Flame

Chapter 5

5

She was cold. She was miserable. He was a hateful man. He had taken away her shelter.

Cursing him, Joanna stepped out of the dark water of the underground lake. Shivering, she climbed the odd, stair-like rock formation onto the flat, stone slab where she had left her “new” clothes. Slipping into the shift, she held up the dress she had managed to steal from Gibby, the cook, earlier tonight.

Joanna glanced again at the dark stains on the rock, close to where she had laid her dress, and peered up into the darkness of the cavern ceiling far above her, wondering what could have produced such a mark on the rock. Shrugging, she turned her steps toward the small fire on the other side of the cavern, where she had made up a bed of rushes and straw stolen from the kitchens.

Picking up her old shift from the bed, Joanna tore a strip from it and tied it around her waist. Throwing her ragged cloak over her shoulders, she felt the warmth spread slowly through her, and a moment later, she pushed her long, golden hair to one side, wringing out the water out and combing her fingers through her tresses. Then, with a deep sigh, she crouched as close as she dared to the small fire.

Absently watching as the light of the flame danced against the roof and walls of the cavern, Joanna’s eye was suddenly drawn to what looked like markings on the cavern wall not far from where she sat. Taking a burning stick from the fire, she walked toward the wall and held the makeshift torch high. She could just make out figures—a cross and beneath it, the prone stick-like figure of a woman. Not far away, on a level with the woman, another stick figure could be seen clutching what looked like a head by the hair and, in the other hand, a large knife. Odd drawings, she thought, feeling a chill prickle along her neck and scalp.

Walking back to the fire, she seriously pondered who might have painted the figures. They looked like the work of a child. There were so few children anymore.

Seating herself again beside the small blaze, Joanna used more strips from her shift to wrap up her scarred hands. Then she let her mind drift back over all that had happened.

Late in the day, as she had crept as close as she dared in the concealing darkness of the tunnels, she had heard the sound of men in the south wing of the castle. The new laird seemed to have put every available hand in Ironcross Castle to work tearing away the wreckage. But in doing so, the damned Lowlander was taking away what little safety and comfort she had. The sound of axes chopping through burned wood and the ripping sound of plaster had filtered down to her. But then, at last, when it all had fallen silent for the night, Joanna had stolen back through the passages to her room in the tower in search of what she could salvage. All her meager possessions, even the rag she wore as a dress, had been cleared out.

Nothing had gone right since he’d arrived. Nothing. Joanna tried to ignore the rumbling growl of her stomach. Even her foray into the kitchen tonight had been a failure. Well, not a total failure. Gliding through the pitch-black chamber, she had been lucky enough to stumble on this old dress, folded on a bench in the corner. At least she wouldn’t have to haunt the castle wearing only her shift.

Not a comforting image, she thought, gathering her knees to her chest. Her face clouded over. She had a bit more than a fortnight before the full moon. So few days to build her courage and finally go through with her plan of revenge. But until then, she wouldn’t sit back and let this Lowland usurper ruin her existence. Not one bit, she thought, brightening.

From the time she was a bairn, she’d been hearing about the Ironcross curse. She’d heard the women talk of its ghosts. Aye, she knew the truth of it now.

But as for the ghosts, this Lowlander must be hearing some of the same tales.

A mischievous glint crept into her eyes. Let the shadows rise, she thought. Let the ghosts of Ironcross teach this laird a lesson about disturbing a spirit.

Still clothed in his wet garments, Gavin gazed out through one of the small open windows into the pitch black of the moonless night. During the day, one could see the loch from this chamber, as well as the trail of hills leading southward toward the abbey. On a night such as this, one couldn’t even see the boulder-dotted gorge below, and the only sound was the pattering of the rain and the occasional echoing rumble of far-off thunder.

He was not to be disturbed, he’d said before retiring to the master’s chamber of the Old Keep. In the morning, Andrew would ride north to Elgin and collect enough carpenters to rebuild the south wing of the castle—and a stonemason to build the tombs for the family of his predecessors.

Aye, for you, he thought, turning to the portrait of Joanna MacInnes, propped up on a chest by the fire.

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 than 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, blushed, and 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 master.

“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’m 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’ll 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, it was 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 Peter from the laird’s grip.

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

Gavin glared at him.

“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’m 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 you were spending a night in Mistress Joanna’s company.”

“Only a jest about the portrait. It was 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 it was the ale, I suppose, that let you into my chamber?”

The three shook their heads in denial.

“Nay, m’lord,” Peter responded.

“It was 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.

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. “It’s 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 it’s 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 stable hands 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’s the matter, David?” Allan was the first to speak. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s back. Exactly where it was ‘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.”

“Nay, Allan.” Gavin raised his hand, silencing the steward’s sharp rebuke. Glancing at the stable hand’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’s no way to get up there.”

The young man again bobbed his head. “Aye, it was 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.

Well, he thought, so much for the possibility of anyone using a ladder to climb the wall.

Gavin let his eyes travel over the faces of his own men and those of Ironcross Castle. They all depended upon him, now. The confused expressions, the low murmuring undercurrent of fear assured him that the culprit of this trick was not standing amongst them. And that included his three warriors.

“Well lads, if the worst this ghost can do is steal and rehang pictures, then it’s a harmless fellow, to be sure.” Gavin’s words brought a smile and some encouraging nods from the men. “Though with all the work to be done in here, he might have busied himself a bit more productively.”

“He’s probably a gentleman,” Peter said under his breath, loud enough for all to hear.

Gavin’s laughter matched the response of the crowd and dispelled the eeriness that had gripped them all just moments earlier. As the throng broke up, with most heading off to their day’s tasks, Gavin turned to Edmund. “Get ladders and whatever else you need and bring the damned thing down.”

“After we take the painting down, m’lord, where do you want it?” Edmund asked. “Shall we pack it up for its journey?”

Gavin paused for a moment before answering and stared musingly at the smiling face on the wall. The honorable thing would be to send the portrait off to its rightful owner. But this bit of mischief from last night only added to his desire to hold on to the painting. Just for a short time.

“Take it back to my room,” he ordered, walking away. “Put it where it was before.”

“Shouldn’t we have someone guard the painting, m’lord?” Edmund called after him. “To stop it from being stolen again?”

“Why?” Gavin asked, pausing and turning to look at the three. “Now that we know how far that painting can walk, I have no worries about it. Besides, with Andrew riding to Elgin, I should be able to keep my eye on two of you.”