Flame (6 page)

Gavin tore his gaze away from her alert,
vibrant eyes and stared at his dinner, untouched on the small table
beside the fire. Of all that had happened that day, his visit to
the kirkyard had been the most troubling of all. So many fresh
graves. And so many who had died so young. He couldn’t shake off
the melancholy that had descended on his soul as he had stood in
the wind-driven rain.

Stripping off his wet tartan, shirt, and
kilt, the laird heaped the clothes on the hearth. He gazed into the
fire for a moment, but as he sat down and kicked off his boots,
Gavin’s eyes were again drawn to the face of Joanna MacInnes. What
was it about this woman that haunted him so?

Gavin drew back the blanket from his bed and
climbed in between its linens. Lying back with a hand propped
behind his head, he stared across the room at her face. He was
glad, now, that he had told his men to have the painting brought
here, rather that having it immediately wrapped in preparation for
the journey back to Lady MacInnes. It was selfish, he knew, to
delay the old woman’s request. But staring at the portrait, he
realized how dazzling a creature Joanna MacInnes had been.

And he realized how easy it would have been
to fall under her spell.

There was something much more powerful than
her beauty that captivated him. Nay, he had known many bonny women.
There was mystery in the violet blue depths of her eyes, in the
hint of a question that hung on the edges of her full lips. Of a
secret locked in her heart.

And then there were the alluring ivory shades
of her skin. He caressed with his eyes the gentle swell of firm,
young breasts that rose above her brocaded dress. Suddenly, Gavin
felt the stirring in his loins as he imagined the feel of his lips
on her...

“Are you mad?” He started, tearing his eyes
from the portrait and rolling away from the light. He must be out
of his mind, indeed, he decided, clenching his teeth. Aroused by a
woman long dead.

***

Joanna paused quietly in the wedge of open
panel and listened carefully to the sound of his breathing. He was
asleep--she was sure of it--lying on his stomach on the great bed,
the curtains drawn back on the summer night. His face was turned
toward her. Even knowing exactly what she wanted to do, she still
could not bring herself to move. Not yet.

Wisps of black hair had fallen across his
eyes. His handsome, chiseled face was stern and troubled, even in
sleep. Joanna’s lips parted and her breath caught in her chest as
her eyes roamed over the rest of him. The blanket only managed to
cover the lower part of his back and one of his legs. She felt the
heat rising in her face at the sight of the sinewy muscles on his
broad back and thick, scarred arms. Deep in her belly, another heat
began to emerge, a wild, molten heat that frightened her with its
suddenness and with its power. Joanna quickly tore her eyes
away.

Stunned that she should respond this way to
the mere sight of a man, Joanna found herself growing angry and
chided herself silently. That’s just what you need now, she thought
reproachfully. Some momentary lapse of sanity. Shaking her head,
she looked across the chamber.

The painting was there. Somehow, she knew it
would be. Stepping quietly onto the woven rush mat that covered the
floor, she paused after each step. Deliberately, she put out of her
mind any thought of the consequences of being discovered. As she
moved toward the fire, she thrilled at the sense of danger that now
gripped her. Playing the ghost, for some reason, seemed worth the
peril of capture.

As she reached the hearth, she spotted the
full platter of food and cringed at the sudden growl emanating from
her empty stomach. Throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder, she
stared, waiting. But he didn’t move.

Well, first things first, she thought,
wrapping the bread and beef in the linen cloth from the tray. The
smell of the food made her mouth water, but she fought off the urge
to eat it immediately. She had a task to accomplish, and the cook’s
dress was clearly designed for practicality rather than fashion, so
Joanna tucked the dinner, as well as the empty goblet, into the
huge pocket.

Her two hands free, she reached for the
painting and quietly tucked it under one arm. Glancing cautiously
in his direction again, she started to back up, but nearly tripped
over a pile of wet clothing.

Balancing the portrait against her leg, she
picked up the articles of clothing and spread them, one by one,
over the table and chair to dry. Amazing, she thought wryly, how
living without the comforts of a home for half a year can change
one’s perspective on the privileges of day to day living.

