Flame (10 page)

A serving boy rushed over and placed a
heaping bowl before the laird. Looking down, Gavin frowned at the
thick mush before glancing over at Peter’s dish of cheese, cold
mutton, and bread. It didn’t matter where they went, the thickset
warrior had a way of getting better food than of the rest of
them.

“We’ve things to do today,” the Lowlander
announced, looking up into the faces of his two men, “before our
neighbors arrive.”

“We’ve given instructions to the warriors
manning the walls and stationed those protecting the...”

“This castle has been unprotected for six
months. If Athol had seriously wanted it...” Gavin shook his head.
“Nay, you two have other duties this morning.”

The two sat forward attentively. “Peter,
after you’ve filled that barrel-shaped carcass of yours, I want you
to go and fetch Molly, the woman who sees to the house. The two of
you can decide which rooms will be suitable for lodging Athol and
his entourage.”

“Molly? But, m’lord,” Peter protested. “You
do not really want me traipsing after that old woman? Surely...I
mean, surely she can do that herself? And besides, I’m certain,
m’lord, that Allan...”

“You
will
go and help her with this,
Peter!” Gavin growled. “And that is not all I want you to do this
morning. After you are finished with Molly, you’ll go and see
Gibby, the cook, and go over with her--item by item--the meal she
is preparing for supper.”

Peter was staring at him in shock.. “But,
m’lord, the men say she hates having anyone meddling in her kitchen
affairs. She’s already boxed the ears of Lank Donald, our fletcher.
I am telling you, she is a she-devil. I would sooner face
Torquemada’s ghost than her!”

Gavin ignored his man’s protests as he poked
at the contents of his bowl. “Just seeing the difference between
what you and I have been served this morning, I would have to say
that you have already found a safe haven in her kitchen.” The laird
reached and took a chunk of brown bread from Peter’s trencher.
“Just continue to use your charms, and I am sure you will be just
fine.”

Gavin then turned to the smirking Edmund.
“And you, Red...”

The warrior’s face grew immediately serious.
“Aye, m’lord.”

“You are to find the steward and start going
through the tunnels beneath this keep. You will start from my
chamber. See if you can make out a way to the upper floors of the
south wing.”

“But, m’lord, I heard Allan swear to you that
he cannot remember the way around those tunnels. He claims no one
has used them for years.”

“Well, he’s wrong.” Gavin took a bite out of
the bread and stared at the mush sticking hard to his spoon. Just
looking at the thick mixture took his appetite away. Glancing up,
he caught his two warriors watching his reaction to his food. One
of these days he would ask Peter privately about the methods the
warrior used to get half decent food.

“But if he refuses to remember?”

“Bully him if need be.” Gavin pushed the dish
away abruptly. “That’s why I am sending you with him. Bring wick
lamps. Drag him every step, if that is the only way. Do whatever
you need to do. But find the damn passage between my room and the
south wing. I want you to show me the way later.”

Gavin’s strict command left no room for the
two men to argue. The Lowlander came to his feet.

“But, m’lord. In case of trouble...” Peter
stared at the direction of the kitchens. “I mean if someone were
to...if a situation should arise...”

“Where could we find you, m’lord?” Edmund put
in.

“In case hell breaks loose here,” Peter
finished.

“I will be with the priest.”

***

She’d never battled an ailment such as this
before.

Pulling the shutter open slightly, Joanna
peered out and watched the laird stroll across the courtyard.

She knew the danger of discovery was great.
Just a floor below her, a dozen men were hard at work on the burned
wing. But somehow, none of that had mattered as she’d given in to
her overwhelming desire to see him. So, climbing through the
passageways to the tower chamber, she had taken her place by the
window of her former refuge and waited.

He was so breathtakingly strong, and
something stirred within her as she watched him turn and address a
few men who approached him. At the laird’s side, the dog Max gazed
up at his new master with the same look of awe that Joanne suddenly
sensed in herself.

Stifling a laugh, the young woman thought of
how mortified she would be if he were to see her in her hiding
place by the window, her tail end wagging and her tongue hanging
out.

