The Flame E-Book

May McGoldrick

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Macpherson Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 507

Beschreibung

From USA Today Bestselling Author May McGoldrick... A tale of dark forces and the redemptive power of love!   TO BE CONSUMED BY LOVE... Ironcross Castle was called cursed by the Highlanders. Its most recent lairds had perished in accidents, falls, or fires. The newest owner, Gavin Kerr, did not fear death. It was feeling that he dreaded—the pain of betrayal and loss. Now, he arrived at the castle to hear of hauntings and cults and to find himself drawn to the portrait of beautiful Joanna MacInnes, who died here amid a furnace of flame. And looking at her, Gavin desired her, feeling an impossible longing to take her in his arms. OR TO BURN... The real Joanna MacInnes had escaped the fire that claimed her kin. For months she has walked Ironcross by night, hiding in its secret passageways, searching for the truth behind the castle's curse. Now, she feared it would claim Gavin Kerr. Yet warning him, touching him in the darkness, soon ignited another kind of burning. And even as her lips opened beneath his, she knew time was running out before they faced a heartless villain... a terrifying secret... and a struggle between eternal darkness and the power of undying love!

Leseprobe

FLAME

MAY MCGOLDRICK

Book Duo Creative

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Edition Note

Author’s Note

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

About the Author

Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the authors.

Flame © 2015 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative.

First Published by Topaz, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books, USA, Inc. March 1998

Cover Art by Dar Albert. www.WickedSmartDesigns.com

To Selma E. McDonnell

and to

Colleen Admirand, Jodi Allen, Edith Bron Chiong, Sharon Hendricks, and Carol Palermo

For having faith in us every step of the way

PROLOGUE

Ironcross Castle, the Northern Highlands

May 1527

As the full moon began to rise from behind the distant brae, the shadows stretched up like gnarled, grasping fingers on the pale walls of the castle.

The shadow makers, on a nearer hill, began to descend from the summit, forming a line and moving toward the fortress. The sound of low chanting that had come in whispers on the ragged breeze died as the last of the dark figures disappeared amid the tumbled piles of slab-like rock in the gorge beneath the castle walls. At the bottom of the gorge, the waters of the loch shimmered in the moonlight.

Moments later, far beneath the castle’s massive walls, a heavy iron lock clicked, and a squat, thick, oaken door swung open.

In through the entryway the cloaked figures filed, silent as death. One after another they took unlit candles from a stone recess just inside the door. No light illuminated the darkness, but the line of figures continued relentlessly along the stone arched passageway.

A hundred paces further, the leader turned and proceeded down a half-dozen steps into a vast, almost circular room. The open space of the vault was broken with pillars that rose into branch-like arches, supporting a low ceiling blackened with smoke and ash. On the far side of the room, beyond an unlit pyre of reeds and sticks, a stone table stood, an ornate cup and an oil lamp upon it.

One by one, the cloaked figures approached the table and lit their candles at the lamp. Then, moving to the crypts that lay along the perimeter of the vault, they all touched their foreheads to the stone before returning and forming a wide circle.

Hidden in the deep shadows of a niche not a half-dozen steps from the stone table, a ghostly figure peered out at the ritual. The leader of the cult picked up the cup and then moved to her place beside the pyre. The onlooker pressed back further into the blackness as the leader’s eyes swept around the circle.

“Sisters!” the woman called, waiting until she had the group’s rapt attention. “For the souls of these dead who lie here entombed, we invoke the Power.”

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

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

“Mater, we invoke the Power.”

“Sisters! On the evildoers, with justice for a crime unrepented. We invoke the Power.”

“Mater, we invoke the Power.”

As the woman continued, the gathering chanted their responses to her incantation, and the spectator looked on in horror. Minutes passed. Higher and higher their voices climbed, their bodies beginning to sway and jerk like branches bending to an unseen wind.

Finally with a wild shriek, one knelt by the pyre and lit the brush. With a crackling roar, the reeds ignited and the blaze lit up the crypt in an orgy of shadows and light. The circle broke down into a dancing, spinning frenzy of moans and howls.

