It was he. The laird.
She was close enough to him to hear the man grunt with pain as he swung up onto the charger.
As she watched him ride off toward the castle, Joanna glanced back into the gloom of the tunnel, and then looked over the edge again at the trail below. As accustomed as her eyes were to the darkness, she could see clearly enough to realize what had happened. There was a boulder in the center of the path. Whoever had passed by the crypt had pushed the rock from this ledge.
Joanna gazed at the new laird as he disappeared into the night. He had once again escaped death.
But how much longer could he survive the evil of this keep? Joanna asked herself. Till the next full moon? If the man’s luck could only last until then, she would set things right.
She would watch over him until then, she vowed. She had to.
CHAPTER 8
The laird’s face was grim enough when he entered his chamber, but there was cold fury etched in it when he stormed out.
The two warriors had walked with their chieftain to his chamber, but they had barely even turned away from the door when he reappeared. The angry glare darkening Gavin Kerr’s expression made Edmund and Peter both jump aside and follow him as he marched in the direction of the south wing.
“We were talking, m’lord,” Peter puffed, trotting to keep up. “Edmund and I were, that is. And we were thinking that traveling around these Highlands unattended might not be the very best policy for such a man as yourself.”
“Aye. For instance, that gash on the side of your head,” Edmund put in. “If you had been knocked unconscious in those hills...”
“Riding by yourself, m’lord, as you were,” Peter added.
“Aye. Well, we were thinking that, by now, you would have been prey to just about any wild four-legged creature that might be roaming about in the night.”
“Not that gnawing on your tough old carcass would be any real treat for a beast, m’lord, but...” Peter swallowed his words at the threatening glare from his leader.
As the two exchanged smirking side glances, Gavin took a lit candle from a wall sconce and led them on in silence until they reached the corridors outside of the South Hall. A great deal of debris had been piled in the courtyard, but more of it lay in piles within the south wing itself.
“What the devil!” Peter exclaimed, as they stepped into the nearly gutted hall.
Gavin preceded the other two into the center of the room and looked up at Joanna’s picture hanging in the second level, above the hearth. The same three warriors who had slept there the night before leaped up in alarm.
“Bring it down,” he ordered sharply, gesturing to Edmund.
“M’lord, you saw me put it in your room this morning. By ‘sblood, the men were working in here until nearly dark! ‘Tis just that...how could...”
“Bring it down and take it back to my chamber,” Gavin commanded, turning sharply on his two men.
Peter took a step back until his burly shoulders were flat against the door jam. “I swear on my mother’s soul, m’lord. I never touched this...thing. ‘Tis bewitched. It...it must be! I swear, m’lord, I was never once out of...out of Edmund’s shadow while you were gone.”
A frown still darkening his face, the laird pushed the candle into the sputtering warrior’s hand and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
The two men left behind looked at each other in disbelief before raising their eyes in unison to the portrait.
“The first time, I admit, I found it to be humorous,” Peter said quietly.
“Aye, we all did,” Edmund replied. “Not any more, though! Did you see the look in his eyes?”
“Aye.”
The two men stared up at the painting in silence for a long moment.
“The poor bastard!” Peter said.
“Aye.” Edmund returned. “Clever, though!”
“The master will catch him.”
“And then...”
“His death won’t come soon enough,” Peter finished. “The poor bastard.”
***
Just what he needed. Company.
His neighbor, the Earl of Athol, was to arrive the next day.
Absently rubbing his sore shoulder with one hand, Gavin watched as Margaret, the mute younger sister of the steward, poured the last steaming kettle of water into the wooden tub. Nodding his thanks to the woman, the laird waited until the door of his chamber was closed before he began to shed his clothes.
Athol. Now Gavin was feeling the first pangs of doubt about lairdship in a Highland castle. To be hospitable to such men as Athol was a bit more of a challenge than he was accustomed to. And to welcome a damned Highlander into his keep! It had never been a secret at court that, aside from the Macphersons, Gavin Kerr despised the whole lot of them.
Fourteen years ago, on that bloody day at Flodden Field, King Jamie had lost his life in battle to the English because of these traitors. Admittedly, not all of them had been at fault. But enough of the Highland lairds had looked on--turning their heads and hanging back when they were most needed--that Scotland’s chances had been doomed and her greatest king since the Bruce was cut down in his prime.
The warrior chief winced slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head. The sore shoulder was already stiffening up. Looking about the master’s chambers and seeing what his fate had brought him, Gavin knew this was no time to dwell on the wounds of the past. And reason told him that he had enough to do here without adding a feud with a neighbor to the list of his troubles. So tomorrow he would put on his best show of manners and greet the scurvy dog Athol and his monkey faced entourage. He was certainly capable of that much diplomacy.
As he tossed away the last of his clothes, Gavin’s eyes rested on the portrait of Joanna MacInnes. Lowering himself into the tub, the warrior suddenly stopped and, stepping out of the warm water, crossed the room and returned with his broadsword. Easing himself in again, he laid the sword across the staves of the huge tube, and settled in for a comfortable soak. He had placed the painting above the hearth this time, and he gazed up at the beautiful features. He was not taking any chances of losing the picture again. And besides, it was so much more pleasant to think fanciful thoughts of her than it was to brood over arriving guests.
