Flame (31 page)

“To hell with what he thinks. I am looking
forward to the time when we can have
midday
visits!”

Joanna looked away as the molten heat that
was streaming through her body surged into her cheeks.

“By week’s end, at the latest, we should have
all of our answers,” he said with a note of certainty. “By then,
Edmund should be back with a word from James Gordon. Also, I expect
Peter to return with some news of the old priest.”

And the end of this week would also bring the
full moon, she thought silently, feeling the fire inside her
suddenly turn to ice.

“Your message to your grandmother should have
arrived by now as well.”

She turned and looked at him.

“Do you think she’ll make the trip north for
our wedding?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered softly. It
would be so easy to fall under his spell, Joanna thought sadness
suddenly clutching at her heart. With a shake of her head, she
pushed aside the dreary thoughts.

“You did tell her that as soon as we get an
answer from James Gordon, we intend to wed.”

She nodded. There had been no reason to say
anything different, though a pang of regret had struck her after
the messenger had ridden out.

Her grandmother was about to receive a
message saying that her long dead granddaughter was alive. But the
old woman would learn a week later that Joanna had perished in a
fire in the crypt. It would have been so much easier not to contact
her at all. But Gavin had insisted, and this far into her plans,
Joanna could not risk raising his suspicions.

“Any news of Father William?” she asked, to
change the subject.

“Nay.” He shook his head. “But I am certain
we will find him. With no horses and so few who would want to
shelter the man, ‘tis just a matter of time before he returns.”

“Returns?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course. I want to ask him a few
questions.”

“And you think...?” Joanna shifted in her
saddle. “Do you still suspect him of setting the fire?”

Gavin looked into her face. “Well, it appears
he ran as soon as news of your survival became known.”

“But he could have simply been afraid that
you’ve heard about Iris!”

“Aye. But in any case, we’ll find him, and my
guess is that he’ll be on his way
back
to Ironcross Castle
when we do.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because Father William is not a fool, and I
have spread the word that he needs to clear his name of any
involvement with the fire. His life will be forfeit if we catch him
in hiding.”

“But ‘tis the bishop he must answer to.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“But he’s innocent,” Joanna said
emphatically, adding, “of the fire, at least.”

“Then he has nothing to fear, and he’ll
return of his own accord. Come on, let’s see if that little mare is
as lively as she looks. I’ll race you to that stone jutting from
the next hill.”

Before answering, Joanna fixed her gaze on
something in the distance. Whirling in his saddle, Gavin turned to
look at what had caught her eye, and when he did, Joanna flicked
the mare’s reins with a loud whoop and dashed off up the hill,
leaving him grinning in her wake.

The mute woman’s eyes were blood-red with
despair.

For days now, fear had robbed her of all
sleep, all rest. She twisted the rough wool of her skirt between
her thin fingers, and her body remained rigid as she peered past
the stiff red skin that served as a door, covering the only opening
in the hut’s walls.

On the other side of the muddy pool of water
beyond the entryway, her brother Allan stood glaring down at the
diminutive priest. When her brother had come striding over the
hill, William had rushed out to meet him on the path, rather than
have him discover Margaret inside.

Margaret continued to watch nervously from
the hut. The steward’s face was a storm cloud of pent-up fury, and
his eyes shot lightning bolts at the little man as he waited for an
answer.

The priest’s sister, a bent woman, wrinkled
and old before her time, moved wearily from the piles of new-shorn
fleece that she had stacked in the corner of the tiny hovel.
Clinging to her skirts, two ragged urchins stared wide-eyed, hiding
their faces when Margaret glanced down at them.

Turning her attention back to William and her
brother, Margaret realized that Allan had not once so much as
glanced at the hut, and suddenly it occurred to her that he must
not know she was there.

The mute woman’s eyes again searched the
empty path beyond the two men. She so desperately hoped that the
woman’s husband would come back from the fields.

Glancing again in William’s direction,
Margaret saw him shake his head at the steward. Allan addressed the
little priest angrily, though his words were inaudible at this
distance. Still getting no positive response from the cleric, the
steward glanced suspiciously toward the hovel, and a flash of panic
raced through the mute woman.

Turning to William’s sister, Margaret took
the hands of the two children and drew them quickly to her side.
Looking desperately at the woman, Margaret motioned pleadingly
toward the door.

She had wanted the peasant woman to go
outside and do whatever needed to be done to break into the tension
of the encounter between the two men, but instead, the older woman
pulled the two children out of her grasp, pushing them with one
quick motion through the skin door and toward the muddy pool of
water.

Margaret watched as Allan glared at the
children for a moment, and then relief washed over her as he turned
on his heel and strode back up the path toward the ridge.

***

Joanna had been entranced by the story of his
life and had been lulled by the lilt of his voice. But all that
came to an abrupt halt as soon as they came to the crest of the
last hill.

She jerked the rein of her horse in an
attempt to bring the animal to a sudden stop. But the mare,
objecting to the abruptness of the command, reared up. It took
great effort to keep her place in saddle as Gavin’s huge hands
grabbed for the horse’s bridle.

“What did you do that for? You could have
killed yourself!”

“Where do you think you are taking me?” she
asked angrily, letting her eyes dart from the huts in the valley
back to his face.

“We are going to the abbey.”

“I can see that! But for what reason?”

“To meet with Mater.”

“Why?” she spat out, her anger rising. “What
right have you to do such a thing? I thought we were out for a
ride. You tricked me. You lied!”

“Nay, I didn’t lie,” he argued. “And with all
the times you must have traveled this route, I simply thought you
knew where we were going.”

“Well, you were wrong. I wasn’t paying
attention, and you did your best to distract me.”

Gavin's voice was gruff. “Joanna, this is
important.”

