Flame (3 page)

“But there are religious there, we were
told.”

“That I don’t know, m’lord,” Andrew replied.
“Those who remain live in the center of the ruined cloister, in
stone cottages they’ve patched together from the old
buildings.”

“Is there an abbot, or someone in charge?”
Gavin pressed.

“Aye, a woman they call Mater.”

“A woman?” Peter blurted out.

“Aye,” Andrew responded slowly. “They’re all
women there. All that I saw before they disappeared, at any rate.”
He paused. “And that abbey, m’lord, seems quite unprotected,
sitting there in open as ‘tis!”

“And isn’t that like these Highlanders,”
Peter huffed, “leaving a pack of women...”

Gavin felt the hackles on his neck rise as
his attention was drawn to the far end of the Great Hall. In a dark
corner by the passage into the kitchens and the north wing,
something had moved. A shadow...something...he was certain of it.
Peering into the darkness, the firelight at his back, Gavin studied
the sleeping figures on the benches as he continued to listen to
his men. The servants had been dismissed hours ago. Other than the
three men sitting with him, it was unlikely that anyone else in the
keep would be roaming about.

“I took it upon myself, m’lord, to tell Mater
that you would be stopping by yourself in a day or two. To pay them
a visit.”

“That’s fine,” Gavin answered. He shook his
head slightly at his fanciful imaginings and filled his cup with
more ale. He was tired, he decided, dismissing the notion with a
last glance at the far end of the Hall. His first night in
Ironcross Castle, and already he was falling prey to the
strangeness of the place. Suddenly, he realized one of the dogs had
come slowly to his feet. The gray cur trotted toward the kitchens.
Pushing the mug away, the laird came to his feet as well.

“Also, the Earl of Athol’s men mentioned that
he’d be giving you a visit before the week’s end.” Andrew’s eyes
followed his leader as Gavin rounded the table where they sat.
“‘Tis only a day’s ride, they said, and if that’s
unsuitable...”

“That’s fine,” Gavin answered absently
without turning around. “All three of you, get your rest. There is
a great deal to be done tomorrow.”

The three men watched in silence as their
master walked quietly toward the darkened kitchens.

**

These newcomers were going to be more than a
nuisance, she thought. They were going to be downright dangerous.
And there were so many of them.

Coming out of the passages after the sounds
of feasting had died away, Joanna had been surprised by the number
of people remaining in the Great Hall. From past experience she
knew that she would have more chance of finding food there than in
the kitchens, but clearly that plan would no longer work. She only
hoped the usually tightfisted Gibby had not locked everything away,
as was her custom.

Entering the kitchens, Joanna peered into the
corners for stray sleepers, but with the warmer weather, not a body
was in evidence. The embers in the huge fireplace flickered, and
she could see the rows of bread dough rising into loaves on a long
table.

Moving to a sideboard, she found a large bowl
with broken scraps of hard bread. Scooping out a handful, Joanna
placed the bread carefully in the deep pocket of her cloak, then
cocked her head to listen. With more people around, she would have
to be far more careful than she had been in the past. Being
discovered would mean the end of her plans. It would be the death
of her only wish--the one that had been driving her to hang on to
her threadbare existence. If she were discovered, there would
surely be no dispensing of justice to those who had murdered her
parents. Of that she was certain.

Joanna glided silently down through the
kitchen, and then paused with a sigh by a locked larder. The gentle
nudge of the dog’s nose against her hip made the young woman’s
heart leap in her chest. Shaking her head as the corners of her
mouth lifted in a wry smile, she crouched down to pet the gentle
beast. All the dogs in the castle were quite accustomed to her, but
shaggy Max was the only one that ever came to her. Accepting a wet
kiss on the chin, Joanna gave the dog’s head an affectionate pat.
Wordlessly, she straightened and continued her search for more
food.

The heavenly smells of bannocks and roasted
mutton still hung in the air, making her mouth water, but to her
dismay there was nothing else left over that she could find. High
in the rafters, she could see the dark shapes of smoked meat, but
she didn’t dare be so bold as to steal anything that would raise a
hue and cry. Hearing Max sniffing in a dark corner, Joanna spotted
two balls of cheese hanging from strings on a high pegboard, just
out of the dog’s reach. Gratified at the chance to add something
different to her spare diet, she reached for them.

