Flame (4 page)

“Ah, m’lord,” Allan said apologetically,
taking the books from the new laird’s hand. “I should have taken
them to the Old Keep after the fire. I am afraid I have been
negligent in leaving off the care of this wing. But now that you
are here, I shall...”

Gavin no longer heard the old steward. His
gaze was fixed on the portrait hanging above the small fireplace,
and everything else in the world suddenly ceased to exist. Locked
on the object across the room, his eyes drank in the vision of the
young lass’s golden hair and ivory skin, the straight nose and the
delicate mouth that showed only the hint of a smile. But it was the
eyes, the deep blue eyes, that enraptured him. In spite of the dark
smudges of soot that covered almost half of the painting, her
nearly violet eyes twinkled, laughing, shining with the joy of
life, with the pure radiance of youthful innocence.

“‘Twas Mistress Joanna, m’lord! Sir John’s
daughter.”

Gavin started at the steward’s voice, and
turned to him.

“God rest her soul,” Allan continued
reverently. “She was a bonny lass, inside and out. ‘Twas a waste
for her to be taken so young.”

Gavin turned his gaze back to the portrait.
Joanna MacInnes.

“We only knew her here a short time, since
the laird never allowed her to stay at Ironcross for too long. I
know she was schooled in Paris--raised as a court lady. Though the
lass liked her visits to the north country, Sir John was fixed on
having her stay with his mother, Lady MacInnes, at Stirling.” The
steward shook his head. “Meeting her, m’lord, you’d have thought
you were meeting an angel. All kindness and compassion, she was.
Nothing like those ladies that Thomas, Sir Duncan’s second son,
would bring up here.”

Gavin gazed again at her eyes. There was an
openness in them, no hint of coyness.

“‘Twas very sad,” Allan continued. “The loss
of such a young woman as this.” Gavin took another step toward her,
toward the painting.

“She was the first of the MacInnes ladies to
show any interest in the women of the abbey.”

Gavin took another step and then turned back
to look at the steward.

“Tell me,” the laird began, “did she and
Mater...”

But he did not finish. Without warning, the
floor opened and fell away beneath him.

***

Joanna sat bolt upright from beneath her
covering of straw.

The bone chilling crack gave way to a
shuddering crash, and the entire south wing shook violently. With
her heart pounding in her chest, she sat frozen, unable to move. It
had to be the new laird. He was dead! Another life wasted...and for
what?

Damn you, Joanna MacInnes, she swore under
her breath. When will you find enough courage to put an end to this
curse? How many more must die before you act?

**

“M’lord!”

Dangling high in the air, with his fingers
barely holding onto the edge of a projecting beam, Gavin ignored
the steward’s shout and tried to swing his legs over the edge. On
the second attempt, using another charred beam, he pulled himself
onto the narrow remains of the burned flooring in the corner of the
chamber.

“These floors, m’lord!” the steward called
out from across the way, the distress evident in his voice. “Who
could know what is sound? There was a good...”

“Enough, Allan!” Gavin ordered, pushing
himself to his feet as he eyed the gaping hole in the middle of the
room. “Go after some help. Edmund should be inspecting the curtain
wall. At least bring back some rope with you.” Upon seeing the
older man hesitate, he ordered again. “Go, man, before the rest of
this floor gives way!”

With a quick nod, the steward scurried off
down the corridor toward the burned out stairwell.

Alone, Gavin leaned back against the carved
wood paneling and looked about the room. The thunderous hammering
of his heart at last seemed to slow its pace. He had been very
close to falling. Too close, he thought, peering at the wide gap
and the considerable drop to the wreckage below.

Then he heard it clearly. The creak of a
board above his head. Looking up, he surveyed the soot covered
ceiling. Another rat? It moved again. He tried to gauge the weight.
If it was another of the vermin, it was a big one. And it was
moving toward the wall he had his back to.

He listened intently. Silence. He waited, but
only silence encompassed him.

**

The panel stuck slightly before giving way to
the pressure of her hand. Joanna pushed it open hesitantly,
listened for a moment, and then slipped into the darkness of the
passageway between the walls.

