Flame (33 page)

“Your brother knows I want the priest back
alive. There are questions to be answered. He’ll not harm the
man.”

Joanna looked to Gavin’s face, trying to see
if he really believed what he’d just said, but his expression again
gave nothing away. So she turned to Mater, “You do not think he
would hurt Margaret?”

The old woman’s eyes jerked to her face.

“Never!” she said vehemently.

Wait
, she cried out in her mind.

Margaret stumbled down the hillside as the
priest's dark form disappeared over the crest of the next rocky
hill.

Wait for me
, she prayed, lifting her
feet in the struggle to keep pace.

A goshawk circled above the next ridge, but
it was just a dark blur to her. Her head was still spinning, and
the scream in her chest came out as a strangled moan.

Wait! Wait for me!

***

She had not said a word since they had left
the abbey, but he was not truly surprised. As short as their visit
there had been, Gavin was certain that Joanna had been deeply
affected by this encounter with Mater. And there was no question in
his mind that the old woman had been touched as well.

They had already gone over the crest of the
hill, leaving the valley and the abbey behind them. Groves of trees
and heather crowned hills stretched away to the broad loch, and
Gavin decided it was as good a time as any to draw her out of her
silence.

He turned to Joanna. “Do you still think her
guilty?”

She reluctantly tore her gaze from their path
and glanced in his direction. Her eyes reflected her
indecision.

“Do you still believe that Mater and her
people were the ones that started the fire in the south wing?”

She continued to stare at him silently as if
there were nothing disturbing in what he’d just asked. But he could
see the deep blush that covered her fair skin.

“Do you still believe them to be cold-blooded
murderers?” He paused a moment, then raised a questioning brow as
he continued. “Was the compassion you showed that old woman no more
than some artifice?”

“You are taking advantage of me!” she
exploded suddenly, bringing her horse to a halt. “First you force
me, against my will, to go to the abbey, then you use your rough
and callous ways to break the will of that old woman. Who would not
feel sorry for the abuse she took from you! And now this!”

He quickly brought his horse around until it
moved right next to hers. “And now what, Joanna?” he asked, leaning
at her direction. “You do not want to hear your own conscience
crying out for fairness? You do not want to hear the truth when
your heart tries to speak it? Why not accept it, Joanna? You are no
longer certain of her guilt! Why not put your stubbornness aside
and start looking at all that we know? Treat each fact as we see
it, uncolored by what we
want
to believe?”

“I do not
want
to believe her guilty!”
she said angrily. “I hate you, Gavin Kerr.”

“Nay, that’s a lie. You love me. You told me
yourself.”

“That was before I knew of this barbarous
streak that runs in your blood.”

“Not true,” he reached and grabbed one of her
hands tightly within his grasp. She tried to pull it back, but he
held it tight and then started to bring it slowly to his lips. “You
like my roughness. You like my honesty.” He turned her hand and
placed his lips on her pulse. “I know that I am gruff, and that my
actions are not always what you expect.”

“You have a way of trifling with my mind,”
she cut in with a shaking voice. “I cannot allow a moment
of...”

He ran the tip of his tongue along the
delicate skin of her wrist. “You cannot
what
, Joanna?”

“You have a way of making me forget
things.”

“Do I?” he asked slowly. “I just asked a
simple question.”

“But you...”

Her words died on her lips as Gavin gently
tugged at her hand and brought her face closer to his. “What about
me?” His mouth hovered over hers. “‘Tis you who robs me of my
sense.”

He lowered his mouth and took her lips in a
searing kiss. She lifted one hand around his neck and encouraged
him on.

“You see?” He pulled back slightly. “And you
complain about me! I tell you, Joanna, we cannot do this anytime
you decide you don’t want to answer my questions.”

“Nay?” she asked seductively, brushing her
lips against his.

“Hell!” As the word left his mouth, Gavin
grasped her by the waist, lifted her gently from her horse, and
placed her in his lap.

Her words were soft and alluring. “You
are
a barbarian. But is this
not
a fine way to
resolve an argument?”

