Flame (25 page)

“Nay, my wee, dainty bull. I
can
take
you, nuisance though you are,” Athol retorted in response.

“The same way that you took me to the panel
beside the hearth?”

The Highlander glared threateningly before
turning and starting down the passageway. “All we need to do is
head east...which would be this way. From what I remember, any one
of these tunnels should take us in that direction.”

“East!” Gavin muttered disgustedly as he fell
in beside the man. “Well, at least when we reach Jerusalem, I’ll
know we’ve gone too far.”

***

To Joanna, the beat of her heart, hammering
loudly and treacherously in her chest, seemed to echo through the
crypt. Cursing the very sounds of her breaths, she crouched, hidden
in the darkness behind one of the stone tombs.

Continuing her daily effort of digging at the
trenches on the floor, she had been startled by the sound of a
cough emanating from somewhere down the tunnel passages. Quickly,
she had covered her work with straw and hidden herself behind the
crypt, just as the intruder’s footsteps could be heard at the
vault’s entrance.

In a moment the light of another wick lamp
flickered and came to life. The source of this new light moved
across the floor, the shadows of the great stone pillars making
their way across the wall behind the hidden woman. Joanna heard the
sound of the top being removed from the keg of oil. Whoever was
here obviously had been given the charge of preparing the crypt for
the upcoming meeting of the women. A hot flash of panic coursed
through her at the thought that the woman’s efforts might include
some duty regarding the individual tombs. If it did, Joanna knew,
she would be discovered.

“Ah, you are here at last.”

Joanna froze, recognizing Mater’s voice at
once. When, from the vault’s entrance, the sound of a low moan came
in response, Joanna slowly crouched into a ball once again and
listened.

“There are more reeds and brush that need to
be brought in from outside that door. And why have you not brought
down more oil? Why are you standing there?”

There was a pause, and silence filled the
crypt. A silence so deep that it chilled her soul.

“What is it, Margaret?” The older woman’s
voice rose in pitch, as a sudden concern eclipsed her original tone
of cold superiority. “Are you crying?”

Joanna wished she had the courage to move and
peek out at them. But instead, pressing her head against the cold
stones, she tried to focus on any sound the mute woman might make.
She heard Mater’s feet move across the floor toward the
entrance.

“Why are you acting this way? Why do you move
away from me?”Mater’s voice was suddenly sharp, reproachful. “I
only want to see if you are hurt!”

Knowing the two women were far enough away,
Joanna summoned up her courage and edged to one side of the stone
tomb until she could peer out around the corner of the crypt.
Margaret stood next to the entrance, her back pressed against the
wall, her pale face stained with tears and dirt. As Joanna watched
Mater try to approach her again, the weeping woman’s hands shot out
and made a waving motion in the air, warding the older woman
off.

“What is it, Margaret?” Mater entreated
gently, pushing through the mute woman’s hands before succeeding in
enfolding Margaret’s shaking shoulders in her embrace. “What has
come over you, my sweet?”

Joanna watched in astonishment as Mater held
the other in her arms. The two women stood together--one
middle-aged, one older--and Margaret seemed to melt in the abbess’s
embrace. The serving woman continued to shake and she was beginning
to sob audibly--a strangled, unnatural sound. Yet even as Joanna
watched, Margaret visibly yielded to the comfort of Mater’s
soothing words and gentle hands.

For a lingering moment, the memory of another
Mater came alive--the Mater whom Joanna had respected and trusted
so long ago. The wise and ever protective Mater.

But behind the vision and the memory, Joanna
could not erase the thought that this was the same Mater whose very
life served to ignite the flames of death.

“Did any one hurt you, my love?”

Surprised, Joanna watched as the crying woman
shook her head in response. How many in the castle thought Margaret
was deaf as well as mute! Watching what was happening between the
two women here, there was no question in Joanna’s mind that
Margaret could hear and understand perfectly well.

“It tears at my heart to see you suffer.”
Mater ran her gnarled fingers down the tear-stained face of the
other. “My beloved sister.”

