Flame (26 page)

“You saw them?”

“I saw a movement in the shadows, right
before the damn thing snapped.” Gavin slowly eased his death grip
on Athol’s belt. “Can you climb unaided?”

Gavin felt the earl hoist himself upward a
bit. “Aye. I can do it.”

“Are you badly hurt?”

“A bit groggy. I banged my head against the
rocks.”

“Well, that’s your least vulnerable
spot.”

“I’m grateful for your concern,” Athol
snarled.

“Not at all. If you can climb, we’d best be
moving.”

There was no need for Gavin to say the words.
Someone had tried to murder them on this bridge. And more than
likely, that someone had by now surmised that they were not dead,
but rather hanging suspended from one end from the bridge.

“I’m going to release my grip on your
belt.”

“Then you’d best bloody well do it!” Athol
growled irritably. “In fact, I wish you would climb ahead of me.
You’re taking up most of this space now.”

Gavin smiled grimly and started the hard
climb in the dark, feeling with his feet as he went. “You said
there are other ways around this chasm.”

“There are.” The Highlander’s clipped tone
was sounding stronger and clearer. “We might not have much time
before he makes it around.”

“Be quick, my friend,” Gavin ordered. “Before
that scurvy devil lays a blade to the ropes on this side!”

***

At the sound of the shout echoing through the
tunnels, Joanna leapt up from her hiding place behind the stone
tomb.

Gavin. She was certain of it.

Yanking a torch down from the sconce beside
the crypt’s entryway, Joanna hurriedly struck a flint and lifted
the lit torch overhead. Hell’s Gate, she thought, running down the
tunnel toward the chasm. His shout had definitely come from that
direction.

After Margaret and Mater had gone, she had
continued to sit, numb from what she had heard. But the sound of
the Gavin’s voice had abruptly shaken her out of her reverie.

But now, as she ran, Joanna felt a cold hand
squeeze her heart, and she wondered how far from the tomb Mater had
gone.

***

Perhaps it was the sudden draught of air, or
a difference in the way the sound echoed back to him. Whatever it
was, Gavin sensed that he was getting close to the ledge.

The cutting of the rope bridge and their
subsequent fall had stripped away any remaining trace of suspicion
in Gavin’s mind regarding Athol. Whatever desires the Highlander
harbored toward the lands of Ironcross Castle, Gavin no longer
believed John Stewart was behind any of the violence aimed at its
lairds. This attack on Gavin had been no accident, and had he not
caught the earl by the belt, Athol would have unquestionably
plunged to his death.

Suddenly, Athol grabbed at his boot, bringing
Gavin to a halt. Peering down into the darkness below him, he was
about to speak when he heard the running footsteps.

Listening carefully, he quickly realized that
the sound of footsteps was coming from this side of the chasm.

Foolishly hopeful, he thought for an instant
that this might be help. But that idea was soon shattered when he
felt someone try to jerk the line and shake them loose.

Letting out a fierce cry, the Lowlander
quickened his climb up the rope as the sound of a knife’s blade
cutting into the fibers of the cord turned his blood into fire.

***

She was nearing the black, bottomless pit
they called Hell’s Gate when she heard him again. A surge of joy
propelled her forward. The tunnels that ran off this passage were
dark and threatening, but she raced past them with hardly a thought
of whom they might be hiding.

After a sharp bend the tunnel suddenly
widened, and Joanna broke out onto the ledge that stretched a few
feet in either direction beside the chasm. With a sharp intake of
air, she stopped herself abruptly.

The footbridge was gone. Holding her torch
aloft, Joanna peered downward across the divide. On the far side,
only one of the ropes of the ancient footbridge could be seen
disappearing into the darkness. As she tried to comprehend what had
occurred, a shadow moved in the tunnel beyond and Joanna froze
momentarily. The shadow moved again.

“Are you there?” she cried out in panic.

