then showed her the rather imposing portrait of Duncan’s father, the former Earl in full regimental dress and the Countess, with beautiful milk-white skin and dark ringlets, a dainty King Charles spaniel nestling in the dark satins of her skirt.

Scowling at the Earl, Douglas said, ‘He was a bastard – showed no mercy to his tenants, so I hear.’ He decided to withhold the rest of the Earl’s history; it was too morbid and would spoil the lightness of the mood. Taking her hand in his, he said, ‘Anyway, changing the subject, let me search your room for you. It will set my mind at rest as well as yours. I promise I won’t make a move on you.’

Jess dimpled and laughed, half wishing he would.

Dinah put her arm around Jess’s shoulders. ‘I’ll stay with you tonight. ‘

Feeling Douglas’s hand squeeze hers, Jess dimpled. ‘I think I’ll be okay now, Di.’ You get a good night’s sleep.’

‘Are you sure, honey? I really don’t mind.’

She felt his eyes on her. ‘Quite sure.’

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 17 & 18

August 24, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 17 & 18

Chapter 17

Jess lifted the duvet and bottom sheet to examine the mattress, her hand sinking into the plump softness. Ah yes, deep memory foam, as were the pillows. She’d sleep okay here. Once undressed, she pulled on a robe. On a whim she went to the balcony to take another look at the lake. Stepping onto the balcony, she saw the woman was back, looking directly at her. Frowning, Jess took out a digital camera from her handbag and moving out of view, took a photo of her. She was intrigued; the woman could have been her twin.

She felt that familiar heaviness of her eyes pulling her into sleep, that tug of her body that forebodes of something more than a dream. Her mind went back to those two short weeks with Peter. They found Rhonan and a beautiful hotel. The countryside in Scotland held many ancient castles, the ruins crumbling into the rich green earth. But, there was no sign of anyone called Murial.

Earlier, she’d had that sense of déjà-vu when the cab drove up to the Manor, but it was fleeting. Rubbing her eyes, she felt she was entering Murial’s body again. As always, it was a strange sensation. She wondered if Murial had any idea what was happening. Did she, too, feel the same weird feelings as Jess’s spirit slipped into her body, her mind? Really, it was time she and Dinah investigated whether this was a Past Life experience. She still felt that guilt of being a voyeur, but she was helpless to stop the dream happening. She was also anxious about Murial. The woman ran such risks. She certainly had guts, having a love affair with a distant cousin-in-law.

It was a wonder the servants had no apprehension of Duncan slipping into Murial’s room at night. But, the Manor was a warren of secret passages, doors, and hideaways. So necessary also, as pillage and assassination were always a danger in those perilous times. Fighting to keep her eyes open, her body jerked as the phone rang. Picking it up, Jess stifled a yawn. ‘ Hello, Di … God, I’m so tired; it’s that dreadful feeling again. You know as if Murial’s taking over … No, I’ll be fine, I’m used to it now … just need to sleep for a while. See you later. Okay? Yes, the dining room … dinner? Wake me up if I’m late.’ Sighing, she dragged herself onto the bed. Within seconds of closing her eyes, a kaleidoscope of images flickered, pulling her into the dream.

Hidden by the bulrushes, the lovers lay entangled on a bank overlooking the lake, Murial played with a lock of Duncan’s hair.

Pulling her to him, he said, ‘When we are married—‘

‘Let’s not talk of that – it’s frightening. I just wish I was not illegitimate then I would have nothing to fear—‘

‘It is something we will face together. Your mother had a tragic life and I—’

‘Can you imagine dying alone from cholera?’ Tears threatened as her voice quivered. ‘Married at barely fifteen? She was so young. How could they force her to marry a man of over seventy? God knows what he did to her in bed.’

‘Aye, no wonder she took a lover.’

‘And they killed him. That duel was rigged, Duncan. How could a young man of two and twenty years be out fenced by a man who could barely walk? No, the duel was rigged; the bastards killed him, then locked her away, pregnant and alone. As for that lecherous old swine, I’m glad he’s dead. He took a child to his bed Duncan, a child. At least, she knew some love.’ Tears bubbled and dropped from her eyes as she buried her head in her hands and wept. “It was only a few years ago that women were slaves to the sexual desires of men, betrothed at birth, bedded at twelve.’

Duncan’s mind went back to that day he’d first seen Murial. He’d bounded down the main staircase, the dogs at his heels when old Patrick McGregor and his father arrived with a toddler. Her hair was a halo of fiery curls, emerald eyes framed with black lashes. The green chiffon dress and hairband gave her a look of a tiny mermaid almost too ethereal for this world. He remembered laughing as she held out plump little arms to the dogs standing nearly a head taller than her. His father called out ‘Duncan; this is Murial, she has come to live with us. Come greet your little cousin.’

Duncan rushed forward as she put a chubby finger in her mouth, staring up at him. He’d never wanted a sister, they were too prissy, always whining and playing with dolls. But, this little creature unafraid of the animals towering over her, just stared up at him, her arm reaching up to curl around the dog’s neck as it licked her cheek. He knew then that he would care for her with his life. She too bonded immediately. As the years passed, she emulated him in every way, insisting that the fairies change her into a boy. It was only later as she reached her sixteenth birthday Duncan was glad she hadn’t. For over a year, he fought his feelings, his longings. It seemed almost incestuous, but he could not fight his love. Murial was a part of him, part of his very soul.