The sound of voices from the workers below
drew Joanna back to the reality of her position, and she
reluctantly backed away and headed toward the panel.

Indeed, this was a sickness, she scolded
herself. But all the same, it was one of the few things that could
bring a smile to her lips.

The rising gusts of wind swirling around them
in the kirkyard made the diminutive priest look frail against the
power of the nature. The small plot of ground that Father William
had been turning with the sharp stick appeared black against the
pale gray of the south wing.

“The Earl of Athol was here at Ironcross the
night of the fire.”

Gavin stared in surprise.

“How was it that the earl escaped the blaze
while the rest perished?”

“He wasn’t staying in the south wing with the
rest of them. Before the fire, guests were usually lodged in the
Old Keep, even those of noble blood. Athol was given the chambers
you now occupy, m’lord.”

Gavin’s mind instantly flooded with an image
of the hidden passage that he knew linked that bedchamber with the
south wing. When he looked back into the priest’s face, the man’s
eyes flickered away.

“Tell me about the night of the fire.”

The chaplain paused, turning his face into
the wind. “There was an evil that hung over the keep that night,”
he said, raising one hand and pointing out over the loch. “The full
moon was cold, bright. By the saints, the castle dogs kept howling
like the devil himself had taken possession of them. And then there
was...” the man paused again and looked straight into Gavin’s eyes.
“Then there was the matter of the master!”

“What about your master?”

“For all the years I had known Sir John
MacInnes, I always knew him to be a mild-tempered man. He was a
strong man--when such action was called for--but not a violent one.
He was never one to raise his hand in rashness or in anger. I never
saw him beat a servant, even. There were times, m’lord, when I
wondered if he were capable of rage.” The priest shook his head.
“Until that night!”

Gavin waited impatiently for the chaplain to
continue, but the man’s eyes and attention seemed to be
straying.

A movement by the arched passageway that led
to the courtyard drew Gavin's eye. Margaret, the mute serving
woman, stared at them for a moment, then turned and disappeared.
Gavin looked back at the priest.

“What happened that night...exactly?”

Father William shook himself out of his
reverie and turned to face the laird.

“Let us go and sit out of this wind,” he
said, leading the warrior chief to a stone bench by the bluffs on
the other side of the kirk.

Waving off the offer to sit, Gavin stood with
his boot up on the low wall, and gazed out along the shoreline of
the loch, past the line of hills, toward the valley where the old
abbey lay tucked away.

“What happened that night?” he repeated
without looking back at the priest.

“‘Twas a fearful night. A night when God’s
face was turned from us,” William began. “When the brawl broke out
between Sir John and the earl, the air was foul with ill will. They
had been arguing for two hours or more, starting over supper and
continuing on without abatement. There were many harsh words passed
between the two. If it were not for the presence of the ladies, I
believe we would have had blood shed there in the Great Hall.” The
priest’s eyes looked across the kirkyard. “Mistress Joanna took the
quarrel quite to heart. I mean, being there at table with the two
men arguing over her. She was a haughty and proud lass. Far too
good for this cursed place. Though a woman, she knew her value far
exceeded any piece of land, and she was not to be bartered for. All
of us at the lower tables, we all felt sorry for her--sitting there
with her eyes lowered, her fair skin turning more shades of
scarlet...” William leaned down and plucked a clover from the
grass.

Gavin watched as the little man ground the
clover into a pulpy mass between his nervous fingers.

“And then the words between the two men
became even more violent. Sir John finally lost his temper with the
earl, and the warriors in the Hall began to separate into
companies. Those of us who remained crowded into the corners,
certain that blood would flow.”

“Suddenly, Mistress Joanna got up and stepped
down from the dais. The two men stopped and looked at her, and she
let them have a piece of her mind. When she turned and stormed out
of the Great Hall, ‘twas as silent as a tomb. And after her
daughter left--before anyone could say a word--Lady Anne, the
laird’s wife spoke out and eventually got the men to calm
themselves and retire.”

Gavin stared at the priest impatiently. “You
have not told me why they were arguing. Why should Athol would be
arguing about the daughter?”

