Page 120 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
The Maxwell Ghost
Ruth A. Casie
Chapter One
Adour facedJames Maxwell Collins, in full regalia, rode atop his destrier, sixteen of his best men rode with him. They cantered through the forest. The metal tack on their mounts’ harnesses tapped out a rhythmic beat. He breathed in the heady aroma of damp leather, musty moss and fallen leaves. The rain drenched landscape turned the rutted trail into mud and forced them onto higher ground. Just as well. While he preferred to take his time to walk the woods between his home at Cumgour and the Reynolds’ Glen Kirk Castle at the edge of the Northumberland Forest, today he chose a more dangerous route. They’d suffer the bad weather no matter which track they took, and speed was of the essence.
Richard Reynolds was dead, killed on a Welsh battlefield serving his English king.
Jamie and his men had spent the last eighteen months with Jamie’s uncle, Herbert The Maxwell at Caerlaverock Castle. They were both stunned when they heard the news. Richard was too young, too brave, too good to leave this world.
They had left immediately and spent three days riding hard to Cumgour where Jamie stopped long enough to change horses and inform his family of Richard’s passing.
Lord Wesley and Lady Darla had buried their only son before the news reached Caerlaverock. No time for Jamie to say a final good-bye to the man he knew from childhood, a distant relative, but closer friend.
“No other person could represent me better,” The Maxwell said. “I would go myself, however, with my obligations to the Parliament in Scone, the uproar here concerning the spoiled stores and ach, ghost I can’t possibly leave now. People and their superstitions drive me senseless, but I must stay. Instead of going with me, you’ll go for me. With your closeness to our cousin, Darla, and her family these many years, I couldn’t send a better man.”
“I completed my year of service six months ago. After delivering your message, I’d like to go back to my Cumgour, farm my land,” Jamie stated more than asked. This wasn’t a new request. He’d asked The Maxwell several times.
“I know you want to return to your home, but not now. Not with the problems with the grain and this damned ghost. You’re to return within the week.” The Maxwell held up his hand to ward off Jamie’s objections. “That will give you one day with the family and I’m sorry for it. Once this problem is solved, you can return home and be a farmer, although it is a waste of a good fighting man. You’ve served me well and earned your farm. Too bad you can’t bring Darla to us when you return. With her special gifts she would know how to quickly put this ghost to rest.”
Jamie didn’t believe in magic, but he would believe in the devil himself if that would help make things right at the castle so he could finally go home. He slowed his horse to a walk.
“I’ll take four men and go on. You and the others wait here. We’ll be back by morning.” His captain inclined his head in acknowledgment and signaled the troop.
Twelve of Jamie’s men peeled away and rode toward the cliff where a dry cave would give them shelter. He was sensitive to Wesley and the situation. Tensions by the border were high and he would be on English soil. A larger traveling party could be… misinterpreted. Jamie and his remaining four men navigated across Bells Burn, the stream separating Scotland and England, then headed up the rocky pass through the dense Northumberland Forest.
Richard had been one of the best soldiers he knew. No one could stop the man. Jamie let out a bitter laugh. He understood his friend’s capability better than most, as many times as the two boys sparred without holding back. Every bout ended the same, no matter the winner. They laughed and shared a draft of Wesley’s fine ale.
What did that matter now? Richard lay cold in the ground. Jamie blew out a strangled breath around the knot in his chest. At least Richard hadn’t been left to rot on some forgotten battlefield as so many others. For all the man’s faults, Bryce Mitchell did the decent thing and brought his friend home.
He snapped a low hanging branch as he passed, wishing he held the neck of the man who killed Richard. Over and over again, Jamie berated himself. He should have been with Richard, protected his back. Except, his allegiance lay with Scotland, not the English or their king. Jamie pulled his wool around him. The light drizzle that added to his misery had stopped and the small party trudged on.
He stopped at the forest’s edge. Glen Kirk Castle stood tall and welcoming across the broad meadow. Jamie gave the signal to the tower guard then trotted across the field and through the gate. The hollow clop of their horses’ hooves on the wet cobblestones echoed through the empty bailey. No rousing greetings. A somber mood permeated the grounds. Even the castle dogs that usually ran to greet him were nowhere to be found. If not for three horses equipped for a long journey tied near the stable, he would have thought the place deserted. Jamie dismounted. The stable boy appeared and took his horse’s reins.
“Jamie. The guard told me you were here.” Lord Wesley’s captain came out of the gatehouse.
“Gareth.” His somber mood lightened at the sight of his old mentor.
Weathered with thinning salt and pepper hair, he remained tall and straight, his eyes clear and wise. This was the old warrior who instructed the young squires in soldiering. Jamie, along with Richard and Bryce, practiced and battled while Richard’s sisters, Laura and Lisbeth, cheered them on. That was before Bryce’s taunting created a rift between the two of them that became intolerable.
Jamie gave Gareth his hand. The old soldier threw his other arm around him and pulled him close.
“You’ve been away too long. I must be getting old. I actually miss you and your rowdy ways.” Gareth shook his head. “I’ve already sent a message warning the women in the village you’ve returned. Now that I think of it, I may have done you a favor.”
A flush rushed up Jamie’s neck. The fact Jamie listened attentively, especially to women who always appeared to be around him, left him with a reputation. Well, perhaps he did more than listen on occasion, but not as indiscriminately as everyone would believe.
“I swear you’ve grown taller. And here I worried when you were a boy, the runt of the litter. There must be Viking blood in the family line. Now you’ve outgrown them,” Gareth eyed him from his toes to his head, “and definitely the broadest of the three.” He placed his hands on either shoulder as if measuring the expanse. “You’ve turned out well, for the runt.” The months of absence melted away as they renewed their easy camaraderie.
“You think I’m brawn, you should see my wee sister,” Jamie teased and sent Gareth into peals of laughter.
“You forget I know your wee sister. She may be five feet and a slip of a thing, but she certainly knows how to keep you in your place.” Gareth’s drawn face glanced toward the Great Hall. “In truth, it’s good to have you here. They can use your company.”
“I wish I returned for happier reasons rather than this untimely duty.” He started for the hall. “You coming along?”
“Not right now. I’m here to see Alex Stelton and his men off. You go on. I’ll settle your men at the barracks.” Jamie nodded and made his way across the bailey to the hall.
“Good day, Ann.” The housekeeper held the door wide when he reached the top step. “Still as beautiful as ever.”
