Flame (12 page)

She shook her head, becoming angry with
herself for such silly, fanciful notions about the handsome laird.
True, the man apparently seemed smitten with her portrait. But how
would he react if he were ever faced with her in the flesh?

Perhaps it would be best if she were to give
up her mischief for the night and let the poor soul rest in peace.
She must not take foolish risks, she thought, scolding herself
silently. With that thought in mind, Joanna turned and started away
down the stairs.

But before she had gone even a step, the
smell of death penetrated her senses.

She bolted forward through the darkness,
following the trace of smoke.

Her heart pounded. Her eyes teared. Her hands
shook.

Could it be that she had failed him as
well?

The sky threatened to smother him, for there
was no air in the gray fog.

It didn’t matter if it were night or day; he
knew where he was. The rain was pouring down, and the dismal pall
that surrounded him was thick and black with smoke from the heavy
guns the English had used to pound their ranks to tattered heaps of
broken bone and bleeding flesh.

He could taste his own blood in his mouth,
the burning heat on his face.

Gavin tried to raise his head out of the mud.
The smoke from the cannons enshrouded him, blinding him, but he
knew he was back at Flodden Field, lying in the muck with the dying
and the dead. Around him, a river of blood was pushing down the
hillside, gathering up souls in its relentless current. Closing his
eyes, he laid his head back down and waited for the flood to claim
him.

His time had come. At last, his end was
here.

The small hands, shoving hard at his
shoulder, forced him out of his slumber. As his eyes opened a
crack, Gavin attempted to focus on the tumultuous scene of battle.
But it had all disappeared, and he recognized his bedchamber. The
wall of flames that surrounded his bed was not another dream. He
awoke with a start.

The spirit-like creature was tugging
ferociously at a burning bedcurtain by his feet. With disbelieving
eyes, Gavin watched as one of her hands swept back her wild golden
mane from the leaping tongues of fire, as the other continued to
fight furiously with the blazing material. Seemingly without fear,
she reached through the flames and struck hard at his feet with a
small bandaged fist.

“Awaken! Rouse yourself for God’s sake!”

Her voice was no more than a desperate
whisper. Gavin shook his head to try to clear it. His chest
constricted, and he coughed, unable to take in a clear breath. The
smoke was heavy and the fiery blaze was spreading to the top of the
canopied bed.

The woman turned sharply at the sound of his
cough. He watched in sudden horror as the flames caught at the hem
of her skirts, spreading upward rapidly. Leaping from the bed, he
grabbed at his cloak and wrapped it tightly around her, reaching
down and smothering the flames on her dress with his hands. She
struggled against him, pushing at his arms as she tried again to
reach for the burning bedcurtains. The giant warrior held her back
until he was certain that she was no longer on fire.

Then, shoving her behind him, Gavin himself
moved to the burning bed. Ripping down the curtains, he yanked off
the canopy and threw them all onto the stone hearth. Pulling the
bedclothes from the mattress, he spread them over the burning
rushes on the floor and trampled out the flames.

The heavy smoke hung like a black cloud in
the room, mixing with the sickening smell of burnt cloth and making
it almost impossible to breathe. They were both coughing now, and,
looking behind him, Gavin saw the woman turning away and throwing
off the covering he’d wrapped around her. In the dim light of the
chamber, her golden hair reflected the flickering light from the
hearth, but there was little else he could see. Crossing the room,
the laird roughly pulled open the shutters of the narrow windows,
shutters that had been open when he’d retired. The night air rushed
in, and as he turned back to her, the sounds of banging and
shouting came from the outside of his door.

“The door is barred...he must be
asleep...break it down...”

Her panic was as apparent as it was
immediate. Gavin saw her bolt for the open panel by his bed. Racing
across the chamber, he grabbed her by the arm before she could
disappear again. She struggled hard in his arms, but he was not
about to let her escape.

“M’lord! Gavin!” Edmund’s voice could be
heard the loudest. “Break it down, I say. The fire is...”

“The fire is out! I’m coming,” Gavin shouted
back as he dragged her roughly toward the door. But as he reached
out to lift off the bar, she twisted herself in his arms and their
eyes met.