The narrow tunnel was dimly lit, the only
light coming from a small hole in the roof. Stealthily, Joanna
moved to a ladder that led to the passageway below and eventually
to the tunnels beneath the castle. Slowly and carefully, she made
her way down, rung by rung, until she reached the next level.

**

Standing on the narrow ledge, Gavin glanced
along the wall at the portrait hanging above the open hearth. It
was some distance from the corner where he stood. For a moment he
considered trying to get to it, but the ledge was narrow and
unstable.

A sound--a faint squeak of wood against
wood--came from the panel behind him, and, whirling around to face
it, the warrior chief nearly went over the edge.

Quickly regaining his balance, Gavin pressed
himself into the corner and started inspecting the panels. One
clearly appeared to warp a bit beneath a carved edge piece.

**

Joanna listened carefully for some sound from
the other side of the panel. She was fairly certain that the
crashing noise and the shouts had come from this chamber, but there
was nothing to be heard now.

With her hand on the latch, she toyed with
the idea of waiting in the tunnels beneath the castle until dark
before venturing out. If the new laird was dead, there was no use
in exposing herself just to find out what happened.

Something gnawed at her, though, and she
could wait no longer. Pushing at the warped edge, she released the
latch silently and started to pull the panel open.

“M’lord!”

The shout from the far side of the panel
stunned Joanna with its nearness. What was worse, however, was the
sight of the new laird’s profile through the narrow opening, only a
breath away. His face was turned toward the study, as the shout
came again, clearly but from below.

Gaping at his profile, Joanna quickly shut
the panel as quietly as she could. Sliding the latch, she pressed
her palms against the wood and let out a soft, strangled breath.
For the first time in months, she’d almost given herself away;
she’d come face to face with the man. Pressing her forehead on her
knuckles, she closed her eyes. She had to gather her strength. She
had to run away. That was far too close! Her body shivered, and she
was shocked to feel her knees about to buckle as she tried to
rise.

**

Gavin turned back to the panel--his fingers
traveling across the rough, scorched wood, checking every seam. He
could have sworn a moment ago he’d felt it move.

“M’lord!” This time Edmund’s breathless voice
came from across the room. “The damn floor...By the Virg...what a
mess...Gavin, are you hurt?”

There was something on the inside of this
wall. Gavin could feel it. Could it be someone, he wondered. He
knew of other castles that had secret passageways. And if there was
one, it would allow someone to travel through this wing. Gavin
pulled back a hand and smashed it hard against the wall. He felt it
move--not as part of the whole wall--but only the section. Pushing
at a seam by the edge piece, a crack appeared. Beneath him the
floor groaned ominously, and Gavin eased the pressure. There was a
shuffling noise on the other side of the panel. Pressing an ear to
it, he could clearly hear movement. The sound of hurried steps.

“M’lord?”

Gavin ignored Allan as he pressed his ear
tighter against the wood.

“What’s behind here, Allan?”

The old man paused a moment before blurting,
“The wall?”

“You think me daft?” Gavin growled, turning a
menacing glare on the man. “You were here when this wing was built.
Are you telling me...”

“There
were
passageways built at the
time,” the old steward broke in quickly. “But only the laird
knew...the passageways lead down to the caverns that honeycomb
these hills, and down to the loch. But no one has used those
caverns since Duncan’s time, m’lord.”

“How do you open this?” Gavin asked shortly.
“This panel is an entry, is it not?”

When Allan paused, Edmund spoke. “M’lord, if
you’ll allow me at least to secure this rope, in case that
floor...”

“How does this damn thing open?”

His angry roar got the old man talking. “In
the cabinet...there at the corner by the outside wall...aye, that
one...an iron ring...”

Gavin crouched carefully and reached inside.
Running his fingers along the wood, he found the metal circle.
Pulling it, he watched with satisfaction as the panel which he had
been standing before only a moment earlier snapped opened a
crack.

