Flame (29 page)

He had seen her like this before. But each
time they met, it seemed, she grew more beautiful than the last.
Taking her hands, Gavin gazed on the vision looking up at him. His
eyes drank in the flawless and glowing skin.

“The latch on the panel in my room will keep
me out.”

“Keep you
in
,” he corrected with a
smile, lifting and kissing the palm of her hand. Then, placing her
arm on his shoulder, he lifted her effortlessly and moved easily to
the bed, laying her gently across it.

“Aye, keep me
in
,” she repeated. She
reached out over the side of the bed to where he stood and pulled
at his kilt. The garment fell away, and her eyes roamed his body,
broad and naked in the moonlight.

“Still,” he said teasingly, letting his
fingers travel lightly over the inside of her thighs. The way her
eyes closed, the parted lips, the sharp intake of air, all spoke of
her anticipation of what was to come. “We should think of answers
in case...”

“I am here to see to your...your injuries,”
she said, quietly turning on her side and facing him at the edge of
the bed. “You are hurt, and I am here to help you...heal.”

“Heal?” he growled as her fingers traveled up
his thigh toward his aroused manhood.

“Aye,” she nodded. “You are in need of my
gentle touch, my loving care.” She smiled mischievously. “And this
gives me a chance to practice what I learned the other night.”

Gavin knew exactly what she was talking
about. During their night together, she had been persistent in
having him show her the ways of making love.

Raising herself to her knees, she first
kissed his lips, then let her mouth travel down along his neck and
collarbone, kissing his bruised shoulder with care. He watched her
draw back and gaze with concern at the patch of black and yellow
and blue that had formed beneath the skin.

Gavin let his fingers run through her hair,
feeling the softness of it tumble over the back of his hand.

Lowering herself again onto the bed, Joanna’s
mouth brushed over the flat planes of his stomach, and her tongue
swirled in the hollow in his naval. Gavin held his breath as she
still moved lower in her journey.

Hesitantly, almost shyly, Joanna rubbed the
warm crown of his thick shaft against her cheek. Then, growing
bolder, she ran her lips along the length of it.

Gavin clenched his jaw, forcing himself to
keep a tight rein on his control. Digging his fingers into her
golden mane, he watched Joanna’s lips part and move around his
member, her tongue touching him, tasting him.

“By the...” He groaned as he watched her take
him deep in her mouth. Sweat was beading on his brow as he
struggled for control, and his eyes focused on her full lips as
they threatened to draw out his essence.

One moment Gavin had a tenuous leash on his
desire, the next moment he knew he was teetering out of control.
Within him, passions surged, burning him, filling his chest with a
tightness that constricted all breathing. His hands again grabbed
her silken tresses, and he rolled her onto her back. Their eyes
met, and even in the darkened room, he could see her own matching
desire.

Dropping to his knees beside the bed, Gavin’s
mouth descended upon her still parted lips. His tongue thrust
deeply into her warmth, probing the soft, moist recesses of her
mouth.

“You were saying something about a gentle
touch?” he whispered raggedly against her lips before reaching down
and taking hold of Joanna’s legs. “About a loving touch?” He
dragged her slowly around until her legs dangled over the edge of
the billowy mattress. She began to lift herself up, but he met her
halfway, taking her wrists and pushing them back, trapping them
with one huge hand above her head. His mouth was rough as he took
possession of hers again, and Joanna responded with a driving
passion that equaled his own.

He tore his mouth from hers. “‘Tis time I
ministered some medicine of my own.” His ardor, though, threatened
to engulf him as Joanna’s leg raised and hooked around his thigh.
He kissed the hollow of her throat and felt her body arch against
him as his mouth suckled the hardened nipple. Joanna moaned softly
as Gavin continued to caress the sensitive flesh with his
tongue.

When his lips moved down the ivory softness
of her belly, he could feel Joanna stop breathing. He parted her
legs, then, and his tongue found the sweet, moist darkness and
thrust inside.