“Sisters,” Mater cried out above their voices as their wild pace began to slow. “Generations pass, my sisters, but once again, at the turning of the moon, we have fulfilled our vow to remember.”

“We remember,” the throng answered.

“We remember,” Mater repeated, raising the cup high over her head before pouring the crimson liquid into the flames. Around her, the women fell to the stone floor, as if senseless, and the only sound was the crackling hiss of the fire.

Moments later, the women rose as one, and Mater addressed them once more.

“Tonight, my sisters, I have tidings to convey to you, for I have learned that a new laird is coming.”

A murmur swept through the gathering, and the figure hidden in the niche edged forward as far as possible without being discovered.

“As we have seen in the past, evil stamps the souls of men.” Mater’s voice sank into a harsh whisper. “We all remember the reason for our vow, the reason for our gathering. We all remember, my sisters.”

The throng shifted excitedly.

“Once again, as we have since that night, we must carry on our tradition.”

Mater raised her candle, and the onlooker saw its flame reflected in the eyes of the followers. A chill swept through the ghostly watcher.

“Let the curse fall where it may. We shall remember!”

1

Stirling, Scotland

“It’s a death wish to go there, Gavin, and you know it.”

Gavin Kerr pretended to ignore his friend’s angry concern. Moving from one painting to the next, the black-haired giant continued to study the splendid canvases adorning the walls of Ambrose Macpherson’s study.

“At least a dozen deaths in the past half year,” Ambrose growled. “Think, man. The last laird and his family died miserable deaths in that hideous pile of rock. By the saints, Gavin, no laird of Ironcross Castle has died of old age for centuries."

“Ambrose, your wife has an astonishing gift...”

“We were discussing your foolishness in going to Ironcross just now,” Ambrose interrupted.

“Aye, but these faces touch me nearer to the heart.” Gavin reached up as if to run his fingers over the swirling colors of the canvas. In the portrait, a young child’s face glowed as she looked lovingly at an infant in her arms. “Bonnie Jaime! She’s grown so much since I saw her last. And Michael, already a strapping lad...”

Ambrose leaned on the table that separated the two of them. “Gavin, we are not discussing Elizabeth and my children. We’re here to talk you out of accepting this curse of a gift that the Earl of Angus has bestowed upon you. Can’t you see, the Lord Chancellor is trying to be rid of you?”

“Nay, Angus would have no trouble thinking of easier ways of disposing of me than by making me laird of a Highland castle.” Gavin ran a hand over his chin before moving to the next painting. “Though I should consider this reward more of a dishonor, considering the natural dislike I have for all Highlanders. With the exception of your family, of course,” he added, grinning over his shoulder.

As the Ambrose opened his mouth to speak, the door of the study opened and Elizabeth Macpherson walked quietly into the room. Like a full moon rising through the night sky, the young woman’s entrance brightened the dark features of her husband’s face.

“I see my prayer that you two might have settled this dreadful affair by now was for naught,” she scolded with a smile. With a slap to Gavin’s arm, Elizabeth moved around the table and nestled comfortably against her husband’s side.

The news of his preferment had spread quickly through the court, so Gavin was hardly surprised at Elizabeth’s sudden entrance. His friends clearly intended to overpower him with this show of force.

“To suit you, Gavin Kerr,” Elizabeth said, “I’ve already had black cloths drawn across the windows at this end of the house—to shut out all light—and had the children moved to the west wing of the house—to eliminate any other signs of life.”

“To suit me, Elizabeth?” Gavin repeated. “I cannot stay.”

“But you are staying,” the young woman said matter-of-factly. “I assume the only reason for you to abandon your own lands and go to Ironcross Castle is that you are once again seeking to withdraw from the world.”

“You mean, my love," Ambrose put in, "that this pig-headed Lowlander is once again beset by those dark and melancholy thoughts in which he retreats from all decent folk, hating one and all...and himself.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Aye. So I thought to myself, handsome as he is in his new kilt, there certainly can be no need for him to travel so far into the wild and dangerous northern Highlands. After all, we could provide him with the same misery—I mean, the same hermit’s retreat—right here with us.”