And besides, she mused, picking up the
painting and starting again across the room toward the panel, in
the morning he wouldn’t think entirely ill of his ghostly visitor.
True, she had taken the painting and his dinner. But she had, at
least, done one good deed.

As she reached for the panel, she froze in
her tracks as the black-haired giant rolled onto his back. Joanna
was only a step away from the panel, but she didn’t dare to move.
The smell of warm, wet wool wafted across the chamber, and she
watched, petrified, as the man’s hand started slowly moving over
the linens. From the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Joanna
knew he was still sleeping, and she prayed that her stomach would
not growl now.

But before she could slip through the panel,
the sleeping giant kicked restlessly at the blankets, and Joanna’s
heart stopped.

She looked. She blushed. She fled.

***

At the sound of the angry laird’s roar, the
long benches of the trestle tables cleared in an instant.

Motionless on the dais, the three warriors
watched Gavin Kerr stomp into the Great Hall. His blazing, black
eyes locked on them.

“Cowards,” Peter whispered under his breath
as the men who had been at their morning meal moved
en masse
toward the door...and out of striking distance of their raging
warrior chief.

“What have you done now, Peter?” Edmund asked
quietly, frowning at the burly man beside him. “Tell us now so we
can think of an answer.”

“Nothing!” he replied, with a quick glance of
entreaty at Edmund and Andrew. “Nothing that should get him so
riled. I only...”

“So you three have decided to play the
fools!” Gavin roared, lifting one of long heavy benches as if it
were a twig, and charging toward the stunned trio.

Holding the bench across his body, the laird
drove the warriors over the food-laden table with the force of an
enraged bull, sending food and drink in every direction and pinning
all three on their backs on the far side.

“So you think I am in the mood for jesting!”
None of the three dared even to breathe, but only stared at the man
sitting on their chests. “So you blackguards have nothing better to
do than trifle with me!”

“Trifle, m’lord?” Edmund flinched as Gavin
suddenly turned on him.

“Aye, trifle! And I will twist those thick
necks of yours with my own two hands unless one of you returns it
to me this instant.”

The three Lowlanders stared in confusion at
their master, and Gavin’s piercing gaze moved from one to the
next.

“
It
, m’lord?” Peter asked finally.

“So, ‘twas you!” the laird shouted, reaching
down and grabbing Peter by the neck. “Nimble of mind and as quick
to start trouble. I should have known. Bored already, no doubt. Any
excitement to liven things up, I expect. I’ll liven things up for
you. We’ll draw and quarter you and nail your tongue to the castle
gate.”

Gavin shifted his full weight onto Peter and
tightened the grip on the warrior’s neck as the other two scrambled
from beneath the bench.

“I’ll give you one last chance, you thieving
bulldog. Where the devil have you put it?”

Andrew, of the three the closest to Gavin in
size, was the one who was able to pry the warrior chief’s grip from
Peter’s.

“M’lord,” he rumbled, leaping back as his
master’s head whipped in his direction.

Gavin glared at him for a moment.

“I believe,” Andrew continued. “I believe
that not one of us have any idea what you are missing.”

The three men nodded in unison.

“No idea, m’lord,” Peter added quickly. “I am
guilty of no wrongdoing!”

“
No
wrong?” Gavin drawled, suspicion
etched in his features as he looked down at his man.

“Well, in jest I might have said...” Peter
flushed crimson. “Well, m’lord, I...I did...well, my tongue did
flap a wee bit last night about the fact that...that you were
spending a night in Mistress Joanna’s company...”

“Only a jest about the portrait. ‘Twas just
the ale talking,” Edmund put in. “And everyone...I mean, no one
laughed, m’lord.”

“Aye, almost no one,” Andrew agreed solemnly.
“He meant no more disrespect than usual, m’lord.”

Gavin took hold of Peter’s chin. “And ‘twas
the ale, I suppose, that let you into my chamber?”

The three shook their heads in denial.

“Nay, m’lord,” Peter responded.

“‘Twas the ale that took the painting.” Gavin
glared into the man’s perplexed face. “Do not try to deny it,
Peter. It had to be you!”

