Flame

by May McGoldrick

  Gavin glared at the figure in the open doorway.

  “Are you ready to meet your fate?” Athol asked breezily, stepping into the chamber.

  CHAPTER 36

  Mater stood in the center of the crypt and beckoned.

  Her heart in her throat, Joanna stared into the cold room at the few women who were moving about.

  “You’ve decided to join us early,” Mater said, holding a hand out to her.

  “I...I thought it might be best...if I were to witness the entire ceremony.” As inconspicuously as possible, Joanna glanced about the vault, looking for some sign of Gavin. But the deep shadows offered plenty of hiding places beyond the tombs. He could be anywhere, and in any case, it was too late to do anything about it now.

  Mater turned to Molly. “As long as our sister is here, why not give her something to do?”

  The housekeeper turned shyly toward her. Joanna knew that even in their little community, the fact that she was the daughter of the last laird created an uncomfortable gap between their positions. To make her feel more at ease, the young woman moved forward and reached for the bundle of rushes in the older woman’s arms.

  “Perhaps I could do this?” Joanna offered.

  Molly nodded and handed her the bundle. Turning to the other two abbey women who were working silently, Joanna followed their lead in the preparations. But whenever she could, she peered into the shadows, searching for Gavin. She knew there was not a thing she could say if she were to find him hiding in this chamber. But somehow she hoped that seeing him might ease the hammering of her heart, the gnawing worry that was eating at her soul.

  But he wasn’t here. As the women continued to work in silence, she realized that he simply wasn’t in the vault.

  “Do you think Margaret will be able to perform her duties or shall I...”

  “Of course, she will!”

  Molly’s question and Mater’s sharp response immediately drew Joanna’s attention.

  She moved toward the two older women. “I went by Margaret’s room before coming down here. I could find no sign of her there.”

  The abbess turned and met Joanna’s direct gaze. “No matter what her troubles might be, Margaret knows that she is the bearer of the cup. She will perform her duties. My guess is that she is already by the loch preparing for that portion of tonight’s ceremony.”

  “By the loch?” Joanna asked in confusion.

  Mater turned to Molly and gave her a small nod. “Why don’t you tell the lass? She is better off knowing ahead of time, so that she can more fully appreciate the ritual.”

  Joanna felt the vault tip and start to spin as she turned her gaze on the housekeeper.

  The thin woman straightened up to her full height as she began. “Once a year, at this full moon--the same night that our sainted sisters souls were called to heaven--we begin our monthly remembrance with a special ritual at the loch.”

  “Why...why at the loch?”

  “We go there to witness the killing,” Molly said simply. “Other months Margaret brings us the filled cup here, but on this one night of the year, she waits at the loch and goes through the ceremony with the rest of us.”

  Joanna thought for a moment that her heart would burst from her chest. She remembered the image of Margaret sitting with the dagger and the slashed throat of the priest in her lap. She could no longer hear all of what the other woman said.

  Where could Gavin be? Holy Mother, Joanna screamed inwardly, let it not be what she thought.

  “...anointing the brows with the fresh blood...‘tis a cleansing...”

  Wild eyed, Joanna stared at Molly. What was it that she’d just heard her say? Dropping the rushes in her hand to the floor, she started for the door. But the firm grip of a hand on her arm jerked her to a stop.

  “Do you hear them? They are here!”

  Mater’s bony fingers dug into her flesh, but the old abbess’s voice seemed to be coming from far away.

  “This is no time for you to leave, sister. We are about to begin.”

  Joanna felt a knot tighten in her throat. “But...”

  “All will be well, child. All will be well!”

  *****

  “Stop your damnable chattering and come loosen my hands.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t decided to come down here ahead of time?” Athol leaned a shoulder casually against the door frame and looked on.

  “I would have had my throat cut.” Gavin twisted his hands behind him. “But when I met St. Peter, I would have demanded to be sent back so that I could torture your miserable carcass. Hurry, you indolent sloth of a dog; we’ve little time.”