“You will not be swaying me from my decision to go.” Gavin looked gently at the two before him. Elizabeth’s swelling stomach spoke of the imminent arrival of their third child. “You’ve enough to be thinking about, as it’s. And my men are ready. A message has been sent to Ironcross Castle and to my neighbor, the Earl of Athol. I’m expected there a fortnight from now, so whatever you two say will make no difference.” He paused before continuing. "Besides, it’s not my wish to become a hermit, nor any desire to die that compels me to go to that castle. But there is something.”

Gavin hesitated, considering his next words, knowing that the truth would hardly make them worry less. After the devastating loss at Flodden Field, he had been left with no family, and there was no one closer to him than the two people. And he also knew that their concern for his well-being ran much deeper than his own.

Gavin started again. “A noblewoman came to me a fortnight ago. At the time I was still considering the Lord Chancellor’s offer of Ironcross Castle. This woman who came to see me was old and infirm. She said you would remember her, Elizabeth. Lady MacInnes.” Gavin paused as her expression softened, and Ambrose put a comforting arm around her. “Even before meeting her, I knew that Ironcross Castle was a MacInnes holding, that it had been in her family for years, but she told me that after the latest tragedy, she said, Ironcross could crumble to dust.”

Elizabeth slowly eased herself into a nearby chair. “Last summer she told me a horrible tale of losing a husband and two sons in a number of strange accidents on castle lands.”

“Aye. All her men folk but one,” Ambrose added grimly. “And she lost the third son in that fire, too, since then. Along with his wife and daughter.”

Gavin nodded gravely in acknowledgment. “Aye. She told me that her granddaughter had been very fond of you.”

“I shall always remember Joanna,” Elizabeth whispered. “She was so full of life. A truly lovely young woman. And strong. Ready for whatever life might bring. She was to wed this spring—to the Earl of Huntly’s nephew, James Gordon. But all that is finished now. A life’s dreams gone in an instant.”

“The reason for Lady MacInnes’s visit, my friends, was not so much to retell those tragedies, but to ask a favor of me.” Gavin Kerr turned and looked again at the paintings hanging on the wall. “She said that her granddaughter came to you to sit for a portrait last summer.” He turned and found Elizabeth’s gaze upon him.

“Aye, that she did,” she answered. “And they took the portrait to Ironcross, I understand.”

Gavin looked steadily at his two friends. “The old woman wants the painting. She’s too old, she says, to make the journey to Ironcross Castle, even to visit their tomb. She cares nothing for what’s left of the castle. She has no concern for what I do with it. The only thing she asks is that if the painting of her granddaughter escaped the flames, she’d like me to have it conveyed to her.”

Ambrose looked at the Lowlander intently. “If that’s the sole reason for you to go, then you can send a messenger and a group of your men to see to the task. There is no reason for you...”

“But there is a reason for me to go,” Gavin interrupted. “There was something else she said that started me thinking, that made me decide to go there myself.”

He paused. The two before him stared in silence, awaiting his next words. “Lady MacInnes says that although it is unnatural how many of her kin have died there, she still believes that the curse of Ironcross Castle lies not in the realm of ghosts and goblins. There is evil there, she says, it’s true. But the evil is human.”

Gavin let out a long breath. “It’s time someone sought the truth.”

2

The charred shutter, high in the ruined tower, suddenly banged open as the afternoon breeze moved around to the west, and the golden rays of sunlight tumbled into the scorched chamber.

Huddled in the corner on a pile of straw, a startled figure pulled her ragged cloak more tightly around her. Even though it was late spring, she found it more and more difficult to shake off the chill that had crept into her bones. Perhaps it was because she so rarely saw the sun, she thought. For she was now a creature of the night, a mere shadow.

She shivered slightly, acknowledging the gnawing pangs of hunger in her belly. She shook her head, trying to dispel the feeling. There would be no food until tonight, when the steward and the servants that had remained since the fire all slept. Then she would partake of her nightly haunt. Then she would search the kitchens for some scrap that might sustain her.

Those remaining in the castle thought her a ghost. What fools they would think themselves if they only knew how human her needs were.

