Flame

by May McGoldrick

“You are a Highland lass, to be sure,” he growled.

  Her mouth descended onto his, and he kissed her--deeply, thoroughly. She drew back, breathless, and Gavin felt his breath catch in his throat as her hips ground into him.

  “I have already sent my men out...in search of him.” Gavin took hold of her hips and lifted, causing her to glide the full length of his member, his tongue finding her nipple at the top of the stroke. Her gasp of pleasure only encouraged him to repeat the action. “We should...find him...” He couldn’t finish, as she took charge, riding him.

  Her body arched at the moment of her release, and Gavin felt her tighten like a sheath around him. As she cried out in ecstasy, the last vestiges of his control exploded in a fireball of passion. There was no holding back--there was only the need to pour his seed into her.

  “Joanna!” he called out, rolling her onto the bed beneath him. As she clung to him, a few fierce strokes completed the task, leaving them both panting and spent.

  They lay there side by side for a long while, wrapped in one another’s arms, the night soft and sweet around them. She was the first one to speak, and her eyes sparkled as they looked into his.

  “I think there are quite a few more members of the household that we need to discuss. ‘Tis our responsibility, Gavin.”

  With a rumbling laugh, Gavin rolled her onto her back. “True enough, Joanna. And I suppose there is no better time to begin than now!”

  CHAPTER 26

  He had to go down there.

  He had heard it in her words last night. Joanna had her own plans regarding the dispensing of justice to the women she held responsible for her parents death. And Gavin was certain it involved that underground crypt.

  With the priest still gone and Athol not completely recovered from his injuries, the laird knew that he had to rely on his own memory and find his way back to Hell’s Gate.

  Padding through the underground passages, Gavin felt certain he would find the crypt. He would find it as surely as he would eventually find his way through the secrets of Ironcross Castle’s past. And he was driven to find the truth...the only truth that Joanna continued to hold back from him. The truth she felt the need to die for.

  Well, she would not die. He would not let her.

  Half an hour later, Gavin held his torch before him and peered into the vaulted chamber of the crypt.

  **

  He had a death grip on her hand.

  Joanna once again tried to work herself out of his grasp, but his grip on her only tightened. This was it, she thought decisively. No further. The Old Keep was as far as she intended to go. If he gave her half a chance, she would escape. Back to the safety of her chamber.

  Gavin’s reproachful glare told him that she had no chance.

  Joanna glared back at him defiantly. It was bad enough that he was forcing her to take her meals in the Great Hall, a host of curious eyes watching her every move, her every mouthful; now he was going to physically drag her out into the brilliant sunshine of the late spring morning. He was a monster.

  She was still resolved to go through with her plan at the next full moon, and knowing that held her back. Death was looking her in the face, and Joanna knew it would hurt her to engage in any more of life’s little pleasures.

  The memories were quite vivid. Strolling in the sun. Feeling the whip of the wind against your cheek. Breathing fresh, heather-scented air. Aye, she thought. She had her memories. They would suffice.

  Gavin yanked once again on her hand, and Joanna turned and glowered at him. How could he be so damnably persistent? He was ruining everything she had planned. She had hardly had a moment alone to herself. She still needed to return to the vault and make certain her original plans remained undisturbed. But Gavin seemed determined not to give her a chance to do so.

  Of course, the way she had been spending her nights caused her no complaints, Joanna thought wickedly. She continued to go to him and join him in his bed. But her days! If she weren’t answering Athol’s endless queries, Gavin had her involved with the renovation of the south wing. Should we have a door here? What about bringing a glazier up from Edinburgh to put in windows? What about the fireplaces? The questions went on and on.

  “For someone who is so conscious about not bringing attention to herself, you have certainly managed to draw a crowd.”

  She turned and looked in the direction that he indicated. By the door leading to the Great Hall, a nosy gaggle of servants and soldiers were all peering curiously after her.

  “If you would stop being so stubborn, and simply let me choose my time...”

  He shook his head with a smile. “You have had your chance, lass, and done nothing about it.” He tugged again on her hand, and his face took on a menacing edge. “Come with me, Joanna, before I carry you outside. Though I’m really looking forward to giving them a sight to remember.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  He cocked an eyebrow and took a step toward her. There was no question in her mind that he would make good on his threat.

  “You’re an oaf!” she cried, tearing her hand out of his grip as she swept by him and out the door.

  The courtyard bustled with the noise and activity of builders, warriors, stablemen, and others--all engaged in their crafts--and Joanna stopped abruptly on the top step leading down from the great door of the Old Keep. The pleasure she felt at that moment was as astounding as it was immediate.

  The velvet hand of the sun touched her skin, wrapping her in its warmth. Closing her eyes and remaining on the step, Joanna filled her lungs with the smells of the day. Gavin’s large hand caressed the small of her back, and her eyes opened to the sight of his handsome face. He towered over her.

  “This is only the start, lass,” he said in a low voice.

