Flame

by May McGoldrick

  She jumped, startled at the feeling of being caught. As she stared, he unfastened his broadsword from a thick belt and dropped it on the bed before wrapping the brown leather strap around him.

  Gavin turned and faced her. “I have lost track of how many times you have broken into this chamber, but you must have seen me in bed on numerous occasions. Is this not true?”

  Embarrassed and angry with herself for being so bold, Joanna turned her face away, trying to cool the heat racing through her. “Once or twice,” she whispered.

  “And then, of course, there was the time when you came in here to steal the portrait while I was dozing in the tub. I believe I was less than modestly attired at that time as well.”

  “Hmm...I can only suppose that you were adequately attired for the situation, m’lord.” She tried to hide her smile. “Not that I noticed!”

  “And you expect me to believe that?” he replied, folding his arms over his chest. “That you didn’t notice?”

  “It matters little whether you do or not. But regarding the painting, I would hardly consider taking what is mine ‘stealing.’”

  “You consider that portrait yours?” The laird smiled mischievously as his eyes raked over her. “Have you forgotten, Mistress Joanna, that you have been dead for well over half a year, now?”

  “You might find me as ugly as a corpse just risen from the grave, but I assure you, I am not dead.”

  “And I assure you, I would willingly die a thousand times over if I thought someone the likes of you would be keeping me company for all eternity.”

  Joanna gaped at him. His eyes radiated heat. His expressions were surely empty words of flattery, but the look in his face continued to disconcert her. His eyes were black and flashing as they now fixed boldly on her face. She struggled for a moment to find her voice--and her composure. “As...as I was saying...I can assure you, m’lord, I am flesh and blood...and alive.”

  “So I can see.”

  Joanna almost wished he would stop staring at her. Was he blind? She was certainly no goddess descending to him from the heavens. But then his reaction to her was so much like a dream. So many times she had wished to be whole again. To be a fraction of what she had once been.

  “Why you look at me this way?” she asked, returning his bold stare with one of her own.

  “This way?” he asked with a half smile. “I have only begun to feed my curiosity, and I have far to go before ‘tis satisfied. And as I can see, you have begun to do the same.”

  Joanna jerked her gaze away. He had a point, and she knew it. It was all too obvious that she herself had allowed her eyes to feast openly on him. And watching him dress in this fashion! But she had never before felt the liquid fire that was coursing now through her veins. Standing there, gazing into the embers of a dying fire, Joanna realized now that she had somewhere, long ago, given up the expectation of such feelings.

  “Where were we, lass?”

  The mere sound of his voice shook her out of her wild reverie, and a sudden panic took hold of her.

  “I had better be on my way. ‘Tis so late. Too late. You will sleep if I leave you be.” She looked up at him, unable to tear her eyes away from his hard face as he approached her. “You must certainly be tired. I shan’t take the painting again...”

  Joanna couldn’t continue. The words withered on her lips, her breath caught up short as he came to a stop only a half step away. All she could see was the span of his wide shoulders blocking her escape. She leaned her head back against the wall and stared up into his black eyes. A shiver coursed like a fever through her.

  “You are not leaving.”

  “‘Tis late, and you...”

  “Have not even started yet!”

  This was a dangerous man, and she knew she should be frightened, but somehow she wasn’t. “What do you mean by that? About not...”

  The laird ignored her question, and she found his eyes slowly appraising her--from head to foot, and back again.

  “What is it that you are after?” she asked hoarsely.

  He paused for a long moment. “Answers.”

  “And that is all you...?” Joanna bit at her lip, embarrassment boiling beneath the skin of her face.

  The laird’s full lips lifted in a smile at her impulsive utterance, and he reached up and framed her face with his large hands. His hands were stunningly cool on her skin, and Joanna’s eyes fixed on the dark curls that adorned the scarred musculature of his chest. A long moment passed, and suddenly she realized that she was wondering what it would be like to run her fingers through those curls, to feel them against her cheek.

