Allan looked out at the thin sliver of loch visible at the end of the glen.
“Go on,” Gavin ordered, stirring the old steward from his reverie.
“That all ended when Sir Duncan MacInnes became master of Ironcross Castle. He ordered the common folk to stay away, and ordered a punishment for those who were found trespassing in the passages.” Allan shrugged his broad, old shoulders and looked away again. “No one goes there anymore. That is why no one in the house would dare to go into the passages. No one has been down there in ages. That is why no one remembers.”
“Why, Allan, would a laird of Ironcross bury someone from the abbey in the caverns beneath his own castle. Why not in the chapel yard? Why not in the kirkyard at the abbey? Saints or no, burying them here makes no sense!”
“I...I don’t know, m’lord.”
Gavin’s face clouded over at the steward’s inability to satisfy his questions.
“How much do you think Mater knows of the history of those people?”
Allan stared at his master and then began to shake his head slowly “I don’t...”
“You don’t believe she knows?” Gavin glowered. “Or you don’t think she will tell me?”
“She...it surely would not be wise...”
“Wise? To question Mater? Why, Allan?”
The steward hesitated, but then looked positively relieved at the sound of horses in the distance. Gavin turned and looked up the glen as Athol and his men broke out of the wood and rode along the edge of the trees. He could see a pair of does draped across the saddles of the earl’s men.
Watching his guest approach, Gavin turned again to the steward. “It seems we have taken more than we need. Prepare the earl’s kill, and advise the men that on our way back we will be stopping at the abbey.”
“The reason for this visit, m’lord,” Allan asked hesitantly, his face showing his perplexity. “Do you intend to try to question Mater? About the crypt, I mean!”
“Aye.” Gavin nodded, looking into the steward’s face. “‘Tis clear to me I’ll not be getting much information from my own people...unless I care to cudgel it out of them. I’m thinking I can learn a great deal more speaking with the woman.”
The steward showed no further willingness to speak, though concern was etched on his features. With a look of disgust, Gavin turned and mounted his horse. Of course, he thought, whether she is willing to tell me what she knows is a different matter entirely. Shaking his head, he nudged his steed down the steep hill where Athol and his men waited.
From the time Joanna had named Mater as the one responsible for the killings, Gavin had been looking for an excuse to visit the old woman before meeting with the lass again. There was something very unsettling about this whole thing. On his last visit to abbey, Mater had spoken of Joanna as a frequent visitor. She had spoken of her as a friend. But Gavin also recalled how she had spoken in riddles when she had answered his questions about the young woman. Now, knowing that Joanna had been alive all along, the warrior chief couldn’t help but wonder if the old abbess knew the truth as well. But then, how? And more importantly, why--unless she saw the woman light the fire with her own eyes--should Joanna MacInnes go from seeking out the old woman’s company to calling her a murderer?
“So, you were able to run a few of them down,” Gavin said, approaching his neighbor.
“Aye,” the earl replied with a nod. “And we could have taken two more with little effort. With no one hunting here of late, you should have plenty of meat to stock the larders of Ironcross.”
Gavin ran a hand down the side of Paris’s neck. “Well, I’ve thought of a more worthy use for the meat that we’ve gathered today. We are stopping at the old abbey on the way back to Ironcross. I plan to drop off some of the meat our party killed. While we’re there, I thought I might visit a few moments with the abbess, Mater.”
Athol’s silence drew Gavin’s eyes to the Highlander’s face. His expression had darkened visibly, and his gaze was directed past the glen--in the direction of the abbey.
“If you do not wish to accompany me there, we could meet back at the keep. My steward will accompany you and make certain you are comfortable.” Gavin watched the changing shades of color in the earl’s face.
“Aye,” the earl said finally. “I have no desire to see the old woman or her sad pile of stones. I will meet you back at Ironcross.”
As Gavin struggled to hide his satisfaction, Athol’s sharp, gray eyes turned to the warrior’s face. “Tell me,” he said in a conversational tone. “Were you welcomed there...when you first visited them?”
“How would you know if I visited them before?”
Though the Highlander never averted his eyes, Gavin noted the changing hue in his face.
Athol’s voice was steady when he responded. “I just assumed you had been there. The abbey ruins and the land around it have been the undisputed property of the Ironcross lairds for...the devil knows how long. I simply assumed you would have wanted to meet her right away.”
After a pause, Gavin accepted the other man’s reasoning. “As you say, I have been there before. She is an interesting woman. But to answer your question, they are not the most friendly lot, if I take your meaning correctly. But what makes you ask?”
The Highlander leaned forward on his horse, patting his steed’s ebony colored neck. “Well, I do not know how much you have heard, but over the years quite a few of the peasants from your lands have moved onto mine. Some looking for work, others simply wanting the protection of a laird.”
Gavin had been told that much by the priest and he nodded.
“The stories that these simple folk brought with them always led me to think that there was something very peculiar--perhaps even dangerous--about this abbey.” Athol stared at his host. “And the old woman.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Stories about...” Athol waved a hand at the direction of the glen. “About women being the ones there...strange and savage women...living and working the fields. And other stories about men being abducted from the lands around Ironcross and held as slaves on the abbey lands. Wild stories about using these men only for planting his seed in a wife. About them being drowned in the loch afterwards...or burned!”