  Taking her again by the hand, he started down the steps. By the stables, she could see two saddled horses.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I thought a bit of a ride would be pleasant.” He accepted a traveling cloak from a waiting serving woman and wrapped it around Joanna’s shoulders. This gesture of concern brought a smile to her lips.

  Letting her eyes roam the courtyard as they crossed to the stables, Joanna took in everything. This was all so different, she thought. Yesterday, one of Gavin's men, a giant warrior by the name of Andrew, had returned from Elgin with a crew of stonemasons, carpenters, and other craftsmen, as well as a boisterous legion of apprentices. Since then, the noise and activity in the castle had doubled. She paused for a moment, watching two young men hoisting a load of slate to the roof.

  As much as she had tried, it was difficult for Joanna to close her mind to the excitement that surrounded her. Gavin had continued to talk about the future of Ironcross and about their lives together as husband and wife. She had remained fairly silent, steadfast in her insistence on living only for the present.

  When they reached the horses, Gavin lifted her effortlessly into her saddle. Joanna looked about her. “What did you have to do to John Stewart to keep him from joining us?”

  “I had him gagged and thrown into one of the new pits we are digging in the kirkyard. Easy, Paris,” he said, steadying his own huge horse.

  “Is the good earl wearing on you?”

  “I am a patient man, but the winsome creature is overstaying his welcome.” He swatted her horse on the flank, and they both started off toward the open gate. “In fact, if he is not over this feigned injury of his by the end of the week, I will strap his damned carcass onto his horse and let his men drag him back to Balvenie Castle!”

  The image of the tall, haughty Highlander being manhandled by Gavin brought a smile to her lips. Turning, she found his eyes on her.

  “He thinks he is playing chaperon to us,” he growled as they rode out into the open. Down the hill, the roofs of small, nearly deserted village could be seen, but Gavin turned his horse to the right, along base of the castle wall. “And I am tired of having him question every moment we spend in each other’s co
mpany.”

  She giggled.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “I wonder how he would feel about our midnight visits, if he were to learn of them.”

  A slow smile tugged at his lips as his gaze lowered lingeringly on her breasts. A shiver of excitement prickled her skin.

  “To hell with what he thinks. I am looking forward to the time when we can have midday visits!”

  Joanna looked away as the molten heat that was streaming through her body surged into her cheeks.

  “By week’s end, at the latest, we should have all of our answers,” he said with a note of certainty. “By then, Edmund should be back with a word from James Gordon. Also, I expect Peter to return with some news of the old priest.”

  And the end of this week would also bring the full moon, she thought silently, feeling the fire inside her suddenly turn to ice.

  “Your message to your grandmother should have arrived by now as well.”

  She turned and looked at him.

  “Do you think she’ll make the trip north for our wedding?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered softly. It would be so easy to fall under his spell, Joanna thought sadness suddenly clutching at her heart. With a shake of her head, she pushed aside the dreary thoughts.

  “You did tell her that as soon as we get an answer from James Gordon, we intend to wed.”

  She nodded. There had been no reason to say anything different, though a pang of regret had struck her after the messenger had ridden out.

  Her grandmother was about to receive a message saying that her long dead granddaughter was alive. But the old woman would learn a week later that Joanna had perished in a fire in the crypt. It would have been so much easier not to contact her at all. But Gavin had insisted, and this far into her plans, Joanna could not risk raising his suspicions.

  “Any news of Father William?” she asked, to change the subject.

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “But I am certain we will find him. With no horses and so few who would want to shelter the man, ‘tis just a matter of time before he returns.”

  “Returns?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Of course. I want to ask him a few questions.”

  “And you think...?” Joanna shifted in her saddle. “Do you still suspect him of setting the fire?”

  Gavin looked into her face. “Well, it appears he ran as soon as news of your survival became known.”

  “But he could have simply been afraid that you’ve heard about Iris!”

  “Aye. But in any case, we’ll find him, and my guess is that he’ll be on his way back to Ironcross Castle when we do.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Father William is not a fool, and I have spread the word that he needs to clear his name of any involvement with the fire. His life will be forfeit if we catch him in hiding.”

  “But ‘tis the bishop he must answer to.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  “But he’s innocent,” Joanna said emphatically, adding, “of the fire, at least.”

  “Then he has nothing to fear, and he’ll return of his own accord. Come on, let’s see if that little mare is as lively as she looks. I’ll race you to that stone jutting from the next hill.”

  Before answering, Joanna fixed her gaze on something in the distance. Whirling in his saddle, Gavin turned to look at what had caught her eye, and when he did, Joanna flicked the mare’s reins with a loud whoop and dashed off up the hill, leaving him grinning in her wake.

  CHAPTER 27

  The mute woman’s eyes were blood-red with despair.

  For days now, fear had robbed her of all sleep, all rest. She twisted the rough wool of her skirt between her thin fingers, and her body remained rigid as she peered past the stiff red skin that served as a door, covering the only opening in the hut’s walls.

  On the other side of the muddy pool of water beyond the entryway, her brother Allan stood glaring down at the diminutive priest. When her brother had come striding over the hill, William had rushed out to meet him on the path, rather than have him discover Margaret inside.