The wood plank continued to bang against the blackened sill, and she glared at it. This was her rest time, she silently scolded the troublesome shutter. Like the bats and the owls, Joanna thought. For it was only under cover of darkness that she could move about freely in this burned out prison she had once called home.

Pulling herself to her feet, the ragged creature moved silently across the floor. As she neared the offending shutter, she was suddenly aware of the sound of horses in the distance. Shouts came from the courtyard below, and as she listened, the yard below seemed to explode in a frenzy of activity.

Taking hold of the shutter with her swathed hands, Joanna eased it shut without peering below.

The doomed man, she thought. The cursed laird had arrived.

* * *

The pawing hooves of the tired horses against the soft ground raised a gray cloud that swirled about the riders’ heads. Gavin Kerr lifted his eyes from the approaching grooms and stared at the huge iron cross fastened to the rough stone wall above the archway of the great oak entry doors. From the blood-red rust stains on the stone beneath the cross, the new laird judged that it must have hung there for ages. Tearing his eyes away, Gavin glanced around at the buildings facing the open courtyard.

The castle itself was far larger than he’d expected. Stretching out in angles of sharp stone, the series of huge structures wrapped around the courtyard like a hand ready to close. Far above, small slits of windows pierced the walls of the main building as well as the north wing. The south wing’s upper windows were larger. A newer addition, he thought. Gavin let his eyes travel slowly over what he could see. There was no sign of the fire that had claimed the life of the previous laird, his family, and their servants. The winter sleet and rains had scoured the stone of any trace of smoke, no doubt.

He caught the movement from corner of his eye—the slow closing of a shutter in the tower at the top of the south wing.

However, men approaching drew Gavin’s attention earthward again. The tall one scolding the running grooms had to be Allan, steward to the last four MacInnes lairds. The man’s graying hair and beard bespoke his advanced years, while his powerful frame—slightly bent though it was—told of a strength necessary for the position he had held for so long.

Dismounting from his horse, Gavin nodded to a groom and handed off his reins as he exchanged greetings with the bowing steward.

“You did indeed arrive just as we had expected, m’lord. Not a day too soon nor a day too late.” The old man’s hands spread in invitation toward the entrance of the castle. “I took the liberty a day or so ago to have Gibby, the cook, begin preparing a feast for your arrival.”

He paused as a dozen household servants, along with a dwarfish, sickly looking priest, came out to welcome the new laird.

“Your neighbor, the Earl of Athol,” Allan continued, “has been quite anxious for you to arrive, m’lord. If you wish, I can send a man over now and invite...”

“Nay, Allan. That can wait for a day or two.” Gavin’s gaze took in once again the towers at either end of the courtyard. “While my men settle themselves in, I want you to take me through this keep.”

The older man nodded his compliance as he fell in step with the new laird, who was striding toward the south tower. “You might, m’lord, wish to start in the main part of the house—what we call the Old Keep—and work toward the kitchens and the stables in the north wing. There’s very little to see in the south wing.”

Gavin halted abruptly, glanced up at the south tower, and then looked directly at the steward.

“Much of this wing was ruined by the fire, m’lord,” Allan explained quickly. “From the courtyard, it looks sound, but inside, especially where the wing joins the Old Keep, the damage was extensive. The roof is gone in some places, and I’ve had the outside entrances to the building barred to keep...”

“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 it’s 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 Gavin 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.” He 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?”

“It’s an odd place, that abbey. Nary a league from here, following the shore of the loch, but it’s 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 cottages 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 it is.”

“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. “It’s 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’s 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’m 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.

“It is 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 man was larger, by far, than any of the retainers 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.

3

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

“It is 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.

“Aye, m’lord,” Allan responded. “This wing was built by Sir Duncan MacInnes, father of the last three lairds. God rest their souls.”

Gavin looked at the splintered sections of the beams above. The ceilings were high in the south wing. On this floor, at least, the corridor faced out on the courtyard, and the long, narrow windows let in light and air. Some of the chamber doors to the right hung open at rakish angles, and cobwebs and filth were everywhere. “How did Duncan die?”