“And you, Edmund,” the laird said, rising
from the burly man’s chest and taking a step toward the tall,
red-haired warrior. Edmund retreated at once, and Peter quickly
clambered to his feet. “Too bad you didn’t choke on my dinner.
Though, now that I think more on it, you probably fed the dogs with
it.”

The man’s denials were loud and pained, but
Gavin waved him off, turning to Andrew, who stood by, looking
totally bewildered.

“And you, too, Andrew. No doubt encouraged by
these two in your first foray into crime against me.”

“Nay, m’lord,” the big man countered.
“I...”

Gavin interrupted in frustration. “You
couldn’t even think of anything vicious...like your cronies
here...so you hung my wet clothes by the hearth. I know you,
Andrew. Is that not what happened? Well, for your efforts, the damn
things now smell like singed sheep, I’ll have you know.”

As Gavin took a breath, Edmund quickly tried
to get a word in. “M’lord, I swear on the grave of my dead mother
that we had nothing to do with...”

“Nay, nothing, m’lord,” Peter chirped in.
“‘Tis true, we had more than our share of ale, but last night
we--all three of us--slept right here in the Hall.”

“You know the light sleeper that I am,
m’lord,” Andrew added. “If Peter had been up to no good, I would
have been awake and at his throat...”

“Oh, so ‘tis I who is the troublemaker, you
say?” Peter now turned angrily on Andrew.

“Aye, you are.” Andrew replied simply. “And
you know it.”

As the two men squared off, Gavin was
suddenly aware that the rest of the men
,
including Allan the
steward, had been moving cautiously closer, forming a crowd around
them.

Before another word could be spoken, though,
the sound of shouting drew everyone’s attention to the entrance of
the Great Hall. Gavin stepped forward as one of the young
stablehands pushed breathlessly through the crowd. The young man’s
frightened eyes scanned the crowd, and upon finding both Gavin and
Allan, his ashen face suddenly reflected his uncertainty over whom
he should address.

“What is the matter, David?” Allan was the
first to speak. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“‘Tis back...exactly where ‘twas ‘afore!”

The Hall was silent as David’s wild eyes
scanned the crowd. “Not since I was a bairn have I believed ‘em.
All them tales the women folk tell...of hauntings. I never believed
‘em.” He bobbed his head slowly. “‘Til now. Gibby says her cooking
pots rattle at nights, that things are being took. Molly swears to
hearing the walls cry and moan!”

“That’s enough, lad. Such nonsense is for
fools and...”

“Nay, Allan.” Gavin raised his hand,
silencing the steward’s sharp rebuke. Glancing at the stablehand’s
startled face, the new laird gentled his voice. “What is back,
David?”

“Why, the painting, m’lord,” he answered
shakily. “The one of Mistress Joanna!”

Gavin glared threateningly at his three
warriors standing beside him. But all of them looked as baffled as
the young worker.

“We took down the rest of the study floor,
m’lord,” Allan put in. “There is no way to get up there.”

The young man again bobbed his head. “Aye,
‘twas an eerie thing to walk in there and see her face looking down
at us from so high.” David unconsciously made the sign of a cross.
“Whoever put it back there had no needs for legs, m’lord. Being so
high, he must have just flew...”

“I think we’ll take a look at the work of
this ghost, David,” Gavin commanded, nodding to the man to lead the
way. Allan and the entire crowd followed behind.

As they entered the chamber beneath the
study, David pointed to the painting hanging once again above the
hearth. The floor had been pulled down completely now, and at first
glance, it
did
appear as though one would have to fly up
there. There was, however, one narrow edge of a beam, hardly
visible from the floor below, running along the wall from the
hearth, but away from the secret panel in the corner. It couldn’t
be more than two or three fingers wide, Gavin thought, dismissing
it as a possibility. There was no way that he could see for anyone
to get from the secret passageway to the hearth. Gavin shook his
head.

“Did you bar the panel?” the laird asked, his
gaze falling on Allan.

“Aye, m’lord. I did just as you bid me.”

“Who slept the night in here?”

Three of his own men answered
affirmatively.

“And you saw nothing?”

“Nay,” one replied as the others shook their
heads.