Flame

by May McGoldrick

  “Barred?” Gavin interrupted, staring at the tower.

  “Aye. The worst of the damage is on the far side, though, where the tower looks over the loch. That’s where they were all sleeping when the fire started, God rest their souls. By the time the rest of us in the Old Keep and the north wing smelled the smoke, the whole south wing was ablaze.”

  Gavin strode to the stone wall and peered through the slits of the lower windows. He could see shafts of light coming through the rafters of the floors above.

  “Why do you allow servants into this wing?” Gavin asked shortly, making the old man’s face suddenly flush red. “Those upper floors look dangerous, even from here.”

  “No living person, m’lord, has stepped foot in this wing since the fire,” the steward responded with conviction. “As I said, I myself had all the doors barred and the inside corridors walled up. With the exception of some badger...or a fox, perhaps...” His voice trailed off.

  Gavin stepped back from the building and looked upward at the windows in the tower, his eyes finally coming to rest on the last one in the top floor. “I saw the shutter in that chamber move.”

  The steward stared briefly at the tower windows, then looked at his new master.

  “Aye, m’lord. We see the same thing from time to time, but ‘tis just the wind.” As the new laird moved along the front of the edifice, Allan followed along. “The smoke was everywhere, and the stairwells leading up to it are ruined. Of that I’m certain. The roof there may be sound, though, and a bird or two may have taken up lodging there. And wings are what you’d be needing to make your way into the tower.”

  Gavin peered up again at the looming tower. A number of shutters were banging against stone in the rising breeze. Nature, it appeared, had the upper hand in every window...but one. The window that he had seen open before, now stood closed against the north wind.

  So the birds of the Highlands can latch a shutter, Gavin thought to himself. Turning without another word, he started for the main entrance of the Old Keep, his steward in tow.

  **

  No one ever dared step into her domain.

  The crumbling, fire-damaged roofs, the gaping holes in the walls overlooking the sheer cliffs of Loch Moray, and the scorched, unsteady floors all combined to make the south wing of Ironcross Castle a forbidding place to enter. But as Joanna made her way quietly through a blasted room toward the wooden panel and the secret passageway that would take her down to the subterranean tunnels and caverns, she suddenly sensed that someone had been through there, and quite recently.

  She paused and looked about her in the encroaching dusk. There was little to be seen. Dropping softly to her hands and knees on a plank by the doorway, she peered closely at the ash-covered floor of the passage beyond the door. She herself always avoided those corridors for fear of being discovered by some intrepid soul snooping in this wing.

  Squinting in the growing gloom, she saw them clearly--the faint imprints left behind by someone coming from the Old Keep. Whoever it was had gone in the direction of her father’s study...or what was left of it. Quietly, Joanna rose and, hugging the wall, followed the passage toward the study.

  Standing rigidly beside the door, she peeked inside the charred room. The chamber was empty. She peered into the murky light of the corridor again. Since she had just come from the top floor, whoever had come in here must have continued on and descended the nearly impassable stairwell to the main floor.

  Relieved, she wrapped her cloak tightly about her and glanced inside the study again. Her chest tightened with that familiar sorrow as she stepped inside the fire-ravaged chamber. Nothing had changed here since that terrible night. All lay in ruin. Hanging from one wall were the scraps of burned rag that had once been a tapestry. Elsewhere a scorched table and the broken sticks of a chair. Everything ruined.

  Everything but the foolish portrait hanging over the mantel of the fireplace. She stared loathingly at the face that smiled faintly back at her. Her throat knotted at the sight of herself, of the picture of perfection she had once been. What vanity, she thought angrily.

  She wanted to cross the room and take hold of the fire-blackened frame. She wanted to pull it down, smash it, destroy it as it should have been destroyed long ago. But the unsteady floor stopped her approach. From experience, she knew every loose board, every dangerous plank. Nay, she hadn’t survived this ordeal so long just to break her neck falling through the floor. But those eyes dared her. Challenged her to come ahead. She hated that painting. Why should this blasted thing survive when no one else had? No one, including herself.