“Duncan?” the steward repeated, surprise evident in his voice. “Why, the poor soul.” He paused. “That was so long ago. More than twenty years has passed since...”

“You were steward of Ironcross then, were you not, Allan?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Gavin turned a critical stare on the man next to him. “You don’t remember how your master died?”

“Aye, m’lord. Of course I do,” Allan said quickly. “It is just a surprise, your asking. The poor soul cracked his skull in a fall from his horse. It was a sad and mournful day for Ironcross Castle.” The older man looked down at his feet. “Hunting, he was.”

“Who was hunting with him?” Gavin moved slowly down the passage, testing the floors as he went, and Allan followed behind.

“Hunting with him?” The steward scratched his head. “Well, we had a great deal more folk about the castle in those days. Let me see. I believe Alexander, the eldest lad, was with him. And the hunters and grooms, of course. Lady MacInnes was back at Stirling then. She spent very little time at Ironcross during those years. Now, I’m thinking...aye, Lord Athol, the father of the present earl, was with the party as well.”

Gavin held up his hand. Farther down the corridor, from one of the last rooms, the sound of scraping could be heard. As Allan stared, Gavin quietly drew his dirk from his belt and pushed his tartan back over his shoulder. Before he had gone two steps, however, a rat moved out into the corridor, spotted them, and disappeared back into the room.

The new laird sheathed his dirk, and turned to the steward. “I want you to have the grooms and any lads you can gather do a wee bit of rat hunting. I don’t care to be sharing my dinner or my bed with vermin. I want the castle kept clear of them.”

“Aye, m’lord.” Allan clearly was trying hard to hide his surprise at such eccentricity, but nodded in response. “As you wish.”

Gavin hated rats. He knew they were everywhere, in every castle and hut in Europe. In Florence, Paris, and even the newly rebuilt Edinburgh, but he hated them, and he’d not have them in his keep, if he could help it.

Turning his back on the steward, Gavin looked into the chamber that they stood before. It, too, had been badly burned, and pieces of broken, charred furniture littered the room.

“This was the laird’s study, m’lord,” Allan offered. “Sir John, the previous master of Ironcross Castle, spent a great deal of time in this room. He was a great scholar—more so than his father or the two brothers who preceded him.”

As Gavin turned to continue down the corridor, his eyes were drawn to a partially open door in the carved wood paneling just inside the study. Stepping into the chamber, the new laird moved casually over to the panel, he pulled open the door. A small cabinet had been recessed into the wall, and several books lay on a shelf, completely undamaged by fire. Surprised, Gavin took them out of the cabinet.

“Ah, m’lord,” Allan said apologetically, taking the books from the new laird’s hand. “I should have taken them to the Old Keep after the fire. I’m afraid I’ve been negligent in leaving off the care of this wing. But now that you are here, I shall...”

Gavin no longer heard the old steward. His gaze was fixed on the portrait hanging above the small fireplace, and everything else in the world suddenly ceased to exist. Locked on the object across the room, his eyes drank in the vision of the young lass’s golden hair and ivory skin, the straight nose and the delicate mouth that showed only the hint of a smile. But it was the eyes, the deep blue eyes, that enraptured him. In spite of the dark smudges of soot that covered almost half of the painting, her nearly violet eyes twinkled, laughing, shining with the joy of life, with the pure radiance of youthful innocence.

“It was Mistress Joanna, m’lord. Sir John’s daughter.”

Gavin started at the steward’s voice, and turned to him.

“God rest her soul,” Allan continued reverently. “She was a bonny lass, inside and out. It was a waste for her to be taken so young.”

Gavin turned his gaze back to the portrait. Joanna MacInnes.

“We only knew her here a short time, since the laird never allowed her to stay at Ironcross for too long. I know she was schooled in Paris—raised as a court lady. Though the lass liked her visits to the north country, Sir John was fixed on having her stay with his mother, Lady MacInnes, at Stirling.” The steward shook his head. “Meeting her, m’lord, you’d have thought you were meeting an angel. All kindness and compassion, she was. Nothing like those ladies that Thomas, Sir Duncan’s second son, would bring up here.”