Joanna held her breath, trying to comprehend
the abbess’s address of the mute woman.

“Och, what have I done to you?” Mater said
softly as she continued to pat away the other woman’s rolling
tears. “Why is it that I’ve been able to walk away from my
suffering, and yet you--with so many years having gone by--still
must bear the agony of a useless tongue and tormented soul?”

Margaret shook her head in protest as she
grabbed one of Mater’s hands tightly in hers and brought it to her
lips. After placing kisses on the wrinkled skin’s back, she placed
her wet cheek against it, like a child taking comfort in the
strength of an adult.

Joanna edged back into her hiding place
behind the tomb. Sitting there, she channeled her fingers through
her hair and pressed her palms to her temples, trying to quell the
sudden pounding in her head. How could it be that now, after so
long, she suddenly felt such confusion? Why, so late in her plans,
was she flooded with second thoughts?
Damn
Gavin for making
her doubt what she had seen with her own eyes!

Leaning her head back against the cold stone,
Joanna tried to force herself back, in her mind’s eye, to the
charred wreckage of the south wing , to the smell of burned flesh,
and the cloud of death suspended in the air. It was there. She
could see it. Feel it. The sadness and anger tightened its grip on
her heart. Her eyes flew open, and tears began to stream down her
face. Nay, she thought adamantly. She would not doubt. She could
not forget.

Behind her, the two women began to move about
the chamber, and Joanna continued to listen to everything Mater
said. In a short while their preparations were completed, and
nothing more was revealed to the young woman.

Then, on their way out, Joanna heard Mater
address Margaret one last time.

“Wait, sister. I want you to go back to the
keep and get Allan. I will wait for you in the passages above
Hell’s Gate.”

Margaret’s questioning response appeared, to
Joanna, to carry a note of muffled protest.

“Go, Margaret!” Mater ordered. “I believe
‘tis time I reminded him again of his responsibility for caring for
our precious younger sister.”

At the sound of another barely audible
protest, Joanna peered again around the side of the crypt, only to
see Margaret’s waving of hands at the older woman.

“You will do as you are told, Margaret,”
Mater scolded. “The three of us are all that are left. And though
we are advancing in age, both Allan and I are quite capable of
looking after our needs. But you...” Her voice cracked with the
intensity of her feelings. “I am not returning to the abbey, not
until such time as our brother gives me his word that he will do a
better job. Well, if he will not look after you more carefully, he
will have to answer to me!”

Mater is their
sister
, Joanna thought
in amazement as she slid silently back into the shadows.

***

The dank smell of the grave was all he could
breathe...and he found it remarkably disagreeable.

There was no way in hell, Gavin swore, that
he would let her return to these tunnels. To think that he had been
foolish enough to accept her reasoning without having witnessed for
himself the dangers that lurked at every turn! True, she had
survived for six months without him, but during that time she had
been able to take refuge in that tower room in south wing. She had
told him that much herself, last night. But he, too drunk with the
heat of their passion, from the excitement he felt in having her in
his arms and at his side, had simply accepted her wishes.

Well, standing now by the edge of the deep
chasm that Athol called Hell’s Gate, Gavin was more than ever
before certain that he’d been a careless fool to let her have her
way.

The seemingly bottomless cleft stretched the
length of the cavern, disappearing beneath a sheer rock wall at one
end and continuing on into the darkness beyond their ledge at the
other. In breadth, it was far too wide to allow any one man to
jump, and the ledge across was higher by the height of two men, at
least.

Gavin eyed the ancient rope bridge dubiously
and, reaching out, tugged at one of the ropes that stretched across
the chasm. Behind them, the ends of the ropes disappeared into a
hand-hewn tunnel. Following them back, he found the iron rings that
protruded from the rock wall and supported this end of the bridge.
With a frown, he returned to the ledge. Lifting his torch, the
warrior chief peered up at the stone slabs that had been placed at
the edge of the opposite ledge. The ropes disappeared beyond, and
the Lowlander guessed that the same means of anchoring the bridge
existed there.

