Flame

by May McGoldrick

  “Well, she could have, and she has.”

  “Nay, you’re wrong!” Joanna matched his glare. “Having a knife in her lap does not make her the killer. She could have come upon the body and picked up the weapon. Or she could have witnessed the killing. Look at her, for God’s sake! She is amazed... stunned!” She let out a quick and frustrated breath before continuing. “There is no reason for her to kill the priest, when...”

  “She would have known about Iris. She would have known that the priest got the lass with child, only to shrug off his responsibility. ‘Tis clear what’s happened here. Margaret went off with him. She thought that he was going to leave her, as well. That is plenty reason enough for her to kill him.” Gavin looked steadily into Joanna’s eyes and then held up his bloody hands for her to see. “And she did kill him.”

  “I cannot believe it,” Joanna said stubbornly, looking down at the weeping woman at her feet. “No one this distracted could be a murderer. How can you be so blind?”

  “Blind?” he said through clenched teeth, grabbing her by the arms and shaking her roughly as he yanked her away from Margaret. “Does this not bring something else to your mind? You stand here and proclaim this pitiful creature innocent, even after finding her with the murder weapon in her lap, even with the man’s blood covering her! None of this is enough to convince you that she is guilty of this murder! And yet, on the other hand, you hold Mater responsible for that fire, while all you witnessed was some ritual.”

  “‘Twas much more that!”

  “Was it? Did you see something more damning than what we’ve found here? Did you see Mater set that wing on fire? Did you ever see her anywhere near that south wing?”

  “I didn’t have to see her there!” she shouted angrily. “If I had listened to my grandmother’s warnings...”

  “Nothing different would have happened,” he said adamantly. “Because whatever her reasons were for speaking those words about Mater, they had nothing to do with what took place here last fall.”

  “But that’s not true. I saw them...”

  “Where, Joanna? You saw them in the crypt. Listen to me. ‘Tis time you faced the truth!”

  She shook her head, trying to fight off the tears that were starting to sting her eyes.

  “There were things that your grandmother never told you, Joanna.”

  “I know that,” she answered harshly.

  “Things having to do with why Lady MacInnes never stayed here in the Highlands and why she made her home in Stirling. Things that might explain why she hated Mater.”

  A calmness suddenly descended on Joanna. A clarity that startled her. She stared at him, wondering now what it was that he had not told her.

  “Your grandsire, Duncan, had a...a taste for women.” He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. “He had a reputation for taking mistresses. They say he never could pass by a bonny face, no matter who the lass was.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Some from Athol,” he answered quietly. “But it only confirmed information I gathered about your family before coming to Ironcross Castle.” He eased his hard grip on her. “Lady MacInnes left the Highlands because she was sick of watching the line of women making their way to and from Duncan’s bed. Word is that early on she decided to spend as little time as possible with him.”

  “But what does this have to do with her hatred of Mater?” she asked, almost too afraid to hear the answer.

  “I cannot say with any certainty,” he answered. “But she too was a young woman once. I think it may not be too wild to suppose that your grandfather could have had eyes for her.”

  “But she has been at the abbey for as long as anyone remembers.”

  “For as long as you remember,” he corrected. “And keep in mind, you were the one who discovered she is a sister to Allan and this miserable woman.”

  Joanna looked down at the sobbing creature at her feet. Margaret had gathered her knees to her chest, her expression that of one totally lost to the world.

  “She could very well have lived at Ironcross when Duncan was laird,” Gavin continued. “Is it not likely that is how your grandmother knew her?”

  Joanna’s head pounded, her thoughts and her feelings a muddle of contradictions. She wished she could have some time just to wade through this flood of information.

  She stared at Gavin. “How are we ever going to learn any more of the Mater’s past unless she is willing to tell us herself?”

  Gavin looked thoughtfully at the mute woman before answering. “Well, we may have just found a way.”