His lips once again found hers and his tongue
delved into her mouth. He drew back slightly. “We never argue.”

“Aye,” she breathed, smiling. “We fight!”

“Nay,” he scoffed, running his hand along her
thigh. “We disagree.”

“‘Tis true,” she answered, gasping and
burying her lips in the crook of his neck. She rolled her head
slightly and looked up at him. “And every time you feel the scale
tip in my favor, you try to make love to me. And no matter what you
say, Gavin Kerr, ‘tis my senses that seem to steal away!”

With no attempt at being gentle, the warrior
reached around and positioned her buttocks more snugly against his
swelling manhood.

“I think, lass, that you are the most wild
and passionate creature I’ve ever known.”

“Wanton, you mean?” Joanna’s words turned
into a soft moan as his fingers found her nipple through the soft
wool of her dress.

Gavin looked around him and found a high
protected spot beneath a huge jutting rock. Spurring his steed up
the hill, he scanned the open countryside. In the distance, the
loch shimmered in the sunlight.

“When it comes to you, Joanna,” he laughed,
“I am the wanton one. And I think you’re well aware of my
weakness.” As he reined in his horse by the base of the rock, Gavin
tightened his grip on her and nipped at her earlobe. Laughing when
she yelped, he lowered her from the horse and leaped off after her.
Wordlessly, the two of them climbed around the boulder to a grassy
space overlooking the loch, and there he pushed her with mock
seriousness against the weathered face of the stone.

As his mouth took possession, his tongue
delving deeply into soft recesses, Joanna’s hands encircled him,
and she rubbed her hips seductively against his groin.

“You can’t win this argument,” she said
breathlessly as he broke off the kiss.

“What argument is that?” Gavin eyed the tie
on her cloak and then reached up and tugged it loose.

“You cannot make me change my mind just by
taking me to the abbey.”

Jerking her cloak from her shoulders, he
tossed it to the ground and lifted her breasts in his large palms,
mouthing first one and then the other through the dress. She
pressed her head back against the rock and threaded her fingers
into his hair.

“Take me, Gavin. Make love to me.”

Reaching behind her, he nimbly undid the
laces of her dress.

“Not until you give me your word that you
will think through our visit.” He tugged hard at the neckline of
her dress, smiling with satisfaction as one of her breasts spilled
over the top. Taking the nipple between his finger and thumb, he
paused, letting his mouth hover over the waiting prize. “Let go of
your obstinacy, lass. Listen to your heart.”

“Never,” she moaned as his mouth descended
and suckled her flesh. “I cannot forget the past.”

He lifted her skirts to her waist and fitted
one leg between her thighs. She wrapped her arms tightly around his
neck and shoulders and let herself ride on the muscled hardness of
his limb.

“I do not ask you to forget.” His fingers
found their way to her naked buttocks, pressing her tighter against
his groin. “All I ask is that you consider. She very well might not
be the one responsible.” As she shook her head in denial, he moved
one hand between them and slid two fingers deeply into the moist
cleft between her legs. As he stroked, Joanna’s breaths started
coming in gasps. As she rose higher and higher, he continued to
hold her tightly to him, teasing, stroking, watching her writhe
blissfully in his arms.

“By the saints, take me, Gavin.”

“Give Mater a chance, Joanna,” he said
hoarsely. He knew he couldn’t hold back much longer. “Push aside
your own guilt, and open your mind.”

“I...I...there is...oh...no guilt!”

He looked deeply into her dark, blue eyes,
clouded over now with passion.

“Aye, Joanna,” he growled. “You
do
carry a guilt. ‘Tis the curse of the living. I know it because ‘tis
the same as I have carried nearly every day of my life.”

He watched her closely as her release caused
her to twist and arch in his arms. She cried aloud before wrapping
herself tightly around his frame. As her shudders of pleasure began
to subside, he continued to speak.