The sound of Gavin’s voice calling up from
the darkness of the chasm below the opposite ledge made the shadow
retreat, this time in haste, down the tunnels beyond. Lifting the
lamp higher in the air, Joanna stared for an instant. She could
possibly run and, taking one of the longer, roundabout tunnels,
reach the other side in time to give chase to the fleeing coward.
But the thought of Gavin somewhere below forced her attention back
to the bottomless pit.

Joanna knelt on the edge of the abyss and
lowered the torch, straining to make out his shape in the
blackness. There! She could see him moving up what remained of the
footbridge dangling from the ledge across the divide.

But before she had a chance to say anything,
the voice of another man shattered her momentary relief.

“Joanna!” the man called out, and she could
not help but cringe at the disbelief and the delight in Athol’s
voice.

***

The old woman emerged breathlessly from the
darkness of the tunnel, only to pull back abruptly at the sight of
Joanna kneeling on the ledge across the divide.

So, Mater thought with satisfaction, at last
the lass is done with her senseless game of hiding.

She backed away at the sound of the men
climbing from the depths of the chasm. Then, nodding to herself,
the abbess turned and glided silently through the caves.

Gavin’s gaze never wavered from Joanna’s
stunned expression across the way as he extended his hand down to
pull the injured Highlander up onto the ledge.

Neither he nor Joanna had whispered a word
since Athol had called out upon seeing her on the opposite
ledge.

As the Highlander straightened up unsteadily
and looked across the way at Joanna, Gavin saw a look of fear in
her stance. She half turned. There was no question about her next
move, the laird thought. She was ready to flee.

“Don’t go,” Gavin commanded.

She looked back at him in confusion.

“Are you Joanna MacInnes?” he called, trying
to sound surprised in light of all that Athol had already said.

“Aye, that she is,” the other man
affirmed.

Glancing over at him, Gavin saw, from the
light of Joanna’s torch, the bloody gash on the Athol’s brow. At
that moment the Highlander’s knees buckled, and he staggered
backward a step. Gavin’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the
shoulder, yanking him away from the edge of the abyss.

“I did not drag you out of there just to have
you stumble back in. Sit yourself.”

“But what of Joanna...” he protested.

“Sit here and try not to let the blackguard
who cut the ropes do the same to your throat,” Gavin ordered. “If
she will tell me the way to go, I will escort her back.”

Athol shook his head in disagreement, only to
have his eyes glaze over from the movement. “Nay, I...I know the
way. We could both go.”

Joanna’s voice echoed imperiously off the
cavern walls. “John, you will stay where you are!”

Her order carried the greater weight. Athol
put his weight heavily on one foot as he stared dazedly across the
chasm.

“Stay, John,” she commanded again. “I
will
come around. And you...you take the second fork to the
right and follow that. I will meet you.”

Athol gave a weak smile at the torch wielding
figure across the divide. “Quite a lass, that one.”

“Aye,” Gavin growled, helping the Highlander
back to the rock wall of a cavern. “So it appears.”

As Gavin stepped back, the earl drew his dirk
from his belt and sat gingerly. The warrior chief eyed him
doubtfully.

“I don’t need any Lowlander playing wet-nurse
for me.” Athol waved the blade of his dagger toward the tunnel.
“Just move along. I’ll try not to get too worried for you while
you’re off getting yourself lost.”

With a wry smile, the laird turned and
watched Joanna disappear beyond the ledge at the other side of the
chasm.

***

Margaret wrapped her hands tightly around her
middle and watched as the priest hastily gathered together his
possessions. Unable to hold back the tears that were running freely
down her face, she dashed at them every now and then with a shaking
hand. His leather satchel sat open on the bed, and she hesitantly
reached down and picked up his cowl. Bringing the wool garment to
her face, she smelled it and ran the soft material over her wet
cheeks. But then, glancing up at her, William snatched it roughly
from her hands and threw it back into the bag.

He paused and stared for a long moment at the
ornate silver cross that hung on the wall. Then, upending the
satchel on the bed, the priest pawed through the meager contents,
as if searching for something. With a frustrated oath, the little
man stuffed the items back into the leather bag and then threw it
with unexpected violence to the floor. His hands raking through his
thinning hair, he stood, looking lost and distracted, beside the
bed.