Gavin gazed again at her eyes. There was an openness in them, no hint of coyness.

“It was very sad,” Allan continued. “The loss of such a young woman as this.” Gavin took another step toward her, toward the painting.

“She was the first of the MacInnes ladies to show any interest in the women of the abbey.”

Gavin took another step and then turned back to look at the steward.

“Tell me,” the laird began, “did she and Mater...?”

But he didn’t finish. Without warning, the floor opened and fell away beneath him.

* * *

Joanna sat bolt upright from beneath her covering of straw.

The bone chilling crack gave way to a shuddering crash, and the entire south wing shook violently. With her heart pounding in her chest, she sat frozen, unable to move. It had to be the new laird. He was dead. Another life wasted...and for what?

Damn you, Joanna MacInnes, she swore under her breath. When will you find enough courage to put an end to this curse? How many more must die before you act?

“M’lord!”

Dangling high in the air, with his fingers barely holding onto the edge of a projecting beam, Gavin ignored the steward’s shout and tried to swing his legs over the edge. On the second attempt, using another charred beam, he pulled himself onto the narrow remains of the burned flooring in the corner of the chamber.

“These floors, m’lord,” the steward called out from across the way, the distress evident in his voice. “Who could know which are sound? There was a good...”

“Enough, Allan,” Gavin ordered, pushing himself to his feet as he eyed the gaping hole in the middle of the room. “Go after some help. Edmund should be inspecting the curtain wall. At least bring back some rope with you.” Upon seeing the older man hesitate, he ordered again. “Go, man, before the rest of this floor gives way.”

With a quick nod, the steward scurried off down the corridor toward the burned out stairwell.

Alone, Gavin leaned back against the carved wood paneling and looked about the room. The thunderous hammering of his heart at last seemed to slow its pace. He had been very close to falling. Too close, he thought, peering at the wide gap and the considerable drop to the wreckage below.

Then he heard it clearly. The creak of a board above his head. Looking up, he surveyed the soot covered ceiling. Another rat? It moved again. He tried to gauge the weight. If it was another of the vermin, it was a big one. And it was moving toward the wall he had his back to.

He listened intently. Silence. He waited, but only silence encompassed him.

* * *

The panel stuck slightly before giving way to the pressure of her hand. Joanna pushed it open hesitantly, listened for a moment, and then slipped into the darkness of the passageway between the walls.

The narrow tunnel was dimly lit, the only light coming from a small hole in the roof. Stealthily, Joanna moved to a ladder that led to the passageway below and eventually to the tunnels beneath the castle. Slowly and carefully, she made her way down, rung by rung, until she reached the next level.

* * *

Standing on the narrow ledge, Gavin glanced along the wall at the portrait hanging above the open hearth. It was some distance from the corner where he stood. For a moment he considered trying to get to it, but the ledge was narrow and unstable.

A sound—a faint squeak of wood against wood—came from the panel behind him, and, whirling around to face it, he nearly went over the edge.

Quickly regaining his balance, Gavin pressed himself into the corner and started inspecting the panels. One clearly appeared to warp a bit beneath a carved edge piece.

* * *

Joanna listened carefully for some sound from the other side of the panel. She was fairly certain that the crashing noise and the shouts had come from this chamber, but there was nothing to be heard now.

With her hand on the latch, she toyed with the idea of waiting in the tunnels beneath the castle until dark before venturing out. If the new laird was dead, there was no use in exposing herself just to find out what happened.

Something gnawed at her, though, and she could wait no longer. Pushing at the warped edge, she released the latch silently and started to pull the panel open.

4

“M’lord!”

The shout from the far side of the panel stunned Joanna with its nearness. What was worse, however, was the sight of the new laird’s profile through the narrow opening, only a breath away. His face was turned toward the study, as the shout came again, clearly but from below.

Gaping at his profile, Joanna quickly shut the panel as quietly as she could. Sliding the latch, she pressed her palms against the wood and let out a soft, strangled breath. For the first time in months, she’d almost given herself away; she’d come face to face with the man. Pressing her forehead on her knuckles, she closed her eyes. She had to gather her strength. She had to run away. That was far too close. Her body shivered, and she was shocked to feel her knees about to buckle as she tried to rise.

