Flame

by May McGoldrick

  “They did come,” she whispered quietly. “But not as the women I had come to know. They came as strangers--as a group of chanting, raving madwomen.”

  “Did they see you?”

  She shook her head and laid her forehead against his chin. “Nay, I was so taken aback by their presence in that crypt--by the talk, by their evil prayers--that I found myself speechless, frozen where I hid.”

  She shivered again as Gavin ran a warm hand up and down her arm beneath the covers. Her skin was ice cold to his touch.

  “What happened next, Joanna?”

  “‘Twas some kind of ritual. The thing was as familiar to them as breathing the air is to you and me. I don’t know if it was Christian or pagan or from the devil himself. But then, what came next will give me nightmares till the day I die!”

  Gavin’s head snapped around as the flames in the fireplace suddenly leapt up on the hearth. Between the wind and the blasted draft of the chimneys, he thought to himself, it was amazing the whole castle had not burned to the ground long ago.

  “‘Twas the most upsetting part of all they did--up to that time.” Joanna bit off her words. “As I watched, one of the women, with a shriek of some eldritch fiend, knelt by the pyre they had built in the center of the vault, and lit the brush. I can still hear the crackling roar, the rushes and the reeds and the sticks igniting. The blaze lighting up the entire crypt in an orgy of shadows and light. Then the women, like demons, breaking into some pagan dance, spinning and falling in a frenzy of moans and howls. ‘Twas as if they ceased to be human! And Mater watched over them all.”

  Although he had never been a witness to such rituals, Gavin had heard, on occasion, of places in both the Highlands and in the western Borders where such strange gatherings occurred. Some said it was a part of the old religion. Most said nothing about it at all.

  But this still offered no just cause for placing the guilt of the murders on Mater.

  “And there was more,” Joanna continued. “As these women carried on with their dancing and chanting, Mater began to preach to them, using words about lairds and the evils of such men and the curse and the traditions. From where I stood, hidden beyond a crypt, it took me no time at all to realize that she was talking about my father. She was calling down justice. Mater was calling on some ‘power’ to bring death...on him and on all who followed in his place.”

  Joanna reached and took hold of Gavin’s hand tightly in hers. “As amazed as I was by what had gone before, ‘twas nothing compared to that moment--to hearing those words. I mean, she was speaking of my father, John MacInnes! A peaceful man who had never willingly brought a jot of pain or hardship on any living soul. Why him!”

  “What happened next, Joanna?”

  “Finally, they all left the vault at last, still wild-eyed, possessed with the frenzy. I could not believe what I had seen. I sat huddled in that corner for I do not know how long. I suppose I was completely shaken, confused with what I had witnessed.” She stared into the darkness of her memory. “Whatever ‘twas that moved me--fear or betrayal--after a while I did stir. Aye, I found some courage and started back to my room, though I know now it must have been some time later.”

  Joanna was no longer shivering; she was openly shaking in his arms. Gavin lifted her from her place, drawing her gently into his lap, and he wrapped his arms protectively around her. Outside, a long, low rumble of thunder rolled across the loch.

  “I was too late,” she croaked over the noise. “By the time I reached the passages into the south wing, the smoke was thick and the heat unbearable. I was choking, but I climbed upward. There were flames leaping everywhere. And there were choked screams above the roar of the fire. I killed them! I waited too long in the crypt! I...”

  She broke down. Gavin gathered her tightly against his chest. Her tears ran in streams down her cheeks and onto his chest. The warrior’s throat knotted tightly and he clenched his jaws. How well he knew the sorrow that she was feeling. How well he knew the anguish of losing those you loved. The doomed helplessness of surviving. The guilt of having failed.

  They sat like that for a long while, until finally she drew in a long, irregular breath and continued.