  “Well, lass. You’ve managed to read my mind. There are many questions that are nagging at me. But not one of them is interesting enough to break this spell you have cast on me.”

  “I am a ghost, m’lord, not a witch. There has been no spell cast here,” she said softly as his fingers made a sensual journey of the planes of her face. He was driving her mad. Joanna reached up and took hold of his wrist. “Your own imagination is driving you to this. ‘Tis simply a portrait that holds you.”

  “So bonny you are, Joanna MacInnes,” he whispered. “So soft, just as I imagined you would be.”

  “You are mistaken. I am not she, m’lord. That beauty sits over your hearth. But she is gone. I carry the scars of...”

  “Hush.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips lightly over hers. Joanna’s eyes flew open in shock, and she stared in awe as his lips hung a breath above hers. His dark, mysterious eyes drifted over her features, caressing her face. “You are beautiful...and real...and alive.”

  Then, as if in a dream, Joanna moved her hands from behind her and wrapped them around his neck. With a passion that blinded her, she lifted her lips to his.

  CHAPTER 12

  The flames, leaping up in the hearth behind him, made the earl’s shadow stretch out like some fiend, ready to snuff out the very existence of the young man standing against the far wall.

  “And you are certain that no one suspects you. Even now?”

  “Aye, m’lord,” David said quietly. “No one suspects me of anything. To all of them, I am just another stable lad. It runs in our blood--looking dim does--and my ma always said...”

  The Earl of Athol raised a hand to silence his faithful young informer. He then started pacing the room, pulling thoughtfully at one ear as he strode before the fire. He stopped and looked back at the lad. “But back to what you just said. You are certain that he survived the fire unscathed.”

  “He did,” David bobbed his head. “When all the men where gathered in the hallway right outside his door, I sneaked behind them and watched the laird open his door. He escaped the whole thing without a burn marking his skin. I mean, everyone in the keep talks about the man sleeping like a corpse, but somehow he must have managed to wake up in time to save his hide.”

  Sleeping like the dead is not truly wanting to be dead, Athol thought with a shake of his head. Gavin Kerr’s death wish didn’t run as deep as he’d been led to believe.

  “It appears the man has some fight left in him yet!” Athol whispered, turning and staring into the flames.

  ***

  Gavin’s response to her boldness left her utterly dazed.

  Joanna’s breath caught in her throat. The wrappings on her palms were suddenly soaked. Her mind and her thoughts were in shambles. She shivered in his tight embrace, and thrilled at the feverish heat that was spreading through her.

  A hungry sound emitted from Gavin’s throat as he deepened the kiss, crushing her closer to his hard, unyielding body. Intense longing swept over her. She could feel the heat of his bare chest burn and caress her. Then Joanna felt his tongue trace the edges of her lips, and she realized that he wanted her to open her mouth to him. Tentatively, she parted her lips, and Gavin’s tongue surged inside.

  Stunned by the intimacy of the kiss, Joanna trembled, her knees weakening. The world spun around her, and she gripped Gavin’s shoulders very tightly,
certain that she would fall if he were to release her.

  But Gavin made no move to set her free. Instead, his bare arms tightened around her, pulling her so close that--through the haze of desire that was clouding her mind--she could feel the press of his manhood beneath the wool of his kilt. Vaguely, she knew she should be alarmed by the rising danger, but the aching of her breasts obliterated such thoughts of caution. More than anything right now, she wanted to feel her bare skin against his.

  He shifted slightly, lifting her chin and running his fingers along the line of her jaw. She turned a bit in his arms, and his bare knee pressed against the inside of her thighs. She could feel the sinewy strength in his leg against hers. His hand caressed the skin of her throat, the top of her breast. Joanna took in a deep breath, her body rising to his touch. His fingers traced the wide neckline of her oversized dress and pulled it gently downward, exposing her flesh until her breast sprang free.

