Ghostly Love

Outskirts of Charles Town,
North Carolina
End of the Reign of Queen Anne;
1712

Kell took another deep drink of brandy. The smooth burning liquid slid down his throat painfully, yet easing his own pain with each drink. Sitting on his mother's favorite settee, he stretched his legs out toward the warmth of the fire. He kept his boots on, despite the fact that both is mother and Mrs. O'Donnell hated when he wore boots in the house after working in the fields. It didn't matter though.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Taking yet another swallow of the decadent liquid, he finished off his glass. Setting it on his thigh, he let his head roll back, languishing in self pity. Why did everything always happen to him? Did God hate him so damn much? A sudden lurch of rage and self loathing bit into him deeply. If the would could have caused a physical wound, he would have bled to death.

Standing, Kell began to pace in the saloon. Why couldn't he have been there for her? Why the hell couldn't he have been there? Bile and hated boiled up inside his throat.

A sudden image flooded his mind as he stood. His mother sitting on the edge of his bed when he was seven. He'd had scarlet fever and she wouldn't leave his side. She'd fed him broth of chicken, and wiped his forehead with cool cloths. He'd been so scared, but she had always calmed his fears, never leaving his side. And he'd survived.

And now she was gone.

"Why?" Kell screamed and threw the delicate crystal glass into the fireplace. It shattered, breaking into a million pieces. Kell fell to his knees screaming obscenities, and began to hit the hardwood floor with his fists. He hit them against the floor until they bled, ached under the force and pressure he put on them. The pain felt good, it was something he knew. Physical pain he could deal with. He couldn't deal with this emotional kind of pain.

Through his torment, the fire in the hearth played, dancing over his features. Casting shadows that moved and pulsed through the room. As Kell broke down into sobs and bloodied fists, the fire grew bright. Anger, hate and guilt spread through the room like a foul disease.

"Kelloch Alistair," Mrs. O'Donnell ran into the room, full of swinging skirts and apprehension. Her normally full and ruddy face was bright with anger. "You close that big mouth of yours and quit yer drinking! Your sister's upstairs bawling something fierce. Your banging and was that glass breaking?-is making her even more crazed."

Kell stood swaying on his feet. He was feeling the effects of the alcohol now. His vision was blurred around the edges, and he was slightly off balance when he stood. He caught himself on the edge of the settee, and closed his eyes against sudden nausea. When the world had quit its infernal spinning he glared at Mrs. O'Donnell.

"I am the master and head of this house, Mrs. O'Donnell. You will listen to my orders, and no other. Is that quite understood? If I wish to yell, drink or whatever else I find pleasing, I will, and you will not order me about." Kell brushed past her, staggering as he went.

"Begging your pardon sir, but I would rather take orders form the devil himself than you while you've been drinking, my young sir." Mrs. O'Donnell turned to watch Kell turn around and face her. "Tis the blinking truth that not long ago you were under my charge."

"I'm a man now, Mrs. O'Donnell. I'm twenty and four years of age. And by God, I am a man. I'm the bloody Baron of Jamison, Viscount Havisham, Earl Townsende, and Duke Hawthorne. I am a bloody man!" Kell raged at his former nanny. The woman wasn't impressed in his show of temper.

"Nay, your no man, Kell. Until you've a proper wife and child, with normal sensibilities, you will be man. Not just for your age, nor any title you carry in a country an ocean away. No." Mrs. O'Donnell shook her head at him and began to ascend the stairs to check on his sister.

Kell staggered back into the saloon and grabbed the decanter of brandy off the side table, he fell onto the sitting couch. Pulling the top of the crystal decanter off of the brandy, he threw the crystal piece into the fireplace, letting it break just outside the hearth.

Bringing the dark liquid to his lips, he took a long, deep swallow. Pulling the bottle away from his lips, to dark lines of the rich alcohol rolled down his jaw to drip on his pristine white starched shirt. Sitting up, he tore his blue dinner dress jacket off of his arms, before falling back onto the sitting couch.

Kell woke the next morning to a pounding headache. Groaning, he pressed his hand to his head, and cursed his very existence. Sitting up slowly, he wincing over the pain in his skull. Muttering another distasteful blasphemy, he opened his eyes and blinked at the brightens of the daylight.

Someone had opened the drapes already, causing the morning light to stream directly into his eyes. He had a distinct impression that someone did that on purpose, in punishment for the ruckus he had caused the night before. He was going to have a very stern talk with the Mrs. O'Donnell after breakfast. The devil take that Irish woman, she was very well going to be the death of him.