‘It still hurts me Duncan and always will. You have always known the love of your family, your mother, father, brothers, and sister. I have no one. I often long to know my mother – to meet her if only for a few seconds – to hold her hand – to feel her hold me in her arms, feel her soft skin. I often imagine that her favorite scent was lavender like mine. Just think, I could pick a sprig of lavender and immediately be with her in my mind, in my senses. But that can never be. And then my father – killed in a duel. Often I dream of him, dream that we are walking together through a meadow of wildflowers. He is so tall and strong, and I come only to his waist. Then I dream he grabs me and tosses me in the air – so much love, so much laughter, and then I wake up. I am alone, Duncan. Sometimes I feel so isolated.’

Chapter 18

Jessie groaned as she struggled to wake, rising on her elbows to watch a shaft of light spear shadows. The dreams left her feeling weaker. She forced herself to swing her legs over the bed. Struggling into a silk wrap, she trudged over to the shower. Unlike so many other people, Jessie loved the water at just medium warm, scalding hot water took away the silken joy of water on her skin. Reaching for the sponge and foaming gel, she fought to escape the nightmare of the Clearances. Murial was so brave, so feisty, but still, in those days, women were subjugated to men. The threat of being thrown out onto the streets was never far from their minds, a danger more lethal than iron shackles.

Yet Murial was right; she was not the type to sip morning coffee or chocolate and join in frivolous gossip. Through the dreams, she came through as a rebel, a signal of the suffragette movement to come.

Toweling her hair, Jessie wondered how the girl controlled her rage against a society that sequestered her in a soft prison of the home. She was fortunate she had Duncan and not some pompous ass talking through his balls. As the image of Duncan rose in her mind, Jess gasped, of course, that’s where he looked familiar, he was the image of Douglas. She realized then that there was some kind of synchronicity or divine order taking place. Before meeting Douglas, she had consistently dreamt of his ancestor. Was there such a thing as Fate – Destiny?

***

The dining room carried through the Regency decor with gleaming rosewood dining chairs on saber legs and complemented with maroon and gold striped upholstery. Exquisite linen tablecloths looked inviting with sparkling crystal glasses and heavy silver cutlery.

Dinah, already seated in a secluded corner table, waved. ‘Hey, you look washed out.’

Jess slumped into her chair. ‘I feel it. The nap has made me feel worse, not better.’

Dinah frowned. ‘I’ve got you some wine, while we’re waiting – Shiraz. That should buck you up. Hey, guess what? I met George and Lucy in the bar. They were so pleased to know we’ve arrived. I said we’d meet up later –if that’s alright with you.’

‘Yes, that’s fine, but I am meeting Douglas. He asked me to join him at the bar.’

‘He’s one gorgeous hunk.’

‘Yeah, well, let’s hope he doesn’t think so too.’

‘That’s the trouble with good-looking guys; they think you’ll rip off your thong if they just glance your way.’

‘Hmm, you can usually tell though in the first two sentences.’

Dinah grinned. ‘Well, I got it wrong once. There was this great looking guy. He seemed so pleasant – polite. All I did was go to the loo, and he was waiting outside. The next thing I know, he’s slamming me against the wall and tearing off my top with one hand, his fingers on my crotch with the other. He was crazy, he kept saying, ‘Baby, baby, I know you want this.’ She stopped. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jess, didn’t think.’

Jessie sipped her wine, the image of that bastard Smethurst rising in her mind. ‘It’s okay, Dinah. I’m over it. So what did you do?’

‘Kneed him.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Well, George seems okay. He behaved himself at the pub, and he didn’t follow me to the loo.’

‘He certainly couldn’t take his eyes off you. Changing the subject, though, I’ve had that dream again. You know the one about the lake. Only this time ─’ Jess stopped as the waiter, a slim young man looking more Italian than Scottish, approached with the menus. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’ As she cast her eyes down the menu, she felt her appetite diminish. She still had that sense of heaviness. Maybe a good night’s sleep would shake it off.

After ordering, Dinah leaned forward, her voice low. ‘So go on, tell me about the dream.’ She was keen to hear it, as psychologists knew the importance of dreams, however surreal they may be.

‘It’s changed Di; it’s almost as if I am living Murial’s life now, more so than ever. I seem to merge with her; I can read her thoughts and Duncan’s.’

‘Shades of Past Lives? As you know, the person going back to a Past life can often be telepathic as well. So tell me what happened?’

Jess shaking out her napkin began recounting the dream, starting with the feeling of heaviness in her eyelids, the waves of exhaustion sweeping over her. Taking a bite from the duck in cherry and port sauce, she said, ‘they’re caught up in the Scottish Clearances. As I know their names, it might be easier to trace it all back. Then, of course, there were the love trysts as they called them, and this guy spying on them. Murial saw him and told Duncan, but she was so afraid they might duel, and Duncan could be lethally hurt.’

Dinah chewed on a delicious portion of Lobster Thermidor ‘Hmm – this really does sound like a Past Life. ‘We really should try taking you back. This time it could happen. The dreams certainly are as vivid as you say. Murial and Duncan’s are so strong, they might even manifest.’

Jessie shivered. ‘Oh, no. That’s the one thing I don’t want to happen. I don’t mind getting a message or even drawing them but nothing else. I’d die of fright.’

‘Perhaps we ought to have a séance. We could ask George and Lucy. I’m sure they’d be up for it.’

‘I’d like to, but I need to get organized first. Daisy’s coming in a few days, and I need to get the studio sorted out.’

‘Trouble is if you leave it, the power fades.’

‘I know it’s just that heaviness, the exhaustion. I can still feel it. It’s quite frightening actually.’

‘Maybe you were taken over. After all, you are a medium.’

