Flame

by May McGoldrick

  The old woman’s eyes jerked to her face.

  “Never!” she said vehemently.

  CHAPTER 29

  Wait, she cried out in her mind.

  Margaret stumbled down the hillside as the priest's dark form disappeared over the crest of the next rocky hill.

  Wait for me, she prayed, lifting her feet in the struggle to keep pace.

  A goshawk circled above the next ridge, but it was just a dark blur to her. Her head was still spinning, and the scream in her chest came out as a strangled moan.

  Wait! Wait for me!

  ***

  She had not said a word since they had left the abbey, but he was not truly surprised. As short as their visit there had been, Gavin was certain that Joanna had been deeply affected by this encounter with Mater. And there was no question in his mind that the old woman had been touched as well.

  They had already gone over the crest of the hill, leaving the valley and the abbey behind them. Groves of trees and heather crowned hills stretched away to the broad loch, and Gavin decided it was as good a time as any to draw her out of her silence.

  He turned to Joanna. “Do you still think her guilty?”

  She reluctantly tore her gaze from their path and glanced in his direction. Her eyes reflected her indecision.

  “Do you still believe that Mater and her people were the ones that started the fire in the south wing?”

  She continued to stare at him silently as if there were nothing disturbing in what he’d just asked. But he could see the deep blush that covered her fair skin.

  “Do you still believe them to be cold-blooded murderers?” He paused a moment, then raised a questioning brow as he continued. “Was the compassion you showed that old woman no more than some artifice?”

  “You are taking advantage of me!” she exploded suddenly, bringing her horse to a halt. “First you force me, against my will, to go to the abbey, then you use your rough and callous ways to break the will of that old woman. Who would not feel sorry for the abuse she took from you! And now this!”

  He quickly brought his horse around until it moved right next to hers. “And now what, Joanna?” he asked, leaning at her direction. “You do not want to hear your own conscience crying out for fairness? You do not want to hear the truth when your heart tries to speak it? Why not accept it, Joanna? You are no longer certain of her guilt! Why not put your stubbornness aside and start looking at all that we know? Treat each fact as we see it, uncolored by what we want to believe?”

  “I do not want to believe her guilty!” she said angrily. “I hate you, Gavin Kerr.”

  “Nay, that’s a lie. You love me. You told me yourself.”

  “That was before I knew of this barbarous streak that runs in your blood.”

  “Not true,” he reached and grabbed one of her hands tightly within his grasp. She tried to pull it back, but he held it tight and then started to bring it slowly to his lips. “You like my roughness. You like my honesty.” He turned her hand and placed his lips on her pulse. “I know that I am gruff, and that my actions are not always what you expect.”

  “You have a way of trifling with my mind,” she cut in with a shaking voice. “I cannot allow a moment of...”

  He ran the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin of her wrist. “You cannot what, Joanna?”

  “You have a way of making me forget things.”

  “Do I?” he asked slowly. “I just asked a simple question.”

  “But you...”

  Her words died on her lips as Gavin gently tugged at her hand and brought her face closer to his. “What about me?” His mouth hovered over hers. “‘Tis you who robs me of my sense.”

  He lowered his mouth and took her lips in a searing kiss. She lifted one hand around his neck and encouraged him on.

  “You see?” He pulled back slightly. “And you complain about me! I tell you, Joanna, we cannot do this anytime you decide you don’t want to answer my questions.”

  “Nay?” she asked seductively, brushing her lips against his.

  “Hell!” As the word left his mouth, Gavin grasped her by the waist, lifted her gently from her horse, and placed her in his lap.

  Her words were soft and alluring. “You are a barbarian. But is this not a fine way to resolve an argument?”

  His lips once again found hers and his tongue delved into her mouth. He drew back slightly. “We never argue.”

  “Aye,” she breathed, smiling. “We fight!”

  “Nay,” he scoffed, running his hand along her thigh. “We disagree.”