“And you believed these tales?” Gavin asked incredulously.
“Of course not!” Athol just shook his head. “I attributed it all to the excuses these men felt they needed for leaving behind the lands their families had worked from the time of Noah. But I suppose there is always anger in a man who sees women who can survive without him. My opinion changed, though, when I faced their hostility myself.”
Gavin's attention was riveted to the earl now.
“That first summer Joanna came to Ironcross Castle, I was a frequent caller. She was no stranger to the Highl...”
“This was last summer, I assume.” Gavin could hear the hostility in his own voice, and looked down the brook as Athol’s gaze flashed toward him. Though this was certainly not the time, something in Gavin wanted to wring the man’s neck.
“The summer before last,” the earl said slowly. “The first summer that Ironcross became her home. I was a constant guest here. But she was sent back to court in the fall, only to return the following fall with news of her...” He stopped, his face as dark and as fierce as a winter storm.
Joanna had returned to Ironcross betrothed to James Gordon, Gavin knew. How could he forget, his own face hardening in anger. She was alive and still legally bound to him. The hostility that both men were feeling almost crackled in the air between them. In a moment, the visitor’s face cleared a bit, and he continued with his story.
“Well, that is finished. But that first summer, I soon found that she was a constant visitor to the abbey. And any time I questioned her about the place, she showed such enthusiasm for the people and what they were doing there that one would have thought she had discovered a band of angels living among the rest of us mortals.”
“And in her prais
es of the folk there, did she also include the abbess Mater?” Gavin asked.
“Aye, her the most.” The Highlander nodded. “That old woman was the source of all that was good at the abbey, so far as Joanna was concerned. She looked at Mater with awe for the old woman’s spiritual influence over her flock of followers. She definitely admired and respected the woman.”
Gavin tugged at his ear and looked off at the crest of the hill, working hard to stifle the questions that were gnawing at him. Then what happened? he wanted to know.
“As I said, for most of my years as the laird of Balvenie Castle, I had heard the stories about the abbey. But when...when I set out to woo Joanna directly, I decided I needed to know the truth about the place...and about Mater. So I accompanied her there.”
“And did her description of the place--and of Mater--agree with what you saw?”
Athol’s gray eyes fixed on Gavin's face. “With the exception of Mater, I never saw a soul. ‘Twas quite odd, being the beginning of harvest time, but the crops just stood untended in the fields. No one was working the land at all. ‘Twas the eeriest thing I think I ever saw. That first day, when we left, I asked Joanna about it, and she just said that my presence must have frightened the peasants off. Perhaps the next time, she said, they might be more accepting.”
“Was it any different when you went back?”
Athol gave an empty laugh. “Nay, ‘twas no different. But stubborn as I am, I thought I could force my will on a bunch of women. That is all I thought them to be. Frightened, faceless, invisible women! In the end I was the one who was made to feel invisible.”
“Through all of this,” Gavin asked, his face grave. “How did Mater treat you?”
“She tolerated my presence, I think, because of Joanna. But she never once spoke to me, or included me. I went perhaps a half dozen times--until Joanna asked me to stop. It had become very clear that my presence with her at the abbey was putting some kind of pressure on her relationship with those women. So, in the end, she choose them over me.”
Gavin looked away from the Highlander’s grim expression. There was much to sort through in his words. But one thing was immediately apparent--the force of the connection between Joanna and those women, including Mater, had been stronger than anything she’d felt for this man. It was clear Athol had thought himself a suitor--and one with a claim to her hand in marriage. But Joanna had rejected him, first by excluding him from her world and then by becoming betrothed to another.
Gavin looked again in the direction of the abbey. Though he had much to learn from Mater, the warrior chief suddenly knew that whatever information Joanna had to share, it was perhaps worth more than anything he could learn from Mater, Allan, Athol, or any of the rest of them.
Joanna alone appeared to hold the key of the past.
CHAPTER 14
He hadn’t believed her.
Although she might have forgotten many of the manners of day to day court life, she would never forget how fine a weapon a look of scorn could be. It was clear to her now that Gavin Kerr regarded her revelation to him as daft. And it was crystal clear as well that he held the same opinion of her.
Indeed, she thought, she must be daft, because she was clearly smitten by the man. There was no denying it now, not after what had happened last night. Not after the way he’d kissed her, caressed her in his chamber. Not after the way she had felt in his embrace. Joanna knew now that Gavin Kerr had held the same fascination for her as her portrait had for him. And she had to admit--albeit reluctantly--that feelings for him had stirred long before she’d come face to face with him. Well, she was daft, after all. And in the same stubborn manner that he’d carried her picture back to his room time and time again, she too had been driven by some mad desire to look in upon him night after night. As difficult as it was to admit, she now knew the truth behind her midnight jaunts to his chamber. True, her visits had then only seemed to be a pleasurable thrill. But after meeting with him last night, she knew now that thrill could easily become a habit. And one to revel in at that.