  Athol straightened in the doorway. “We have time. I could hear the women gathering in the vault. Honestly, you’re fortunate I saw the candle through the crack in the door. But where is...” He glanced at the dead animals with distaste. “Where is Joanna?”

  “Loosen my hands,” the laird demanded. “I am not going to let this...Athol!”

  Gavin’s shout was not quick enough to alert the Highlander. The hilt of the dirk struck John Stewart hard behind the ear, and without a sound he crumpled in the doorway.

  ***

  Through the darkness they moved. The sputtering hiss of candles and the shuffle of feet on dirt and stone were the only sounds that broke the deadly silence of the cavern.

  Clutching the burning candle in two hands, Joanna felt her tears coursing freely down her face as she looked at the back of Mater’s head and moved with the rest toward the underground loch. The women had ‘honored’ her in giving her the place behind the abbess, but as she walked, she could feel the eyes of the rest of the white-robed flock burning into her back, checking her every move.

  She had no choice but to go along. She was outnumbered and could not fight her way free of them, so she decided to put on her best face and pretend to be both willing and interested...at least until they reached the loch. The only hope that was sustaining her now lay in what Molly had said about the women witnessing the killing. If what she feared were indeed true, perhaps Gavin was at least still unharmed.

  Joanna felt with one hand for the small dagger at her belt beneath the white robe they had given her. She would die before she allowed any of them to hurt him.

  She smelled the damp, cool air of the loch. They were quite close now. As she followed Mater into the cavern, Joanna scanned the area quickly in search of Gavin, but there was no sign of him there.

  By the edge of the water, though, on the slab where she had noticed the dark stains, a small fire crackled by a wooden table. Beside it stood Margaret, garbed all in white, as silent and still as the dead.

  She glanced along the water’s edge to the far side of the cavern. There was no sign of the straw bedding or her meager belongings. A shudder raced through her at the thought that she had once taken refuge in this place, even walked upon this altar of evil.

  The women formed a half circle around Margaret, and Joanna watched Mater move to the center beside her sister. Silence fell over the group, and Mater raised her thin hands in the air.

  “Sisters!” she called. “For the souls of our dead sisters, we invoke the Power.”

  “Mater!” the women’s voices proclaimed in response. “We invoke the Power.”

  No sooner had the echo of the words died when a swirling wind swept across the waters of the loch. Joanna felt every hair in her body stand on end as she looked about her in astonishment, the rushing air pulling at her robe.

  “Sisters! For ourselves, in memory of their pain, we invoke the Power.”

  “Mater! We invoke the Power.”

  This was not like anything she’d witnessed before. The wind pushed at her. There was something in here with them--a force, a power beyond anything she could explain. Joanna stared as every one of the women raised their hands in the air, swaying and allowing the swirling breeze to caress their bodies. She felt the gentlest touch of a hand on her own face. Startled, she turned toward it. But there was not
hing but the air. Full, charged, and warm as a summer night.

  “They are here, sisters. They are with us,” Mater chanted.

  Stunned, Joanna watched as Margaret picked up a candle and moved quietly toward the passage leading to the slaughter chamber.

  She was going to bring him here, Joanna screamed inwardly, a shaky hand clutching for her dagger.

  Mater and the other women began to chant again, and Joanna’s eyes scanned the faces of the gathering. They were all in a trance, swaying and calling as the air continued to swirl around them. She looked at Mater’s face. The woman’s gray eyes shone with the brightness of a hundred candles. She had the Power. She was the Power.

  Joanna looked down at the rock slab, at the stains in front of Mater’s feet. The red stain...the blood.

  She started shaking her head. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Let me be wrong. Let it not be.”

  No one heard her. The air was whipping about them now with rapidly increasing violence. The sounds of the chanting were now blocked by the shrieking wind. She brought her hands to her ears, trying to keep out the sound. This was not real, Joanna told herself. There was no Power!