‘Psychic artist Dinah. That’s a load of difference from a medium. I mean, I might go into a light trance but not anywhere as deep as a medium does.’

‘Maybe you did this time. Maybe that’s why you have this feeling of exhaustion. For all, you know your powers might be evolving. Have a think about it.’

‘Okay, but don’t say anything to George or Lucy. At the moment, I don’t want to be held to anything.’

Seeing Jessie finish her coffee, Dinah said, ‘Let’s go and find them shall we?’

On their way to the bar, they passed through one of the small lounges, decorated with gold silk walls. The center point was a carving of a pine tree soaring ceiling-high, encircled with an ottoman. The gilt painted leaves of the palm-tree complimented the six-foot-high sculpture of the Hindu god Ganesha in a far corner, typical Regency period.

Jess turned to the sound of Douglas’s voice, ‘Jessie, hey, over here.’

The bar was in direct contrast to the Regency decor of the dining room and rest area. The low oak ceiling beams and tables with oak carved chairs and country rose chintz upholstery gave more of a Victorian feel to the room.

Douglas rose to greet her, his eyes taking in the slenderness of her body, the swell of her breasts in the low cut black dress that clung to sinuous curves. A three-stringed choker of pearls, with a central ruby, her only ornament, gave luster to the pale beauty of her skin.

George pulled out a chair calling to Dinah, ‘Hi precious girl.’ Dinah flushed, tweaking one of the dark ringlets, her body swaying seductively in a short skirt of blue chiffon with a cream silk bustier. Sitting down, he put a huge arm over the back of her chair and stroked her neck, whispering, ‘such a beautiful neck.’

Blushing, she moved a little closer to him.

Douglas smiled at the group. ’So what can I get you all.’

Jess asked for Shiraz, Dinah a Chardonnay, Lucy stayed with her soft orange while George settled for a pint of Guinness.

As Douglas went to the bar, Jessie saw a good looking guy with chestnut brown hair, dressed in country casuals, approach Lucy. As she smiled back, he pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. ‘Sorry I missed the class, but one of the Vietnamese pigs in the domestic farm decided to have colic.’

Jess laughed, ‘A Pot-bellied pig. They’re beautiful. I have a friend who sculpts them, has two of her own, one black and one spotted.’

Nat grinned, ‘They have such friendly natures, make excellent pets. I’ve been told they are more intelligent than dogs. By the way, I’m Nat, Douglas’s brother.’

Jess took his hand, feeling the calluses on his fingers. ‘Pleased to meet you – Jessie – Jessie McGregor. I’ve done some paintings of them. Potbellied pigs are ideal for pop-art with their floppy ears and rolls of fat. I love the way they sway when they walk.’

‘Yea, I have to watch they don’t get too fat though, they’re greedy little buggers.’

‘My Golden Retriever is one of the greediest dogs I know. She lives for the next bite.’

Douglas returned to the table, carrying a tray laden with drinks. ‘Ah Nat, got you a beer.’ Seeing Nat sitting on the other side of Jessie, he said, ‘I see you two have introduced yourselves?’ He frowned as Nat held Jessie’s hand to his lips before releasing it. What the hell was he playing at? He was already flirting with Lucy, so why this?

Taking his seat next to her, he put his arm lightly around her shoulders possessively. As the others talked, he murmured to Jessie. ‘You look beautiful. I hope you had a good nap.’

‘Not really, I had such vivid dreams.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, it’s always of this guy−. ‘

What? Missing your partner already?’

Realizing he was fishing to find out if she was single, Jessie decided to tease him. ‘Err – no, I don’t know him. Funny how you can dream of complete strangers.’

‘Really – tell me.’

Jessie grinned. ‘Oh no – it was much too intimate.’

Douglas watched as the tip of her very pink tongue flitted over her moist lip. He felt a tingle dance down to his groin. God she was sexy.

Catching the gleam in his eye, Jessie laughed. ‘If you want to know – I don’t have a partner.’

‘Err –Glad to hear it. Maybe I could show you around sometime. There are lots to see here.’

‘I’d like that.’ Her expression became serious as she said, ‘Actually we’ve only just split up. We’d been together for nearly four years, but things weren’t working out.’

‘Oh, I see – so you’re okay?’

‘Yes – it was just upsetting, you know. Peter’s a freelance journalist. He’s often called away to Europe, hot spots in Africa and the Middle East. We didn’t get to spend much time together.’

‘Dangerous places to be.’

‘Yes, I know. I never knew where he would be next. I spent most of our relationship worrying about him. Still do really. We’re good friends.’

‘That’s quite difficult to achieve – I mean to end something amicably.’

‘I’ve always remained friends with boyfriends or partners.’

He raised his eyebrows. How many relationships had she had?

She continued. ‘Saying that I’ve only had three boyfriends, and I’m now twenty-nine and single again.’

‘I must say I’m happy to hear that.’

His arm tightened around her shoulders.

Realizing the passion in that grip, she said hurriedly, ‘I just want to relax now – have fun – sort myself out. How about you?’

Douglas’s smile faded, ‘How could he tell her? It was too soon. Maybe she wouldn’t want to get involved when she knew.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 15 & 16

August 20, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 15 & 16

Chapter 15

PRESENT DAY
RHONAN MANOR HOTEL

The hotel brochure did not give credence to the vast expanse of the Manor, or the beauty of the classical architecture of the Palladio. Jessie gazed with delight at the soaring colonnades, the semi-circular arches overhanging large Venetian style windows. The building would be more in keeping with the palazzos of Venice than the wild highland landscape.

‘God, Dinah, it’s beautiful. Glad we made a choice.’