  As his thumb circled her hardening nipple, Joanna gasped. Strange feelings flowed through her--wild, turbulent sensations--that were unlike anything she had ever known.

  So this, at long last, was true passion. The thought emerged from the shadowy recesses of her mind, and a thrill of fiery excitement uncoiled within Joanna. She was alive--truly alive--and being given the chance to taste this fruit of heaven before reaching her life’s end.

  With a surge of rapturous delight, she tightened her arms around his neck, matching and returning the pressure of Gavin’s demanding mouth.

  “Joanna,” he whispered against her lips, breaking off the kiss and moving his lips to her ear. “You have bewitched me.” As he suckled her earlobe, his hand made a wider journey of her breast, kneading and caressing her firm flesh. Then, with a low groan, Gavin slid his hand around her hip and cupped her buttocks.

  She felt him lift her body against him until she could feel his hardening arousal pressing against the juncture of her legs.

  Joanna swayed in his arms, pleasure washing over her with each new sensation. The world around her was becoming fluid, dissolving with each passing heartbeat. This growing ecstasy--this sweet hunger that she felt in his embrace--it was now the ruling passion.

  “I think the devil has possessed my soul,” he said hoarsely into her ear. Pressing her against the wall, Gavin took hold of her wrists and brought them down to her sides. His voice was ragged with desire. “Tell me to stop, Joanna, before I carry you to my bed.” His powerful hands gently cradled her face as he tipped her head back and stared into her eyes. “You are flesh and blood. And for too long I have looked at you, fancied you, dreamed of making love to you.”

  Joanna stared into his chiseled face, his black burning eyes. Desire, like dark pools of molten steel, filled them, and she could feel the power of his control, taut and strained, but ready to unleash his own needs.

  “Then do with me what you desire,” she heard herself whisper softly. Her body burned for him, for his touch. She knew only in the vaguest terms what to do, what to expect, but she also knew that she would die if he did not show her the rest of the way. His hands once again cradled her face.

  “Make me yours...now...” she added with a whisper, turning her face and kissing the palm of his hand. “I have not much time left to me. Grant me this one wish.”

  It took only an instant for her words to sink in, and then the hands that had only a moment earlier gently caressed her, now inflicted pain as he took her by the shoulders in a vise-like grip.

  She stared at him in amazement. His eyes were cold fury, and his fingers felt as if they would crush the bones beneath her skin.

  “What the devil are you talking about? What do you mean, you have not much time left?”

  The spell was broken and everything crystallized before her eyes. The chamber that had been blurred and dreamlike in his tender embrace, suddenly became a mass of sharply defined lines and colors.

  “Joanna,” he said, shaking her hard and forcing her eyes to snap up to his. “Explain to me what you meant by those words.”

  This outburst of temper, as stunning in its suddenness as in its ferocity, left her shocked and unwilling to speak. Whatever had possessed her to say what she had, was gone from her now, and Joanna knew it would be unwise to reveal anything of her plans to him. She pulled up the neckline of her dress to cover herself, and tried to gather her wits.

  She fixed her gaze on the lips that were now drawn tight. “To the world, I have been dead for months. Alone in these caverns, I have thought a great deal of death. In my mind’s eye, I have seen myself die numerous times. I do not fear that end. We all must die someday--some of us sooner than others.”

  “Do not talk in riddles,” he ordered harshly, still holding her tightly. “You were not speaking of one’s destiny or of the heaven or hell that awaits us when our time in this life is through. You were speaking of yourself. What are you not telling me?”

  She tried to laugh off his question. “You read so much into so little! Well, m’lord, you’re wrong,” She made an attempt to shrug her way out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t relinquish his hold on her. “Now let me go.”

  “I am demanding that you, Joanna MacInnes, tell me...”

  “Nay,” she broke in, her temper flaring as she thumped his broad chest hard with her fist. She might as well have hammered the walls of Ironcross Castle itself. “You have no right to demand anything of me.”