But then, who was he to think her mad? She could picture him in her mind now, hardly listening to the truth--or anything else for that matter--if she were to say it. The thought of him standing by the door, the gray smoke from the fire still drifting about his magnificent body, flickered in her mind’s eye, and she drew in a sharp breath.
Well damn him, she thought, forcing the vision--reluctantly--from her thoughts.
Joanna leaned down and tried to focus on her task, stabbing again at the hard earth beneath her fingers. She hadn’t needed anyone for a long, long while; and she wasn’t about to start asking for help now. Not when it concerned a fight that was hers by right.
“Damn!” she cursed aloud as the dagger slipped out of her hand. She listened for a moment, startled by the echoing reverberation of her voice.
Moving the flickering wick lamp back a bit, Joanna straightened and stretched her stiff joints--knees, back, shoulders, and fingers--before kneeling again on the crypt floor. Edging backward, the young woman resumed her digging, using the tip of the dagger to extend the channel she had been working on for weeks. She had to wash away all thoughts of him out of her mind. She had to forget his stirring kisses, his roaming hands--touches that had made her feel like a woman. She had to focus her mind on one thing. Justice. This was why she was here. This was the reason she had endured these endless months of darkness and loneliness and pain. She had to proceed. She had to execute her plan.
After watching these women carrying out their rituals month in and month out, she had crept into the crypt when she knew she could search without fear of discovery. And she had found the way. Joanna had discovered the small channel that had been dug in a circle at the center of the vault. Over the channel they would build their pyre of branches and reeds. And around this circle, the women gathered. All of them at the full moon.
At the end of the circle, beyond where Mater stood, there was a large container of oil. Joanna had watched repeatedly how at the fevered height of their orgy, the old woman would release the oil from the container into the channel.
She edged back again along her path. This was her plan, simple and just. She had simply added an extension to the channel. One that would bring the river of oil to the door and block their only escape route. In the dim light, they would not even know there was anything different. Not until the fire had already been touched to the oil.
She could already feel the heat of the flames around her. She had envisioned the scene so many times in her mind. All of them still wild and unheedful in their frenzy. Her, standing by the door, blocking their way, the flames leaping at her back. For the rushes she would have quickly pulled from behind the crypts closest to the door, the ones she’d soaked in oil and hidden, would now be ablaze. Their only exit would be a smoky inferno. She’d feed the fire and watch them scream and die. The same way she knew her own parents had died. She would meet her own end in that room. But then, this was her destiny.
If it was madness, Joanna thought, then so be it. What other choices did she have? She was the one true heir to Ironcross. She was the only one capable of handing out justice to the she-devil.
***
He was a fool to think his reception would be any different than the one they’d given him before. But still, Gavin thought wryly, one could always hope.
Having left the few men who had come with him by the river on the outskirts of the village, Gavin led the mare carrying his offering of meat down the path toward the ruined abbey gates. Just the same as last time, emptiness and silence were all that greeted him.
Gavin tethered his horse to a small shrub by the same hut where he had seen Mater last. This time, however, the dying embers of an old fire and an empty block of stone beyond it were all he found. Still unaffected by this lack of welcome, the Lowlander turned to the mare and quickly unloaded the butchered venison. Bringing it back to the fire, Gavin spread the hide of one of the animals and laid the meat on it. As
he worked, he was very conscious of the weight of many eyes peering at him from the darkness of the huts around him.
Moments later, after the laird had finished with this portion of what he’d come here to do, he crouched down beside the fire and started feeding kindling into the coals. Small flames leapt up, and, though the day was still warm, Gavin gradually added larger pieces of wood until he had a fairly large blaze. For all any of the onlookers would be able to tell, he looked as if he planned to spend the day. This, Gavin knew, would be somewhat bothersome to the folk who had hurriedly left their undone work in the fields. He knew the abbey had been feeding its people and eking out an existence, without any help from the Ironcross lairds, for a long while. He also knew that the growing season was short enough in the Highlands. Losing out on a day’s work, he was quite sure, would be a high price for them to pay.
It took some time, but at last Mater’s thin frame emerged from the hut. Her disapproving scowl at his relaxed position by her fire was a prize well worth waiting for. Gavin smiled in greeting and stood up. She glared back at him before casting a disdainful look in the direction of the meat.
“What brings you here?” Her tone was ice cold and impatient.
With a nod, he crouched down and began to feed the fire again--the same way she had done the last time he’d been here. “We finished a fine day of hunting, and I thought it appropriate to share the spoils.”
“We have no need for acts of charity!”
“If that is so, Mater, then you must be the only religious leader this side of Jerusalem who feels that way.”
The old woman stared at the laird in silence, and Gavin knew she was working hard to hold her tongue.
“Actually,” he continued. “‘Tis no charity. At least one of these does was probably taken on your lands. ‘Twas only right that your people have a share of the meat.”
She stood still, looking across the flames at Gavin's face. “You keep yourself and your men away from this abbey. We gladly forfeit all rights to any game you take. And we will not touch this meat.”
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