Dinah’s heart leaped a little as she grinned. ‘It’ll be good to see George again.’

‘Look, that must be the lake George was talking about and the island. Plenty of people out boating.’

‘Yeah, the boats seem pretty easy to handle. We’ll have to take one out. Look, there’s the Mausoleum. I can just see it through the silver birch trees – creepy.’

Jessie’s eyes widened as she looked at the gothic tomb. The small arched windows with darkened leaded lights typified the funereal look. She glimpsed the bushes, moving to reveal the slender figure of a woman in a scarlet skirt hugging a tightly wrapped bundle to her breast. As the girl turned to her, Jess gave a startled gasp. She might as well have been looking at a mirror image of herself. However, there would be many women with the same bone structure and red hair in Scotland.

As the cab arrived at the white marble steps of the Manor, two bellhops dressed in green liveried uniforms rushed to take their cases. The hotel gardens were certainly popular with couples strolling arm in arm, mothers rushing after toddlers, fathers playing cricket with miniature bats and wickets. An elderly woman greeted them as she sat on a wrought-iron bench, enjoying the sun. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine as Jessie and Dinah followed the bellhops. Jessie was fascinated with the colonnade of Grecian Statues that led to a huge stone portico. Entering a vast hall quiet except for a few quests exiting the lifts or crossing to the entrance doors, Jess and Dinah stared at exquisite marble statues reminiscent of the Roman age, at marble columns supporting the vaulted ceiling. The cupola of leaded light glass shimmered in a rainbow of colors reflected on the white marble interior. The walls decorated with trompe l’oeil gave the illusion of niches replete with sculpted busts of long-dead ancestors and a sweeping panorama of Elysian Fields. Suits of armor stood in alcoves, while stag and lion heads gazed through sightless brown orbs.

Behind a large mahogany reception desk, Aileen Byrne, in a sea-green uniform, sat flicking through papers, her generous figure overflowing the regency tapestry chair. She looked up at her fellow receptionist, a slim girl with ash blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. ‘So, Margaret, the Americans are here. One of them will be having the Mermaid Suite and a studio. Seems she’s a keen painter.’

‘A month – quite a lengthy stay.’

‘Maybe she’s been ill or perhaps needs time to do the painting.’

‘Hmm … they’re coming through the door now.’

‘Then I’ll be ringing for his Lordship. He wanted to know the second Dr. Jessica Marshall, and her friend arrived. Special greeting for long-stay guests.’ Pushing the bell button on the desk, Aileen jumped up lightly to her feet, her red-lipped mouth opening in shock. ‘Look at the one with red hair now? Tis, the woman in the portrait. Could be herself coming in now.’

‘ She’s a ghost – to be sure she’s─’

‘Och now, hush, she’ll be hearing ye.’

Jessie and Dinah followed the bellhops to the desk. After tipping them, they watched them scatter away, laughing as they pocketed the generous tips.

Turning to the desk, Jessie met the crystal blue eyes of the black-haired Aileen.

‘We have bookings, Dr. Jessica McGregor and Dr. Dinah Shibley.’

The older woman leaned forward, twisting her mouth into a smile ‘Ah Doctor McGregor, tis a braw Scottish name ye have there. ‘She took a deep breath into the ample bosom and said, ‘Ye must be tired after your flight, all the way from America.’

Jessie laughed, ‘Ah no, we’ve just come from London. We met some friends while we were there. They recommended this hotel.’

‘Ah, I see, now who would that be?’

Jessie smiled inwardly, realizing she had the same curiosity as her Scottish relations in America.’.

‘Err … Lucy and George Ames.’

‘Really? The teachers?’

Dinah nudged Jessie. ‘So he’s here. Great.’

Margaret looked over to Dinah, ‘If you’d like to come over here, I can help ye.’

Maeve continued talking to Jess. ‘Well, they’ll be teaching this afternoon, and they take evening courses too. Tis braw friends you have, and teaching fine hobbies. I love to read, as well. Nothing like a good book to curl up with. But then, it’s a Kindle I’ll be using now. So much better than a paperback, easier to handle. And, they’re much cheaper than paperbacks.’ Jessie nodded as she tweaked an eyebrow at Dinah. It seemed Aileen and Margaret were settling down for a long chat.

Jess brought out her passport. ‘Umm … would you like this?’

‘Ah, yes, we’ll look after this for you. Now we have the Mermaid Suite and the Fairy Dale for ye both. The Master himself wanted you to have them. They’re the most luxurious and comfortable seeing as you’ll be staying with us for so long.’

‘Now, Margaret and I will be looking after both of you during your stay.’

As she spoke, she took the red leather-bound Register from the blond-haired girl, and placing it before Jessie, offered her a gilt ballpoint pen.

Douglas entered the reception area as Jessie bent to sign the register. His stomach tightened when he caught sight of long copper hair, a sunburst of color in the light, the image of the portrait in the gallery. So, this was the woman who’d inherited an empire. Why should she choose this backwater? It wasn’t as if it was a five-star hotel. He’d managed four stars without the Michelin Star Chef. As Jessie bent to write her name and address, she felt a light touch on her shoulder. She found herself looking up at a man with the face of a Da Vinci angel, a masterpiece of high cheekbones, and angled jaw complimenting a full bottom lip. But, it was his eyes that held her eyes, the color of a summer sea. He smiled, sweeping back a stray lock from a mane of black hair reaching to his shoulders, reminding her of a Regency rake. She was not sure of the cool, calculating gleam in his eyes, as they rested on her cleavage. Her eyes narrowed, he reminded her of someone, but whom?

