Christmas 1642

(draft)

As the King’s Court prepared for the Christmas Celebrations, his soldiers were sent out to the neighbouring towns and villages around Oxford to form a defensive ring in case of attack.  They huddled close, occupying themselves with little more than trying to keep warm, as their breath plumed in white clouds, mingling with the wood smoke that hung low over their encampments. They waited in the bone chilling cold, day after day, for an enemy that would probably never come. Most reckoned that the Roundhead army was just as harassed, weather beaten and starved as they were.

Captain Snowden sat on a tree stump, wiggling his hands over a low fire, trying to get the blood flowing to his fingertips. He would have given anything at that moment to be able to turn on his heels and head home, just as Tom Jenkins had done earlier that day. They were only two miles from Oxford, so Snowden saw no reason for Tom to stay, freezing to death like the rest of them, when a blazing fire and warm bed awaited him there. It was Christmas Day and it was the least he could do.

As they waved him off, Snowden could see that Tom was grateful for the pass to see his family but his gratitude was also tinged with guilt for leaving his friends behind in such miserable circumstances.  For a while after he left, they all sat in impenetrable silence watching the red hot fire angrily consume one stick after another. Then, one by one they wandered off in search of more

.

With fresh wood haphazardly dropped in a pile a few feet from the fire, they all sat back down again to warm their hands and watch as Daniel Parker rummaged through his rucksack finally emerging with a small pamphlet.  He starred at it, puzzled, as if he wondered how it got there. He shrugged, then opened it and began to read silently.  His face slowly twisted into a frown.

Will leaned in. “What does it say, Daniel?”

“Parliament wants to ban Christmas,” Parker announced, closing the pamphlet and laying it in his lap. “They say that Christmas should be for fasting and prayer and not feasting. ‘It’s a wasteful celebration that threatens Christian beliefs’.  Have you ever heard such nonsense?”

“The people would not let that happen. Surely they will take to the streets to let Parliament know that they aren’t going to give up Christmas?” Will said, astonished.  “May I see it?

Parker handed the pamphlet to him and quickly stuffed his hands back into his pockets.

“It says that a person can’t even attend mass on Christmas day,” Will continued. “Not only that, but they want to ban Easter as well.”

John Harvey raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to see the roundheads try and take a big greasy goose leg out of the King’s hand at his Christmas feast.”

The mention of roasted goose must have reminded Holmes of something and he stood abruptly, halting the conversation as they all turned to look. But instead of walking away, he stayed where he was and began stamping his feet, to beat some life back into them.

“The King has goose and what do we have? Frostbite and a bit of dried meat.” Holmes said, eventually. “How is it fair that we freeze so that he can eat his fill and go to sleep in his warm bed?”

Snowden looked up at the grey sky above them and tossed another stick on the fire. It wasn’t fair and no one could reason that it was. Snowden felt a wave of resentment wash over him because it seemed that they all must freeze and starve so that His Majesty would not.

 

Will turned the pamphlet over and over in his hands, looking thoughtfully at it. “I wonder what my Ma is doing right now.” He paused. “She’s probably telling my brother to keep his hands off the brandy. Thomas always tried to drink the brandy when Ma needed it for the Christmas pudding. I’m not that keen on brandy myself. Too sweet, I prefer Ale. But right now, I’d drink anything that would make me warm.”

“Goose is very nice but we would have duck and mutton too. The whole house would smell of roasted meat. Oh and mince pies.  That’s what I miss, mince pies,” Holmes added wistfully.

“Did you ever have a wife, Sir?” Will asked, rather innocently.

“Aye, I had a wife. A wife and a daughter.” Holmes answered, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly, at odds with the hard line of his jaw and weathered skin. “They died from flu while I was away fighting someone else’s war. It was a long time ago.  So long that I can’t even recall their faces anymore.”  He closed his eyes for a brief moment and rubbed his hands through his greying beard before sitting back down letting his face harden over.

Will opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it tightly, glancing down at the pamphlet in his hands.  It was the first time Holmes had ever spoken of anything other than soldiering. Holmes starred off into the distance, not looking as though he expected any kind of response. The truth was, no one knew exactly how to respond and the silence that followed took on weight until Parker cleared his throat.

