Flame

by May McGoldrick

  “Aye, it certainly is!” He placed the cup back on the stone bench and straightened. “Tomorrow is the full moon.”

  “The full moon,” she repeated numbly. “Mater has asked me to join them at their gathering.”

  Gavin took hold of her hand and started to lead her from the room.

  “You have nothing to say about that? You’re not objecting? You’re not asking me to stay away?”

  “Nay, I think you should go. In fact, I’ll be there myself to keep an eye on you.”

  “You?” She looked at him incredulously. “There is no way you can be there and go unnoticed.”

  “You watched them for months,” he said calmly. “Surely a wee bit of a thing like myself could manage to remain hidden for one night.”

  ***

  The warm caress of the breeze on her cold face awoke the mute woman.

  Margaret opened her eyes and stared into the darkness of the windowless room. Throwing off the blanket that covered her, she sat up on the bedding and let the air swirl about her.

  It was the full moon, she remembered, coming slowly to her feet. It was the time of the cleansing, and there was so much to do.

  With her hands outstretched, she moved along the wall to the panel door and opened it wide. She took a deep breath and stepped into the passageway. She needed no light. She simply followed the wind.

  It was the full moon, and there was so much to do.

  ***

  The sun was already sinking in the western sky when Joanna woke up with a start from her restless sleep. Sitting up groggily, she gazed at the long shards of golden sunlight stretching across her bed and tried to remember where she was.

  A sudden panic struck her as the realization sank in that she must have fallen asleep. She looked at the windows, and realized that she had slept the entire afternoon away. When she lay down, she’d only intended to rest for a few moments.

  As Joanna sat there, her dreams began to come back to her. All during her sleep, the images of what they’d seen beneath the castle had played in her mind. Slaughtered animals, a cup full of blood, dark walls closing in on them, with no way of escape.

  Suddenly, remembering the reason for her worry, Joanna pushed the covers off of her and quickly came to her feet.

  Tonight was the night of the full moon.

  She wasn’t certain if Gavin had truly meant to hide and witness the gathering of women. But if so, she needed to talk him out of it. The idea of him being down there amongst those who thought every man was an instrument of evil made her stomach queasy.

  She had to protect him. Despite all his strength, he was no match for the power of their belief.

  Quickly dressing, Joanna opened the door and, giving a nod to the warrior outside, started for the Great Hall. The growling of her stomach reminded her that she had eaten nothing since last night. Knowing that it was a long time until supper, she turned her steps toward the kitchens instead.

  The shaggy hound Max greeted her in the corridor by the door of the kitchen. After giving his head an affectionate pat, Joanna stepped into the warm kitchen.

  “Out! Out, you filthy cur!”

  Joanna stopped dead in her tracks as the heavyset cook, Gibby, rushed toward her, wielding a huge wooden spoon like a broadsword.

  “I...” the young woman began.

  “Pardon, m’lady,” Gibby said, forging past her. “Out, you thieving, good-for-nothing charmer.”

  With his tail tucked between his legs, Max scurried back toward the doorway and out of the cook’s reach.

  “Aye, you’d best stay away from me, you lazy...” Gibby turned back to the young woman, her face still red and her voice gruff. “Welcome, mistress. Are you needing something?”

  “I know ‘tis late,” Joanna began, feeling suddenly as timid as the dog in the face of this woman who ran her kitchens with the same show of authority as Gavin ran his men. “But I had hoped...”

  “Come and sit on this bench here,” Gibby ordered abruptly, waving to a seat beside the large worktable. Turning a sharp eye to the kitchen staff, she barked, “Back to your work, you lazy imps, or there’ll be no supper for any of you!”

  Joanna did as she was told.

  “Tis like having a troop of fairy folk working for you,” the cook grumped as she moved to the side of the huge hearth and drew a platter of food covered with a linen cloth from a warming niche. Bringing it back to Joanna, she placed it before the young woman. “I knew you would be starved, mistress.”

