She looked. She blushed. She fled.
***
At the sound of the angry laird’s roar, the long benches of the trestle tables cleared in an instant.
Motionless on the dais, the three warriors watched Gavin Kerr stomp into the Great Hall. His blazing, black eyes locked on them.
“Cowards,” Peter whispered under his breath as the men who had been at their morning meal moved en masse toward the door...and out of striking distance of their raging warrior chief.
“What have you done now, Peter?” Edmund asked quietly, frowning at the burly man beside him. “Tell us now so we can think of an answer.”
“Nothing!” he replied, with a quick glance of entreaty at Edmund and Andrew. “Nothing that should get him so riled. I only...”
“So you three have decided to play the fools!” Gavin roared, lifting one of long heavy benches as if it were a twig, and charging toward the stunned trio.
Holding the bench across his body, the laird drove the warriors over the food-laden table with the force of an enraged bull, sending food and drink in every direction and pinning all three on their backs on the far side.
“So you think I am in the mood for jesting!” None of the three dared even to breathe, but only stared at the man sitting on their chests. “So you blackguards have nothing better to do than trifle with me!”
“Trifle, m’lord?” Edmund flinched as Gavin suddenly turned on him.
“Aye, trifle! And I will twist those thick necks of yours with my own two hands unless one of you returns it to me this instant.”
The three Lowlanders stared in confusion at their master, and Gavin’s piercing gaze moved from one to the next.
“It, m’lord?” Peter asked finally.
“So, ‘twas you!” the laird shouted, reaching down and grabbing Peter by the neck. “Nimble of mind and as quick to start trouble. I should have known. Bored already, no doubt. Any excitement to liven things up, I expect. I’ll liven things up for you. We’ll draw and quarter you and nail your tongue to the castle gate.”
Gavin shifted his full weight onto Peter and tightened the grip on the warrior’s neck as the other two scrambled from beneath the bench.
“I’ll give you one last chance, you thieving bulldog. Where the devil have you put it?”
Andrew, of the three the closest to Gavin in size, was the one who was able to pry the warrior chief’s grip from Peter’s.
“M’lord,” he rumbled, leaping back as his master’s head whipped in his direction.
Gavin glared at him for a moment.
“I believe,” Andrew continued. “I believe that not one of us have any idea what you are missing.”
The three men nodded in unison.
“No idea, m’lord,” Peter added quickly. “I am guilty of no wrongdoing!”
“No wrong?” Gavin drawled, suspicion etched in his features as he looked down at his man.
“Well, in jest I might have said...” Peter flushed crimson. “Well, m’lord, I...I did...well, my tongue did flap a wee bit last night about the fact that...that you were spending a night in Mistress Joanna’s company...”
“Only a jest about the portrait. ‘Twas just the ale talking,” Edmund put in. “And everyone...I mean, no one laughed, m’lord.”
“Aye, almost no one,” Andrew agreed solemnly. “He meant no more disrespect than usual, m’lord.”
Gavin took hold of Peter’s chin. “And ‘twas the ale, I suppose, that let you into my chamber?”
The three shook their heads in denial.
“Nay, m’lord,” Peter responded.
“‘Twas the ale that took the painting.” Gavin glared into the man’s perplexed face. “Do not try to deny it, Peter. It had to be you!”
“And you, Edmund,” the laird said, rising from the burly man’s chest and taking a step toward the tall, red-haired warrior. Edmund retreated at once, and Peter quickly clambered to his feet. “Too bad you didn’t choke on my dinner. Though, now that I think more on it, you probably fed the dogs with it.”
The man’s denials were loud and pained, but Gavin waved him off, turning to Andrew, who stood by, looking totally bewildered.
“And you, too, Andrew. No doubt encouraged by these two in your first foray into crime against me.”
“Nay, m’lord,” the big man countered. “I...”
Gavin interrupted in frustration. “You couldn’t even think of anything vicious...like your cronies here...so you hung my wet clothes by the hearth. I know you, Andrew. Is that not what happened? Well, for your efforts, the damn things now smell like singed sheep, I’ll have you know.”