  “‘Tis true,” she answered, gasping and burying her lips in the crook of his neck. She rolled her head slightly and looked up at him. “And every time you feel the scale tip in my favor, you try to make love to me. And no matter what you say, Gavin Kerr, ‘tis my senses that seem to steal away!”

  With no attempt at being gentle, the warrior reached around and positioned her buttocks more snugly against his swelling manhood.

  “I think, lass, that you are the most wild and passionate creature I’ve ever known.”

  “Wanton, you mean?” Joanna’s words turned into a soft moan as his fingers found her nipple through the soft wool of her dress.

  Gavin looked around him and found a high protected spot beneath a huge jutting rock. Spurring his steed up the hill, he scanned the open countryside. In the distance, the loch shimmered in the sunlight.

  “When it comes to you, Joanna,” he laughed, “I am the wanton one. And I think you’re well aware of my weakness.” As he reined in his horse by the base of the rock, Gavin tightened his grip on her and nipped at her earlobe. Laughing when she yelped, he lowered her from the horse and leaped off after her. Wordlessly, the two of them climbed around the boulder to a grassy space overlooking the loch, and there he pushed her with mock seriousness against the weathered face of the stone.

  As his mouth took possession, his tongue delving deeply into soft recesses, Joanna’s hands encircled him, and she rubbed her hips seductively against his groin.

  “You can’t win this argument,” she said breathlessly as he broke off the kiss.

  “What argument is that?” Gavin eyed the tie on her cloak and then reached up and tugged it loose.

  “You cannot make me change my mind just by taking me to the abbey.”

  Jerking her cloak from her shoulders, he tossed it to the ground and lifted her breasts in his large palms, mouthing first one and then the other through the dress. She pressed her head back against the rock and threaded her fingers into his hair.

  “Take me, Gavin. Make love to me.”

  Reaching behind her, he nimbly undid the laces of her dress.

  “Not until you give me your word that you will think through our visit.” He tugged hard at the neckline of her dress, smiling with satisfaction as one of her breasts spilled over the top. Taking the nipple between his finger and thumb, he paused, letting his mouth hover over the waiting prize. “Let go of your obstinacy, lass. Listen to your heart.”

  “Never,” she moaned as his mouth descended and suckled her flesh. “I cannot forget the past.”

  He lifted her skirts to her waist and fitted one leg between her thighs. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and shoulders and let herself ride on the muscled hardness of his limb.

  “I do not ask you to forget.” His fingers found their way to her naked buttocks, pressing her tighter against his groin. “All I ask is that you consider. She very well might not be the one responsible.” As she shook her head in denial, he moved one hand between them and slid two fingers deeply into the moist cleft between her legs. As he stroked, Joanna’s breaths started coming in gasps. As she rose higher and higher, he continued to hold her tightly to him, teasing, stroking, watching her writhe blissfully in his arms.

  “By the saints, take me, Gavin.”

  “Give Mater a chance, Joanna,” he said hoarsely. He knew he couldn’t hold back much longer. “Push aside your own guilt, and open your mind.”


  “I...I...there is...oh...no guilt!”

  He looked deeply into her dark, blue eyes, clouded over now with passion.

  “Aye, Joanna,” he growled. “You do carry a guilt. ‘Tis the curse of the living. I know it because ‘tis the same as I have carried nearly every day of my life.”

  He watched her closely as her release caused her to twist and arch in his arms. She cried aloud before wrapping herself tightly around his frame. As her shudders of pleasure began to subside, he continued to speak.

  “I swear to you, I know how you feel. I have lived through the same kind of hurt since I was just a lad.” As she rested her head in the crook of his neck, she listened, her hands slowly wandering over his linen shirt, and downward to the bulging manhood evident beneath his kilt. This time it was Gavin who found himself growing short on breath and his whisper grew hoarse as she ran her hand the length of him through the wool. “Just give her a chance...give me a chance.”

  Joanna lifted the front of his kilt and touched his bare skin.