“I am certainly sorry you’ll have to shoulder
the blame for both of these,” she whispered with a smile to the
happy dog. “But you can only have one.” Rolling his share playfully
along the stone floor, Joanna placed the other in the pocket of her
cloak.

The dog leapt across the kitchen after it,
but suddenly stopped short, and the deep growl emanating from his
throat sent Joanna scurrying for cover. Quietly, she moved into the
deep shadows behind the giant fireplace, to the narrow door that
led down into the root cellars. From there she could get into the
labyrinth of passages beneath the castle, but she paused for a
moment, her hand on the panel, ready to run if the need arose.

“What are you hiding there, you mangy cur?”
The man’s voice was deep and strangely gentle. “Just you and the
hearth fairy, eh?”

Joanna pressed her face against the warm
stone of the chimney as she listened. From the dog’s friendly
panting and the man’s deep-throated chuckle, she could tell the
newcomer had already won over the animal’s affection.

“Och, I can see already you are in for
trouble. A thief you are, is that it? A piece of cheese. A capital
crime, if that cook finds out, lad. Hmm. I’ll not throw it for you,
you slobbering beast.”

Joanna knew she should go, but she couldn’t.
Curiosity was pulling at her, driving her with a desire to put a
face to that voice.

“So, you want to play! You want me to chase
you, is that it?”

He had to be one of the new laird’s men. She
could imagine him leaning against the edge of the long heavy table
in the center of the kitchen.

“‘Tis too late in the night, you beast. Very
well. Bring it here, and I’ll throw it for you. But once only, do
you hear me?”

The dog’s low-pitched growl was now playful,
and again the man’s deep chuckle brought a smile to her face.

“Smart too. For a Highland cur!”

So they’re Lowlanders, she thought. Scowling
now, Joanna edged forward slightly and peeked at the man in the dim
light of the dying fire. Just as she had imagined it, he was
sitting on the edge of the table with his back to her. At the
moment, he was preoccupied with wrenching the ball of cheese out of
Max’s mouth.

“Now, don’t force me to get rough with
you!”

She studied his broad shoulders. The warrior
was larger, by far, than any of the men her father had kept in his
service. The red of his tartan was muted and dark. As he stood up
for a moment, she drew back, but he only crouched over the dog
again. He was certainly a giant, and not just for a Lowlander. His
long dark hair was tied with a thong at the nape of a strong neck.
In wrestling with the dog, he turned his face, and she got a quick
glimpse of his handsome profile. Suddenly, she was aware of a
strange tightening in her chest. Drawing back further, she felt her
face flush with heat. What was wrong with her? she thought,
fighting for a breath.

What did it matter that the man was handsome,
she thought with annoyance. What difference did that make to her, a
ghost! In the dark of the kitchens, it was easy to let imagination
control reality. In the light of day, he might be the ugliest man
in Scotland, though she would never see it. Darkness. Perhaps it
was the place for both of them, she thought angrily. Who knows, in
the gloom of this chamber, he might not even see her deformities.
Bringing a shaking hand up before her eyes, she gazed at it
momentarily, and then pulled her hood forward over her face.

Nay, no one was that blind.

“As your laird, I order you to share that
cheese. Och, you are a pig. You’ve eaten it all.”

Laird! Quickly, Joanna drew back behind the
hearth. Her face grim, she slipped through the panel and into the
blackness of the passageway. Feeling her way down the stone steps,
she continued past the wooden door that led into the root cellars.
Silently, she made her way through the winding, narrow passages,
down more carved stone steps, and through wide, cavernous openings
until she was far from the kitchens. Climbing to the top of another
set of steps, Joanna stopped, trying to catch her breath, and
leaned back heavily against a rough-hewn wall.

Laird! She wished she had never laid eyes on
him. It would be ever so much easier to mourn his death if she’d
never seen him. The poor soul, she thought, starting to move
quickly along the tunnel again. He wouldn’t have a chance against
the evil that surrounded him.