As Gavin took a breath, Edmund quickly tried to get a word in. “M’lord, I swear on the grave of my dead mother that we had nothing to do with...”
“Nay, nothing, m’lord,” Peter chirped in. “‘Tis true, we had more than our share of ale, but last night we--all three of us--slept right here in the Hall.”
“You know the light sleeper that I am, m’lord,” Andrew added. “If Peter had been up to no good, I would have been awake and at his throat...”
“Oh, so ‘tis I who is the troublemaker, you say?” Peter now turned angrily on Andrew.
“Aye, you are.” Andrew replied simply. “And you know it.”
As the two men squared off, Gavin was suddenly aware that the rest of the men, including Allan the steward, had been moving cautiously closer, forming a crowd around them.
Before another word could be spoken, though, the sound of shouting drew everyone’s attention to the entrance of the Great Hall. Gavin stepped forward as one of the young stablehands pushed breathlessly through the crowd. The young man’s frightened eyes scanned the crowd, and upon finding both Gavin and Allan, his ashen face suddenly reflected his uncertainty over whom he should address.
“What is the matter, David?” Allan was the first to speak. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“‘Tis back...exactly where ‘twas ‘afore!”
The Hall was silent as David’s wild eyes scanned the crowd. “Not since I was a bairn have I believed ‘em. All them tales the women folk tell...of hauntings. I never believed ‘em.” He bobbed his head slowly. “‘Til now. Gibby says her cooking pots rattle at nights, that things are being took. Molly swears to hearing the walls cry and moan!”
“That’s enough, lad. Such nonsense is for fools and...”
“Nay, Allan.” Gavin raised his hand, silencing the steward’s sharp rebuke. Glancing at the stablehand’s startled face, the new laird gentled his voice. “What is back, David?”
“Why, the painting, m’lord,” he answered shakily. “The one of Mistress Joanna!”
Gavin glared threateningly at his three warriors standing beside him. But all of them looked as baffled as the young worker.
“We took down the rest of the study floor, m’lord,” Allan put in. “There is no way to get up there.”
The young man again bobbed his head. “Aye, ‘twas an eerie thing to walk in there and see her face looking down at us from so high.” David unconsciously made the sign of a cross. “Whoever put it back there had no needs for legs, m’lord. Being so high, he must have just flew...”
“I think we’ll take a look at the work of this ghost, David,” Gavin commanded, nodding to the man to lead the way. Allan and the entire crowd followed behind.
As they entered the chamber beneath the study, David pointed to the painting hanging once again above the hearth. The floor had been pulled down completely now, and at first glance, it did appear as though one would have to fly up there. There was, however, one narrow edge of a beam, hardly visible from the floor below, running along the wall from the hearth, but away from the secret panel in the corner. It couldn’t be more than two or three fingers wide, Gavin thought, dismissing it as a possibility. There was no way that he could see for anyone to get from the secret passageway to the hearth. Gavin shook his head.
“Did you bar the panel?” the laird asked, his gaze falling o
n Allan.
“Aye, m’lord. I did just as you bid me.”
“Who slept the night in here?”
Three of his own men answered affirmatively.
“And you saw nothing?”
“Nay,” one replied as the others shook their heads.
Well, he thought, so much for the possibility of anyone using a ladder to climb the wall.
Gavin let his eyes travel over the faces of his own men and those of Ironcross Castle. They all depended upon him, now. The confused expressions, the low murmuring undercurrent of fear assured him that the culprit of this trick was not standing amongst them. And that included his three warriors.
“Well lads, if the worst this ghost can do is steal and rehang pictures, then ‘tis a harmless fellow, to be sure.” Gavin’s words brought a smile and some encouraging nods from the men. “Though with all the work to be done in here, he might have busied himself a bit more productively.”
“He’s probably a gentleman,” Peter said under his breath, loud enough for all to hear.