Chapter 16

His heart leapt, as he looked down into eyes the color of emeralds in sunlight. After two years in Scotland, his voice now held the whisper of a Scottish burr, rising and falling over his English accent. His eyes turned to Dinah, ‘Ladies, welcome. I trust you had a pleasant journey. Let me introduce myself – Douglas Mavebury. He clicked his fingers at another two bellhops bidding them take the cases up to the rooms. ‘And now, let me escort you to your suites.’

As he left to usher Jess and Dinah into the lift, Aileen turned to Margaret. ‘Did ye see his face when he saw the one with the red hair? White it was … white.’

‘Hmm … tis the portrait.’

***

Using diplomatic guile, Douglas made sure he deposited Dinah to her suite before escorting Jess to hers. Upon entering the room, she felt a sense of déjà vu, followed by a wave of unnatural tiredness washing through her. The four-poster bed looked inviting with the heavy brocade drapes of blue silk. The room was certainly elegant, boasting a Georgian mahogany dressing table complete with swing mirror and the blue and white striped satin dressing chair. Catching sight of an antique escritoire and chair, she said, ‘My aunt used to have a writing desk just like this. I can use it for my laptop.’

Yet, as Jessie stroked the smooth mahogany top, an image flashed through her mind of another century. An image arose in her mind of a young woman dipping a quill pen into a crystal inkwell, her face contorted with grief.

The vision fragmented as Douglas said, ‘That’s strange, I told the workmen to put that escritoire into storage in the barn.’ He lifted the lid staring at a leatherette writing pad now free of maggots and slime. This was a mystery as only half an hour ago, he’d checked the room over to make sure everything was in order. The writing desk certainly wasn’t there then.

Shaking off that feeling of dread, Jessie peered across the bedroom to the archway leading to a small sitting room furnished with the same Regency furniture in blue and white satin. The grey marble coffee table held a 32-inch wall television above a low-lying marble table. ‘I’m impressed – love it.’ Smiling at Douglas, she opened the balcony windows stepping onto the gilt wrought-iron balcony overlooking the lake. ‘It’s so beautiful here. I’ll just have to take a boat over to the island. The mausoleum is quite gothic. I’d love to explore it.’ She noticed the red-haired woman, and babe had disappeared.

Douglas cleared his throat, ‘I’m sorry, but for safety reasons, one of the staff will row you over. The mausoleum is my ancestor’s, Lord Duncan – story is he drowned himself in the lake.’

Jessie’s heart leaped, ‘Oh my God, did you say Duncan? Lord Duncan?’

His eyes narrowed as he said, ‘Yes. You’ve heard of him?’

Jess saw his jaw tighten; the full lips pull back. Trained to read body language, she realized this was a touchy subject. Just saying the name caused him to tense up. Puzzled, she decided not to pursue the matter; there was plenty of time for her to start asking questions. She felt the excitement tighten her chest. Was there a chance it was the same, Duncan?

Quickly she said, ‘Drowned himself in the lake?’ That’s awful. You know, I saw a young woman over there when I was in the cab coming here – long red hair like mine going into the copse … maybe it’s my eyes playing tricks. She could have been my double. But then there are lots of red-haired women in Scotland.’

Douglas realized he’d over-reacted to her question. There were only six weeks now for the codicil to run. Both he and Nat were on full alert as fraudsters frantically contacted the solicitor’s office with false claims. Thank God, Pevensey was on the ball. He saved them a lot of time and heartache. Douglas fought to compose himself. He was becoming paranoiac. After all, she was an American and a multi-millionaire; there was little chance she was at all interested. Added to that, she was gorgeous, her green eyes wide and innocent. He smiled as he said, ‘People are warned to stay away from the island. I’ll have to warn the staff to keep a look out – it’s quite dangerous –tidal water –fed by Loch Achray nearby. But if you really want to have a look at the Mausoleum, I’ll certainly get one of the staff to row you over, maybe this afternoon?’

An icy breeze almost stabbed her skin, followed by a peculiar pull on her body. Her muscles grew heavy with fatigue, her legs leaden. ‘I guess I’ll have to take a rain check –I’m just so tired. I don’t know why, but maybe it’s the plane flight.’

‘Would you like me to send you up some lunch?’

‘Err … no thanks. I ate on the plane. I guess I’m too exhausted to do anything but sleep right now.’

‘Then I’ll let you rest … how about a drink in the bar this evening? Say at nine o’clock?’ Glancing over to the bed and then at the luscious curves and languorous eyes, Douglas felt the urge to join her. His fear now forgotten, he shook his head bemused, this woman bewitched him.

‘Great … by the way, my dog Daisy should be arriving in a few days. We had trouble with her vaccination, she was quite unwell after it.’

‘Oh, I hope she’s okay now.’

‘Yes, thank goodness. Anyway, I was told she could stay in my suite.’

‘Of course. I‘ll have a basket brought up for her. You said she was a golden retriever, so I’ll make sure she has a larger basket and feeding bowls.’

‘That’s good of you. She’s a hundred and two pounds, but not fat. Loves her food, though. I’ve really missed her. But I just couldn’t bring her over while we were traveling so much.’

‘I know what you mean, I have a hound – Victor, we’re like Siamese twins as, wherever I go, he’s there.’

Jess laughed. ‘I know Daisy is the same. What breed is he?’

‘A Hungarian Viszla; they’re very much like the Weimaraners, but all the Vizslas are ginger. The breeders use the name ‘sedge’ – sounds better.’

‘Hah … beautiful dogs.’