  “I was barely able to make it to the upper floors. I think I was about to faint, the air was so hot and smoky. I pushed at the panel of my own chamber, but the latch would not give. From the edges of the door, flames licked at my hands. My hands were burning...I could smell my own flesh. But I...I was stuck in the passage with my mother and father trapped inside. I tore myself away. I stumbled, as if in a nightmare, along the passages. I found a different panel. ‘Twas the same there. Everywhere I went, ‘twas the same. I could not get through. I remember finding my way into the passageway that I was certain led to my parents’ bedchamber. I threw myself against the panel--screaming and using my hands to dig at the burning wood--pleading to be let in. But... but they must have all been dead by then. They were all dead. And I was condemned to live.”

  Gavin placed his hand on her quivering fingers and flattened them against his heart. “How could anyone stand the heat of the flames?”

  She tucked her head beneath his chin. Her voice was cold, almost lifeless. “The flames were nothing compared to the anguish I have endured at being forced to live.”

  In his mind, Gavin traveled back to the muddy fields of Flodden. He too had been forced to witness the death of his kin--of being too far away to help his two older brothers in battle. He too had been forced to endure the memory of being struck down, of lying helpless with the dying and the dead.

  He, as well, had hoped to die. But a Highlander had come after him. Though injured himself, Ambrose Macpherson had lifted him onto his shoulder and had carried him through the rain for two days back to Scotland. Gavin glanced vacantly at the windows of the chamber. Outside the storm had continued to grow, and thunder crashed with a resounding echo.

  He remembered the misery he’d inflicted on Ambrose during that time! From physical threats to the verbal abuse of the man’s honor, Gavin had done his best to make it impossible for the Highlander to continue on. Like Joanna, Gavin had been forced to live.

  But Ambrose’s stubborn bravery knew no bounds. Physically restraining him from bringing himself more harm, the Highlander had talked only of hope. Of a chance for the future. Of a Scotland that would need him now more than ever. Ambrose Macpherson had shown him the courage and the strength that comes with compassion. And later, he had taught him that there could exist a friendship and a loyalty that rivaled the ties of kinship. This was what Joanna needed to feel now. It was his turn, Gavin thought, to pass on the lesson that his friend had once long ago bestowed on him.

  “I think in the midst of it, I must have passed out.” Joanna’s voice brought Gavin back to the present. “In fact, I must have been confused, delirious even, when I first regained consciousness, since I don’t recall anything of those moments at all. My first clear memories are from some time later, finding myself beside the underground loch beneath the castle. My hands were lying in the cold water, my burned flesh soaking and the pain surging though my whole body in horrible waves.”

  “Did you go back to the south wing ?”

  “I tried, but a fever took hold of me. And the pain searing through my hands nearly drove me mad. I think I may have lay there in the blackness of that cavern for hours...or days...time meant nothing. But then, after who knows how long, I found myself standing. I don’t know what kept me upright. I was like some puppet held up by invisible strings. Somehow, I made my way through the tunnels to the burnt out wing, but they were all gone. The place was in ruins. The ashes were cold, and there was nothing else.”

  Hardly breathing, Joanna had grown rigid in his arms, and Gavin gently caressed her back. He could see the tears coursing down her face. It took a few moments, but eventually her shoulders began to lose their tenseness, and her breathing became more normal.

  “You think this was the next day?”

  She shrugged. “I h
ad no sense of time. I remember ‘twas growing dark, and there was not a single soul to be found.” She looked away, drawing in a deep breath.

  “What about the rest of the house, Joanna? The remaining servants who had not been in that wing. Surely you could have sought out one of them for help?”

  Suddenly angry, she shook her head. “I would never have gone to them. How could I? They were as much part of these killings as Mater herself!”

  Gavin reached around and took a hold of her chin, raising it until their eyes met. As he looked into her face, the chamber was suddenly illuminated once again with a flash of lightning. “What do you mean...?” The cracking crash of thunder that followed immediately broke his question in two. “What do you mean, they were part of it?”