“What about you Captain? What kind of Christmas would you be having if we weren’t stuck out here?”  Parker asked as all eyes turned to wait for their Captain’s answer. He’d been their Captain since Nottingham and they still knew very little about him other than he was from Wales. Snowden meant to keep it that way. He did not want to advertise that was the great nephew of the Earl of Worcester. He wanted to be treated just like everyone else.

“The usual things… Meat ‘n’ pies.  Singing and Dancing. Going to Mass. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Snowden shrugged.  “I should go see to the horses.”

Snowden looked back at his men, their heads drooping, huddled into themselves and rocking back and forth, doing anything to keep warm. Despite the cold, for just a few short moments they were all talking, sharing cherished memories of home and family, in an effort to take their minds off the dismal day.

Snowden walked a short distance to the horse shelter. The cold seemed to seep through the soles of his boots as they crunched over the frost covered ground. The pale light from behind the clouds made the trees sparkle like diamonds, just as they always did on Christmas day hunts at Raglan Castle. Back then, he didn’t mind the cold so much because at the end of the day there would be feasting and a considerable amount of drinking too.  Although excessive drinking was heavily frowned upon, the secret celebrations began after the Earl went to bed. Snowden and his friends would drink and gamble the night away often staggering to their rooms in the wee hours of the morning, that’s if they made it that far. On the following day when they managed to stumble out of bed, they were given a steaming cup of Mistress Blackstone’s vile hangover concoction and treated to a disapproving stare from the lady herself.  It all seemed like a lifetime ago.

Snowden used the tip of his sword to break up a thin layer of ice that had formed on the watering trough. The horses seemed happy enough huddled close together in the shelter.  Xanthos separated himself from the others and came over to Snowden.  He tossed his head several times with his breath billowing like fog in the freezing air. Snowden patted his neck and nuzzled his face before turning back toward the camp.

Copyright Luanne Uttley

The Road to Oxford

Draft

“So, are we going to fight the rebels soon?” Will’s voice was a bit too enthusiastic.

Snowden sighed, “At some point I would say so. But why are you so eager to kill your own countrymen?” Snowden sat back annoyed.  “If I had my wish, this argument between the King and Parliament would be settled in a more civilized manner and we could all go back to our homes.”

“I’ve never shot a gun till just recently. They said I was good at it,” He replied, meekly.

“Do you realize that when you shoot your gun that people will be trying to kill you too?” Holmes added. “Boy, it is a frightful thing to watch a man die. Until you’ve seen the fear in their eyes and watched as their soul leaves their body, you wouldn’t be so eager to inflict that on any man. They say it’s a noble death if you die in battle, but I’ve never seen any man die nobly.”

Corporal Garrett closed his mouth and said no more, overly concentrating on eating his ration of cheese. Snowden didn’t add anything else to the discussion. He thought that it was best to just leave it where it ended. The horrible truth was that Englishmen were poised to fight each other and most of Snowden’s men had lived their lives in relative peace.  None of them had seen the horrors of war first hand; apart from Holmes. All over the country, people were choosing sides, fuelled by their own misguided idealisms, with religious zealots whipping everyone into a frenzy.  Neighbour eyed neighbour with suspicion if they dared to practice the wrong kind of Christianity or read out of the wrong prayer book. Then there was the matter of the King that filtered into the entire mess. He was inflexible, demanding and over privileged. He hadn’t realized that to be King was to serve. Snowden leaned back against a tree and closed his weary eyes.

“Why do you suppose they made you king in the first place?' I ask him. 'Not for your benefit, but for theirs. They meant you to devote your energies to making their lives more comfortable, and protecting them from injustice. So your job is to see that they're all right, not that you are - just as a shepherd's job, strictly speaking, is to feed his sheep, not himself.”