Seeing the wilt of her shoulders, he said, ‘Look, I’ll let you get some sleep … later then.’ As he closed the door, he shook his head, still feeling that slight shock of recognition. She really was the double of Murial, the woman in the portrait gallery.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 13 & 14

August 17, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 13 & 14

Chapter 13

Father O’Reilly narrowed his rheumy eyes at Douglas then took a quick swig from the whiskey bottle. ‘No, but ye’ll need to be purified man. To be sure you’re no saint –blaspheming the sacred rites.’

Shedding his shabby black jacket, the priest unclipped the battered leather suitcase taking out a black tunic, white surplice, and alb enriched with gold and purple stripes. Placing a cloth over the small table, he picked up two sturdy candlesticks, into which he put candles previously blessed on the church altar. As he donned the white alb, the rich gold and purple stripes contrasting with his black tunic, he conceded. ‘It’s only a mild form of exorcism. To be sure, ghosts infest the place. Think of what has happened here over the centuries –famine – suicides.’

‘With respect Father –superstition.’

The priest kissed the maniple, embroidered with ancient Christian symbols of the fish, and the Great Shepherd. ‘Your disbelief may hinder the exorcism. Keep your blasphemous comments to yourself. If you want to open this hotel, you’d best be pleasing the villagers.’ As he crossed the maniple over his chest, he muttered, ‘There’s no way they’ll set foot in the place until it’s cleansed.’

Douglas sighed – impurity – demons – ghostly attacks, what next?

Father O’Reilly placed the exorcised sacraments on the low mahogany table before holding up a large silver crucifix. ‘We must venerate the cross. Keep your eyes on this crucifix at all times. Do not be distracted. Now let us pray. Through the death of our Lord Jesus Christ, we defeat Satan. Demons and devils cannot hurt us. We fear not the bite of the serpent.’

Picking up a Rosary of amber beads, he kissed it, placing it with the crucifix. As he turned, Douglas felt quite shocked, as the priest seemed to change in stature and deportment, becoming a dignified clergyman. His hunched back straightened, his chin lifted, his rheumy eyes glittered like pale sapphires.

He nodded to them, holding up his hand, palm forward as if bestowing a blessing. ‘So now, Douglas – Nathan stand as I bless these sacred sacraments.’

Feeling rather foolish, Douglas stood crossing his hands in front of him while Nathan duly closed his eyes, lifting his hands in prayer.

Gone were the jarring gravel tones, as the Father boomed out the sacred blessings and purifications rites in a rich, mellifluous voice. He took out a small bottle of oil. Holding it up, he directed his gaze to Douglas. ‘The evil spirits hate this one. We use this in the very beginning; each room we go in, we throw a few drops of oil across the threshold.

I shall say the rites first in Latin and then in English. You will repeat the English after me. The evil spirits hate this one. Holding both hands over the bottle, he said, ‘Exorcizo te, creatura olei” (“I exorcise, creature oil”). “Omis virtus adversarii, om.’

Feeling rather foolish, Douglas stumbled over the words. ‘I don’t speak Latin. I can’t remember it.’

‘Then repeat the English words, man.’

Picking up another bottle, the priest held it up. ‘Holy Water. This drives out demons and defends us against attacks. It cleanses the rooms of their evil impurity. Then we have the salt, which adds to the power. Beatus lux lucis of Deus fulsi continuo super illa sacramentum purgatio totus pro lemma. Exorczose Diabolus quod everto.’

Turning to them, he repeated it in English. ‘May the blessed light of God shine forth upon these sacraments cleansing all before them. May they exorcise devils and demons.’

He paused as he said to Nathan, ‘You’ll best be off now. I don’t want to leave you here on your own. There’s no telling what will happen.’

Douglas raised his eyebrows, grinning sarcastically at Nathan.

The priest caught the glance muttering, ‘This is no laughing matter, be it ghosts or demons, ye could come back to find your brother spirited, or worse still lying there with his throat cut.’

Nathan’s face blanched. ‘Well, it’s the Mariner’s Arms for me then.’

Douglas watched him go, anger simmering, what a waste of time, he now had to spend the next few hours chasing non-existent ghosts.

The priest turned to him, his eyes glinting, face solemn. ‘We should begin with the attics. Nathan tells me a couple of the workmen left, refusing to return.’

Resigned to the task, Douglas nodded. ‘As you wish.’

The attics covered a vast area, divided up into three parts with doors through to each partition. The air seemed colder, with a sense of dampness. That shouldn’t be, as they had laid damp proofing throughout. Douglas hid his irritation as Father O’Reilly began to pray from the 54^th Psalm, his voice quivering,

‘O God, by your name, save us. By your strength, defend our cause.

O God, hear my prayer. Listen to the words of my mouth…

Turn back the evil upon my foes; in your faithfulness, destroy

them…’

As he followed the priest’s crooked form, shuffling through the hanging sheets of plastic, stumbling over tools and bags of cement, Douglas ignored the shadows dense and dark against the walls.

Father O’Reilly stopped, holding up his hand, listening to sounds of scratching and scuttling. ‘Hail Mary Mother of Grace…begone oh ye foul spirits…get thee hence…’

Douglas smiled his lip lifting in a slight sneer as the priest declared the first two attics clear of infestation – the only infestation to his mind was rats.

The door to the last attic was so tiny they had to duck almost double to get through. The room was small, a mere twelve feet by fifteen feet. Straightening up, the priest said, ‘D’you hear that?’