Gavin’s laughter matched the response of the crowd and dispelled the eeriness that had gripped them all just moments earlier. As the throng broke up, with most heading off to their day’s tasks, Gavin turned to Edmund. “Get ladders and whatever else you need and bring the damned thing down.”
“After we take the painting down, m’lord, where do you want it?” Edmund asked. “Shall we pack it up for its journey?”
Gavin paused for a moment before answering and stared musingly at the smiling face on the wall. The honorable thing would be to send the portrait off to its rightful owner. But this bit of mischief from last night only added to his desire to hold on to the painting. Just for a short time.
“Take it back to my room,” he ordered, walking away. “Put it where it was before.”
“Shouldn’t we have someone guard the painting, m’lord?” Edmund called after him. “To stop it from being stolen again?”
“Why?” Gavin asked, pausing and turning to look at the three. “Now that we know how far that painting can walk, I have no worries about it. Besides, with Andrew riding to Elgin, I should be able to keep my eye on two of you.”
CHAPTER 6
Not a sheep. Not a shaggy red cow. Not a soul.
Gavin, riding alone toward the abbey, spurred his charger to the summit of the rocky, heather-covered hill. The last of the mists had burned off hours earlier, and only a few, solitary wisps of white marred a brilliant azure sky. But the land that met the new laird’s gaze was as empty as the vault of heaven.
To his right the waters of the loch curved away to the west. Beyond the line of peaks in the distance, Gavin knew that the Spey River flowed to the sea. And rising above the Spey, perhaps only a day or two away, sat Benmore Castle, home of the Macpherson clan. Twisting his body around, Gavin looked back over the ground he had traveled.
Above the hills, he could see Ironcross Castle, rugged and proud on its high ground overlooking the loch. It would be a good holding, he decided, once he rebuilt the south wing. And once he had dispelled the old beliefs in its curse.
The black-haired giant turned his gaze to the north. Drifting in the sky over the next hill, he could see a hawk circling and hanging in the occasional breeze. As he watched, the predator suddenly plummeted toward the ground, disappearing behind a jagged crest. To the north, the Earl of Athol was Gavin’s nearest neighbor. Gavin had seen him on a number of occasions. He was a relative of the king...and an odd man, this John Stewart.
Shrugging off his thoughts of Athol, the warrior chief turned his attention back in the direction of the abbey. The place lay in a small valley leading up from the loch. Not far, Andrew had told him.
At the bottom of this hill, beside a grove of tall trees, Gavin spotted a handful of huts huddled together. Turning his steed down the slope, the new laird was disappointed to find the dwellings deserted. He had hoped to find farm folk on this trip to the abbey, but so far he had found nothing on his lands but jagged outcroppings of rock and the broad empty waters of Loch Moray.
As Gavin reached the crest of the next hill, he brought his charger to a halt. At the bottom of slope, beside a broad meandering creek, lay the ruined abbey. Stretching out from what had once been the front gates, a cluster of twenty or thirty cottages formed a thriving little village. On this side of the brook, an orchard of fruit trees ran in neat rows up the hillside, and shaggy red cattle grazed in a small herd in the pastureland. On the other side of the valley, he could see good-sized flocks of new-shorn sheep. Standing tall in his stirrups, Gavin let his eyes take in the fields of grain and other crops stretching up along the small, brisk running stream.
And he saw men and women working diligently on the land.
The happy shrieks of children drew the laird’s gaze back to the huts, and the edges of Gavin’s mouth turned up in a smile as he watched a dozen small, barefooted urchins running in playful pursuit of a dog. Allan had mentioned that Joanna had a fondness for the abbey. He could now see why. For the first time since arriving, Gavin was faced with life.
“You see? They haven’t all gone into Athol’s service,” the laird said aloud, patting the thick, muscular neck of his steed. “Well, what do you say we pay these folks a visit?”
As he rode down through the groves of trees that lined the steep hillside, Gavin considered what might have drawn these people to the ruined abbey. Certainly this valley was no better suited to farming or grazing than the land around the loch. He would need to entice them back, somehow, though perhaps they would be more than willing to come, were they to see that the new laird of Ironcross was not about to fall before some curse.