“I’ll...I’ll be back for you, Iris,” he
muttered, his eyes darting toward Margaret and then around the
room. Walking the length of the chamber, he stopped and stared
again at the cross. “You have my word that I’ll be back for you.
I’ll not desert you and the bairn.”

His look was wild, and she wondered if he had
truly gone mad. His eyes almost glittered, like one drunk...or
possessed with a devil’s spirit.

No matter, Margaret thought. No matter at
all.

She loved him. That he still called her by
another woman’s name, that he was running because of a wrong he’d
done--it all meant nothing. But he had to take her with him,
Margaret thought, a hot flush of panic coursing through her. She
had to go with him.

Resolved on her actions, Margaret quickly
drew the plaid from the bed, knotting two of the corners and
slipping it over her head. Then, gathering the items that had
spilled from the satchel, she lifted that onto her shoulder as
well.

He needed her, Margaret assured herself,
ignoring the desperation that lingered like the taste of iron in
her mouth. He needed her more than he could ever admit to
himself.

Moving slowly toward him, she reached for his
hand and took it in her own. His eyes were truly wild now, darting
to her face and away. He would never hurt her, she told
herself.

She stood there, ready, and fought back her
tears. Something within her was desperately seeking release. As if
the soul within her was trying to speak to him, to scream the words
of her heart.
I am coming with you--fear nothing
.
I will
stay by you and care for you and love you, no matter what others
might think or say or do!

Tell me that you need me. Please, William,
tell me that you want me!

“Well, Iris, you are coming, I see.” His
voice was barely a whisper, his tone hoarse and deadened, like a
man weary from lack of sleep. “This time you are coming with
me.”

Margaret nodded as she allowed relief and
gratitude to bury all sense of reason within her. Hiding her tears
of joy, she brought his hand up to her face and pressed her
trembling lips against it.

You understand
, she wept.
You want
me!

***

Joanna dropped her torch on the packed earth
and ran into his arms, nestling her cheek against the soft weave of
his tartan. He was safe. He’d come so close to disappearing into
the depths of the abyss. He could have been killed, taken from her
forever! She shuddered violently in his arms, clutching him
tightly.

Gavin’s cheek pressed against her hair.
“Joanna, so far as Athol knows, we have never met.” He spoke
hurriedly, his arms still not loosening his grip. “I will not have
your reputation ruined with...”

“My reputation be damned. When I think of
what almost happened.” She looked up into his dark eyes, flashing
in the torch light. His face descended, and he hungrily devoured
her waiting mouth. In a moment far too short, though, he broke off
the kiss.

“Joanna,” he growled, pressing his lips to
her ear. “You will come out into the open, but nothing has changed
between us, my love. We still...”

“What did you say?” she asked, pulling back
and gazing into his intense eyes.

“We still belong to each other, Joanna. You
will
be my wife.”

My love
. Such simple words. And yet,
she knew he was not about to repeat them. But that was fine, she
decided then. No doubt for the better. For what time had they for
such thoughts, for such terms of endearment? What time had they for
love?

“We will make our way around and take Athol
back up to the keep, and then...”

“But I cannot,” she protested. “If I go with
you, all will be...”

“Joanna, Athol has seen you!” Gavin pressed.
“If you think there is any way in hell I’ll be able to convince him
that you were just a delusion caused by a wee bump on his thick
head...” The Lowlander shook his head. “Nay, lass. He would never
believe such a thing. And that, of course, is assuming I would do
such a thing!”

As soon as she drew a breath to argue, Gavin
drew her hard against his chest. “‘Tis time you left these caverns
and joined the living. The danger that lurks in this place is not
simply directed at me. Whoever it was that was trying to cut that
last of the rope, they saw you, Joanna. They will come after
you.”

Joanna shivered, settling willingly against
his chest.