Looking over at Athol, Gavin found the
Highlander studying the bridge as well. As he watched him, the
red-haired nobleman kicked a loose rock into the abyss, and they
both listened as it struck the sides of the chasm as it dropped. It
never did hit bottom.

“Hell’s Gate,” Gavin muttered, shaking his
head.

“Aye. Aptly named, I would say.”

“Is this the only way to cross over,
then?”

Athol shook his head, a mischievous grin
creeping across his face. “Nay. There are other ways around, I
believe...for the faint of heart.” Looking away from the scowling
giant, the Highlander continued. “I myself never took any of them,
of course. I believe there is a natural bridge that crosses this
beast, in an area of the caverns we haven’t seen, yet. ‘Tis down by
an underground loch. A wee bit out of our way, but if you are
feeling a mite queasy about the bridge...”

“I’ve already spent more time down here than
I’d planned. This rope bridge seems sturdy enough to carry our
weight. Try not to fall off, though. I don’t want to be explaining
this to your men.”

The Highlander shrugged good-naturedly as he
gestured for Gavin to lead the way. “Remember, though, from here on
my knowledge of these caves comes to an end.”

“Not that your knowledge was reliable to
start with,” the Lowlander grumbled as he lifted the lamp and
studied the way.

Athol snorted. “You’re a thankless
blackguard, Gavin Kerr!”

“And you...” Gavin said, stepping onto the
wooden slats and bouncing lightly to test the bridges strength
against his weight. “You are an unhappy excuse for a guide, John
Stewart!”

“This footbridge,” the earl said, laying a
hand on the laird’s arm, “was built before the time of your
grandfather--whoever that was. But even then it was meant to
support calm walking--not any leaping about by baboons the size of
you!” Pushing Gavin aside, he squeezed by and took the lead. “Say
what you will, ‘tis clear I have more sense than you and all your
kin put together...and I am still the better man to guide you
through these tunnels.”

John Stewart started across the bridge, and
Gavin followed. But when they were almost halfway across, the laird
paused to look past the Highlander. Just over the top of the ledge,
something caught his eye. A movement.

Gavin raised his wick lamp higher as the rope
on one side of the bridge gave way with a snap.

The bridge fell away beneath their feet,
caught momentarily, and then fell away again when the weight of the
two warriors hit the remaining support ropes.

Gavin’s lamp was gone, and as Athol fell past
him, he reached out with one hand and grabbed at the man, catching
him by the back of his belt. With his other hand, Gavin clung to
the rope with a vise-like grip and braced himself as they swung
down into the blackness of Hell’s Gate.

In less than an instant the two men smashed
into the side of the chasm, and Gavin felt a sharp pain knife
through his shoulder as he fought to keep his hold. They were
hanging in total darkness, and he wondered suddenly that the ropes
on this side had held.

Cursing, he felt for the slats of the bridge
with his feet as a groan came from the doubled-over body hanging
limply beneath him. It was the only sound to break the terrible
silence.

It took a long moment for Gavin to catch his
breath, and Athol was growing unbearably heavy. This was the same
damn shoulder he’d hurt when the rock had fallen on him in the
gorge. He tried to ignore the pain. The warrior looked upward, but
with both lamps gone, the blackness was as absolute as death.

The Highlander moaned in pain and twisted his
body, knocking Gavin’s foot from its step. The two men jerked
downward, and Gavin felt as if his arm would tear from its socket.
Bloody hell, he thought, grimacing and struggling to gain his
foothold again. One more movement like that and they’d both be on
their way to the devil.

The Highlander took several sharp breaths,
and then Gavin felt the man using his hands to get a grip on the
rope and the wooden treads. Gradually, the pressure on his belt
hand diminished until the earl had a secure hold on the bridge.

“Are you strong enough to hold yourself?”

“Aye,” came Athol’s raspy reply from the
darkness. “What the hell happened?”

Gavin again peered upward into the darkness
above them. “Someone cut the rope at the far end. That was enough
for the whole thing to give way.”