― Thomas More, Utopia

Oxford

Draft

Snowden was offered a room at the Inn but he refused because the only other accommodation left for his men was a very meagre space above the stables.  To be honest, Snowden would have loved to sleep in a proper bed, for the thought of sleeping on a hard floor with the smell of livestock below wasn’t very appealing. Nevertheless his conscience won him over and he could see that he had earned a bit of respect by refusing to take the room.  Although he was their commanding officer, he knew that for the group to function as a unit, meant that no one would be treated any differently than the others.  They took their packs to the stable and then everyone but Snowden dispersed back to the Inn to have a few drinks.  What harm could it do? A little tot of ale or wine would keep the chill at bay and help them to forget for a night the road that had been chosen for them.  A road where they would surely see things they’d never seen before, especially if the quarrel with parliament carried on much longer.  Some of them would live and some would die. It was the nature of war; it was how human beings solved conflict. But why should men die for someone else’s rights?  As far as he saw it, this conflict had nothing to do with him at all and if wasn’t for his loyalty to his Uncle he wouldn’t even be here. 

Snowden lazily starred out the open window stifling a yawn and fighting the urge to let his teeth chatter in the cold air.  Maybe he should have gone to the Inn with the other lads and had another drink or two.  Instead, the solitude was more comforting than the drink, he reasoned, for soon they all would be back, collapsing on their bed rolls, belching, snoring and farting till the sun came up.  The clouds had begun rolling in angry and grey causing the twinkling starlight to flicker in and out of existence. A hollow bell rang out from a distant clock tower and he counted the hour. It was midnight and by the look of the sky they would most certainly have a vile, dismal day to look forward to, although it was not totally unexpected considering the time of year. Just as he was about to turn away from the window, a commotion caught his attention just outside the back door to the Inn. He couldn’t see what was happening in the murk because the clouds had all but covered the moon by now, so he ran down the steps and out into the stable yard.  Just as he reached the bottom step, he heard a woman’s terrified pleadings.

Sprinting across the yard, toward the sound, he discovered three shadowed figures laughing and taunting a young woman who looked as though she was being pushed up against the back wall of the Inn.

“Give us a kiss.  We may all die in battle soon and your kiss on our lips will send us to heaven with a smile on our faces,” one of the men said.

“No, I won’t. Please let me go!” the woman’s voice trembled.

“A kiss?  No, not just a kiss.  I want to hear this little bird sing. I’ll go to my death with nothing less,” another one added his words heavily slurred.

It only took a few strides to reach them and instinctively Snowden grabbed the closest one by the collar, yanking him backward and sending him off balance.  One well-placed punch flattened the man to the ground, causing the other two to swing wobbly around in order to defend themselves, leaving the young woman cowering in the corner. Snowden had no weapon with him, only his fists but he was no stranger to a drunken brawl.  He’d been caught up in them a time or two. Snowden weighed up his opponents, deciding to take on the more sober of the two who were left, reasoning that the other one would be too unsteady to do much harm whilst his attentions were elsewhere. As he managed to drop the second man, the first one had regained his wits and unbeknownst to Snowden, he pulled out a dagger.

“Stick him!” the other man shouted.

Snowden turned and readied himself for the attack. The man’s hand wavered as he bounded toward Snowden, who’d already decided to twist away from the man at the last minute and come at him from behind.  Just before he was about to turn, Snowden heard a loud crack causing the man to flail about for a moment and land in a large loud heap on the cobbled surface.

“I thought you might need some help Captain,” said Will Garrett, smiling as he stepped out of the darkness brandishing a long plank of wood.

“I have everything under control Corporal,” Snowden replied as he pulled the third man up and kneed him in the groin leaving him to writhe about in pain, swearing and spitting.

“Ah, Yes, I suppose you do,” Will said, taking the plank of wood and whacking one of the men on the back of the head who was attempting to stand back up.

Seeing that all three men were subdued, Snowden stood rubbing his sore hand momentarily forgetting about the young woman who was still cowering in the corner and was on her knees with her hands about her head. When she looked up, Will Garret stepped forward and knelt down beside her.  He spoke to her softly and held out his hand to help her up.  She took it, her hand shaking as painfully stood.

“Did they hurt you miss?” Snowden enquired, exhaling heavily.