He would give them time. After all, these lands were as much a part of his domain as those surrounding the castle. It was just the distance that he wished he could do away with. Having the bustling activity of a working clan around him, that was what he missed.
Breaking out of the trees into one of the upper pastures, Gavin reined in his mount with alarm.
Not a man, woman, or child remained to be seen in either field, pasture, or village. Where he had seen workers bending to their tasks, there now lay discarded farm tools. Alert to possible trouble, the warrior urged his stallion ahead slowly. Whatever had startled this community, Gavin could see no sign of it. As he approached the village, he glanced around at the freshly worked gardens, the baskets of vegetables abandoned in the flight. Before leaving Ironcross Castle, Gavin had strapped the scabbard of his broadsword to his back, and he reached over his shoulder now to loosen the weapon.
The little road that led up to the ruined abbey was eerily silent until, with a growl and a frightened bark, an agitated dog rushed at Gavin’s horse from one of the first cottages. The lone animal was the only sign of the group of children who had been chasing him so playfully only moments past. Without stopping, Gavin spoke sharply to the cur, and as horse and rider continued on, the animal retired to the hut he had defended with such valor.
Rather than stopping at one of the hovels and searching out the peasants who lived there, the laird decided to ride straight on to the abbey. Whether they were hiding in the huts or had fled into the trees beyond the orchards, Gavin was certain that their eyes were upon him. He could feel their presence, and he could feel their fear. It was he that they were hiding from, and the alarm his arrival in the village had caused disturbed him greatly. He tried to think back over everything that Andrew had said of his visit here. An odd lack of farm folk. Obviously, they had responded to his man in the same way that they had responded to him. They had simply vanished.
Beyond what had been the gates of the abbey, Gavin could see the ruined walls of the kirk. While much of the stone from the abbey walls had apparently been used to construct the village cottages, the kirk’s walls rose high above the rest. There was no roof on the building, though, and it had clearly gone unused for ages. A circle of stone huts, ruder than the thatched cottages of the village, sat to one side of the church, and as Gavin r
ode past the first one, he spotted the old woman.
She sat on a stone, feeding twigs into a fire. Yellow flames licked the bottom of a small cooking pot. Gavin dismounted, tossing the reins of his horse over the branch of a scrub oak, and approached her, watching keenly as she never once lifted her head or acknowledged him in any way.
“Good day to you,” Gavin called out pleasantly.
Finally, as she continued to work, the old woman’s gray eyes lifted slowly and fixed critically on his face. The Lowlander returned her appraising gaze with one of his own. She wore a veil of white, but a cross on a leather thong about her neck was the only indication of religious vocation. Her direct stare told him that she had no fear of him, though beyond that, a guarded expression hid any hint of what emotions lay beneath.
He came to a stop before her fire and crouched down across from her. “Your face is the first cheerful one I have come across since leaving Ironcross this morning.”
The arching of one thin eyebrow and a narrowing gaze made him retract his words. “Very well,” he said. “Yours is the only face I have come across to since leaving this morning.”
She lowered her eyes, seemingly directing her whole attention to preparing the fire.
“Are you Mater?” he asked bluntly.
“I am.” Her voice was strong, confident.
“I am Gavin Kerr,” he returned. “I come from...”
“I know who you are, laird,” she interrupted, lifting her gray eyes again to his face. The piercing quality emanating from their depths gave Gavin the impression that she knew more than just his identity.
He realized immediately that this was no woman for idle small talk. He also knew that she was not one to be questioned. There was something quite different about Mater, and he knew in his gut that it would be difficult to win her over. And it was true that he wanted to win her over. She was the first soul outside of Ironcross that he’d crossed paths with, but as the religious leader of the region, right now it was very important to Gavin that she accept his lairdship. From all he’d gathered from those at the castle, it was clear that the way to winning the trust of his folk was through Mater.
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