Douglas groaned inwardly – rats again – for God ’s sake, that’s all it was – rats. Irritated, his eyes lit upon what looked like a regency writing desk with matching chair, both wrapped in plastic. Frowning, he walked over, unaware of a mist rising from the floor, sneaking around his heels. He must have missed this when they cleared the attics, but how was that possible? It looked to be a fine piece of antique furniture.

As he began unwrapping the desk, the priest shouted, making him jump back.

‘Look at the wall, man – would ye look at that now.’

Douglas raised his head to see a slime the color of mucous dripping down the wood, the smell of rotting eggs brought bile to his throat.

O’Reilly ripping off the plastic, lifted the lid of the desk, his small eyes widened in horror. He leaped back, shouting, ‘In the name of the Christ in all his purity, I abjure thee, get thee hence. Leave this place and harm us no more.’

Douglas muttered, ‘For God’s sake, they’re only maggots.

O’Reilly whispered, ‘Tis, the sign of infestation – the devil. Some of the hauntings is to do with this desk. We must take it out of here, bring it into the light. Come, there is more to do.’

‘Yes, Father, I’ll see to it tomorrow.’

So far, the second and first floors proved to be clear of any more ghostly signs. Yet, the priest insisted on carrying out a purification act and blessing of each room. Douglas sighed, just a couple of more rooms, and they were done. He found the whole thing frustrating and banal. They were living in the twenty-first century for God’s sake, and here he was participating in medieval rites.

As they opened the door to the Mermaid Suite, Douglas said, ‘Well Father two more rooms to─’ A fierce wind cut off his words, punching him from the room, sleet stinging his face. The priest fought back, struggling into the room, croaking, ‘O Lord deliver us from every tempest, from every lightning.’

Douglas, his body, straining against what seemed to be a force nine gale, pushed his way to the balcony windows battling to shut them. To his confusion, the night was calm outside the room, the trees unmoving, the moon scudding across a cloudless sky.

The priest’s voice grated out the words, ‘Sancti Spiritus, audi nos – audi nos. ‘Our Father deliver us from evil, let Christ’s angels hover over us…let the archangels…’ The room quieted as if something was listening. Father O’Reilly whispered, ‘Can you… smell that?

‘What?’

‘Seaweed …

Douglas stopped abruptly as he saw the priest glance into the corner of the room the candlelight diffused with swirling dust motes sparkling in the moonlight, circling, forming a shape. He strained his ears to catch something – singing – surely not. He caught the words, “Bye, Baby….”

Lifting the candlestick high, the little priest advanced towards it, whispering, ‘Spiritus Sancti… exaudi nos… exaudi nos… Go back, go back. Begone.’

Despite himself, Douglas found the skin on his arms crawling, the back of his neck becoming rigid, as he watched O’Reilly lay the consecrated host on the floor before it.

Slowly stepping back, he gestured for Douglas to leave the room as he incanted, Vos vostum ut redo hic. Vos es defaeco Deus. Gentius quod hi icentia is locus tarsus quod plenu of venia. May angelus rector vos ut lux lucis. You are purified in the eyes of God. Begone – leave this place clean and full of grace. May the angels guide you to the light.’

As the priest slammed the door behind him, the figure sighed, floating back to the bed. But it was not the magnificent four-poster bed newly installed. Instead, it was a smaller older one, with roses carved around the aged posts. Weeping, the transparent form nursed the tiny baby, ‘Bye Baby Bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting….’ O’Reilly stopped by the door his eyes wild. He beckoned to Douglas to join him. “Can ye not hear it? Tis Murial – to be sure it is her – that song … a lullaby.’

Douglas felt his stomach clench. No, it couldn’t be right, couldn’t. ‘It must be the wind, Father. It was blowing a gale in there.’

“Well, whether ye believe your own ears or not ye cannot be putting anyone in there. Tis not safe.’

‘I thought you said Murial was not a threat.’

‘She isn’t, to be sure she’s only a poor sweet girl lost in limbo. But she’s a portal ye mind, a portal for darker forces.’

Chapter 14

Douglas’s heart thudded. That was abnormal – paranormal – if that’s what they called it. Striding through corridors, Father O’Reilly’s words rose above the wind groaning against mullioned windows, whistling through holes in aged doors. ‘Every unclean spirit…I abjure thee, depart from this house of God’s servants….’

As they walked down the corridor towards the grand central staircase, the flickering candles cast pools of light on stairs and banister. Douglas saw the mist gathering in pools, swirling up across the landing, climbing up the wainscoting.

When the priest shook oil on the mist, Douglas, as instructed, sprinkled holy water. To his consternation, he saw a black cat forming as the mist hissed, clearing a path before them. ‘Father, can you see it? – the cat?’

The priest shook his head, ‘Ignore it – just ignore it. Follow me, keep close.’

Douglas felt the wrath ripple through the priest’s body, his language changing from somber incantation to anger with a tinge of fear. The rising mist was becoming denser, the utter silence ominous, as they descended the staircase. Candle flames spluttered when a disembodied face with skin the color of a skull, loomed from an ancient painting. Douglas’s face was ashen as he tried to ignore the black cat slinking before them.

He jumped as Father O’Reilly roared, ‘Spiritus Sanctus – get ye hence – get ye hence.’ A deep thud from the wainscoting mocked him, followed by another and another.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘Anger.’ O’Reilly splashed a few drops of oil followed by holy water on the stairs, the thuds quickened, the oak panels of the staircase bulging outwards.

Then silence, a terrible waiting silence.

The candles flickered and died. Douglas could taste the sulfurous mist like rancid meat. ‘We’ve got to get out of here. Come on.’ He ran almost falling over the fleshy body of the cat. So, it wasn’t a ghost, but where in the hell did it come from?