He stared for a moment, stunned and unable to
speak.

“Joanna?” he whispered finally, unconsciously
loosening his hold on her.

She stared back at him with blue eyes as dark
and as deep as the sky at dawn. But then, realizing she was free,
she made another dash for the wall panel.

The shock that had coursed through him was
dispelled in an instant, and Gavin reacted with the speed of
lightning at her attempt to escape. Catching her by the wrist, he
swung her around.

“Not so fast, my bonny bugbear.”

Again, the sound of his men’s impatient
pounding drew his attention toward the door. She planted her feet
and held back as he dragged her across the chamber.

“Coming!” He shouted. “There is no need to
rouse the entire household!”

“Please!” Her dark eyes pleaded. Desperation
rang in her voice. “Do not let them find me here. In the name of
heaven, let me go!”

“But you are alive,” he returned, his eyes
drinking in the pale, flawless skin of her face; the unruly mane of
golden hair; the full, unsmiling lips. “How in the devil’s name can
you expect me to...”

“I cannot be
seen
.” She coughed,
tugging anxiously to free her wrist. “You did not see me here. I do
not exist!”

“You think me a fool? I am not letting you
go--not until you explain what you have been doing for these many
months.”

“I’ll...I’ll come back! I promise, I’ll come
back and explain it all to you,” she vowed, glancing toward the
panel again and pulling in that direction. “I just cannot allow
them to know that I still live.”

“Who?
Who
cannot know that you are
alive?”

“Can you reach the door, m’lord?” the shout
came from the corridor.

“I beg you, don’t let them find me! I...” She
shook her head helplessly.

Gavin looked about the smoke filled room.
Lifting her struggling body, he carried her toward the door and
dumped her unceremoniously on her feet beside the entry.

“Stay and do not move,” he growled
threateningly as he quickly unbarred the heavy door, swinging it
open wide and trapping the startled young woman behind it.

The astounded expressions on the faces of the
men gathered in the hall greeted him. The steward Allan was
carrying a torch. “Aye. What is it?” Gavin barked.

“Well...the smoke, m’lord!” Edmund’s eyes
made a sweep of the room. “We smelled it, and then saw it coming
from around your door.”

Gavin scowled out at the group of warriors
crowding around the entrance. The smoke drifting past their heads
from behind him was beginning to abate somewhat. “‘Tis over, lads.
All is well. I must have knocked a wick lamp over with my hand. The
fire is out. Now be on your way. All of you.”

None of them appeared ready to leave. They
simply stood and stared at him, unwilling to return to the Great
Hall if their leader needed them.

“Do you want a change of bedding, m’lord?”
the steward asked.

Gavin glanced over his shoulder at the
scorched bed and then back at Allan. “Nay, tomorrow will do well
enough. There is no reason to awaken your sister or anyone else at
this hour.” He paused for a moment. “On second thought, I could use
another wick lamp.”

With a quick nod, the steward handed the
torch to Edmund and disappeared down the hall. Gavin glanced at his
warriors again. “What are you waiting for, lads? Back to your rest!
Away with you!”

All but Edmund and Peter moved reluctantly
down the corridor at their laird’s command.

“Are you certain ‘twas you who started the
fire, m’lord?”

“Nay, I am not certain how the blasted thing
started,” Gavin answered. “But at this hour of the night, I am not
about to raise hell looking for ghosts.”

Peter stared at him with amazement. “Are you
certain you are feeling well enough, m’lord? I mean, ‘tis not like
you to be so...”

“I said that I am fine, you scurvy baboon,”
Gavin answered, glowering as Allan arrived with the wick lamp. “And
now I intend to go back to bed...and nay, I do not need either of
you staying behind to tuck me in. Now, be off with you!”

Taking the lamp from the steward, the
Lowlander slammed the door in the faces of the three who continued
to stand gaping in the corridor as if the warrior chief had grown a
second head.

Joanna pressed the palms of her bandaged
hands against the panel of the wall behind her and waited, fighting
to stay calm in the face of her rising anxiety.