  CHAPTER 31

  James Gordon was already married. Not that it seemed to matter!

  Foolishly, Joanna had thought that Gavin would be exhilarated with the news, but he hadn’t even come to see her since his warrior Edmund had returned with the message from the Earl of Huntly, early this morning.

  Thinking Joanna lost in the fire, the good earl’s nephew had since been betrothed and wed to a well placed lass that Joanna knew from her time at court. To Joanna, this news was of little consequence, since she had already given herself, body and soul, to Gavin Kerr. But even before Gavin had come to Ironcross, she had never felt any sense of belonging to the handsome young Highlander. After all, she had only met him a handful of times, every one of those visits in the company of her family.

  But still, she had thought that the response would have elicited some enthusiasm on the part of Gavin, for he was the one who had pushed so hard to resolve the issue of her former betrothal.

  Enthusiasm, she thought. Ha! Nothing! At least James Gordon had had enough decency to write a letter to her--a letter filled with explanation and apology. But Gavin had not even deigned to come and see her.

  Seeing no purpose in dwelling in self-inflicted misery, Joanna sat up in her bed and drew back the damask curtains. Feeling a pang of hunger, she knew that she herself would not be sleeping for hours yet. Her body was still telling her that this was the time to rise and go scavenging for food. Pushing herself to her feet and reaching for her clothes, Joanna decided to check on Margaret one more time before trying to sleep.

  There had been no reason to put the mute woman in chains. It was evident to all that Margaret herself had erected iron bars that imprisoned her more effectively than anything man could construct.

  She had remained in a continuous trance-like state for the past two days. Unable to recognize anyone or anything around her, Margaret had simply remained in one of the small chambers off of a narrow corridor leading from the kitchens, and after the initial curiosity had worn off, none of her fellow servants had shown any interest in her or in her well-being.

  Stepping into the corridor from her room, the young woman faced the guard who seemed to always be by her door. The Lowlander appeared surprised to see her.

  “The laird thought you might already have retired for the night, m’lady. He left a message for me to give you in the morning.”

  “A message?”

  “Well, m’lady, you probably heard that Peter came for the laird this morning.”

  “Peter?” she asked, trying to remember the name.

  “Aye, he was searching the villages south of here for some sign of a priest who was here...before this one that was murdered.”

  “Oh! Aye...Peter!” Joanna blurted out, recollecting.

  “Well, the laird wanted me to tell you that Peter has found the old priest. He’s in a spital house for lepers. He said there was no way for Peter to drag the old man all the way here. And since the priest wouldn’t answer any questions of a Lowlander...”

  “What happened?” she asked impatiently, watching the man’s frown darken.

  “Well,” the warrior scratched the back of his neck. “The laird and the Earl of Athol decided to ride back with Peter and question the man themselves.”

  “Are you telling me they are gone?”

  “They are, m’lady. But...”

  “He told me he would take me with him.” He had impl
ied as much when they had gone to the abbey. She'd wanted to be present when he questioned anyone who knew anything.

  “He said to convey his apologies. He hoped to be back tomorrow or the next day. And he also wanted me to tell you not to be...well, too angry with him...but he was not going to take you visiting any lepers!”

  She gaped with disbelief at the Lowlander, coloring brightly and feeling like a shrew. Nonetheless, she forced a smile and nodded, turning down the corridor.

  Coward, she thought, turning and heading for the kitchen. Gavin Kerr was no more than a coward. Too afraid to face her for fear of her seeing through him. Too afraid of her seeing his lack of joy over the news from James Gordon.

  Joanna was still fuming when she reached the door that led to Margaret’s small room. Even here, Gavin had put a couple of his men at either end of the corridor. Not to keep the mute woman from escaping, of course, since Gavin knew that her room, like so many others, had panels that led to the secret passages of the tunnels. The men, she knew, were to serve as a deterrent to others in the household from paying unwanted...or unfriendly visits.