“No Sir.  I was my fault Sir.  I should never have come out here alone in the dark,” She replied.

“It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have to worry about coming out after dark.  These men who are playing soldier think it gives them the right to harass innocent girls and it does not.” Snowden told her.

“I’ll take her inside,” Will said and he turned toward the back door.

“I’ll come with you.  I need to see if I can get a bandage for my hand,” Snowden said.

Will stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Sir.”

“And why not?” Snowden asked, following will through the open door.

“You’ll see.”

                                                                                            

It only took a few moments after he entered the Inn to find a senior officer who instantly marched out of the Inn to sort out the three reprobates in the stable yard. Snowden then turned his attentions to locating their host Tom Jenkins, the elder.  When he found him, Will was there giving an account of what happened as Tom was comforting the girl.

 

“Thank you Captain Snowden for your help,” Tom said when he looked up to see Snowden duck through the doorway.

“Is she alright?” he asked.

“She will be,” Tom answered.

“Those men will pay for what they did. Their Captain is marking sure of it. I will take my men back to the stables now.  I think they’ve been here long enough,” Snowden told him and turned to go through the door to the front room.

As he stepped through the door to the Inn’s main room and began to look for his men, he saw a gathering of drunks reduced to being so hopeless that some of them were slumped in the corner falling asleep. So this is why Will hadn’t wanted him to come inside. He exhaled heavily and examined his hand in the soft candle light.  It was red and his knuckles hurt but the skin wasn’t broken.

“What shall we do with them, Sir?” Will asked as he stepped through the doorway.

“We should take them back to the stables but I am doubtful that any of them could climb the stairs to the loft. Might be amusing to watch them try though.”

They shouldered their way through the room that stank of ale and unwashed bodies and came upon Sergeant Holmes, sat at a table, both elbows on the top of it to steady himself, attempting to pour ale into his tankard.  More sloshed onto the table than ever made it into the vessel. He looked up at Snowden and Garrett and suddenly scrambled to his feet, wobbling terribly in search of his lost balance.  Soon some sort of control finally took him over and he stood stiffly, blinking furiously, trying to dispel the alcoholic haze. It was almost farcical.

One by one Snowdon and Garrett dragged the drink filled men back to the stables.  It was no use speaking to them about their behaviour whilst their skins were still saturated with alcohol but he planned on making sure they were up early with plenty of noise and sunlight even if their heads were sore or not.

After they were all snoring in the bedrolls, Snowden stood once more at the window staring out. Will stepped over to the window as well.

“They’re all sleeping like babies, Sir,” Will commented. “I bet their heads will be hurting like fire tomorrow morning though.”

“I’m sure they will.  Now, tell me what were you doing out there in the stable yard?” Snowden asked.

“Oh, you see I was there in the Inn, sitting with the others.  They were each buying me drinks, saying that they were going to get the virgin drunk, Sir.  I’m not a virgin, by the way,” Will added.

“Not a virgin are ya?”  Snowden smiled.

“I’ve been with plenty of women, Sir!”  Will protested.

Snowden doubted it very much because the boy hadn’t yet come out of his gawkiness and his face was still a bit spotty, this alone announced his young age without any need for words. He smiled and prepared himself to listen Will’s account of what happened,  because in the short time he’d spent with the lad,  Will’s telling of his tales tended to take longer than the actual doing of them.

“Alright, so why were you in the stable yard?” Snowden asked him again.

“Oh yes, umm  the others were trying to get me drunk and …”

“Wait, if the others were buying you drinks, then why aren’t you stinking drunk like the rest of them?”  Snowden  frowned, because as always Will’s explanations tended to bring up more questions than they actually answered.

“Oh, it was easy. I had a tankard between my legs.” Will answered, casually and went to carry on with his story.

“You are hard work lad!  Why would you put a tankard between your legs?” Snowden asked.

“To spit the drink into.  I did drink one tankard and when they bought me another I’d take a big mouthful. Then when they weren’t looking of course, and let’s face it, they weren’t noticing much after all they’d had to drink, I’d grab the other one from in between my legs and spit the drink into it. They were banging the table shouting, Drink, Drink, Drink!  I’d just smile and keep doing the same.”