The smell of fire and rot hung in the air
like death.

“‘Tis a grievous thing for me to see
Ironcross Castle like this, m’lord.” Allan’s voice was tight. “It
looks sound enough from the outside, but in here...” The steward
looked back at Gavin and shook his head.

Gavin said nothing, but motioned for Allan to
continue up the circular stairwell. They had almost reached the
second floor landing, which was as far as they would be going.
Gavin gazed upward through the twisted and charred timbers that had
once been steps, into the steel gray sky.

“Aye,” Allan said, following his master’s
gaze. “Nothing to keep the rain out here.”

The new laird grunted and climbed over a
burnt beam. Reaching the landing, he pushed past the steward into
the corridor.

“This part of the castle seems much newer
than the rest,” Gavin said gruffly. The destruction was extensive,
though he was beginning to think the building might be saved. He
would need to get his men in here clearing out the debris before
they could make a good judgment about the soundness of the
walls.

“Aye, m’lord,” Allan responded. “This wing
was built by Sir Duncan MacInnes, father of the last three lairds.
God rest their souls.”

Gavin looked at the splintered sections of
the beams above. The ceilings were high in the south wing. On this
floor, at least, the corridor faced out on the courtyard, and the
long, narrow windows let in light and air. Some of the chamber
doors to the right hung open at rakish angles, and cobwebs and
filth were everywhere. “How did Duncan die?”

“Duncan?” the steward repeated, surprise
evident in his voice. “Why, the poor soul.” He paused. “That was so
long ago. More than twenty years has passed since...”

“You were steward of Ironcross then, were you
not, Allan?”

“Aye, m’lord!”

Gavin turned a critical stare on the man next
to him. “You do not remember how your master died?”

“Aye, m’lord! Of course I do,” Allan said
quickly. “‘Twas just a surprise, your asking! The poor soul cracked
his skull in a fall from his horse. ‘Twas a sad and mournful day
for Ironcross Castle.” The older man looked down at his feet.
“Hunting, he was.”

“Who was hunting with him?” Gavin moved
slowly down the passage, testing the floors as he went, and Allan
followed behind.

“Hunting with...?” The steward scratched his
head. “Well, we had a great deal more folk about the castle in
those days. Let me see. I believe Alexander, the eldest lad, was
with him. And the hunters and grooms, of course. Lady MacInnes was
back at Stirling then. She spent very little time at Ironcross
during those years. Now, I’m thinking...aye, Lord Athol, the father
of the present earl, was with the party as well.”

Gavin held up his hand. Farther down the
corridor, from one of the last rooms, the sound of scraping could
be heard. As Allan stared, Gavin quietly drew his dirk from his
belt and pushed his tartan back over his shoulder. Before he had
gone two steps, however, a rat moved out into the corridor, spotted
them, and disappeared back into the room.

The new laird sheathed his dirk, and turned
to the steward. “I want you to have the grooms and any lads you can
gather do a wee bit of rat hunting. I don’t care to be sharing my
dinner or my bed with vermin. I want the castle kept clear of
them.”

“Aye, m’lord.” Allan clearly was trying hard
to hide his surprise at such eccentricity, but nodded in response.
“As you wish.”

Gavin hated rats. He knew they were
everywhere, in every castle and hut in Europe. In Florence, Paris,
and even the newly rebuilt Edinburgh, but he hated them, and he’d
not have them in his keep, if he could help it.

Turning his back on the steward, Gavin looked
into the chamber that they stood before. It, too, had been badly
burned, and pieces of broken, charred furniture littered the
room.

“This was the laird’s study, m’lord,” Allan
offered. “Sir John, the previous master of Ironcross Castle, spent
a great deal of time in this room. He was a great scholar--more so
than his father or the two brothers who preceded him.”

As Gavin turned to continue down the
corridor, his eyes were drawn to a partially open door in the
carved wood paneling just inside the study. Stepping into the
chamber, the new laird moved casually over to the panel, he pulled
open the door. A small cabinet had been recessed into the wall, and
several books lay on a shelf, completely undamaged by fire.
Surprised, Gavin took them out of the cabinet.