  The shrieking cries pierced her brain; she could not keep them out. She shut her eyes, only to see things--the courtyard, the summer moon. There before the bleeding iron cross, the flames leaping up behind them, the innocent women of the abbey. The brutality of men. She cried out, and the vision was replaced with another. Duncan’s face. Mater’s.

  A scream louder than the rest tore through the vision, and Joanna pressed her hands tighter against her ears. “No more!” she cried. “No more!”

  Suddenly, a deadly silence fell over the group. Joanna opened her eyes slowly, certain that all eyes would be upon her. Amazingly, the gazes were not directed at her, at all, and she followed their stares to the darkness of the opening into which Margaret had disappeared. The air was dead and still.

  Another scream cut through the semidarkness. A woman’s scream. But it wasn’t her own voice, Joanna realized. And this was no shriek of the wind.

  With a wailing cry, she appeared. Lurching out of the opening of the passage like some wounded animal, Margaret staggered into view, wild and weeping.

  “Ma...ki...Ma...ki...va!” The woman babbled incoherently as she cried and ran toward Mater. The candle was gone, and in its place, Joanna could see, Margaret held a long dagger.

  “Where is he?” Joanna cried out, pushing forward. “What have you done with him?”

  Hands clutched at her, grabbing her by the wrists and arms, and Joanna writhed to free herself as Margaret went down to her knees, started shaking her head and trying to speak.

  “Ma...ki...va...ki...Wi...ki...la...”

  “What are you saying, Margaret?” Mater asked, moving forward and raising her up. “Where is Allan?”

  CHAPTER 37

  Joanna watched Gavin being pushed into the light. His face, hard with anger, lacked its normal color, and his huge frame tottered unsteadily on legs that she could see were bound at the ankles.

  With a cry, she leaped forward to run to him, but the hands of half a dozen women held her firmly in place.

  Behind Gavin, Allan stepped from the tunnel and stopped short. The steward’s face was hidden beneath the sloping roof of the cave, but the point of the gleaming dagger that he held to Gavin's back spoke clearly of his intent.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mater’s voice, cold as mountain snow, chilled the very air in the cavern.

  “‘Tis the full moon, sister. ‘Tis the day to remember.”

  This was not the same man that Joanna had known. Something was wrong. It was in his voice, his eyes. Joanna felt a cold fear wash down her back, and she pulled at those who held her.

  Mater took one step in her direction without ever taking her eyes from the Allan’s face. “Why have you brought the laird here.”

  Dropping his torch on the ground, Allan laid the blade of the dirk against Gavin's face and then shoved him with his other hand toward the rock slab by the loch. Joanna bit at her lip as a thin line on Gavin's cheek opened and blood began to run down his face and drip off his chin. Gavin turned and glared fearlessly at the man.

  Mater’s voice cut through the air with an edge as sharp as Allan’s blade. “I asked you why you have brought this man here?”

  “He is the laird. ‘Tis his blood that we will sacrifice.”

  Joanna tore a hand free, and she shook her head. The man was mad. Allan’s face was a mask of fury, and she knew that he meant to do Gavin harm.

  “Our saints never intended for us to shed human blood. ‘Twas never our intention to bring more violence into this world.”

  “Ha!” Allan shoved Gavin closer. “Whatever their intentions were--or yours--it makes no difference. Violence begets violence, and the vengeance of God will fall on the sinner, to the seventh generation...”

  “Nay, brother!” Matter argued. “This is wrong! ‘Tis the remembrance of their sacrifice that brings us back here. ‘Tis the power of the saints that we invoke, and their protection that we seek. There is no vengeance in forgiveness, Allan. You must release the laird. We will not go against the will of our long-dead sisters.”

  “No matter how strong your hatred?” he shouted. “I know what lies in your heart.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “I know the evil that blackens the hearts of these men, and still you think I can let him go?”

  “Aye, Allan! You will let him go.” Mater answered emphatically. “No matter what life has brought us--suffering or pain--it does not matter. We will not defile the memory of our sisters.”