The priest caught his arm; he could hear the arthritic fingers cracking in the silence. ‘Wait – listen. It’s waning, the strength is waning. We’ve beaten them for the time being.’

Douglas’s brain raced. It could not have happened; it was against everything he believed in. His heart leapt into his throat as the cat yowled, baring fangs drooling, unsheathing its claws, before disappearing into a mist before him.

Speechless, he watched the priest cross the vast hall back to the living area, Disrobing he held gnarled hands over the flames, his shock of white hair wild about his head. He rubbed the pockmarked nose and purple-veined cheeks, ‘I’ll be telling ye again, ye’ll have to board that room up.’

‘The Mermaid Suite? That’s impossible. An American woman has booked it for three months, paid thousands for it.

‘Ye have no choice.’

‘I’m running a business here, Father. I’ve only allowed this damn exorcism to get staff from the local district. For God’s sake, what more can I do? And by the way, what was that? That cat?’

‘Ah, it comes and goes – but it aims to protect – but coming back to the subject ye have to close the Mermaid Suite.’

‘I can’t Father, and that’s final – it would ruin us before we start. Surely there’s something else we can do?’

The priest looked at him, ‘I’ve already told you.’ The priest’s yellowed eyes bloodshot with fatigue gazed at him, ‘As long as you do not trust the word of God then they will haunt you man – I’ve done my best, but I’m not strong enough to clear them all. Aye, there are ghosts here, but there is also a darker evil. Get a trained exorcist and close the bloody Suite.’

Hearing the front doors burst open, Douglas stood to his feet, relieved to find it was only Nathan.

‘Hi there, so how did it go, see any ghosties or wee legged beasties?’

Douglas scowled. “Next time you do it.’

‘Looks like you two need a drink, what’ll it be?’

Father O’Reilly’s eyes lit up. ‘Hah, now you’re talking – the usual.’

Grinning, Nathan went to the drinks cabinet bringing out tumblers and whiskey. Filling a glass, he handed it to the priest ‘So Father?’

‘I might have given ye some time, but it will start up again. This is beyond a parish priest. You’ll have to contact the Bishop, or I will. You need a trained exorcist, One trained by the Jesuits would be best.’

Nathan frowned, ‘Didn’t George say the American woman was a medium? Maybe she could help.’

‘Yeah, the one who’s afraid of ghosts. We daren’t let her know anything is going on. She’d cancel in a minute.’

‘So did you see or hear anything?’

Douglas sitting down, shrugged, looking into the flames of the fire. ‘Maggots, seaweed, and a bloody black cat. It must have been a feral one that got in. Now I’m back here thinking it over, I’m not sure. When you look at it rationally, the candles, shadows, the rituals, even the host agitated the imagination, exacerbated the whole thing. There’s a lot of building work still going on up there, the maggots are explainable, maybe the builders left some food up there, then the warmth, the flies. It’s possible.’

O’Reilly almost choked on his whiskey, ‘You fool, you’ll rue the day if you dismiss what went on here tonight. What about the smell, the mist, eh? What about the Mermaid Suite and the cat?’

‘The cat was real, I felt it.’

‘Ghosts can take on flesh. Ye have no idea, man, no idea. What about the seaweed, the storm?’

‘ Father with respect it is a damp night, but it’s also warm, just the right conditions for mist. Maggots do stink, doesn’t mean it has to be a ghost. As for the Mermaid Suite, a freak wind, candlelight creating shadows. It’s an old building full of damp and mildew. What with that and the renovations – paint – turpentine, concrete, it’s bound to create strange smells.’

‘Well, ye seemed shocked enough at the time.’

‘Wouldn’t anyone? What with the incantations, talk of devils and spirits, evil and death? I admit I got carried away.’

Nathan knelt beside the priest, putting his hand on the frail shoulder. ‘Father, we’re grateful for what you’ve done tonight. I, for one, believe you. Too many people have seen things here. Douglas’s just being bull-headed as usual.’

O’Reilly nodded as Nathan refilled his glass. ‘Tis alright talking about it here in the light, but ye should have seen his face in that room. It was Murial – and he knows it.”

‘So Father, what’s this about Murial?’

‘I’m not sure, but tis well known that she and Lord Duncan were in love. Now no one knows what happened to her, but the young Lord committed suicide in the lake a year later.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps it is Duncan who’s doing the haunting?”

‘No, according to the myths he stays by the lake. But, maybe the soul of Murial has returned. Maybe something is keeping her prisoner here.’

‘Douglas rose to refill the glasses. ‘Interesting Father but you must admit it’s all folk tales and supposition. Anyway, I’ve got to take Victor for a walk. The poor dog’s been shut in the office all evening.’

***

That night Douglas paid no heed to the priest’s warning. He was not going to give in to their superstitious nonsense. He’d just spend the night in the Mermaid Suite. Yet, however much he would not openly admit it to himself, something was definitely wrong. That’s why he had Victor sleeping on the bed. As he lay between crisp starched sheets, the moon threw shafts of light shifting upon the satin brocade walls, adding luster to the gold motifs. The wind moaned softly outside the windows, open to the warmth of the night.

Stroking the dog’s head, he thought, it was just a silly episode, just a gust of wind and the imaginings of an old priest in his cups. He had to get some sleep. He had a full day ahead of him tomorrow with more interviews, instructions to builders, and oh yes, he must rescue the writing desk and chair from the attic.

As the moon sunk towards dawn, Victor raised his head, whimpering. His master slept ignorant of a transparent figure sitting beside him on the bed, humming the lullaby.

No part of this book may be stored, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author.

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