  Joanna stared at the wonderful selection of bread and meat. The sweet aroma of the food filled her with contentment. “Gibby, this is far more than I ever could eat.”

  “Just do your best,” the woman said with a wave of her hand, taking a seat on a solid stool beside the cooking fire. In front of her sat a bucketful of greens, and she continued her work preparing the supper. “We have to make sure we put some more meat back on your bones. Evan, turn that spit! If that side of beef burns...You are too thin, mistress. Och, by the saints! Mary, fetch a pitcher of wine for Mistress Joanna, and be quick about it!”

  Joanna just smiled in return. For all the shouting, the boy turning the meat over the open fire did not appear overly concerned with her threats, and Joanna even noticed that several of the girl’s were exchanging covert looks of amusement at the cook’s shouting. Starting on her food, Joanna realized that even before the terrible fire, she had never spent much time in this woman’s company. Although rough in her manners, she could sense that the cook must have a gentle heart beneath. Her trencher was nearly empty before the portly woman spoke again.

  “‘Tis mighty decent of you to take care of Margaret the way you have been.”

  Joanna looked up into Gibby’s round face. “I am...I was just surprised that the rest of the household was doing nothing for her.”

  “With her killing the priest, and with the new laird being so angry...” The heavyset cook looked down at the greens in her hand. “We just didn’t think ‘twas right to go against his wishes.”

  “There is something that you should know about your laird.” As Gibby glanced up, Joanna looked her directly in the eyes. “He is much different than any of those who have gone before. And I am talking about my own kin as well. Gavin Kerr is a very good and compassionate man. He is one who truly believes in taking care of his people and in doing whatever needs to be done to guard them against harm.”

  “Your own father, mistress...”

  “He was a good man, Gibby, but he had no interest in being laird. He led too peaceful a life to be bothered with the problems of running a castle and its lands. In truth, if my father had been the one who discovered Margaret with a knife in her hand and the chaplain dead, he would have had her hung that day and been done with it. But look what Gavin Kerr has done. He waits until she comes to her senses.” Joanna pushed the empty trencher away. “And with Mater. I am certain ‘tis obvious to all of you how much he respects Mater. Now my father, the best MacInnes laird of any of them, thought her mad and never even once bothered to ride over to the abbey or to look after them.”

  The cook’s sudden pensiveness told Joanna that she had struck a cord. Well, she thought, it was about time these people started appreciating their new laird.

  Coming to her feet, she smiled and nodded gratefully toward the food. “Thank you, Gibby. ‘Twas very nice of you to save a plate for me.”

  As she turned toward the door, the quiet words of the cook froze her steps. “Word has it that you’ll be joining us tonight.”

  Joanna turned slowly and faced the woman. “Mater asked me to come. So I thought...I thought I might.”

  “That will truly make Mater happy, mistress. Of the whole year, tonight is the most special.”

  “Special?” She swallowed. “Why, Gibby?”

  “This is the anniversary, mistress!” the cook replied in a hushed voice. “The night of cleansing! But I cannot say more. I don’t want to spoil the night. You’ll see for yourself.”

  With a
slow nod, Joanna turned and left the kitchens from the room. Whatever was planned for this night, she was certain it was something she’d not witnessed before.

  And as much as Gavin hated rats, Joanna MacInnes hated surprises.

  CHAPTER 35

  The chamber whirled around his head, but Gavin forced his eyes open, staggered to his feet once more, and crashed into the wall by the window.

  They’ve poisoned me.

  The thought burned through the haze of fever, and Gavin realized that he was on the floor again. A cold sweat soaked his skin, and the light in his bedchamber was growing dimmer.

  I’ll not die until I get to Joanna!

  Gavin felt the pain rip through his belly, and shoot like lightning into his brain.

  I must warn her. I cannot let them kill me yet!