  “Defile? Perhaps you have forgotten what that word means,” he rasped, shoving Gavin into the circle of women and onto the slab of stone. He stared at Mater, and she looked back, unflinching. “But I have not forgotten you, used and thrown like a dog into the night. I have not forgotten how I watched you bleed your unborn bairn into the dirt beneath the iron cross.”

  Allan reached out and grabbed Margaret by the shoulder, bringing her roughly to his side. The mute woman’s knees buckled, and she crumpled onto the rock.

  “And look at her,” Allan pointed at the woman at their feet. “This is our sister. A whore! But still our sister. And what of her? She has not spoken since that night, but she has not forgotten...and neither have I!”

  The echoes of his voice had died away in the cavern before Mater spoke again.

  “That was so long ago. That injury was done to me, and...”

  “He is the cause of the injury!” Allan’s bloodless face turned to Gavin. “‘Twas he who has caused us pain.”

  “Nay, Allan. ‘Twas Duncan. And he is long dead.”

  “I know Duncan is dead, sister.” He continued to stare at Gavin. “I killed him. I had to wait many years, but I killed him. As I killed his sons. Aye, they have all died for the sins they committed against our sisters. But none died as I had wanted them to. Only the priest died as he deserved! Too much secrecy, too much concern about what the whole world should know.”

  “Allan, you don’t know what you are saying!”

  “I know what I am saying,” he shouted. “You think I am mad?”

  “Allan...”

  “Do you think ‘tis easy to carry a secret in your heart for your whole life?”

  “A secret?”

  “Aye, ‘tis I who carry the curse of Ironcross. ‘Twas our great, great grandsire who was steward to the laird that summer night.” His eyes were wild. “He killed the first laird. And his son and his grandson and his, in turn, have kept the curse alive. Aye, sister. We are the curse!”

  Whirling around, Allan kicked Gavin's legs from under him and yanked the laird’s head back, exposing his throat.

  “I am the curse of Ironcross, sister. I am the hand of God. Now give me the cup and the dagger, and we will wash clean, once again, the sins of Ironcross Castle. Get me the cup, Margaret!”

  Gavin jerked his head out of the steward’s g
rip as Margaret struck at Allan. With the speed of lightning, the dagger in her hand flashed through the air, stabbing Allan in the chest. “Ki...Wi...yu...ki...Wi...ki...ki...”

  Stunned by the attack, the steward stared at the blade and hilt of the knife protruding from his breast, and then at his sister, still crying out in broken words and weeping as she backed haltingly away from him.

  Gavin's move was quick. Dropping to his side, he swept the steward’s feet with his own bound legs, and Allan dropped like a stone to the slab. Gavin was on him before the man could move, using his shoulder to drive the dagger deep into his heart.

  As the laird kept his full weight on the man, the only sounds in the cavern were the last gurgling breaths of the steward, and the soft, whispered echo of a gentling wind.

  ***

  Joanna shook off the hands holding her and dashed to his side. Ripping the dagger from her belt, she cut away the ropes binding his ankles and wrists. Gavin moved off the dead steward, but never even had a chance to get to his feet before Joanna threw herself into his arms.

  “I thought I was going to lose you,” she sobbed, unable to hold anything back. “I was sure that this was the end.”

  His arms pressed her fiercely against his chest. “I love you, Joanna.” He rocked her in his arms. “‘Tis finished now.”

  His voice was still strained, and she quickly pulled away, checking him for signs of injury. His face was pale, but before she could open her mouth to voice her concern, he silenced it with a kiss. And there, in the silence of the cavern, the two clung to each other, savoring that simple act of love.

  A moment later, Joanna helped Gavin to his feet. Aside from the cut on his face, he didn’t seem to be wounded, but he still appeared to be weak. He wouldn’t allow her to fuss over him, though, and together they made their way to Mater.

  The group of women had moved off the stone slab, and the old abbess stood at the center of them, her arm around Margaret. As the group separated, letting Joanna and Gavin enter their midst, the young woman saw Mater’s eyes lift and meet the laird’s gaze.