  As a tear welled up, Joanna dashed at the glistening bead. Turning away from that vain and beautiful face, she pulled her hood forward and headed for the darkness of the passages that would take her deep into the earth, where no one would see what she had become...a ghostly shadow of the past, a creature of the night, burned and ugly, miserable. Dead.

  Disappearing into the dark, Joanna MacInnes thought once again of her poor mother and father, of all the innocent ones who had perished in the blaze with them.

  Well, it was her destiny, now, to hide and await her chance for justice.

  ***

  As the fire’s embers burned out beneath, a huge log crashed down, sending crackling flames and sparks flying in the Great Hall’s huge fireplace.

  The new laird’s face was in shadow as he looked around at the young features of the three men sitting with him. Scattered about the Great Hall, servants and warriors slept on benches and tables, and a number of dogs lay curled up amid the rushes covering the stone floor. Most of the household was already asleep, either here or in the stables and outbuildings, but Gavin had kept these three trusted warriors with him. In the short time since they had all arrived, these men had been tasked with determining what needed to be done to secure the castle. Each man had gone about his business, and now the Lowlander leaned forward to hear them.

  Edmund began. “I heard with my own ears the steward passing on your wish to have the south wing opened for you to view in the morning...”

  “Aye,” Peter broke in, gruff and impatient. “And a couple of the grooms and the old smith hopped to the task of pulling down one of the blocking walls.”

  “The steward has fine control of the castle folk,” Edmund added admiringly.

  “That he does,” Peter agreed. “Though a body would think barring a door might have been plenty good enough. Building a wall to stop trespassing!” The thickset warrior spat critically into the rushes on the floor. “Why, most of the servants are too old even to lift a latch unaided!”

  Gavin interrupted the two men. “I can see Allan’s concern. He told me that after the fire, he wanted to be sure that no one would go in that wing, not until such time as Lady MacInnes or the next laird came along to go through what was left.” The Lowlander sat back and lifted a cup as he looked about the silent hall. “With so many accidents plaguing the lairds over the years, I am certain it shows good judgment to leave everything untouched. What did you find, Andrew?”

  Andrew cleared his throat and spoke. “In my ride over to the abbey, m’lord, I ran into some of the Earl of Athol’s men heading north. They all spoke of how strange it was here after the fire. None of the last laird’s warriors stayed behind, they said. It seems that they all fled into the mountains as if they had the devil himself on their tails.”

  Gavin drained his cup and put it back on the table as he turned to Andrew. “What can you tell us of the abbey?”

  “‘Tis an odd place, that abbey. Nary a league from here, following the shore of the loch, but ‘tis nothing but a heap of stones and ruined wall in the shelter of the high hills. The place is surrounded by pasture and farmland and some crofters’ cottages, though there is an odd lack of farm folk about the place.”

  “But there are religious there, we were told.”

  “That I don’t know, m’lord,” Andrew replied. “Those who remain live in the center of the ruined cloister, in stone cotta
ges they’ve patched together from the old buildings.”

  “Is there an abbot, or someone in charge?” Gavin pressed.

  “Aye, a woman they call Mater.”

  “A woman?” Peter blurted out.

  “Aye,” Andrew responded slowly. “They’re all women there. All that I saw before they disappeared, at any rate.” He paused. “And that abbey, m’lord, seems quite unprotected, sitting there in open as ‘tis!”

  “And isn’t that like these Highlanders,” Peter huffed, “leaving a pack of women...”

  Gavin felt the hackles on his neck rise as his attention was drawn to the far end of the Great Hall. In a dark corner by the passage into the kitchens and the north wing, something had moved. A shadow...something...he was certain of it. Peering into the darkness, the firelight at his back, Gavin studied the sleeping figures on the benches as he continued to listen to his men. The servants had been dismissed hours ago. Other than the three men sitting with him, it was unlikely that anyone else in the keep would be roaming about.

