Flame (39 page)

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 prayed,
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.”

Gavin glared at the figure in the open
doorway.

“Are you ready to meet your fate?” Athol
asked breezily, stepping into the chamber.

Mater stood in the center of the crypt and
beckoned.

Her heart in her throat, Joanna stared into
the cold room at the few women who were moving about.

“You’ve decided to join us early,” Mater
said, holding a hand out to her.

“I...I thought it might be best...if I were
to witness the entire ceremony.” As inconspicuously as possible,
Joanna glanced about the vault, looking for some sign of Gavin. But
the deep shadows offered plenty of hiding places beyond the tombs.
He could be anywhere, and in any case, it was too late to do
anything about it now.

Mater turned to Molly. “As long as our sister
is here, why not give her something to do?”

The housekeeper turned shyly toward her.
Joanna knew that even in their little community, the fact that she
was the daughter of the last laird created an uncomfortable gap
between their positions. To make her feel more at ease, the young
woman moved forward and reached for the bundle of rushes in the
older woman’s arms.

“Perhaps I could do this?” Joanna
offered.

Molly nodded and handed her the bundle.
Turning to the other two abbey women who were working silently,
Joanna followed their lead in the preparations. But whenever she
could, she peered into the shadows, searching for Gavin. She knew
there was not a thing she could say if she were to find him hiding
in this chamber. But somehow she hoped that seeing him might ease
the hammering of her heart, the gnawing worry that was eating at
her soul.

But he wasn’t here. As the women continued to
work in silence, she realized that he simply wasn’t in the
vault.

“Do you think Margaret will be able to
perform her duties or shall I...”

“Of course, she will!”

Molly’s question and Mater’s sharp response
immediately drew Joanna’s attention.

She moved toward the two older women. “I went
by Margaret’s room before coming down here. I could find no sign of
her there.”

The abbess turned and met Joanna’s direct
gaze. “No matter what her troubles might be, Margaret knows that
she is the bearer of the cup. She will perform her duties. My guess
is that she is already by the loch preparing for that portion of
tonight’s ceremony.”

“By the loch?” Joanna asked in confusion.

Mater turned to Molly and gave her a small
nod. “Why don’t you tell the lass? She is better off knowing ahead
of time, so that she can more fully appreciate the ritual.”

Joanna felt the vault tip and start to spin
as she turned her gaze on the housekeeper.

The thin woman straightened up to her full
height as she began. “Once a year, at this full moon--the same
night that our sainted sisters souls were called to heaven--we
begin our monthly remembrance with a special ritual at the
loch.”

“Why...why at the loch?”

“We go there to witness the killing,” Molly
said simply. “Other months Margaret brings us the filled cup here,
but on this one night of the year, she waits at the loch and goes
through the ceremony with the rest of us.”

Joanna thought for a moment that her heart
would burst from her chest. She remembered the image of Margaret
sitting with the dagger and the slashed throat of the priest in her
lap. She could no longer hear all of what the other woman said.

Where could Gavin be? Holy Mother, Joanna
screamed inwardly, let it not be what she thought.

“...anointing the brows with the fresh
blood...‘tis a cleansing...”

Wild eyed, Joanna stared at Molly. What was
it that she’d just heard her say? Dropping the rushes in her hand
to the floor, she started for the door. But the firm grip of a hand
on her arm jerked her to a stop.

“Do you hear them? They are here!”

Mater’s bony fingers dug into her flesh, but
the old abbess’s voice seemed to be coming from far away.

“This is no time for you to leave, sister. We
are about to begin.”

Joanna felt a knot tighten in her throat.
“But...”

“All will be well, child. All will be
well!”

*****

“Stop your damnable chattering and come
loosen my hands.”

“What would you have done if I hadn’t decided
to come down here ahead of time?” Athol leaned a shoulder casually
against the door frame and looked on.

“I would have had my throat cut.” Gavin
twisted his hands behind him. “But when I met St. Peter, I would
have demanded to be sent back so that I could torture your
miserable carcass. Hurry, you indolent sloth of a dog; we’ve little
time.”

Athol straightened in the doorway. “We have
time. I could hear the women gathering in the vault. Honestly,
you’re fortunate I saw the candle through the crack in the door.
But where is...” He glanced at the dead animals with distaste.
“Where is Joanna?”