* * *

Gavin turned back to the panel—his fingers traveling across the rough, scorched wood, checking every seam. He could have sworn a moment ago he’d felt it move.

“M’lord!” This time Edmund’s breathless voice came from across the room. “The damn floor...By the Virg...what a mess...Gavin, are you hurt?”

There was something on the inside of this wall. Gavin could feel it. Could it be someone? he wondered. He knew of other castles that had secret passageways. And if there was one, it would allow someone to travel through this wing. Gavin pulled back a hand and smashed it hard against the wall. He felt it move—not as part of the whole wall—but only the section. Pushing at a seam by the edge piece, a crack appeared. Beneath him the floor groaned ominously, and Gavin eased the pressure. There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the panel. Pressing an ear to it, he could clearly hear movement. The sound of hurried steps.

“M’lord?”

Gavin ignored Allan as he pressed his ear tighter against the wood.

“What’s behind here, Allan?”

The old man paused a moment before blurting, “The wall?”

“You think me daft?” Gavin growled, turning a menacing glare on the man. “You were here when this wing was built. Are you telling me...?”

“There were passageways built at the time,” the old steward broke in quickly. “But only the laird knew...the passageways lead down to the caverns that honeycomb these hills, and down to the loch. But no one has used those caverns since Duncan’s time, m’lord.”

“How do you open this?” Gavin asked shortly. “This panel is an entry, is it not?”

When Allan paused, Edmund spoke. “M’lord, if you’ll allow me at least to secure this rope, in case that floor...”

“How does this damn thing open?”

His angry roar got the old man talking. “In the cabinet...there at the corner by the outside wall...aye, that one...an iron ring...”

Gavin crouched carefully and reached inside. Running his fingers along the wood, he found the metal circle. Pulling it, he watched with satisfaction as the panel which he had been standing before only a moment earlier snapped opened a crack.

“M’lord. You don’t plan to go in there alone,” Edmund said with alarm.

“Once you are beneath the castle, there’s no rhyme or reason to the paths,” Allan agreed. “In fact, one of the builder’s apprentices disappeared in those tunnels. It’s dangerous, even for those who know the passages. There are chasms that have no bottom. The lad was never found, m’lord, and he was not the only one.”

Gavin moved toward the panel and pushed it open wide.

“Pray, m’lord,” Edmund’s voice was the more persistent. “Allow me, at least, to come with you. I’ve never seen a...”

“Find a way to get your rump up to the hearth.” The Lowlander glanced over his shoulder at the red-headed warrior. With his eyes he motioned toward the portrait of Joanna MacInnes above the fireplace. “Take the painting to the Old Keep. Put it in my chamber.”

Without another word, Gavin squeezed through the panel and disappeared into the darkness of the passage.

* * *

The slender back of the old woman bowed under the weight of the heavy satchels she carried. Dragging her feet another few steps through the mud, she spotted more herbs by a protruding boulder. Leaning one gnarled hand on the rock, she grasped the top of the plant and pulled. The stubborn root wouldn’t let go.

Though the sun had broken through the heavy clouds, the air was thick with moisture from the rains. Tugging at the plant again, the woman wiped the dripping sweat from her eyes with the other hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on the fan of wrinkles by the exposed white hair at her temple. She gave a sigh of relief when the root let go at last. Wiping the dirt from the greens with one callused hand, she placed it carefully in one of the satchels before painfully straightening under their weight.

“Och, Mater,” the low voice scolded from behind. “Why must you carry both bags in this sun? Let me give you a hand.”

The old woman waved a hand dismissively in the air while continuing with her search. But she didn’t fight when, a moment later, the younger woman reached her and silently took one of the satchels, swinging it over her shoulder.

“The rest of us could do more of this. There’s no reason for you, at your age, to always do so much to take care of so many.”

“There is,” Mater said plainly as she bent down to tug at another root. “What news have you from the castle?”

“Molly has come to visit her sisters. She brought word. There was an accident this morning. The laird insisted that Allan show him the fire damage in the south wing.”

