Flame

Chapter 3

3

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

“It is 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 don’t remember how your master died?”

“Aye, m’lord. Of course I do,” Allan said quickly. “It is just a surprise, your asking. The poor soul cracked his skull in a fall from his horse. It was 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 him?” 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.

“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’m afraid I’ve 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.

“It was 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. It was 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.

“It was 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 didn’t finish. Without warning, the floor opened and fell away beneath him.

Joanna sat bolt upright from beneath her covering of straw.

The bone chilling c***k 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 which are 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, he 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.