Daydreaming in a bath was one thing, but tomorrow there were so many things to be done. Things like questioning the priest about the history of the abbey. He needed to learn more about the past MacInnes lairds and their relationship with the Earl of Athol.
Gavin’s eyes again studied the enigmatic smile of Joanna MacInnes. He wanted to find out more about the young woman and the hidden sorrows Mater had referred to.
And in the meantime, he would catch the tricky bastard who kept stealing his prize.
***
Honestly, there wasn’t a shred of modesty in the man.
Frowning at him from across the room, Joanna decided that he could also probably sleep on a row of spikes. She stood still and watched as he sighed in his sleep, shifted a bit, and settled again. The giant had to be uncomfortable, his chin on his massive chest, his muscular arms folded and resting on the flat of the swordblade lying across the tub. Joanna tried to ignore the laird’s bare knees and legs sticking out of the water and, instead, focused on his face. The wet hair smoothed back from his brow. The eyes closed in a scowling but still extremely handsome face.
She spotted some fresh droplets of blood on the side of his head. She wondered if these were from his mishap in the gorge.
Controlling an urge to move closer and inspect the wound, she decided that he certainly didn’t seem to be in pain.
He shifted again, and one long arm moved, tumbling outward over the staves of the tub as he turned his shoulders slightly. The Lord forgive her, she thought, she could make a habit out of coming here every night and watching him sleep. And she was certain she could get away with it, too. The giant slept like the dead.
Tonight, after peeking into the bedchamber, Joanna had
waited for quite a while in the passageway, assuming that the man would eventually finish with his bath and retire. When he hadn’t, she had even gone down into the kitchens and found some supper. And here he was, still in the tub, fast asleep.
She had made some noises before entering the chamber--scratching at the woven mat on the floor, tapping on the wood panel--but to her delight, the Lowlander had continued to slumber peacefully on in what must be, by now, very cold water. So she had ventured in.
Laying the painting down carefully, Joanna kept her eyes glued to his face and slowly knelt beside the tub. His long arm dangled limply over the side, and she placed his dagger on the rush mat--a breath away from his knuckles.
He had clearly thought himself smart enough to outwit her. And he almost had. If it hadn’t been for her quickness, she would have been caught, for when she had reached up for the portrait, Joanna was shocked when the dagger, tip down, had plunged downward toward her face. The villain had propped the weapon on top of the frame, knowing it would be a hazard, or at least an alarm.
It had been a miracle that she was able to catch the dagger in the palm of her hand without dropping the painting. It was almost ironic to think that the dressings she wore to hide her hideous scars had kept her hands from being further damaged. At least they had kept her from capture.
Joanna raised herself to her feet, trying not to let her gaze dwell on the rest of him. She turned away, knowing that she was getting far too impetuous. This game of coming back to his room to take the portrait was far too daring. But she knew it was something else as well. It was but an excuse she was using to look in on him. To be close to him. She had to be losing her mind, she decided.
She started toward the panel. She absolutely couldn’t allow herself to get attached. She couldn’t. And she certainly couldn’t afford to be caught. Glancing one last time in his direction, watching the rise and fall of the drying mat of hair on his broad chest, a sudden concern swept over Joanna.
The water that he was slumbering in had to be ice cold by now. Whatever would happen if he caught a chill? Who would take care of him if he were to come down with a fever? He would be a much easier target to destroy then.
With that thought in mind, Joanna stepped back into the passageway. Holding the painting in her hand, she slammed the panel shut. As she fled through the darkness, the sounds of his curses, vividly descriptive and loud, brought a smile to her lips.
***
The fact that a hush fell over the crowd in the Great Hall when he entered was no surprise to Gavin Kerr. The buzz of conversation as warriors and castle workers bent over their morning meal ceased instantly, and more than a few began to rise before quickly sitting down again. Many of the gathered throng likely thought him mad and, as for the rest, he was certain that they were too afraid to bring any attention to themselves.
He had certainly created a disturbance in the middle of the night. Dressed in nothing other than his kilt, Gavin had marched noisily through the Great Hall, out into the courtyard and into the South Hall. Sure enough, he realized--along with two dozen followers--the knave had beaten him down there and hung up his prize. Gavin had hoisted a ladder onto his shoulder, climbed to the hearth, and brought down the picture himself. Without a word to the gaping onlookers, he had stalked angrily back to his chamber with the painting under his arm.
This scoundrel had courage, Gavin had to give him that. To think that this thief was so bold that he didn’t even see a need to steal in silence! The scurvy knave had been so brazen that he had even slammed the damn panel on his way out!
Gavin couldn’t help himself, but he was starting to like the blackguard!
As he crossed the room, he swore to himself that he’d catch the bastard next time. He must be a light-footed creature, though, to be able to steal into a chamber where Gavin was sleeping. After all, he’d always prided himself on being a very light sleeper.