  “They were all there,” Joanna answered, her eyes growing wild. “All the women of this house are a part of Mater’s flock. I saw them in the crypt. You think I would not know them? They were all there. Gibby, the cook. Molly and those who serve her in the household. Even the mute, Margaret. They were all part of it. All of them...carrying the flames of death!”

  “But you never actually saw them set fire to the south wing, did you?”

  “I didn’t have to,” she responded angrily. “Don’t you think what I saw was enough?”

  “Nay, I do not think ‘twas enough,” Gavin answered honestly. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop looking for proof of their guilt.”

  “But they are guilty.”

  “You say they are,” he argued. “But you can be no more certain than your grandmother of Mater’s guilt. And there is not a thing you can do to mete out justice to those women.”

  “That may be your perception of the truth.” She looked steadily into his eyes. “But ‘tis yours alone!”

  CHAPTER 18

  When he stepped into the Great Hall, Gavin stopped to look about him at the long rows of tables. Most of his own men and many of Athol’s had already settled at the tables, lounging or eating their morning meal.

  The Lowlander’s eyes settled on Allan, who was sitting with Edmund and Peter at one of the tables. The older man’s surly expression told him that the steward looked to be the target of Peter’s wit this morning. In a lull between the storms last night, Gavin had asked Joanna about the steward. Why, he’d asked, had Joanna not chosen to seek out the older man’s assistance, rather than going into hiding?

  The answer had been all too obvious to Joanna. The mute woman Margaret was Allan’s younger sister, and what chance did a feverish, grieving young woman have of being believed against the word of kin and fellow workers the steward had known his whole life.

  Well, he was not about to blame her now for being suspicious. After all she had been through, she had earned the right. Gavin looked about for his guest, Athol.

  Against his wishes, Joanna had this morning insisted on returning to the darkness of the caverns beneath the keep. No matter what he said, he knew he had not even come close to persuading her to stop hiding her existence from the household. He had even tried to get her just to stay in his bedchamber and bar the door.

  Stubbornly, she had refused his offer, giving him only her word before leaving that she would return after nightfall. But now, as Gavin thought a bit anxiously about the all too involved Earl of Athol, he felt a stab of uneasiness. He should not have let her go. She herself had told him that Athol knew his ways around the caverns of this keep. What if the blackguard was, right now, traipsing through those tunnels himself?

  Gavin whirled, ready to return to his chamber and find Joanna himself. She would listen to reason if he had to...

  “I see you are as late a riser as I this morning.”

  Gavin lurched to a stop before the Highlander, narrowly avoiding barreling into the man. As he looked into the earl’s face, he struggled to hide the look of relief that he was certain was stealing across his face.

  “On second thought,” Athol added, irony evident in his tone. “You look as though you have been up for some time. And what occupies the master of Ironcross Castle this fine morning? Chasing Joanna’s portrait around the South Hall?”

  “Are you mocking me?” Gavin growled menacingly, studying the man. “It seems to me that, for someone who has been in this keep less than two days, you know a great deal more about the affairs of Ironcross Castle than befits a guest!”

  Athol shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile as he turned toward the Great Hall and its occupants. “‘Tis not too often that one hears a more amusing story than the one being told around this keep. Do you not think it amusing that a man of your reputation should lose his temper every time some servant moves a painting? Every kitchen lass and stableman is talking of it, though I believe they are a wee bit unsure of whether to laugh or to fear you all the more.”

  “That shows great wisdom on their part,” Gavin growled, keeping his eyes on the tall man’s profile. “You know, Athol, I would almost believe you learned of this in the manner you say, if you were one to charm a scullery maid or even hang about the stables. But having had the pleasure of experiencing your sour disposition for the past two days, I’d have to say ‘tis unlikely you would be welcome in either place.”

  Seemingly ignoring the barb, John Stewart looked through the huge doors of the Great Hall before turning and giving Gavin a half smile. “So you have not yet rooted out the culprit, if I am not mistaken.”