  Half an hour earlier standing in the small kirkyard, Gavin had felt the first cramps grip his insides like a claw. Moving away from the men working on the MacInnes tombs, he had escaped to his chamber. The food he’d taken in the Great Hall! He hadn’t eaten from the same platter as Athol and the rest, he remembered. Gavin had arrived late for the noon meal, and someone had placed a trencher of food before him. Too occupied with his talk with Athol, he hadn’t even looked back.

  Gavin opened his eyes, unsure whether night was falling or he was growing blind. He was not even certain how long he had been on the floor this time, and he attempted to wipe away the sweat that was stinging his eyes. But his arms were limp, lacking the coordination for even so simple a task.

  The pain in his belly seemed to be lessening, and he managed to push himself erect on legs that wobbled like a newborn foal. He squinted at the door. It seemed a hundred miles off.

  Just then, he heard the panel door in his wall open, and turned his face toward the sound of footsteps.

  “Joanna,” he whispered weakly, trying to keep his head up.

  His words froze in his mouth and his hand moved by reflex toward the dirk at his belt. Gavin’s fingers, though, could not grip the haft of the dagger.

  He peered into the gray eyes that approached. In those cruel eyes, Gavin saw hatred. In them, he saw death.

  ***

  “He was in the kirkyard earlier, m’lady! I can tell him you’re looking for him.”

  Joanna whispered her words of gratitude to Andrew and watched the giant Lowlander go out into the courtyard. Through the open doors she could see the torches were being lit, and she considered running after Andrew. Be patient, she told herself. Gavin was sure to come back in soon.

  Clasping her cold hands behind her, she turned and strode into the Great Hall. Stopping by the entryway, she looked about uneasily and almost leaped out of her skin when Max put his wet nose into the palm of her hand.

  An unsettling sense of imminent doom seemed to hang in the air. Nay, don’t be foolish, she thought. He is outside checking on the construction. His own men had seen him. What place could be more safe, she argued silently, patting the dog on the head and starting to pace the Hall.

  Realizing that she was beginning to attract curious glances from the servants preparing for the evening meal, Joanna turned her steps toward the kitchen. She would pay Margaret a visit while she was waiting. She hadn’t looked in on the ailing woman all day.

  In a few moments, she reached the door of the small chamber and, holding up the wick lamp she carried, found the same guard on duty. With a quick nod that she hoped would not give away her agitation, she reached for the latch.

  Instinctively, Joanna looked first in the direction of the panel when she entered. She had no intention of being surprised by the presence of Mater again. But there was no one there, and the panel of the wall was closed. Shutting the door behind her, she turned to Margaret.

  The straw bedding in the corner of the small chamber was empty.

  Startled, she scanned the room. The bowl of broth and the cup lay untouched where she had left them last night. The woman’s meager possessions, brought here on Joanna’s directions, sat undisturbed in a corner.

  Joanna turned and opened the door. Without so much as a glance at the warrior, she closed the door again and hurried down the corridor. Moving quickly through the kitchen into the Great Hall, she knew there were only two possibilities--Margaret had left of her own will, or Mater had taken her.

  Either way, Gavin must know.

  In the Great Hall she broke into a run, ignoring those beginning to gather there. In a moment she was down the steps and heading for the kirkyard.

  The air was cool, but Joanna didn’t feel it as she hurried across the courtyard and into the arched passageway. In the kirkyard, she spotted a few men still working by the light of a torch, but as she got closer, she could see Gavin was not among them.

  She couldn’t slow her pounding heart, nor could she calm her agitated state as she approached the men.

  “Have you seen the laird?” she called out the group.

  Suddenly, she stopped. On the grass behind the men, Joanna could see the large stone slab that had covered her parents and the poor soul that had been thought to be her. As every hand paused and the men stared with surprise at her, Joanna looked down into the open grave at the enshrouded bodies of her beloved family.