“I swear to you, I know how you feel. I have
lived through the same kind of hurt since I was just a lad.” As she
rested her head in the crook of his neck, she listened, her hands
slowly wandering over his linen shirt, and downward to the bulging
manhood evident beneath his kilt. This time it was Gavin who found
himself growing short on breath and his whisper grew hoarse as she
ran her hand the length of him through the wool. “Just give her a
chance...give
me
a chance.”

Joanna lifted the front of his kilt and
touched his bare skin.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “Not until you give me
your word.”

She pulled back slightly and looked into his
eyes. “I’ll try.”

He lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped
her legs around his waist.

“But that is all I can say for now. Just that
I will try.”

Gavin grunted, guiding his manhood into her.
Rocking in his arms, she took in his full length and cried out at
the sensation.

“Aye, Joanna,” he panted, lifting her and
driving into her with powerful strokes.

The wailing cry reverberated through the rock
edged hills, startling the horses and piercing the souls of the
listeners.

Joanna tightened her hold on the reins and
looked up with alarm at the sheer cliff rising above their heads.
The descending sun was casting long, irregular shadows, and the
stark contrast of brilliant light and deep shadow only served to
bury much of the terrain before them in an impenetrable
darkness.

“What in hell...?” Gavin growled.

The cry came again. The sound was not
distinctly human, but it was a sound Joanna had heard before.

“If I were a superstitious man, I’d say ‘tis
the wail of a banshee.”

Joanna held out a hand to shield her eyes
from the light as she peered up again at the hills. Before them lay
the last hill they would have to climb before dropping down into
the gorge beneath the castle wall.

“‘Tis no unearthly creature, Gavin.”

The wail cut through the air again, this time
followed by a long, heart-wrenching moan.

“‘Tis this way,” Gavin said, quickly spurring
his horse up the next rise. “The sound is coming from beyond the
brae.”

Joanna followed his lead, her quick little
mare closing the distance between them. As they galloped over the
crest of the hill, she felt a knot grow tightly in her throat. It
wasn’t the fear of the unknown that had her heart thrumming, but
the fact that the desperate wail had been a woman’s cry. One of
Mater’s women, she feared.

The shadowy hillside was followed by a bright
stretch of meadow dotted with rocks. There they saw her.

She was seated halfway down the hill in a
stony patch of dirt. Her back was to them. Her moaning now filled
the air, loud and distinct. As Joanna and Gavin moved closer, the
dark body which the woman was huddled over came into view.

Gavin's hand shot up, motioning her to stay
back, but Joanna could no more stay away from the pitiful creature
than she could pull down the great iron cross hanging above the
doorway of the Old Keep. But as they reached the pair, she felt the
bile rise up in her throat.

Before the crying woman lay the still and
bloodied figure of the priest. His head, nearly severed from its
body, lay in Margaret’s lap.

The mute woman, totally unaware of anything
else around her, grieved with a ferocity that Joanna had never seen
in anyone before. Gavin dismounted and approached the body slowly
from the side. Still, Margaret did not look up. She never stopped
the slow rocking of her body--the keening moan that chilled
Joanna’s bones. The woman’s dress was covered with blood, and
Joanna could see the streaks of dark crimson staining her face.

And then Joanna watched as Margaret’s fingers
dipped into the blood at the dead man’s throat, smearing it on her
cheeks.

“He is dead, Margaret,” Gavin said quietly
but firmly, crouching beside the body.

Joanna slowly dismounted and approached the
woman. Margaret’s eyes were focused on the bloody, mutilated neck
of the priest. The young woman turned her attention to the grieving
woman, unable to do anything for the dead cleric.

“This did not happen too long ago,” Gavin
said, looking at the savage cut. “His body is still warm.”

Standing up, he looked in every direction,
and Joanna followed his gaze. There was no one in sight anywhere,
though the line of hills and the rocky terrain was well suited to
hiding.

“We passed this way this morning, and we saw
no sign of these two.” Joanna crouched and ran a gentle hand over
Margaret’s back. The mute woman never looked at her or even
acknowledged their presence. “Who do you think could have done
this? To cut him like this in...”