  Gavin paused and contemplated his answer. Right before him stood a man who--jovial though he might be on the surface--could easily be the very person responsible for the murder of Joanna’s parents. In spite of what Joanna had seen and heard, Athol was still as suspect, in Gavin’s eyes, as the women of the abbey. And besides, the Highlander irritated the hell out of him.

  Gavin turned and met the other man’s gray eyes. “So far I have been at a disadvantage, since this thief knows of more ways than one to travel through the passages of this keep.” He furrowed his brow in a frown. “And every attempt I have made to find a guide to take me through the caverns has met with blank stares and silence. One might think my new vassals are siding with the scurvy dog.”

  “To be sure, any number of the household servants should have no difficulty in taking you around.” The Highlander returned Gavin’s frown. “Allan, for one, has been living in this place from the time he was a wee bairn. His great, great grandsires probably hauled stones to build the place. Aye, if I were to point to one with a fair, strong memory, Allan would be my first choice.”

  “Well, he claims that he hasn’t been anywhere near those tunnels for quite some time. But from what I hear,” Gavin continued, “you yourself were raised in these hills. I understand you spent more than a few hours in this castle as a lad.”

  “And who would tell you that? You wouldn’t have me believe you are one to be fooling with the lasses in the kitchen!”

  “Believe what you like,” Gavin growled. “But I am not one to have a neighbor so near as you without wanting to know what I can about him.”

  Athol looked steadily at him for a moment, and then nodded thoughtfully. “Aye,” he agreed. “And letting your neighbor know where he stands seems to be your way as well.”

  Gavin grunted his assent.

  “You are a bluff and honest man,” the earl said earnestly. “A rare quality in a flatlander.” His attention was drawn to a trencher of food being carried by a serving boy across the Great Hall. “I don’t know if you have chewed up your daily measure of stray neighbors, but I need to put some food in this empty belly of mine.”

  “First tell me, are you quite familiar with the tunnels beneath this keep?”

  The Highlander’s expression was controlled as he considered his answer, but watching him, Gavin decided that the man’s answer would very likely confirm his own suspicions. In fact, as he waited, Gavin became more and more certain that Athol would try to hide the truth.

  “Aye, my good host. In fact, I would say that there are few people outside this household more familiar with those caverns t
han I!”

  Gavin watched the Highlander cock an eyebrow at him before turning and striding toward the table--and the food--that awaited them. Quickly disguising his surprise at the man’s open acknowledgment, the laird followed a step behind.

  As they reached their places at head table, Gavin motioned for the earl to be seated. “I will make you an offer. An exchange. I will not ask you how it happens that you should be an expert on the so-called ‘secret’ passages beneath this keep, and you will give me a lesson.”

  Athol tore a leg off of one of the roasted ducks that sat before them, before turning to answer. “There is no need to bargain. I will gladly show you around...and still tell you how ‘tis that I have come to know so much.”

  Gavin looked skeptically at his guest’s face. “Is that so?”

  “Are you always so mistrustful, or is it only when you are dealing with a new neighbor?”

  Gavin frowned and fingered the goblet on the table. “I believe I’ve always been considered a trusting man. But somehow that trait has taken leave of me since I’ve arrived at the Highlands.”

  Athol grunted and turned his attention back to his food.

  “Now,” Gavin continued, “would you have any idea why I should be so afflicted?”

  “I only offered you a tour through your own keep,” the Highlander said between mouthfuls. “I think you should call a priest to exorcise those demons.”

  “Ah, ‘tis a relief to find out that the good Earl of Athol is not a master of all trades.” A wry grin tugged at Gavin’s lips as he drew out his dirk and stabbed a hunk of cheese from his own trencher.

  “I said you should call a priest,” Athol said slyly, reaching for his cup. “But if you would like me to pray over you, as well...”

  “Never mind all that,” he growled. “Are you willing to take me through the caverns?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?” The Lowlander did not relax the intensity of his gaze while the earl considered the question.