Her hands freed, Joanna laced her fingers
into his thick black locks. Without breaking off the intimacy, he
lifted her buttocks, raising her up and thrusting his tongue ever
more deeply into her pulsating recesses until she cried out, a
breathless throaty cry of ecstasy and release.

Gavin took her into his arms and held her
until her shudders subsided, and then, without a word, slid
smoothly into her. Like two lost souls at last finding their joyous
destiny, their bodies and souls molded together with a completeness
that shocked them both. As they lay momentarily still, he felt her
arms tighten around him, and for the first time in his life, he
felt loved. When Gavin began to move, Joanna went with him, the
pulsing rhythms they each felt, rising undeniably within them.

And when at last they reached that climactic
moment of rapture, it was the two of them together, body and soul,
connected as one. Clinging to one another, each felt a destiny of
loss, betrayal, and death melt away. Wrapped in one another’s arms,
each was suddenly aware of a life, a future--a love they could not
deny.

Gavin pushed back a lock of golden hair from
her furrowed brow. Leaning on one elbow, he traced the outline of
her face with a finger.

“You must try!” he encouraged again. “For
once, try to put Mater out of your mind and think of others who
might have had a reason to commit that crime.”

“I still cannot understand your reluctance,”
she argued, rolling onto her side and facing him. “I tell you, even
yesterday, she was there in the crypt. She was headed toward the
keep. She very well could have been the one who cut the rope to
that footbridge.”

“Perhaps she did. But let us assume that she
was not the one.”

“Why do you continually defend her? You put
no faith in me,” she said, hurt evident in her voice. “Has she not
already done enough harm? How many more have to die before you are
convinced?”

Gavin gently wiped away the tear starting
down her cheek. “‘Tis not a case of having no faith, but until such
time as we can find some proof of her guilt, we simply cannot
ignore other possibilities.”

“I need no more proof.” Joanna’s eyes flared.
“No one else needs to die! If you were down there in that vault--if
you were witness to the frenzy of their hatred--you would not be
questioning...”

“Aye, what you say is true!” Gavin
interrupted. “‘Tis easy to become blinded by what we
think
we see. We think one is guilty and then let the real murderer pass
by undetected.” As she opened her mouth to argue, he brushed his
thumb gently against her lips. “I’ve been doing just that for the
past few days. I was so certain of Athol’s guilt, that...”

“Athol?” she said with great surprise. “He
would never...he could never...”

“I know that now,” Gavin nodded. “But before
yesterday, before finding his life in as much danger as my own, I
could not ignore what was possible. I saw him as a man with both
reason and the means to murder. And I, perhaps, wanted him to be
the guilty one.”

“Then he is fortunate you did him no
harm.”

“Aye. That he is,” Gavin answered. Framing
her face with one large hand, the laird looked deep into her violet
blue eyes. “I simply do not want to make the same mistake twice. I
am not trying to act as protector to Mater and her women, but I am
only trying to learn the truth about any others who may have been
involved. From the first moment I arrived at Ironcross, not a
single person has willingly spoken the truth. Everyone says only
what must be said and no more. Secrecy enshrouds this place like
the morning mists.”

“But this is all the influence of Mater.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I think there is
something more. Something that goes deeper than the will of one
woman.” Gavin reached and pulled a blanket high on her
shoulder.

“You are talking about the curse.”

“Did you ever ask anyone about the crypt?” he
asked. His gaze flickered toward the open window as an unseasonably
chilly breeze blew through, raising the gooseflesh on his skin.
“Did you ever ask why those women were buried beneath this
keep?”

“I tried to ask once or twice, but I never
received a complete answer. They are saints who died. I never
learned how or why.”

“But I think that the truth lies with those
old bones,” he whispered. “I believe if we were to discover the
secret of that crypt, we might find the origin of the Ironcross
curse.”

“And the murders!”

“Perhaps,” he nodded. “The curse seems to go
back many years, ‘tis true, but we know very little of what
happened before your family came here. We need to remember that,
though those tombs have been sitting there for many years, the
deaths of your family and the attempts on my life are fairly
recent.”