  Acknowledging the nod of one of the men, Joanna silently pulled the door open and stepped into the dimly lit chamber. Just where she had left her, Margaret lay curled in a small heap on the straw pallet in the corner. As she stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind her, she saw the woman’s eyes open and stare in her direction. Even this was no different than how she had behaved before. Still, the emptiness of her gaze opened up to Joanna a vision of unfathomable depths of despair.

  Knowing that Margaret could hear and understand despite her inability to speak, Joanna had been hoping to draw her out of this death trance. Each time she’d come to visit, she had talked to her. But she had yet to get any reaction from the mute woman.

  “I could not sleep,” Joanna whispered gently. “And I was a bit hungry as well.” She took the couple of short steps and reached the side of the bed. Crouching before the straw, she spotted beside the wall a full bowl of broth and a wooden cup half filled with some clear liquid. It filled her with a sense of relief that at least the cook Gibby had finally taken pity on this pour soul and sent up some food.

  Placing her hand gently on Margaret’s tightened fist, Joanna appraised the older woman’s ghostly face. “I spent too many months down there alone, Margaret. The one thing I prefer--now that I can walk among the living--is having someone’s company when I eat.”

  This was a lie, of course, but right now the truth about herself was hardly important.

  Joanna’s eyes again came to rest on Margaret’s distracted face. Other than the very few spoonfuls that she’d been able to force-feed the woman in the past couple of days, Joanna knew that Margaret had not eaten at all.

  Putting a hand behind Margaret’s head and adjusting her own position until the woman’s head was cradled in the crook of her arm, Joanna picked up the broth and brought it to the dry, cracked lips.

  “I don’t know where you are, Margaret,” she said gently. “But as long as your body is still among the living, we need to feed you some of this broth.”

  She poured a small amount of the liquid down her throat. The mute woman sputtered, made a choking sound, and then closed her eyes before clamping her mouth shut and turning her face away.

  “She did the same thing to me.”

  Joanna almost leaped out of her skin at the sound of the voice behind her. But she didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

  The sound of Mater’s shuffling feet moved in behind her. Rather than putting Margaret’s head back on the mattress, though, Joanna held the woman tightly to her chest. Frozen, she found herself wondering whom it was she was trying to protect, herself or Margaret.

  “I tried to feed her too. But she seems to have lost the will to live.”

  Joanna felt Mater’s cloak brush against her shoulder as the abbess stood over them. There followed an eerie silence while Joanna gently laid Margaret back down on the mattress and ran a gentle hand over her graying hair.

  “I didn’t think any of the people here would care for her to live.”

  The thickness of the old woman’s voice drew Joanna’s eyes upward until she looked into her face. Hidden in the shadows of the hood of her cloak, Mater’s eyes were the only things that she could see. She shivered at their brightness.

  “Surely...” she stopped and cleared her throat, desperately wanting to hide the fear in her voice. “Surely, Allan would care.”

  “That I cannot tell you.” Mater crouched stiffly beside her. “He was quite disturbed at her running away the way she did. I don’t know that he has had time to think it through so far as to realize that she needs our help.”

  Joanna just nodded silently and stared at the bowl of broth. Reaching out self-consciously, she repositioned the dish. No matter how hard she tried, the idea of being alone in this room with the old woman made Joanna’s blood run cold. It was sheer foolishness, she knew, especially when she considered that for so many months she had lived fearlessly, a disembodied spirit, in the tunnels beneath Ironcross. But now, again among the living...Joanna shuddered, feeling Mater’s bony hand rest on her knee.

  “What is wrong, Joanna?”

  “Wrong?” The sound that came out was barely a hoarse croak. She cleared her throat. “Nothing! There is nothing wrong!”

  “Why do you fear me so?”

  She had to do it. As important as her next breath was for her body, being able to face this woman was suddenly as important as her very soul. She slowly turned her face and looked into Mater’s gray eyes. “What makes you think I am afraid?”