  “I took it upon myself, m’lord, to tell Mater that you would be stopping by yourself in a day or two. To pay them a visit.”

  “That’s fine,” Gavin answered. He shook his head slightly at his fanciful imaginings and filled his cup with more ale. He was tired, he decided, dismissing the notion with a last glance at the far end of the Hall. His first night in Ironcross Castle, and already he was falling prey to the strangeness of the place. Suddenly, he realized one of the dogs had come slowly to his feet. The gray cur trotted toward the kitchens. Pushing the mug away, the laird came to his feet as well.

  “Also, the Earl of Athol’s men mentioned that he’d be giving you a visit before the week’s end.” Andrew’s eyes followed his leader as Gavin rounded the table where they sat. “‘Tis only a day’s ride, they said, and if that’s unsuitable...”

  “That’s fine,” Gavin answered absently without turning around. “All three of you, get your rest. There is a great deal to be done tomorrow.”

  The three men watched in silence as their master walked quietly toward the darkened kitchens.

  **

  These newcomers were going to be more than a nuisance, she thought. They were going to be downright dangerous. And there were so many of them.

  Coming out of the passages after the sounds of feasting had died away, Joanna had been surprised by the number of people remaining in the Great Hall. From past experience she knew that she would have more chance of finding food there than in the kitchens, but clearly that plan would no longer work. She only hoped the usually tightfisted Gibby had not locked everything away, as was her custom.

  Entering the kitchens, Joanna peered into the corners for stray sleepers, but with the warmer weather, not a body was in evidence. The embers in the huge fireplace flickered, and she could see the rows of bread dough rising into loaves on a long table.

  Moving to a sideboard, she found a large bowl with broken scraps of hard bread. Scooping out a handful, Joanna placed the bread carefully in the deep pocket of her cloak, then cocked her head to listen. With more people around, she would have to be far more careful than she had been in the past. Being discovered would mean the end of her plans. It would be the death of her only wish--the one that had been driving her to hang on to her threadbare existence. If she were discovered, there would surely be no dispensing of justice to those who had murdered her parents. Of that she was certain.

  Joanna glided silently down through the kitchen, and then paused with a sigh by a locked larder. The gentle nudge of the dog’s nose against her hip made the young woman’s heart leap in her chest. Shaking her head as the corners of her mouth lifted in a wry smile, she crouched down to pet the gentle beast. All the dogs in the castle were quite accustomed to her, but shaggy Max was the only one that ever came to her. Accepting a wet kiss on the chin, Joanna gave the dog’s head an affectionate pat. Wordlessly, she straightened and continued her search for more food.

  The heavenly smells of bannocks and roasted mutton still hung in the air, making her mouth water, but to her dismay there was nothing else left over that she could find. High in the rafters, she could see the dark shapes of smoked meat, but she didn’t dare be so bold as to steal anything that would raise a hue and cry. Hearing Max sniffing in a dark corner, Joanna spotted two balls of cheese hanging from strings on a high pegboard, just out of the dog’s reach. Gratified at the chance to add something different to her spare diet, she reached for them.

  “I am certainly sorry you’ll have to shoulder the blame for both of these,” she whispered with a smile to the happy dog. “But you can only have one.” Rolling his share playfully along the stone floor, Joanna placed the other in the pocket of her cloak.

  The dog leapt across the kitchen after it, but suddenly stopped short, and the deep growl emanating from his throat sent Joanna scurrying for cover. Quietly, she moved into the deep shadows behind the giant fireplace, to the narrow door that led down into the root cellars. From there she could get into the labyrinth of passages beneath the castle, but she paused for a moment, her hand on the panel, ready to run if the need arose.

  “What are you hiding there, you mangy cur?” The man’s voice was deep and strangely gentle. “Just you and the hearth fairy, eh?”

  Joanna pressed her face against the warm stone of the chimney as she listened. From the dog’s friendly panting and the man’s deep-throated chuckle, she could tell the newcomer had already won over the animal’s affection.