The Lowlander’s frown deepened as he reached the table were Edmund and Peter were hunched over their morning meal. From the smirks the two rogues wore on their faces, it was obvious they were in a very good humor. And Gavin knew at whose expense they were so cheerful. Gavin sat himself down beside them.
Well, he could fix that, he decided.
“Well met, lads!” the laird growled in greeting. “A fine morning, I see.”
“Aye, m’lord,” Peter replied, brown bread stuffed in his cheeks.
A serving boy rushed over and placed a heaping bowl before the laird. Looking down, Gavin frowned at the thick mush before glancing over at Peter’s dish of cheese, cold mutton, and bread. It didn’t matter where they went, the thickset warrior had a way of getting better food than of the rest of them.
“We’ve things to do today,” the Lowlander announced, looking up into the faces of his two men, “before our neighbors arrive.”
“We’ve given instructions to the warriors manning the walls and stationed those protecting the...”
“This castle has been unprotected for six months. If Athol had seriously wanted it...” Gavin shook his head. “Nay, you two have other duties this morning.”
The two sat forward attentively. “Peter, after you’ve filled that barrel-shaped carcass of yours, I want you to go and fetch Molly, the woman who sees to the house. The two of you can decide which rooms will be suitable for lodging Athol and his entourage.”
“Molly? But, m’lord,” Peter protested. “You do not really want me traipsing after that old woman? Surely...I mean, surely she can do that herself? And besides, I’m certain, m’lord, that Allan...”
“You will go and help her with this, Peter!” Gavin growled. “And that is not all I want you to do this morning. After you are finished with Molly, you’ll go and see Gibby, the cook, and go over with her--item by item--the meal she is preparing for supper.”
Peter was staring at him in shock.. “But, m’lord, the men say she hates having anyone meddling in her kitchen affairs. She’s already boxed the ears of Lank Donald, our fletcher. I am telling you, she is a she-devil. I would sooner face Torquemada’s ghost than her!”
Gavin ignored his man’s protests as he poked at the contents of his bowl. “Just seeing the difference between what you and I have been served this morning, I would have to say that you have already found a safe haven in her kitchen.” The laird reached and took a chunk of brown bread from Peter’s trencher. “Just continue to use your charms, and I am sure you will be just fine.”
Gavin then turned to the smirking Edmund. “And you, Red...”
The warrior’s face grew immediately serious. “Aye, m’lord.”
“You are to find the steward and start going through the tunnels beneath this keep. You will start from my chamber. See if you can make out a way to the upper floors of the south wing.”
“But, m’lord, I heard Allan swear to you that he cannot remember the way around those tunnels. He claims no one has used them for years.”
“Well, he’s wrong.” Gavin took a bite out of the bread and stared at the mush sticking hard to his spoon. Just looking at the thick mixture took his appetite away. Glancing up, he caught his two warriors watching his reaction to his food. One of these days he would ask Peter privately about the methods the warrior used to get half decent food.
“But if he refuses to remember?”
“Bully him if need be.” Gavin pushed the dish away abruptly. “That’s why I am sending you with him. Bring wick lamps. Drag him every step, if that is the only way. Do whatever you need to do. But find the damn passage between my room and the south wing. I want you to show me the way later.”
Gavin’s strict command left no room for the two men to argue. The Lowlander came to his feet.
“But, m’lord. In case of trouble...” Peter stared at the direction of the kitchens. “I mean if someone were to...if a situation should arise...”
“Where could we find you, m’lord?” Edmund put in.
“In case hell breaks loose here,” Peter finished.
; “I will be with the priest.”
***
She’d never battled an ailment such as this before.
Pulling the shutter open slightly, Joanna peered out and watched the laird stroll across the courtyard.
She knew the danger of discovery was great. Just a floor below her, a dozen men were hard at work on the burned wing. But somehow, none of that had mattered as she’d given in to her overwhelming desire to see him. So, climbing through the passageways to the tower chamber, she had taken her place by the window of her former refuge and waited.
He was so breathtakingly strong, and something stirred within her as she watched him turn and address a few men who approached him. At the laird’s side, the dog Max gazed up at his new master with the same look of awe that Joanne suddenly sensed in herself.
Stifling a laugh, the young woman thought of how mortified she would be if he were to see her in her hiding place by the window, her tail end wagging and her tongue hanging out.
The sound of voices from the workers below drew Joanna back to the reality of her position, and she reluctantly backed away and headed toward the panel.
Indeed, this was a sickness, she scolded herself. But all the same, it was one of the few things that could bring a smile to her lips.
CHAPTER 9
The rising gusts of wind swirling around them in the kirkyard made the diminutive priest look frail against the power of the nature. The small plot of ground that Father William had been turning with the sharp stick appeared black against the pale gray of the south wing.
“The Earl of Athol was here at Ironcross the night of the fire.”
Gavin stared in surprise.
“How was it that the earl escaped the blaze while the rest perished?”
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