  “You’ve been to the crypt!”

  Joanna felt her face burning with heat. She didn’t dare break eye contact with the old woman; that would be an admission to guilt. It would be an act of cowardice. But then, there was no way she could reasonably deny having been there. She had left plenty of proof for anyone who might look closely enough.

  “You don’t have to hide when you come to us there.”

  Joanna opened her mouth, but she had lost her voice. Looking into her face, all she saw were Mater’s large eyes in a halo of darkness. She felt herself beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

  “You are one of us,” Mater said thickly. “In fact, you are more than welcome to join us in two nights. ‘Tis time you learned.”

  The full moon, Joanna screamed inwardly. She was inviting her to be part of their fiendish ceremony at the full moon.

  “‘Tis only what you do not understand that causes your fear. I want you to come. It will make you realize the purpose behind all that we stand for. Behind all that we are.”

  Joanna fought to gather her courage as she looked into the abbess’s luminescent eyes. “Why not explain it to me now?”

  “I will not do it justice. And, in truth, ‘tis not my position to relay the centuries-old tales of our ancestors without our sisters.”

  “You are their mistress.”

  “I’m a guide, sister. Nothing more than a humble escort.”

  “And what did you do?” Joanna asked, drawing in a tremulous breath. “What has given you the right to such a position?”

  There was a sudden wavering in Mater’s gaze.

  “There must have been a reason for you to leave your kin at Ironcross Castle and take your place leading the women at the abbey.”

  For the first time, Joanna thought that she could see the wrinkled shadows of her face coming to view from beneath her hood.

  “For me to be...to feel like one of you, I need to trust you,” Joanna said quietly. “Trust you, Mater.”

  Mater’s eyes came to her face. “There are many in our flock who do not ask the truth and yet follow us in this journey.” She slowly put a bony hand on top of Joanna’s. The incredible heat in her touch made Joanna start, but she forced herself to keep her hand where it was.

  “But you, lass,” Mater continued. “You are one who does not easily bestow her trust.”

  “No
t twice, Mater.”

  “And have I done anything to cause you to distrust me?”

  Joanna looked steadily into the older woman’s eyes but did not answer her. Instead, she repeated her earlier question. “Why did these women pick you to become their guide?”

  Mater lifted her chin slightly as she answered. “Because I have shared, in some ways, in the fate of our predecessors.”

  “Shared?” Joanna repeated hesitantly. “I have been told those crypts have been there for centuries.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true. But we still share their suffering to this day, Joanna. Some of us...too many of us...share in their pain.”

  “What kind of pain?”

  “The pain...the pain that comes of man’s lust, of his abuse and rape and murder.”

  Joanna twisted around sharply and looked into Mater’s face.

  “They...they were raped and murdered? Is that how those women died? And you?”

  A silence fell between them. Mater hesitated, and Joanna felt a rush of air on her face. She glanced quickly at the door, but it was closed, and she turned back to the abbess.

  “What happened to you?” she repeated.

  “I was raped by...a man.” Mater’s voice was pained. “I was chosen to guide our flock because, in the abbey women’s eyes, I endured the same torment. My body, too, had been defiled.”

  Joanna suddenly felt unable to speak. A tight knot had grown in her throat, and Gavin's earlier words slowly started racing through her mind. Words of her grandfather’s infidelity to the woman whom he had wed.

  “Who...?” she managed to get out. “Who was responsible?” She couldn’t finish. Instead, searchingly, she looked into Mater’s still, inscrutable face.

  The older woman looked away. “‘Tis not for you to dwell on the past. ‘Tis not your guilt to carry.”

  “‘Twas Duncan, wasn’t it?” Joanna felt as if the name would choke her. “‘Twas my grandsire who raped you.”

  Mater’s eyes slowly turned and focused on her own. The sudden vulnerability that Joanna saw in their depths told her more of a tortured past than the woman’s words could ever convey.