  Stunned by the unexpected sight, she stepped back, and an older worker moved between her and the grave.

  His voice was kindly. “You are looking for the laird, mistress?”

  Feelings of grief that Joanna had thought were behind her suddenly welled up in her chest, and the young woman could not speak for a long moment as she fought to control her feelings. Forcing herself to focus on what she had come to do, she looked up at the man and nodded.

  “He has not been here since late this afternoon.”

  “Not here?” she repeated, dumbfounded.

  “He was standing where you are, telling us what to do and then he turned pale, mistress, like someone who’s had a wee bit too much ale. He went off that way, mistress.”

  When Joanna turned to look at the Old Keep, where the man’s hand was pointing, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the moon rising behind the hills across the gorge. The pale white orb was full and threatening.

  Wordlessly, she turned and broke into a run, back through the arched passageway and across the courtyard. Fear clutched at her insides as she glanced up at the bloody iron cross, and up the steps into the Old Keep she flew. At the open doorway she barreled into the chest of the Earl of Athol, bouncing backward and nearly falling down the steps. The Highlander’s hands reached out and grabbed onto her hand, steadying her.

  “What is it, Joanna? You look like the devil’s at your heels!”

  She found herself fighting back tears, and cursed herself inwardly for her weakness.

  “Have you seen Gavin?” she managed to get out.

  “I thought he told you.”

  “Told me what?” she asked shortly.

  Athol glanced behind him, making certain that no one was within earshot. His gray eyes then focused on her face. “He was going to the crypt, to witness the gathering of the women.”

  “You mean he already left?” She struck the giant Highlander in the chest with her fist, eliciting a startled look from him. “Of all people, you should know how dangerous those passages can be. How could you let him go alone? What kind of friend are you?”

  “Who says I’m his friend? That bullheaded Lowlander is no more a...”

  “Hold your tongue, John,” she said shortly. “I know you.”

  As Joanna tried to go around him, Athol’s large hand descended on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Trust him, Joanna,” he said calmly. “He has all of this planned.”

  “But how can he?” she snapped. “He is by himself down there.”

  Unwilling to tarry any longer, she pushed at the tall man’s hand and moved quickly around him. She had to get down to the crypt and try to get Gavin out of there before Mater and the women arrived. Perhaps she still had time, Joanna pray
ed, running for the kitchen and the passageway behind the huge hearth.

  Perhaps it was not too late.

  ***

  Gavin found his eyes starting to clear as he stared at the reflection of the candle against the ornate cup.

  What a fool he’d been, to wish for death for so many years. And now, here he was, a future of love and life seemingly within his grasp, only to have the threads of his life suddenly pulled taut against the cutting blade of misfortune.

  Gavin twisted his hands, feeling the leather cords cut deeper into his wrists. His ankles were still bound with the short but stout cord that had allowed him to walk, or rather stumble, down from his chamber. He looked about the little room. The stench of the place was horrible, and he glanced at the decayed carcasses.

  What do you know? he thought with disgust as a small gray creature appeared on the pile. Food for rats, after all.

  His captor had left him only a short time ago, leaving the door ajar. He wouldn’t get far with his ankles hobbled, that was for sure. Well, if he could make it as far as the chasm, perhaps falling into Hell’s Gate would be preferable to having his throat cut. Gavin glanced at the cup that would catch his blood. The metal gleamed in the light of the candle. The candle!

  Gavin hauled himself across the floor as quickly as he could. Though the distance was only a few feet, his head was spinning from the exertion. Reaching the candle, he lay back on the hard packed dirt, lifting his feet and carefully stretching the cord over the tiny flame.

  “Burn, you bastard,” he cursed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more rats appear by the dead animals, looking at him with curiosity and moving cautiously toward him.

  “Burn, you scurvy...”

  But the cord had barely begun to smoke when the door swung wide, sending the rats scurrying for safety.

  “Well, laird, I see I cannot leave you alone for a moment.”