"Bloody Hell," he muttered quietly to himself, as he blinked at the bright light. Glancing down, he saw the decanter at his feet, only the barest traces of brandy left. Ah, how he would do anything for another glass of the liquid. Anything to rid of him of his foul humor.

"Well good morrow to you too, Kelloch." A deep rumbling male voice said brightly from his left. Glancing up, Kell wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. "What? You arn't going to bid me a good morrow?"

Kell shook his head before wincing over the pain. "Nay, Sir Oliver." Standing, his knees felt as if they were made of water. With out much choice, he sank back down on to the sitting couch. How had he gotten here? By boat, you dolt, he said to himself. Shaking his head mentally, he forced himself to relax.

"Why are you here, Oliver?"

"Why, my lord, you should know why."

Kell shook his head. "I've only just returned to the colonies. I refuse to leave again." Kell glared up at his peer. "Dolt, do you not know my mother has died this past night?"

Oliver shrugged and sat in the plush chair across from Kell. "That matters not to me. It has no bearing to my duty." Kell wished he hadn't drank so much the night before, he would sure like to beat the living hell out of Sir Oliver. What bloody right did he have to be here.

"I'm not going back, Sir Oliver."

"Yes, you are, Kelloch."

"Don't call me that." Running on pure outrage of Oliver's outlandish disrespect, Kell stood. "Do not forget, Sir Oliver, that I outrank you. You've not land nor title."

"True, my lord, I do not."

"I want you out of my house." Kell demanded. Standing, Oliver sighed.

"You won't come with me?"

"Nay, I won't Oliver."

Oliver shook his head, and sighed again. "I wish it had not come to this, your grace." Suddenly, Oliver had a brandished gun in his right hand. Before Kell could say a word of protest, Oliver shot the Duke in the heart.

Walking to the door at the front of the house, Oliver looked back to be sure that he was indeed dead. A pity that. Killing the young Duke, but one must do what one has been paid to do, he thought grimly to himself. A pity.

Kell lay on the floor motionless. Searing pain raced through his veins. Unable to summon the energy it took to open his eyes, Kell welcomed the blissful numbness as it stole over him, like a warm wool blanket.