The cleric removed a set of prayer beads from
his belt. Running the smooth wooden beads between his fingers, he
looked back at the laird. “I do not know how ‘tis in the Borders,
m’lord, but in the Highlands, land, power, and the clan’s good name
stand above all calls for reason.”

Gavin thought back over the age old feuding
that went on in the lands around Ferniehurst, his keep far to the
south. “‘Tis no different in the Borders, but that is no
answer.”

The priest nodded grimly. “For over four
generations, perhaps more, the earls of Athol have been trying to
extend their lands southward from Balvenie Castle. I think it may
be they have always wanted Ironcross Castle and Loch Moray. Word
has it that in the old days, they tried to take Ironcross a good
few times by force, but could never succeed. Then, when Duncan
MacInnes was given the holding, the fighting stopped.”

“So Duncan was the first of the MacInnes clan
to be laird of Ironcross?”

“Aye,” the priest answered. “The same that
holds for you, held for them. They were given Ironcross by the king
after the last of the Murray chiefs had died off or moved on to
other holdings...for fear of the curse.” William frowned up at the
new laird. “You see, they all knew about the curse, but most never
believed in it until it was too late for them.”

Gavin knew the man’s words were also aimed at
him.

“You say that after Duncan MacInnes took over
this holding, the feuding with the Stewarts of Athol ceased. From
what I know of Highlanders, I find it hard to believe they would
give up so easily on what they wanted for so long.”

“Aye, ‘tis true what you say, m’lord. But you
see, the Murrays of Ironcross and the Stewarts of Athol have been
sworn enemies since the days of Noah. Duncan MacInnes came here
from Argyll, so there was no bad blood to begin with. And from the
first, I understand that Duncan always made it understood to the
earls of Athol that one day the two families could join through a
marriage of some sort!” The priest shook his head. “But Duncan was
blessed with sons, so no match could be made. Until...”

“Joanna!”

“Aye.” The man nodded. “I believe that was
the earl’s thinking.”

“But not the thinking of John MacInnes,”
Gavin added. Bit by bit, things were becoming much clearer. “And
Joanna was betrothed to James Gordon instead of Athol.”

“Aye, as you say! And that was the reason for
the earl’s visit to Ironcross that night. News of the match had
just reached him.”

“No pleasant surprise in that, I should
think.”

“Nay, m’lord,” the priest returned solemnly.
“The earl clearly assumed that she...well, she being the last of
this MacInnes line and heir to the holding, was rightfully
his.”

“So the father defended the daughter’s choice
of husband, and the two men fell out with one another.”

“The daughter’s choice?” The priest shook his
head adamantly. “James Gordon was no choice of the lass’s, so far
as I know. ‘Twas Sir John himself who had arranged for Joanna to
marry the man. But being who she was, the lass was willing to
please her father. I suppose, in power and fortune, Gordon was at
least as fine a match as Athol, in spite of his title. But that
wasn’t all!”

“What else?” Gavin asked shortly.

“Sir John wanted her away from this place. I
believe he was the only one of the MacInnes lairds who truly
believed in and dreaded the Ironcross curse--not so much out of
fear for himself, but for what it might bring on his daughter and
on any bairns she might bring into this wretched world. And James
Gordon has his own kin to the north. Sir John knew that the man
would have no interest in moving into Ironcross Castle. He wanted
her farther away from here than Balvenie Castle, the Earl of
Athol’s holding.”

Gavin turned and looked into the face of the
priest. “And this was the reason for his argument with Athol!”

“All I know of it.” The priest stood up and
tucked his prayer beads into his belt. “If that is all you wanted
from me...”

Gavin nodded and watched as William started
across the kirkyard. As he moved out of the protective shelter of
the chapel wall, the wind swept the clerical robes against his thin
frame.

The warrior chief, too, straightened and
crossed the graveyard toward the arched passageway that joined the
Old Keep with the south wing, separating the little church from the
courtyard. Allan and the others he had spoken with had never so
much as hinted that the fire in the south wing had been anything
more than an accident. After all, accidents seemed to happen with
great frequency here at Ironcross Castle. Perhaps a candle too
close to a tapestry, or a flaming ember falling into the rushes on
the floor.