  “Och, I can see already you are in for trouble. A thief you are, is that it? A piece of cheese. A capital crime, if that cook finds out, lad. Hmm. I’ll not throw it for you, you slobbering beast.”

  Joanna knew she should go, but she couldn’t. Curiosity was pulling at her, driving her with a desire to put a face to that voice.

  “So, you want to play! You want me to chase you, is that it?”

  He had to be one of the new laird’s men. She could imagine him leaning against the edge of the long heavy table in the center of the kitchen.

  “‘Tis too late in the night, you beast. Very well. Bring it here, and I’ll throw it for you. But once only, do you hear me?”

  The dog’s low-pitched growl was now playful, and again the man’s deep chuckle brought a smile to her face.

  “Smart too. For a Highland cur!”

  So they’re Lowlanders, she thought. Scowling now, Joanna edged forward slightly and peeked at the man in the dim light of the dying fire. Just as she had imagined it, he was sitting on the edge of the table with his back to her. At the moment, he was preoccupied with wrenching the ball of cheese out of Max’s mouth.

  “Now, don’t force me to get rough with you!”

  She studied his broad shoulders. The warrior was larger, by far, than any of the men her father had kept in his service. The red of his tartan was muted and dark. As he stood up for a moment, she drew back, but he only crouched over the dog again. He was certainly a giant, and not just for a Lowlander. His long dark hair was tied with a thong at the nape of a strong neck. In wrestling with the dog, he turned his face, and she got a quick glimpse of his handsome profile. Suddenly, she was aware of a strange tightening in her chest. Drawing back further, she felt her face flush with heat. What was wrong with her? she thought, fighting for a breath.

  What did it matter that the man was handsome, she thought with annoyance. What difference did that make to her, a ghost! In the dark of the kitchens, it was easy to let imagination control reality. In the light of day, he might be the ugliest man in Scotland, though she would never see it. Darkness. Perhaps it was the place for both of them, she thought angrily. Who knows, in the gloom of this chamber, he might not even see her deformities. Bringing a shaking hand up before her eyes, she gazed at it momentarily, and then pulled her hood forward over her face.

  Nay, no one was that blind.

  “As your laird, I order you to share that cheese. Och, you are a pig. You’ve eaten it all.”

  Laird! Quickly,
Joanna drew back behind the hearth. Her face grim, she slipped through the panel and into the blackness of the passageway. Feeling her way down the stone steps, she continued past the wooden door that led into the root cellars. Silently, she made her way through the winding, narrow passages, down more carved stone steps, and through wide, cavernous openings until she was far from the kitchens. Climbing to the top of another set of steps, Joanna stopped, trying to catch her breath, and leaned back heavily against a rough-hewn wall.

  Laird! She wished she had never laid eyes on him. It would be ever so much easier to mourn his death if she’d never seen him. The poor soul, she thought, starting to move quickly along the tunnel again. He wouldn’t have a chance against the evil that surrounded him.

  CHAPTER 3

  The smell of fire and rot hung in the air like death.

  “‘Tis a grievous thing for me to see Ironcross Castle like this, m’lord.” Allan’s voice was tight. “It looks sound enough from the outside, but in here...” The steward looked back at Gavin and shook his head.

  Gavin said nothing, but motioned for Allan to continue up the circular stairwell. They had almost reached the second floor landing, which was as far as they would be going. Gavin gazed upward through the twisted and charred timbers that had once been steps, into the steel gray sky.

  “Aye,” Allan said, following his master’s gaze. “Nothing to keep the rain out here.”

  The new laird grunted and climbed over a burnt beam. Reaching the landing, he pushed past the steward into the corridor.

  “This part of the castle seems much newer than the rest,” Gavin said gruffly. The destruction was extensive, though he was beginning to think the building might be saved. He would need to get his men in here clearing out the debris before they could make a good judgment about the soundness of the walls.