Flame

Chapter 17-3

Joanna was no longer shivering; she was openly shaking in his arms. Gavin lifted her from her place, drawing her gently into his lap, and he wrapped his arms protectively around her. Outside, a long, low rumble of thunder rolled across the loch.

“I was too late,” she croaked over the noise. “By the time I reached the passages into the south wing, the smoke was thick and the heat unbearable. I was choking, but I climbed upward. There were flames leaping everywhere. And there were choked screams above the roar of the fire. I killed them! I waited too long in the crypt. I...”

She broke down. Gavin gathered her tightly against his chest. Her tears ran in streams down her cheeks and onto his chest. The warrior’s throat knotted tightly and he clenched his jaws. How well he knew the sorrow that she was feeling. How well he knew the anguish of losing those you loved. The doomed helplessness of surviving. The guilt of having failed.

They sat like that for a long while, until finally she drew in a long, irregular breath and continued.

“I was barely able to make it to the upper floors. I think I was about to faint, the air was so hot and smoky. I pushed at the panel of my own chamber, but the latch would not give. From the edges of the door, flames licked at my hands. My hands were burning...I could smell my own flesh. But I...I was stuck in the passage with my mother and father trapped inside. I tore myself away. I stumbled, as if in a nightmare, along the passages. I found a different panel. It was the same there. Everywhere I went, it was the same. I couldn’t get through. I remember finding my way into the passageway that I was certain led to my parents’ bedchamber. I threw myself against the panel—screaming and using my hands to dig at the burning wood—pleading to be let in. But... but they must have all been dead by then. They were all dead. And I was condemned to live.”

Gavin placed his hand on her quivering fingers and flattened them against his heart. “How could anyone stand the heat of the flames?”

She tucked her head beneath his chin. Her voice was cold, almost lifeless. “The flames were nothing compared to the anguish I have endured at being forced to live.”

In his mind, Gavin traveled back to the muddy fields of Flodden. He too had been forced to witness the death of his kin—of being too far away to help his two older brothers in battle. He too had been forced to endure the memory of being struck down, of lying helpless with the dying and the dead.

He, as well, had hoped to die. But a Highlander had come after him. Though injured himself, Ambrose Macpherson had lifted him onto his shoulder and had carried him through the rain for two days back to Scotland. Gavin glanced vacantly at the windows of the chamber. Outside the storm had continued to grow, and thunder crashed with a resounding echo.

He remembered the misery he’d inflicted on Ambrose during that time. From physical threats to the verbal a***e of the man’s honor, Gavin had done his best to make it impossible for the Highlander to continue on. Like Joanna, Gavin had been forced to live.

But Ambrose’s stubborn bravery knew no bounds. Physically restraining him from bringing himself more harm, the Highlander had talked only of hope. Of a chance for the future. Of a Scotland that would need him now more than ever. Ambrose Macpherson had shown him the courage and the strength that comes with compassion. And later, he had taught him that there could exist a friendship and a loyalty that rivaled the ties of kinship. This was what Joanna needed to feel now. It was his turn, Gavin thought, to pass on the lesson that his friend had once long ago bestowed on him.

“I think in the midst of it, I must have passed out.” Joanna’s voice brought Gavin back to the present. “In fact, I must have been confused, delirious even, when I first regained consciousness, since I don’t recall anything of those moments at all. My first clear memories are from some time later, finding myself beside the underground loch beneath the castle. My hands were lying in the cold water, my burned flesh soaking and the pain surging though my whole body in horrible waves.”

“Did you go back to the south wing?”

“I tried, but a fever took hold of me. And the pain searing through my hands nearly drove me mad. I think I may have lay there in the blackness of that cavern for hours...or days...time meant nothing. But then, after who knows how long, I found myself standing. I don’t know what kept me upright. I was like some puppet held up by invisible strings. Somehow, I made my way through the tunnels to the burnt-out wing, but they were all gone. The place was in ruins. The ashes were cold, and there was nothing else.”

Hardly breathing, Joanna had grown rigid in his arms, and Gavin gently caressed her back. He could see the tears coursing down her face. It took a few moments, but eventually her shoulders began to lose their tenseness, and her breathing became more normal.

“You think this was the next day?”

She shrugged. “I had no sense of time. I remember it was growing dark, and there was not a single soul to be found.” She looked away, drawing in a deep breath.

“What about the rest of the house, Joanna? The remaining servants who had not been in that wing. Surely you could have sought out one of them for help?”

Suddenly angry, she shook her head. “I would never have gone to them. How could I? They were as much part of these killings as Mater herself.”

Gavin reached around and took a hold of her chin, raising it until their eyes met. As he looked into her face, the chamber was suddenly illuminated once again with a flash of lightning. “What do you mean...?” The cracking crash of thunder that followed immediately broke his question in two. “What do you mean, they were part of it?”

“They were all there,” Joanna answered, her eyes growing wild. “All the women of this house are a part of Mater’s flock. I saw them in the crypt. You think I would not know them? They were all there. Gibby, the cook. Molly and those who serve her in the household. Even the mute, Margaret. They were all part of it. All of them...carrying the flames of death.”

“But you never actually saw them set fire to the south wing, did you?”

“I didn’t have to,” she responded angrily. “Don’t you think what I saw was enough?”

“Nay, I don’t think it was enough,” Gavin answered honestly. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop looking for proof of their guilt.”

“But they’re guilty.”

“You say they are,” he argued. “But you can be no more certain than your grandmother of Mater’s guilt. And there is not a thing you can do to mete out justice to those women.”

“That may be your perception of the truth.” She looked steadily into his eyes. “But it is yours alone.”