“M’lord. You don’t plan to go in there
alone,” Edmund said with alarm.

“Once you are beneath the castle, there is no
rhyme or reason to the paths,” Allan agreed. “In fact, one of the
builder’s apprentices disappeared in those tunnels. ‘Tis dangerous,
even for those who know the passages. There are chasms that have no
bottom. The lad was never found, m’lord, and he was not the only
one!”

Gavin moved toward the panel and pushed it
open wide.

“Pray, m’lord,” Edmund’s voice was the more
persistent. “Allow me, at least, to come with you. I’ve never seen
a...”

“Find a way to get your rump up to the
hearth.” The Lowlander glanced over his shoulder at the red-headed
warrior. With his eyes he motioned toward the portrait of Joanna
MacInnes above the fireplace. “Take the painting to the Old Keep.
Put it in my chamber.”

Without another word, Gavin squeezed through
the panel and disappeared into the darkness of the passage.

***

The slender back of the old woman bowed under
the weight of the heavy satchels she carried. Dragging her feet
another few steps through the mud, she spotted more herbs by a
protruding boulder. Leaning one gnarled hand on the rock, she
grasped the top of the plant and pulled. The stubborn root wouldn’t
let go.

Though the sun had broken through the heavy
clouds, the air was thick with moisture from the rains. Tugging at
the plant again, the woman wiped the dripping sweat from her eyes
with the other hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on the fan of
wrinkles by the exposed white hair at her temple. She gave a sigh
of relief when the root let go at last. Wiping the dirt from the
greens with one callused hand, she placed it carefully in one of
the satchels before painfully straightening under their weight.

“Och, Mater,” the low voice scolded from
behind. “Why must you carry both bags in this sun. Let me give you
a hand.”

The old woman waved a hand dismissively in
the air while continuing with her search. But she didn’t fight
when, a moment later, the younger woman reached her and silently
took one of the satchels, swinging it over her shoulder.

“The rest of us could do more of this. There
is no reason for you, at your age, to always do so much to take
care of so many.”

“There is,” Mater said plainly as she bent
down to tug at another root. “What news have you from the
castle?”

“Molly has come to visit her sisters. She
brought word. There was an accident this morning. The laird
insisted that Allan show him the fire damage in the south
wing.”

“I knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away from
there. What happened?”

“One of the floors collapsed beneath him. But
he was not hurt.”

Mater paused for a moment, nodded, and turned
her steps down the valley toward the ruined abbey. “Anything
else?”

The younger woman fell in step. “Just as his
man told you yesterday, Molly says that the laird plans to pay the
abbey a visit.” The woman stared at the aging leader. “Will you see
him, Mater?”

Mater stopped and looked up at the sky. “I
have no choice. I will see him...if he still lives!”

***

The chapel perched, squat and ancient, on the
edge of the cliff in the southeastern corner of the castle, with
the gray waters of the loch below. Except for a low archway that
had been built to give access to the small kirkyard, the
construction of the south wing had completely cut off the little
church from the castle’s courtyard.

“‘Tis a miserable place,” the pasty-faced
little priest spat out, glaring at the building. “Hotter than hell
in the summer, and windier than Luther’s arse in the winter. ‘Tis
no wonder the peasants of the holding want nothing to do with
it.”

Aye, Gavin thought, glancing at the man’s
sour expression. No wonder.

“They have little faith in these hills, you
know. ‘Tis comfort they crave. Sir John MacInnes, the last laird,
promised me that he’d rebuild the chapel, but he did no such
thing.”

“Show me the inside, Father William,” Gavin
ordered, striding toward the building.

“Aye, of course,” the scrawny cleric replied,
running to keep up. “Though I’ll be hanged if you find anything to
interest you there.”

Gavin let that comment pass, though the
priest’s attitude was curious, to say the least. Father William
pulled open the thick oak door.

“Not the way it once was. No faith. No sense
of duty. Since the death of Sir John, I have watched as nearly all
of his peasants...your peasants...packed up their wee ones and
moved onto the Earl of Athol’s land to the north.”