Whether it was the lack of sleep or Will’s drawn out story, Snowden suddenly started feeling a bit giddy even though he hadn’t had anything to drink for hours.  He shook it off and laughed.  “Clever, now can we move ahead to the part where you go out into the stable yard?”

“Yes, that part.  Sir, did you happen to notice the girl with the long golden hair, when we arrived at the Inn?” Will asked. wistfully.

“I think everyone did Lad?” Snowden chuckled.

“That’s Tom Jenkins daughter, you know. Her name’s Alice. She’s the one we saved,” Will added. “Anyway, I noticed her from the beginning and I saw how some of the men at the Inn were leering at her.  I thought it best to keep my head about me and look after her.”  Will concluded.

“That’s it, surely there’s more.  You saw her go outside and followed her so that no one would harm her, maybe?”

“Oh no, me being out there at that time was just pure accident.  Ya see I needed a piss and I walked out the front door and she must have slipped out the back.  So when I walked around the corner, I was looking for a wall to piss up. I found one. Then I heard Tom’s daughter but I wasn’t done yet and you know when it starts coming out, you can’t stop it till it’s done.” Will explained.

Snowden looked up at the heavens and rubbed his tired face.“Yes, been there a time or two."

“So, it hadn’t stopped yet, cause to be fair I had drunk quite a bit and I saw you run past. Well it turned out to be you, it was dark and it could have been anyone.  When it stopped, I fastened my trousers and started round the corner and slipped on a plank of wood. Nearly fell on my ass. I thought I’d bring it with me just in case. That’s when I saw the man coming at you with a knife.”

It was a journey of hope and a new beginning. She'd seen these faces before. Shattered dreams that had grown old and crumbled. They'd seen the prosperity of the land, something they'd taken for granted but not through any fault in their character, because now they understood how tenuous life can be.

Having journeyed the road far into the wilderness, they came together now, in a place full of cherished memories. Again, she felt like an outsider. She'd heard the sounds of their laughter on the wind. The births, the deaths of all the generations before. A place where passions burned and loves won and lost. The happiest of times and the saddest of times.

She could not speak but she spoke in a hundred silent ways. She reached out to him and hugged him and she could feel the sadness slowly leave his body. Soon time would heal all things because love takes on many different faces.

Chasing Shadows

Start with the Blurb from the tool bar on the right.
Then the Prologue
Then Chapter One

More Chapters will be added soon.

Chasing Shadows Chapter One

Chasing Shadows

Chapter One

Nottingham, England, 1642

The King and his army rode into Nottingham on the morning of 22nd of August, 1642 through driving rain and a fierce wind, making it a miserable affair. Turned away from the gates of Coventry by the city’s Trained Bands, and a less than enthusiastic response in Newark, the King had hoped that this profitable market town, could offer him more men, and more financial support for his cause. Unfortunately, the mood of the few townsfolk, who ventured to the common to have a look, was more of displeasure for the possibility of having to bear the cost of food and billets for his Army. Besides, August was harvest time, and the one thought that was foremost on everyone’s mind was not a desire to preserve the King’s “Divine right to rule” but to bring in the harvest, put it to market and keep their families warm and fed for another winter.

Not far from the common, and halfway down Merchant’s Row, a teenage boy burst through the door of his father’s shop, soaked to the skin shouting, “The King is here. Here in Nottingham!”

The boy’s mother exclaimed, “God save us.”  Tutting, she grabbed her shawl from the hook and threw it around her son.  “Just look at you Will, dripping wet, and Saints Bless me if you don’t get taller every day. Come to the back and get yourself out of those wet clothes. You are not to go anywhere near the common till the King is gone from here. John!  Have you heard what Will is saying?”

Her husband came running from around the corner and stood panting as Will repeated his news. “Right, no time to lose. Thomas get in here!” he shouted for his elder son to come through from the back, then turned to Will, still dripping and shivering in the middle of the floor. “Help you brother.  No time to dry off, get those crates and bring them down into the cellar.  Remove everything you can before those thieving soldiers start helping themselves to our wares.” His voice was urgent.

