Flame

by May McGoldrick

  ***

  To Joanna, the beat of her heart, hammering loudly and treacherously in her chest, seemed to echo through the crypt. Cursing the very sounds of her breaths, she crouched, hidden in the darkness behind one of the stone tombs.

  Continuing her daily effort of digging at the trenches on the floor, she had been startled by the sound of a cough emanating from somewhere down the tunnel passages. Quickly, she had covered her work with straw and hidden herself behind the crypt, just as the intruder’s footsteps could be heard at the vault’s entrance.

  In a moment the light of another wick lamp flickered and came to life. The source of this new light moved across the floor, the shadows of the great stone pillars making their way across the wall behind the hidden woman. Joanna heard the sound of the top being removed from the keg of oil. Whoever was here obviously had been given the charge of preparing the crypt for the upcoming meeting of the women. A hot flash of panic coursed through her at the thought that the woman’s efforts might include some duty regarding the individual tombs. If it did, Joanna knew, she would be discovered.

  “Ah, you are here at last.”

  Joanna froze, recognizing Mater’s voice at once. When, from the vault’s entrance, the sound of a low moan came in response, Joanna slowly crouched into a ball once again and listened.

  “There are more reeds and brush that need to be brought in from outside that door. And why have you not brought down more oil? Why are you standing there?”

  There was a pause, and silence filled the crypt. A silence so deep that it chilled her soul.

  “What is it, Margaret?” The older woman’s voice rose in pitch, as a sudden concern eclipsed her original tone of cold superiority. “Are you crying?”

  Joanna wished she had the courage to move and peek out at them. But instead, pressing her head against the cold stones, she tried to focus on any sound the mute woman might make. She heard Mater’s feet move across the floor toward the entrance.

  “Why are you acting this way? Why do you move away from me?”Mater’s voice was suddenly sharp, reproachful. “I only want to see if you are hurt!”

  Knowing the two women were far enough away, Joanna summoned up her courage and edged to one side of the stone tomb until she could peer out around the corner of the crypt. Margaret stood next to the entrance, her back pressed against the wall, her pale face stained with tears and dirt. As Joanna watched Mater try to approach her again, the weeping woman’s hands shot out and made a waving motion in the air, warding the older woman off.

  “What is it, Margaret?” Mater entreated gently, pushing through the mute woman’s hands before succeeding in enfolding Margaret’s shaking shoulders in her embrace. “What has come over you, my sweet?”

  Joanna watched in astonishment as Mater held the other in her arms. The two women stood together--one middle-aged, one older--and Margaret seemed to melt in the abbess’s embrace. The serving woman continued to shake and she was beginning to sob audibly--a strangled, unnatural sound. Yet even as Joanna watched, Margaret visibly yielded to the comfort of Mater’s soothing words and gentle hands.

  For a lingering moment, the memory of another Mater came alive--the Mater whom Joanna had respected and trusted so long ago. The wise and ever protective Mater.

  But behind the vision and the memory, Joanna could not erase the thought that this was the same Mater whose very life served to ignite the flames of death.

  “Did any one hurt you, my love?”

  Surprised, Joanna watched as the crying woman shook her head in response. How many in the castle thought Margaret was deaf as well as mute! Watching what was happening between the two women here, there was no question in Joanna’s mind that Margaret could hear and understand perfectly well.

  “It tears at my heart to see you suffer.” Mater ran her gnarled fingers down the tear-stained face of the other. “My beloved sister.”

  Joanna held her breath, trying to comprehend the abbess’s address of the mute woman.

  “Och, what have I done to you?” Mater said softly as she continued to pat away the other woman’s rolling tears. “Why is it that I’ve been able to walk away from my suffering, and yet you--with so many years having gone by--still must bear the agony of a useless tongue and tormented soul?”

  Margaret shook her head in protest as she grabbed one of Mater’s hands tightly in hers and brought it to her lips. After placing kisses on the wrinkled skin’s back, she placed her wet cheek against it, like a child taking comfort in the strength of an adult.

  Joanna edged back into her hiding place behind the tomb. Sitting there, she channeled her fingers through her hair and pressed her palms to her temples, trying to quell the sudden pounding in her head. How could it be that now, after so long, she suddenly felt such confusion? Why, so late in her plans, was she flooded with second thoughts? Damn Gavin for making her doubt what she had seen with her own eyes!

  Leaning her head back against the cold stone, Joanna tried to force herself back, in her mind’s eye, to the charred wreckage of the south wing , to the smell of burned flesh, and the cloud of death suspended in the air. It was there. She could see it. Feel it. The sadness and anger tightened its grip on her heart. Her eyes flew open, and tears began to stream down her face. Nay, she thought adamantly. She would not doubt. She could not forget.

  Behind her, the two women began to move about the chamber, and Joanna continued to listen to everything Mater said. In a short while their preparations were completed, and nothing more was revealed to the young woman.

  Then, on their way out, Joanna heard Mater address Margaret one last time.

  “Wait, sister. I want you to go back to the keep and get Allan. I will wait for you in the passages above Hell’s Gate.”

  Margaret’s questioning response appeared, to Joanna, to carry a note of muffled protest.

  “Go, Margaret!” Mater ordered. “I believe ‘tis time I reminded him again of his responsibility for caring for our precious younger sister.”

  At the sound of another barely audible protest, Joanna peered again around the side of the crypt, only to see Margaret’s waving of hands at the older woman.

  “You will do as you are told, Margaret,” Mater scolded. “The three of us are all that are left. And though we are advancing in age, both Allan and I are quite capable of looking after our needs. But you...” Her voice cracked with the intensity of her feelings. “I am not returning to the abbey, not until such time as our brother gives me his word that he will do a better job. Well, if he will not look after you more carefully, he will have to answer to me!”