As the door banged shut, she glanced briefly
at him as the giant once again dropped the bar in place. Then,
fixing her gaze on the ruined bedding piled high in the hearth, she
refused to turn and look in his direction.

Conscious of his gaze on her, Joanna turned
her eyes upward to her own portrait--the youthful, laughing
expression mocking the woman standing in rags against the wall. How
long it seemed since she had sat for that painting. How long it
seemed since she had been that young woman. The portrait amused
him, perhaps. But how would this man react now that he was faced
with the scarred, ravaged woman Joanna had become? The truth was
far uglier than that fantasy of color and oil.

She shot a quick glance at him. The Lowlander
was leaning comfortably against the door, his arms folded across
his impossibly broad chest. In his hands, the wick lamp looked like
a tiny toy. His dark eyes were roving over her. Well, he deserved
that much, she thought. It isn’t everyday someone meets the
dead.

“I could not be certain you would still be
standing here when I closed the door.”

“You thought me a ghost? A goblin?” Her voice
was unsteady. “Some eldritch fiend that would steal off to hell
when your back was to me?”

“I feared you were only a dream!”

It took incredible self control not to turn
and face him. “Some horrible nightmare, I would assume.”

“Nay, not a nightmare. But a recurring
dream.”

Joanna quickly stole a look at his face. He
seemed amused by her discomfort. “So, m’lord. You dream of being
burned to cinders and rescued by spirits often?”

He shook his head. “Nay, not of burning. Now,
of being rescued by spirits--that’s quite another thing. What man
wouldn’t fancy being rescued by so bonny a phantom as the one
standing before me now?”

Joanna couldn’t help either the sudden fever
that she felt burning her cheeks or the intense heat that was
suddenly spreading through her.

“Ahh, you can blush!” he said quietly,
nodding. “Apparitions do not have the blood for that, I believe.” A
smile played over the corners of his mouth. “I am Gavin Kerr,
mistress.”

There was not much that did not reach her
ears. “The new laird. I know.”

“But do you also know that, since becoming
laird of Ironcross Castle, dreaming of you has become a habit of
mine?”

Now she couldn’t tear her eyes away from
those dark mischievous eyes. She saw them lower and focus on her
lips. She swallowed, stumbled, looking for the right words. “Must
you...speak to me...”

“What, lass? Speak of dreaming?”

“Nay.” She shook her head, daring herself and
looking down to his bare chest. “Must you speak...You
are...ah...you are undressed, m’lord. ‘Tis a wee bit...well,
disconcerting.”

Holding the wick lamp out, Gavin straightened
from the door and looked down at himself. “So I am.”

She averted her eyes, trying to look at
anything else but him.

Gavin blew out the wick lamp and placed it in
a wall sconce beside the door. “But then,” he continued, “the sight
of my body surely can be of no consequence to you, considering the
way you have been using my chamber nightly for your sport.”

“Sport?”

“Aye, for nightly hunting! Entertaining! Why,
it has served you well even as a dinner hall! Do you deny it, my
wandering spirit?”

“What makes you think ‘twas me?” she
challenged, glancing at his face. The diminished light made her a
bit more comfortable, but only until he took a step closer to
her.

“Has it not been you?” he asked, his eyes
looking into hers in a way that swept away all vestiges of
tranquility within her. She tried to look away again, but he
reached out and took a hold of her chin, lifting it until their
eyes once again locked. “Tell me, has it not been you who has, time
after time, stolen her own portrait from under my nose.” His touch
made her burn hotter than the fires she’d faced earlier in rescuing
him.

“Well?” he asked again, his thumb resting
gently on her cheek.

She shrugged her shoulder in response. She
was too shaken by his closeness and his touch to attempt a coherent
response. His skin was red gold in the flickering embers of
firelight, and Joanna’s ability even to breathe had ceased.

As he dropped his hand and walked toward his
bed, confusion wracked her brain. How could it be possible that an
ache so much like disappointment plunged like a stake into her
chest as he released her? She stared at him as he reached for his
kilt on the floor by the great bed.