Thomas came running at his father’s summons, and started shifting crates.  Will stood in a puddle of water as his parents and brother bustled around him, feeling completely ignored.  Let them get on with it, he thought. If he was to be left there dripping wet, well, then they could just do it themselves.

His mother trotted after her laden husband and son, calling, “Come on Will, get a move on.” Will pulled a face as the three of them disappeared into the back of the shop with their armloads of goods.  He then ran for the shop door and did a disappearing act of his own.

By the time the King’s men marched the Royal Standard up a hill near the Castle and raised it high, the rain had slowed to fine drizzle but the wind remained, leaving the flag to flap about uncontrollably. Captain Snowden, a tall, sandy haired twenty year old from Monmouthshire, waited impatiently on top of his mount, a chestnut gelding, given to him by his Uncle.  “A strong and able horse is essential for a soldier,” his Uncle had told him before he left. Snowden had become partial to the animal over the last few months and renamed him Xanthos, after one of a pair of immortal horses given to Peleus. But unlike Peleus, Snowden knew he was no hero, he had caused his Uncle so much worry over the years, even though the old man had been so kind to him.

As the rain eventually stopped, more townspeople ventured out to the common to watch the spectacle.  Three troops of horse and 600 foot soldiers stood by as the King, who cut a small pitiful figure against the steel grey sky, waited for the Herald at Arms to read the Proclamation.

 

“Get on with it,” Snowden muttered, as he watched drops of water falling off the wide brim of his hat and onto his hands. Even from this vantage point, he could see that Prince Rupert, the King’s nephew, was showing his impatience by gesturing and shouting orders to those stood nearby. Snowden could only guess what was being said and that it was most likely spoken with a heavy German accent. He chuckled to himself.

“What’s so funny?” the man beside him whispered.

Snowden leaned in to answer. “Twas nothing, I was just imagining what was being said up there.”

“I’ve heard that when he’s in bad temper, you can barely understand him at all,” the man replied, just as the trumpets exploded in fanfare, snapping them both back to attention.  

The Proclamation was made declaring just cause for the King to set up his standard in order to suppress the Parliamentarian rebellion in the south, led by the Earl of Essex and that he also required the aid and assistance of all his loyal subjects.  Once read, drums rattled and trumpets sounded and the multitude that had gathered there threw their hats in the air shouting “God save the King!”, but in spite of all this pomp and circumstance the wet throng dispersed and very few offered their assistance to the King’s cause. The Royal standard was then carried back into the castle and was then hoisted up onto the battlements.

Captain Snowden handed Xanthos off to a stable hand and trudged his way in soggy boots to the company’s office to inquire as to where he should sleep for the night. He couldn’t wait to shed his wet clothes and find something to eat. As he made his way across the inner bailey the clatter of the Royal Standard made him look up to the tower where it was fixed and at that very moment it broke its bonds and blew down.  Not being a very superstitious man, even Snowden had to admit that the fall of the standard from the tower was a cruel omen and should not go unheeded. 

copyright Luanne Uttley

Chasing Shadows Prologue

Chasing Shadows

Prologue

She found herself standing still, swaying slightly, her eyes wide and terrified. Her breath hitched. She turned sharply heading deeper into the trees. A rhythmic booming thumped loudly in her head. She clasped her hands over her ears and she could feel her pulse, coursing through her skull. The blackness of the forest closed in around her. Vegetation pulled at her clothes as she frantically trudged on, running, stumbling. It was still barely light outside if she dared to look up as the sun lit the tops of the trees, while the ground beneath her feet remained dark and cold. For a perilous moment she stopped, her hands clutching at her knees, trying to draw in as much breath as she could. The air was heavy with the smell of decaying leaves and smoke. She coughed and then held her breath. No noise, she scolded, willing herself not to cough again. She froze at the sound of voices approaching. Her heart lurched. She hugged her arms about her and fled, dodging branches and undergrowth with twigs snapping beneath her shoes, traitorously announcing her presence.