  “Don’t,” he ordered. “Not until you give me your word.”

  She pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes. “I’ll try.”

  He lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “But that is all I can say for now. Just that I will try.”

  Gavin grunted, guiding his manhood into her. Rocking in his arms, she took in his full length and cried out at the sensation.

  “Aye, Joanna,” he panted, lifting her and driving into her with powerful strokes.

  CHAPTER 30

  The wailing cry reverberated through the rock edged hills, startling the horses and piercing the souls of the listeners.

  Joanna tightened her hold on the reins and looked up with alarm at the sheer cliff rising above their heads. The descending sun was casting long, irregular shadows, and the stark contrast of brilliant light and deep shadow only served to bury much of the terrain before them in an impenetrable darkness.

  “What in hell...?” Gavin growled.

  The cry came again. The sound was not distinctly human, but it was a sound Joanna had heard before.

  “If I were a superstitious man, I’d say ‘tis the wail of a banshee.”

  Joanna held out a hand to shield her eyes from the light as she peered up again at the hills. Before them lay the last hill they would have to climb before dropping down into the gorge beneath the castle wall.

  “‘Tis no unearthly creature, Gavin.”

  The wail cut through the air again, this time followed by a long, heart-wrenching moan.

  “‘Tis this way,” Gavin said, quickly spurring his horse up the next rise. “The sound is coming from beyond the brae.”

  Joanna followed his lead, her quick little mare closing the distance between them. As they galloped over the crest of the hill, she felt a knot grow tightly in her throat. It wasn’t the fear of the unknown that had her heart thrumming, but the fact that the desperate wail had been a woman’s cry. One of Mater’s women, she feared.

  The shadowy hillside was followed by a bright stretch of meadow dotted with rocks. There they saw her.

  She was seated halfway down the hill in a stony patch of dirt. Her back was to them. Her moaning now filled the air, loud and distinct. As Joanna and Gavin moved closer, the dark body which the woman was huddled over came into view.

  Gavin's hand shot up, motioning her to stay back, but Joanna could no more stay away from the pitiful creature than she could pull down the great iron cross hanging above the doorway of the Old Keep. But as they reached the pair, she felt the bile rise up in her throat.

  Before the crying woman lay the still and bloodied figure of the priest. His head, nearly severed from its body, lay in Margaret’s lap.

  The mute woman, totally unaware of anything else around her, grieved with a ferocity that Joanna had never seen in anyone before. Gavin dismounted and approached the body slowly from the side. Still, Margaret did not look up. She never stopped the slow rocking of her body--the keening moan that chilled Joanna’s bones. The woman’s dress was covered with blood, and Joanna could see the streaks of dark crimson staining her face.

  And then Joanna watched as Margaret’s fingers dipped into the blood at the dead man’s throat, smearing it on her cheeks.

  “He is dead, Margaret,” Gavin said quietly but firmly, crouching beside the body.

  Joanna slowly dismounted and approached the woman. Margaret’s eyes were focused on the bloody, mutilated neck of the priest. The young woman turned her attention to the grieving woman, unable to do anything for the dead cleric.

  “This did not happen too long ago,” Gavin said, looking at the savage cut. “His body is still warm.”

  Standing up, he looked in every direction, and Joanna followed his gaze. There was no one in sight anywhere, though the line of hills and the rocky terrain was well suited to hiding.

  “We passed this way this morning, and we saw no sign of these two.” Joanna crouched and ran a gentle hand over Margaret’s back. The mute woman never looked at her or even acknowledged their presence. “Who do you think could have done this? To cut him like this in...”

  The rest of her sentence caught in her throat. There on Margaret’s lap, the hilt of a bloodied dirk mingled with the priest’s stringy hair. Glancing at the priest’s belt, Joanna saw an empty scabbard, and as her eyes shot up and caught Gavin's, she saw from the hardening glare on his face that he too had seen the weapon.

  “She wouldn’t...” Joanna whispered adamantly, shaking her head at him.