  Mater is their sister, Joanna thought in amazement as she slid silently back into the shadows.

  ***

  The dank smell of the grave was all he could breathe...and he found it remarkably disagreeable.

  There was no way in hell, Gavin swore, that he would let her return to these tunnels. To think that he had been foolish enough to accept her reasoning without having witnessed for himself the dangers that lurked at every turn! True, she had survived for six months without him, but during that time she had been able to take refuge in that tower room in south wing. She had told him that much herself, last night. But he, too drunk with the heat of their passion, from the excitement he felt in having her in his arms and at his side, had simply accepted her wishes.

  Well, standing now by the edge of the deep chasm that Athol called Hell’s Gate, Gavin was more than ever before certain that he’d been a careless fool to let her have her way.

  The seemingly bottomless cleft stretched the length of the cavern, disappearing beneath a sheer rock wall at one end and continuing on into the darkness beyond their ledge at the other. In breadth, it was far too wide to allow any one man to jump, and the ledge across was higher by the height of two men, at least.

  Gavin eyed the ancient rope bridge dubiously and, reaching out, tugged at one of the ropes that stretched across the chasm. Behind them, the ends of the ropes disappeared into a hand-hewn tunn
el. Following them back, he found the iron rings that protruded from the rock wall and supported this end of the bridge. With a frown, he returned to the ledge. Lifting his torch, the warrior chief peered up at the stone slabs that had been placed at the edge of the opposite ledge. The ropes disappeared beyond, and the Lowlander guessed that the same means of anchoring the bridge existed there.

  Looking over at Athol, Gavin found the Highlander studying the bridge as well. As he watched him, the red-haired nobleman kicked a loose rock into the abyss, and they both listened as it struck the sides of the chasm as it dropped. It never did hit bottom.

  “Hell’s Gate,” Gavin muttered, shaking his head.

  “Aye. Aptly named, I would say.”

  “Is this the only way to cross over, then?”

  Athol shook his head, a mischievous grin creeping across his face. “Nay. There are other ways around, I believe...for the faint of heart.” Looking away from the scowling giant, the Highlander continued. “I myself never took any of them, of course. I believe there is a natural bridge that crosses this beast, in an area of the caverns we haven’t seen, yet. ‘Tis down by an underground loch. A wee bit out of our way, but if you are feeling a mite queasy about the bridge...”

  “I’ve already spent more time down here than I’d planned. This rope bridge seems sturdy enough to carry our weight. Try not to fall off, though. I don’t want to be explaining this to your men.”

  The Highlander shrugged good-naturedly as he gestured for Gavin to lead the way. “Remember, though, from here on my knowledge of these caves comes to an end.”

  “Not that your knowledge was reliable to start with,” the Lowlander grumbled as he lifted the lamp and studied the way.

  Athol snorted. “You’re a thankless blackguard, Gavin Kerr!”

  “And you...” Gavin said, stepping onto the wooden slats and bouncing lightly to test the bridges strength against his weight. “You are an unhappy excuse for a guide, John Stewart!”

  “This footbridge,” the earl said, laying a hand on the laird’s arm, “was built before the time of your grandfather--whoever that was. But even then it was meant to support calm walking--not any leaping about by baboons the size of you!” Pushing Gavin aside, he squeezed by and took the lead. “Say what you will, ‘tis clear I have more sense than you and all your kin put together...and I am still the better man to guide you through these tunnels.”

  John Stewart started across the bridge, and Gavin followed. But when they were almost halfway across, the laird paused to look past the Highlander. Just over the top of the ledge, something caught his eye. A movement.

  Gavin raised his wick lamp higher as the rope on one side of the bridge gave way with a snap.

  CHAPTER 21

  The bridge fell away beneath their feet, caught momentarily, and then fell away again when the weight of the two warriors hit the remaining support ropes.

  Gavin’s lamp was gone, and as Athol fell past him, he reached out with one hand and grabbed at the man, catching him by the back of his belt. With his other hand, Gavin clung to the rope with a vise-like grip and braced himself as they swung down into the blackness of Hell’s Gate.

  In less than an instant the two men smashed into the side of the chasm, and Gavin felt a sharp pain knife through his shoulder as he fought to keep his hold. They were hanging in total darkness, and he wondered suddenly that the ropes on this side had held.

  Cursing, he felt for the slats of the bridge with his feet as a groan came from the doubled-over body hanging limply beneath him. It was the only sound to break the terrible silence.

  It took a long moment for Gavin to catch his breath, and Athol was growing unbearably heavy. This was the same damn shoulder he’d hurt when the rock had fallen on him in the gorge. He tried to ignore the pain. The warrior looked upward, but with both lamps gone, the blackness was as absolute as death.

  The Highlander moaned in pain and twisted his body, knocking Gavin’s foot from its step. The two men jerked downward, and Gavin felt as if his arm would tear from its socket. Bloody hell, he thought, grimacing and struggling to gain his foothold again. One more movement like that and they’d both be on their way to the devil.

  The Highlander took several sharp breaths, and then Gavin felt the man using his hands to get a grip on the rope and the wooden treads. Gradually, the pressure on his belt hand diminished until the earl had a secure hold on the bridge.

  “Are you strong enough to hold yourself?”

  “Aye,” came Athol’s raspy reply from the darkness. “What the hell happened?”

  Gavin again peered upward into the darkness above them. “Someone cut the rope at the far end. That was enough for the whole thing to give way.”

  “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 ro
pe 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.