And he knew no more.

~~~~~~~~

Charleston, North Carolina
Late Spring, 2004

Brenda Cottonwood applied the final touches of lipstick. Closing the lipstick she tossed it back into her makeup drawer and examined herself in the mirror. She was tall, five eight, and on the slightly chubby side. Her dark medium length hair was pulled back, pulled into a french twist. Her dress was classic, yet new aged at the same time. The simple black frock sported spaghetti straps, and a slight A-line. The bodice was tight, and low cut, showing the tops of her creamy white breasts, while the back was a mess of ties. It was cut low in the back as well, just coming together as it hit her bottom. She hoped she looked all right.

Grabbing her glasses off the counter in front of her, she slid them on and sighed. She wished she could wear contacts, but the bloody things always made her eyes red and puffy. It didn't matter though. She wanted to sport her new thick black, square framed glasses. She thought they were very Buddy Holly. Smiling to herself, the glasses matched the outfit surprisingly. She hadn't even thought of that.

Steadying herself on the counter, she slipped into her one inch, square toe heals. As much as Bren hated heals, these ones weren't to bad on her feet. She smiled once more at herself in the mirror before hearing her door bell. Blowing a kiss at herself, she snatched her purse and black shawl and raced toward the door.

Taking a deep breath, Bren tried to calm her racing heart. It was just Daniel. It wasn't like it was someone she didn't know. Shaking her head over her own stupid thoughts, she forced herself to exhale the breath she had been holding. She'd been out with Dan before, so why this night was different, she didn't know.

Weaving her way between packed boxes, she reached the front door with out tripping once. Bully for her. Unlatching the dead bolt, she opened the door with a bright smile on her face. Daniel Enhert stood in her door way, his face blank of all emotion. "Hi." Brenda tried to force herself into looking more normal than she knew she looked.

Normally, she detested dresses. Skirts too. They just weren't her style. Give her a pair of jeans and a comfy t-shirt and she was a happy girl. She stared at Daniel. He'd never seen her in anything besides shorts and jeans, and the look on his face suggested that he didn't like what she was wearing in the least.

"You don't like it." She tried not to let her disappointment show. They had been going together for almost a year, so when he finally asked her to accompany him to one of his firm's dinners, she had been ecstatic. It looked like he thought he should leave her home now.

"Don't you think its," he let his gaze roam over her body, before returning to her eyes. Raising an eyebrow he continued, "a bit much?"

Brenda looked down at herself. No, she hadn't thought so, but if Daniel did, maybe she should change. He had said it was a formal affair, and since she hadn't had any formal wear, she had gone shopping. Luckily, she had believed, she had found this very wonderfully done almost nineteenth century dress. It would have been such if it hadn't ended just below her knees and dipped so low in the back.

Running her hands over the delicate glass beads embroidered in the satin fabric, she wondered if it was indeed a bit much. Well, hell. Daniel went to these things all the time, and if he thought it was a bit much, than it must be. "I'm sorry, Daniel." Brenda looked away and dropped her hand from her bodice. "I would change, but this is the only dress I own."

Sighing loudly, Daniel shook his head. "Well, then I guess it will have to do." He sounded terribly angry with her. Or was it disappointment? Bren wasn't sure she knew which was worse. Disappointment or anger? Should she apologize?

"I'm sorry, Daniel. I thought it to be appropriate."

"Only if your going to a swanky cocktail party." Impatiently he held his hand out and sighed. "Lets go, or we'll be late." Nodding, Brenda closed the door and locked it behind her.

She wished Daniel would be so upset with her. She'd tried to make him happy with her appearance. Couldn't he at least say one word of praise? No, she knew him better than that. Daniel didn't give praise, especially if it were deserving of it. He was definitely a dud.

Sighing to herself, she let him lead her to his very fashionable car. The Porche had cost him a pretty penny, she knew, but his family consisted of money. All of them lawyers, mostly prosecuting attorneys. His grandfather had been the Attorney General for the United States, back in the seventies. After that, anyone in his family who even thought to be an attorney could charge exorbitant fees.

They were the white family version of Johnny Cochran.

"I'm glad you found the place so easily." Trying to brighten the mood, she moved the topic to her newly purchased house. "I was hoping you wouldn't get lost." Daniel opened her door and helped her into the low slung sports car.

"It wasn't that hard." He informed her. "What day did you move in?"

"Two weeks ago yesterday." Brenda said as he closed the door. She waited until he had gotten in and started the car before she continued. "I took a week off from work, last week, so I could work on unpacking. Jenna kept the shop going."

Jenna was her best friend and co-founder of the most popular bistro and bakery in the city. Servello was her pride and joy. While she worked the kitchen, Jenna worked as management, making employee schedules, interviews, firing. Paperwork. Essentially, Jenna did the paper work, and Brenda made the product. It was a fair trade. Jenna liked cooking, but wasn't as talented as Brenda, while Brenda hated paperwork and money handling with a passion.

"That great." Daniel said as he turned off of her new street and headed for the freeway. "So how do you like the new place?" Brenda smiled.

How did she like it?

She loved it. Brenda considered herself incredibly lucky to find such a steal on the market. The old plantation house had originally been built in the late seventeenth century. The grounds around it, slowly had been sold off in time, but she still had a goodly sized yard. Almost a quarter acre on each side of the house, and another five in the back. The front was only fifty feet from sidewalk to porch, but that was much more than she ever asked for. True, it needed some work, mostly small things, but Brenda was more than willing to put the effort into her new home.

It needed to be painted. It was currently yellow, with white shutters, and white porch and balconies, as well as columns. The white she didn't mind, but the yellow had to go. All the paint was pealing. The plumbing was in good repair, as was most of the house.

"I need to buffer the hard wood floors, paint, inside and out, and replace the appliances in the kitchen. I honestly can't believe it was such a steal." Shaking her head, she leaned back against the leather seat. "Do you know how much I am paying for that house? One hundred ninety thousand. That's it. It came with furniture too. It's in good repair, with those few exceptions."

"You were lucky." Dan nodded as he turned off of the freeway.

"Yes, I was. I even had an inspector come out. He said the house could have easily gone for five times that amount if not more. Can you believe it?" Brenda shook her head one last time. "What color do you think I should paint the house? I was thinking a soft baby blue."

"That would be nice. Or you could go all white." Brenda nodded.

"I wish I could find out what the original color had been. I would like to restore it to that."

"What ever you choose, I know it will look good, Babe." Daniel smiled over at her as he turned into a large country club. "We're here. Now, just be yourself, and I know everyone will like you."

*

*~*AUTHORS NOTE*~* Thanks to everyone who has helped me on this! Heather, you were a great insperation, thank you!! More chapters to follow if people tell me they like it! Thanks again all! Comments keep me writing!~*~*