  Quickly, Gavin reached down and lifted the dagger from the woman’s skirt, wiping its bloody haft and blade on the cloak of the priest. Joanna’s eyes followed his as they moved from the gleaming blade edge to the man’s throat. His eyes were accusing when they shifted to Margaret--to her face and crimson-stained hands--before studying the dirk again.

  A sudden fury flamed up in her as Gavin continued to look on in silence. She glanced quickly at Margaret’s face. No change. She still acted as if there were no one else around-- dipping her fingers into the blood, smearing it onto the skin of her cheeks. Margaret could not have done this, Joanna thought, but she was sure to die for it. And it was the laird who would dispense such justice.

  “Look at her, Gavin,” Joanna urged. “Listen to her cries. She wouldn’t mourn him...she wouldn’t suffer like this if she killed him.”

  “We will have to take them back to the castle.” He turned and whistled for his horse.

  Joanna felt a sense of panic wash over her. She remembered Mater’s words, about the mute woman’s helplessness. There was no one here to look after her. There would be no one, not even her own brother, perhaps, who would believe in her innocence. Putting her arms more tightly around Margaret’s shoulders, Joanna tried to shake the woman out of her trance. But there was nothing that she did that made a difference.

  Nothing until Gavin tried to wrap the priest in his own cloak.

  Right before their eyes, Margaret went wild. Clawing at the dark cloak, she uttered senseless sounds, wailing and tearing at Gavin's hands, throwing herself on the murdered priest’s body in a frenzied and lunatic display of misery and loss.

  Gavin motioned to Joanna to hold her back, but the young woman couldn’t hold back her own tears as she struggled to keep Margaret away as he watchfully wrapped the corpse.

  Margaret’s struggles subsided, and now she just lay her bloody and grief-stricken face against the young woman’s shoulder. Joanna absently stroked the thin woman’s back, but there was no response. She had withdrawn into some dark space within herself, lost once more to all activity around her.

  Joanna looked up at Gavin. He was busily tying the body of the priest on top of his horse. The grim expression on his face told her all she needed to know.

  What would come next was clear. Margaret would be found guilty of killing the priest. A sense of horror seized her even more strongly when she realized that Gavin might even think
her guilty of killing the others. Joanna herself had told him that Margaret had been one of the women present in the crypt. And in his mind, if she was capable of doing this killing, then she was capable as well of doing away with the others. Margaret had been one of them, but Joanna now knew that she was Mater’s own sister, and something in that gave Joanna pause. Though her own response puzzled her, something in that fact seemed to excuse, rather than condemn.

  The older woman clutched at Joanna’s shoulder and began to sob silently.

  “I know you didn’t do this,” Joanna murmured softly against the woman’s head. “I know, Margaret.”

  She watched Gavin as he headed back in their direction, and Joanna looked into his face, hoping to see some sign of compassion for the broken creature in her arms. But there was none.

  “We’re ready to head back. You will ride your mare...”

  “What about her?”

  “She can walk.”

  “She cannot,” Joanna said shortly. “She does not even know where she is, or who we are. Gavin, she’s not moved out of my arms since you took his body away. You cannot expect her...”

  “She will walk,” he said, taking Joanna by the elbow and jerking her abruptly to her feet. Like a heap of rags, Margaret fell to the ground at their feet. “Now, I do not plan to stand here all day arguing. So get back to your horse. I want to be back in the castle before nightfall.”

  Joanna stared into his dark, cold eyes in disbelief. She’d never seen him this unfeeling, and suddenly the impact of Margaret’s doom hit her full force.

  “What are you planning to do with her?” she asked quietly. “After...after we get back to Ironcross Castle.”

  “We’re not discussing that now.” He turned to go after her mare.

  She quickly placed a hand on his elbow, trying to force him to turn and face her again. “Gavin, speak to me. I cannot allow you punish this poor woman. I do not believe there is any way she could have done something so...so horrible.”