Joanna’s face was troubled as she placed her
hand on top of his. “But that is all the more reason to believe in
the evil behind those rituals.”

He shook his head. “Or perhaps all the more
reason to consider that someone might simply want to use that as a
shield. We cannot know for certain until we understand the history
of those dead women.” He clasped her hand tightly in his. “‘Tis up
to you and me, Joanna. Between us, we will avenge the crimes that
have been committed. But we must keep an open mind and consider
every possibility, however remote it might seem to be.”

Her expression softened, and Gavin sensed
that though she was not persuaded, she was at least willing to
trust in him.

She didn’t have to speak the words; he knew
how she felt about him. So unlike him, whose feelings lay hidden
beneath layers of thick, battle-scarred skin, she wore hers in the
open. She showed her affection, her love, her trust.

Just then, he fought back the urge to tell
her that how much he loved her. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. A
voice inside his head kept reminding him that it was not time. He
couldn’t speak the truth. He couldn’t reveal his soul, not until
such time as he could honestly say that he had slain his own
demons...his own curses.

“There is another,” she whispered softly,
bringing him out of his troubled reflection. “In the days preceding
the death of my parents, my father had harsh words with the
priest.”

“Father William? I have spoken at length with
the man, questioning him on the past. The dog never once hinted at
any disagreement with your father.”

“He wouldn’t,” Joanna continued. “My father’s
death saved him from ruin. And Iris’s death gave him a second
chance at life.”

“Iris?” Gavin repeated, recalling the
name.

“Father William might wear the cowl of a
priest, but we all found out the cloak he wears.”

Her voice trailed off, but Gavin remained
silent, waiting for her to continue.

“Iris was one of my mother’s maids. A wild,
redhaired creature who took great joy in the attention that she
received from the townsmen while my parents were at court. She was
one of very few young women in my mother’s company, and Ironcross
Castle was just too secluded for her. In fact, before my last visit
here, she asked my mother if she could be sent back with me and
become part of my grandmother’s household in Stirling.”

“But because of the fire, she never got the
chance.”

“Nay, she never got the chance. But even if
that fire had never happened, she would not have gone to Stirling.”
Joanna looked gravely into Gavin’s face. “The same week that I
arrived in the Highlands, I heard from my mother that Iris was with
child.”

“Let me guess. No man willingly stepped
forward to take responsibility for his actions.”

She shook her head.

“And she would not name the father?”

“At first, she wouldn’t. Not until my mother
told Iris that she was sending her to the abbey until she gave
birth to the bairn.”

“Under Mater’s care?”

“Aye.” Joanna nodded. “I cannot blame my
mother now, although at the time I thought she was being harsh for
not letting the poor creature stay at Ironcross Castle, close to
the people she knew. But my mother never fared well amid crises.
She always preferred to live her life quietly, undisturbed.”

“But this Iris did finally name the man?”

“She did,” Joanna answered. “She named Father
William as the one responsible for getting her with child.”

Somehow, hearing Joanna’s revelation came as
no great surprise. There had been something about the priest from
the very first that had nagged at him. Gavin’s mind returned to the
time he’d spent with Father William in the small kirkyard. The
attachment he’d shown to one of the newer graves along the wall.
The priest had even mentioned her name. All of that now rose fresh
in his mind.

“And did he accept responsibility for the
lass?”

“My father was the one who confronted him,
and the priest did not dare deny anything that had been said.
Father threatened him with ruin. From what my mother told me, he
gave the priest a week to gather his things and leave Ironcross
Castle for good.”

“John MacInnes was indeed a gentle man,”
Gavin said quietly. “I have known many a laird who would have
brought down a much harsher punishment for such conduct. Even if
the blackguard were a priest.”

Joanna shook her head sadly. “There was no
chance of Iris ever having a future with the man. So I suppose,
other than sending him away, there was very little else for my
father to do. Although,” she said as an afterthought, “as
inadequate a punishment that it seems to you now, Father William
was outraged with being discharged so ‘recklessly,’ as he put
it.”