“Nay,” she protested, trying unsuccessfully
to yank the horse’s head free. “I had no intention of coming here.
You cannot force me to go down into that valley. I’m going
back.”

“Joanna.” Still holding her mare’s bridle
with one hand, Gavin reached over and grabbed her hand roughly in
his, forcing her attention on him. “You said you wanted to be
involved in discovering the truth of your parents’ death.”

“I do. I am.”

“How?” he pressed. “By hiding in the darkness
of some underground cave, or by locking yourself within the walls
of that keep?”

“I do not need to come here to learn anything
more about these women. This abbey is a lie, and no one knows that
better than I.” She glared angrily at him. “I know the truth. I’ve
been a witness to their wretched evil. All I need to wait for now
is the day of justice, and that day is coming.”

“Just listen to yourself, Joanna.” He pulled
his horse sharply to her side until their knees touched--their two
animals stamped restlessly. “If I were to follow your way of
thinking, Athol’s blood would already be spilled. The priest would
be a dead man. Mater and her flock would all be hung, and my
steward would have been drawn and quartered for negligence to his
duty, if not disloyalty. How is that for justice?”

Joanna shivered as she looked into his hard,
angry eyes. His quiet fury was more unnerving than if he had
threatened her with a point of a sword. She had never seen him like
this, and for the first time, she sensed how extremely dangerous
Gavin Kerr could be.

“I cannot go through with what you want me to
do.”

“Do you think Mater guilty?”

“I do!” She spoke without hesitation.

“Is she an enemy?”

“The fiercest of foes.”

“Do you want to see justice served?”

“I do.”

“Then face her,” he ordered. “She is much
more than the shell of old skin and bone that we see. ‘Tis her
will, her spirit, that is the source of her power. You cannot
defeat her without weakening that spirit first. And that will be no
easy task.”

For a long moment she stared at him, too
stunned by his words to respond.

“You are the last MacInnes left,” he
challenged. “If it were your father or any of the men in your
family still alive, have you thought what
they
would be
doing now?”

She forced herself to speak. “Don’t press me
to do this, Gavin! I cannot.”

“Why?” he scolded. “Because you’re a woman?
Joanna, you have more spirit in you than I have found in many a
warrior. Remember, you are the rightful heir to Ironcross Castle.
And the same way that you want to be present when I meet with the
priest, or when I question any other man who might be involved in
these murders, you have to be here when I talk with Mater.”

She started to tremble as the truth of his
words began to sink in.

“If you think Mater guilty of that vicious
crime, then ‘tis your right and responsibility to be standing
beside me when I question her.” His voice gentled as his hands
wrapped more tightly around hers. “I am not asking you to walk into
this battle unarmed. The last thing I want is for any harm to come
to you. I will be there with you, Joanna. But Mater
must
see
the two of us as one. ‘Tis essential for her to understand that we
will not perish or disappear in an instant, simply because she
wishes it.”

Joanna tore her hands out of his grasp. In
her heart she felt like a coward. All her long thought out plans
had been no more than a coward’s way of meting out justice. It had
all seemed so courageous to her in the darkness and solitude of the
caverns, but here in the bright sunlight, faced with Gavin’s words,
Joanna felt a strong sense of guilt and inadequacy gnawing at her
heart.

“Face her, Joanna. Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid. ‘Twas not fear that kept me
alive these past six months. ‘Twas my will to see justice
done.”

“Then come with me and face her, love,” he
encouraged. “Prove to her--and to yourself--that you
are
alive and that you
will
survive. Show her that there is
nothing that she can do that will deter you from doing what is
right!”

***

Margaret remained kneeling on the stony
ground, holding tightly to the hem of the priest’s cloak. She was
oblivious to the rounded eyes of the two young and dirty faces of
the children looking on. She had no interest in the expression of
disapproval on the peasant woman’s face. She was even indifferent
to the kick that the priest gave her in the side in an attempt to
wrench himself free.

“I am going back to that castle now,” he
shouted angrily. “And you can go to hell, for all I care.”

She sobbed loudly, reaching up and getting a
better grip on his cloak.

“Let me go, woman,” he pulled. “Take your
devilish claws off me.”

“You cannot leave her here with us,” the
peasant woman screeched, suddenly concerned. “I’ll have no dumb
wench living in this hovel with us. You take her back to those you
took her from. You hear me, William?”

The man gave Margaret another sharp kick to
her side. She doubled over, unable to breathe, but still she
managed to hold on to the rough wool.

“Just throw her out into the road,” William
called over his shoulder to his sister. “She is not your concern.
Her brother will find her...or some night animal...it does not
matter which.”

Margaret looked up into the priest’s cold,
gray eyes and shook her head in anguish. Her mouth opened and
closed like some tortured animal.

Don’t go
, she screamed inwardly.
Please, don’t go back
.

“Help me with this foul creature,” the man
shouted at his sister.

Margaret reached out and tried to get hold of
his legs, but something heavy struck her in the back of the head.
As bright yellow and orange flashes blotted out all vision, she
felt the strength in her arms and fingers disappear. Her last
conscious sensation was that of being dragged by the feet across
the dirt floor of the hut.

Gavin knew he had taken a great chance in
bringing her here.

Of course, it was not so much Joanna’s safety
that concerned him as it was Mater’s treatment of her.

He was not blind, and he was not a fool. In
the past few days, since Joanna had stepped out of the darkness of
the tunnels and into the daily life of Ironcross Castle, Gavin had
seen the haunted expression in her violet blue eyes. Rather than
reveling in the joys and the comforts of the life she had been
accustomed to prior to the fire, Joanna had been doing her best to
remain secluded.

But he wouldn’t let her, if he could help it,
for he had been to the crypt. It had not taken long to discover
what she was planning to do.