“I knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away from there. What happened?”

“One of the floors collapsed beneath him. But he was not hurt.”

Mater paused for a moment, nodded, and turned her steps down the valley toward the ruined abbey. “Anything else?”

The younger woman fell in step. “Just as his man told you yesterday, Molly says that the laird plans to pay the abbey a visit.” The woman stared at the aging leader. “Will you see him, Mater?”

Mater stopped and looked up at the sky. “I have no choice. I’ll see him...if he still lives.”

* * *

The chapel perched, squat and ancient, on the edge of the cliff in the southeastern corner of the castle, with the gray waters of the loch below. Except for a low archway that had been built to give access to the small kirkyard, the construction of the south wing had completely cut off the little church from the castle’s courtyard.

“It is a miserable place,” the pasty-faced little priest spat out, glaring at the building. “Hotter than hell in the summer, and windier than Luther’s arse in the winter. It’s no wonder the peasants of the holding want nothing to do with it.”

Aye, Gavin thought, glancing at the man’s sour expression. No wonder.

“They have little faith in these hills, you know. It is comfort they crave. Sir John MacInnes, the last laird, promised me that he’d rebuild the chapel, but he did no such thing.”

“Show me the inside, Father William,” Gavin ordered, striding toward the building.

“Aye, of course,” the scrawny cleric replied, running to keep up. “Though I’ll be hanged if you find anything to interest you there.”

Gavin let that comment pass, though the priest’s attitude was curious, to say the least. Father William pulled open the thick oak door.

“Not the way it once was. No faith. No sense of duty. Since the death of Sir John, I have watched as nearly all of his peasants...your peasants...packed up their wee ones and moved onto the Earl of Athol’s land to the north.”

But not all of them had left, Gavin thought. Not all. One of them, he was quite certain, was the ‘ghost’ who was haunting the south wing.

Earlier, when Gavin had stepped into the narrow passageway in the study wall, he had easily found the ladder leading up to the top floor. The chambers above had obviously been comfortably designed and furnished, but now they were in shambles. Working his way through the rooms, he had been quite careful to avoid any repeat of his near disaster in the study. Finally, he’d made his way up to the tower room where he had seen the shutter close.

There, the bed of straw, a scrap of burnt blanket, some rags, a wooden bowl told him that he had been correct. Someone had been taking shelter in the tower, and he had probably found his way into the castle and its passageways from the caverns below.

If what the priest had just said was true, then Gavin knew this stranger had to be a peasant. The Lowlander had investigated what passages he could in the burnt-out wing, but he had reluctantly put off exploring the tunnels leading below. He would need a torch, and preferably a guide, for that little expedition.

In fact, he thought, he could use a torch now. The chapel, dark and musty, offered little to refute the cleric’s words. The few long, thin windows provided hardly any light or air in the sanctuary. No ornaments of value adorned the altar. Only a cross of wood, studded with iron nails, hung on the wall above it. That was all.

Surveying the rest of the interior, Gavin nodded toward the steps leading down into a dark alcove. “The crypt?”

“Aye, m’lord.” The note of contempt in the man’s response was obvious, and, though Gavin was unsure what it was directed toward, he was tiring quickly of the little man.

“Get a candle.”

As the priest returned with a light, Gavin started down the steps into the crypt. It was a low, square chamber, with stone tombs lining the walls. Some were adorned with the effigies of knights, their carved stone swords beside them. As William kept up a running commentary on the relative superiority of past generations, Gavin discovered the low doorway into another area, and, taking the candle, led the way into the newer part of the musty chamber.

“Sir Duncan had this part built before my time here. That is his tomb, with the stone carving. His sons never had much opportunity to plan for their own burials.”

“Where are Sir John and his wife and daughter?”

William’s face looked yellow and quite unhealthy in the flickering light of the candle, and he seemed to hesitate before answering. He gestured with a toss of his head.

“In the kirkyard, m’lord.”

Gavin stared at the man a moment. “I want to see where you’ve put them.”

“Aye. This way.”

As he and the priest retraced their steps, Gavin considered what would be involved in reentering the previous lairds and their families in the crypt.