  “I am the laird of these lands now.”

  “Take Ironcross and be damned! That is nothing to me.”

  “You will answer my questions.”

  “I will not,” she responded stubbornly, matching his glare, “Not until you calm yourself and tell me what cause you have for this anger.”

  Gavin stared at her for a moment, and from his look Joanna was certain he thought her daft.

  “Well?” she probed, feeling the weight of his hands still on her shoulders.

  “You are the one who started all of this. You are the one who wished to be hidden. And then, trying to bewitch me...so soft and willing in my arms.”

  Joanna felt her skin on fire at his words. She had indeed practically thrown herself into his arms.

  “You may think yourself clever,” he continued, easing his grip and once again running his hands more gently down her arms. “You may very well be quite clever for surviving as you have for all these months. But tonight that has all come to an end. I have discovered you. You are alive and well, ‘tis time you stepped out of the shadows and told me what drove you to such foolishness...”

  “Foolishness?” she flared. He was humoring her, treating her like an idiot who has no ability to think for herself. “What do you know of any of this? I swear by the Virgin, the only foolishness that I have committed in all this time, was to come here and try to save your miserable life from those flames.”

  “You could very well have set the fire yourself.”

  Joanna’s eyes flashed as if she had been slapped.

  “Aye, you have been in and out of this chamber for days now. You yourself just told me that you are the only soul living in the caverns beneath this keep. Who else other than you would have access to...”

  “Many, you simple-minded brute,” she snapped. “These passageways can be reached from a dozen rooms in this keep.”

  “But no one--not even the steward--appears to know that they even exist.”

  “And only a dolt of a laird will believe everything that he is told.” She hit him on the chest again. “Release me.”

  “When I am done with you,” he said arrogantly. “Are you telling me that these people--these servants--know the ways and yet will not admit to it?”

  “I am telling you that these passageways are accessible even from outside of the castle...and that there are many who come and go without your knowledge.” She paused. “And there are some who bring death to your very door.”

  “You mean other than you?”

  “Other than me? You thankless knave!” She twisted her body in his arms. “You are
hurting me!”

  Gavin’s eyes did not release her as he eased his grip on her shoulder. “Who? Who are these people that you talk of?” he asked.

  “The same ones who, last fall, killed my parents, along with innocent, unsuspecting serving folk.”

  The sudden quiver in her voice made Gavin stare more deeply into her blue eyes. They were so dark in the dim light of the chamber, but they showed the anger and pain, the intense sadness that lay curled like a snake around her heart.

  “You know who killed your parents?” he asked at last.

  She nodded without hesitation. “Aye. I know.”

  “Then, why is it that you went into hiding? Why wait so long to bring justice down upon his head?”

  The flicker of sorrow that he saw her quickly hide, was betrayed by the crystal droplets that pooled along the lids of her eyes. Gavin watched her struggle to hold back the tears. The mere mention of her loss and she had turned from a lioness to a battered lamb right before his eyes.

  “Why did you not come forward sooner, lass?” he asked gently.

  “I tried, but I could not bring myself to.” Joanna brought a hand up to her face to dash away at a tear that had escaped and lay like a diamond on her cheek. It was then, before she could hide it again, that Gavin caught hold of her bandaged hand.

  To his great relief, she did not try to fight him this time. The warrior chief stared at the loosely bandaged hand in his grip. The strips of linens wrapped around the palm and fingers only managed to cover parts of the damaged flesh. Patches of red, scarred skin showed around the edge. Gently, he drew the other hand from behind her back and examined that one as well. Though the scars were healing quite well, he knew they must have been extremely painful for some time after the fire. He looked up and found Joanna’s eyes locked on the picture hanging above his hearth.

  “Now you know. I am not she.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “The Joanna MacInnes that you see in that portrait perished like the rest in that fire.”