  Margaret continued to watch nervously from the hut. The steward’s face was a storm cloud of pent-up fury, and his eyes shot lightning bolts at the little man as he waited for an answer.

  The priest’s sister, a bent woman, wrinkled and old before her time, moved wearily from the piles of new-shorn fleece that she had stacked in the corner of the tiny hovel. Clinging to her skirts, two ragged urchins stared wide-eyed, hiding their faces when Margaret glanced down at them.

  Turning her attention back to William and her brother, Margaret realized that Allan had not once so much as glanced at the hut, and suddenly it occurred to her that he must not know she was there.

  The mute woman’s eyes again searched the empty path beyond the two men. She so desperately hoped that the woman’s husband would come back from the fields.

  Glancing again in William’s direction, Margaret saw him shake his head at the steward. Allan addressed the little priest angrily, though his words were inaudible at this distance. Still getting no positive response from the cleric, the steward glanced suspiciously toward the hovel, and a flash of panic raced through the mute woman.

  Turning to William’s sister, Margaret took the hands of the two children and drew them quickly to her side. Looking desperately at the woman, Margaret motioned pleadingly toward the door.

  She had wanted the peasant woman to go outside and do whatever needed to be done to break into the tension of the encounter between the two men, but instead, the older woman pulled the two children out of her grasp, pushing them with one quick motion through the skin door and toward the muddy pool of water.

  Margaret watched as Allan glared at the children for a moment, and then relief washed over her as he turned on his heel and strode back up the path toward the ridge.

  ***

  Joanna had been entranced by the story of his life and had been lulled by the lilt of his voice. But all that came to an abrupt halt as soon as they came to the crest of the last hill.

  She jerked the rein of her horse in an attempt to bring the animal to a sudden stop. But the mare, objecting to the abruptness of the command, reared up. It took great effort to keep her place in saddle as Gavin’s huge hands grabbed for the horse’s bridle.

  “What did you do that for? You could have killed yourself!”

  “Where do you think you are taking me?” she asked angrily, letting her eyes dart from the huts in the valley back to his face.

  “We are going to the abbey.”

  “I can see that! But for what reason?”

  “To meet with Mater.”

  “Why?” she spat out, her anger rising. “What right have you to do such a thing? I thought we were out for a ride. You tricked me. You lied!”

  “Nay, I didn’t lie,” he argued. “And with all the times you must have traveled this route, I simply thought you knew where we were going.”

  “Well, you were wrong. I wasn’t paying attention, and you did your best to distract me.”

  Gavin's voice was gruff. “Joanna, this is important.”

  “Nay,” she protested, trying unsuccessfully to yank the horse’s head free. “I had no intention of coming here. You cannot force me to go down into that valley. I’m going back.”

  “Joanna.” Still holding her mare’s bridle with one hand, Gavin reached over and grabbed her hand roughly in his, forcing her attention on him. “You said you wanted to be involved in discovering the truth of your parents’ death.”

  “I do. I am.”

  “How?” he pressed. “By hiding in the darkness of some underground cave, or by locking yourself within the walls of that keep?”

  “I do not need to come here to learn anything more about these women. This abbey is a lie, and no one knows that better than I.” She glared angrily at him. “I know the truth. I’ve been a witness to their wretched evil. All I need to wait for now is the da
y of justice, and that day is coming.”

  “Just listen to yourself, Joanna.” He pulled his horse sharply to her side until their knees touched--their two animals stamped restlessly. “If I were to follow your way of thinking, Athol’s blood would already be spilled. The priest would be a dead man. Mater and her flock would all be hung, and my steward would have been drawn and quartered for negligence to his duty, if not disloyalty. How is that for justice?”

  Joanna shivered as she looked into his hard, angry eyes. His quiet fury was more unnerving than if he had threatened her with a point of a sword. She had never seen him like this, and for the first time, she sensed how extremely dangerous Gavin Kerr could be.

  “I cannot go through with what you want me to do.”

  “Do you think Mater guilty?”

  “I do!” She spoke without hesitation.

  “Is she an enemy?”

  “The fiercest of foes.”

  “Do you want to see justice served?”

  “I do.”

  “Then face her,” he ordered. “She is much more than the shell of old skin and bone that we see. ‘Tis her will, her spirit, that is the source of her power. You cannot defeat her without weakening that spirit first. And that will be no easy task.”

  For a long moment she stared at him, too stunned by his words to respond.

  “You are the last MacInnes left,” he challenged. “If it were your father or any of the men in your family still alive, have you thought what they would be doing now?”

  She forced herself to speak. “Don’t press me to do this, Gavin! I cannot.”

  “Why?” he scolded. “Because you’re a woman? Joanna, you have more spirit in you than I have found in many a warrior. Remember, you are the rightful heir to Ironcross Castle. And the same way that you want to be present when I meet with the priest, or when I question any other man who might be involved in these murders, you have to be here when I talk with Mater.”