The blackness of the forest soon dissolved at a small clearing. She stopped cold. Which way? Her eyes darted back and forth.  Panic swept over her so violently that she shuddered.  She stepped backwards into something solid.  A hand clasped over her mouth.

Raglan Castle, 28th October 2006

The fading sunset glowed red, lengthening shadows, and bringing with it a chill in the air as the ruins of Raglan Castle rose out of the darkness. It was once a majestic fortress, whose spirits now must walk alone amongst strangers. What harrowing tales lay hidden within its ancient stone walls?  On a damp October night, murky and moonless, a mist floated in like a dream, encouraging the gathering of sceptics and believers to huddle close together. Torches ready.  It was the kind of night where even the most sceptical mind might succumb to myth and lore in the hope of catching a glimpse into the lives of those who once sheltered there.

“Do you believe in Ghosts?” a voice called from way in the back.

Kate smiled. “That’s a good question.  I guess you could say in my occupation, I live with ghosts every day.  Ghosts linked to a piece of pottery or a button from a soldier's coat. No matter how small the object, my mind never fails to summon up images of people that I will never know, whose memories are… sadly forgotten.”

Kate was quite pleased with her improvised answer, one that would keep the believers and sceptics equally satisfied, because she truly never believed in ghosts herself.  After only returning to Raglan a few weeks prior, she’d already felt the familiar tug at her heart, the very same tug she felt as a child playing amongst the ruins. She was tired of living out of suitcases, moving from place to place, going from one lonely dig to another.  Coming back to Raglan was something she’d avoided for years and it was now time; time to concentrate on living in the present for there was nothing she could do to change the past. Being asked to lead a ghost walk was just what she needed to feel a part of things again.

The group of visitors who stood before her hung on her every word.  They had come for a night of ghostly tales and she was determined that they would get what they paid for. It was time to begin.

“We all know the feeling, that cold prickly sensation that starts on the back of your neck. The moment when your heart begins to beat a bit faster and you feel a breath of cold air that makes you erupt in gooseflesh, but it isn’t the weather. That sense of knowing that someone is there, but you’re alone.  You feel movement behind you and you turn, only to catch a glimpse of a passing shadow.”

Suddenly, a shriek erupted from one of the visitors stood in the back, sporting a red waterproof, as a colleague armed with a long goose feather lightly touched her legs. Everyone turned around to see the woman red faced and giggling. A soft chuckle floated amongst the group.

“Or maybe it’s something familiar about a place you’ve never been before. A sense of knowing but you can’t quite put your finger on it and it hovers just out of reach in your conscious mind. We’ve all experienced these feelings at some point in our lives, but what are they?  Could they be restless spirits who are tied to this earth because of mistakes they’ve made? Or maybe they have left something undone?  Are spirits drawn to certain people or places, destined to exist only in the shadows because the heavens have refused them entry?”

“Tonight I want to take you back, back to a time hundreds of years ago when our country stood divided. When towns stood against the King, the King against Parliament and brothers fought brothers…” 

copyright Luanne Uttley

Chasing Shadows Blurb

Chasing Shadows

Blurb

1642: In a country that stands divided, a young Royalist Soldier named Edward Snowden leaves his childhood home in Raglan to join the King’s army in Nottingham.  Before even a musket has been fired, Edward begins to question his role in the civil conflict that has pitted brother against brother and King against Parliament. Driven only by his loyalty to the Great Uncle who raised him, he travels the country with a small band of trusted scouts, one step behind a marauding group of mercenaries. His duty and honour are tested as the bloodiest of wars rages. 

2006: Seeking comfort after the disappearance of her mother 3 years prior, Kate Somerset returns to her childhood home in Raglan, Wales.  She’d spent years avoiding the town and its foreboding castle because the memories that lingered there were too painful for her face. Determined to confront her ghosts, Kate embarks on a journey to find out the truth about what happened to her mother, only to discover that her destiny lay mysteriously intertwined with a Royalist soldier in the past, who too must confront the shadows in own life before either of them can have any chance of a future.

Copyright Luanne Uttley

Chasing Shadows

Chasing Shadows is a work in Progress