Flame (34 page)

The rest of her sentence caught in her
throat. There on Margaret’s lap, the hilt of a bloodied dirk
mingled with the priest’s stringy hair. Glancing at the priest’s
belt, Joanna saw an empty scabbard, and as her eyes shot up and
caught Gavin's, she saw from the hardening glare on his face that
he too had seen the weapon.

“She wouldn’t...” Joanna whispered adamantly,
shaking her head at him.

Quickly, Gavin reached down and lifted the
dagger from the woman’s skirt, wiping its bloody haft and blade on
the cloak of the priest. Joanna’s eyes followed his as they moved
from the gleaming blade edge to the man’s throat. His eyes were
accusing when they shifted to Margaret--to her face and
crimson-stained hands--before studying the dirk again.

A sudden fury flamed up in her as Gavin
continued to look on in silence. She glanced quickly at Margaret’s
face. No change. She still acted as if there were no one else
around-- dipping her fingers into the blood, smearing it onto the
skin of her cheeks. Margaret could not have done this, Joanna
thought, but she was sure to die for it. And it was the laird who
would dispense such justice.

“Look at her, Gavin,” Joanna urged. “Listen
to her cries. She wouldn’t mourn him...she wouldn’t suffer like
this if she killed him.”

“We will have to take them back to the
castle.” He turned and whistled for his horse.

Joanna felt a sense of panic wash over her.
She remembered Mater’s words, about the mute woman’s helplessness.
There was no one here to look after her. There would be no one, not
even her own brother, perhaps, who would believe in her innocence.
Putting her arms more tightly around Margaret’s shoulders, Joanna
tried to shake the woman out of her trance. But there was nothing
that she did that made a difference.

Nothing until Gavin tried to wrap the priest
in his own cloak.

Right before their eyes, Margaret went wild.
Clawing at the dark cloak, she uttered senseless sounds, wailing
and tearing at Gavin's hands, throwing herself on the murdered
priest’s body in a frenzied and lunatic display of misery and
loss.

Gavin motioned to Joanna to hold her back,
but the young woman couldn’t hold back her own tears as she
struggled to keep Margaret away as he watchfully wrapped the
corpse.

Margaret’s struggles subsided, and now she
just lay her bloody and grief-stricken face against the young
woman’s shoulder. Joanna absently stroked the thin woman’s back,
but there was no response. She had withdrawn into some dark space
within herself, lost once more to all activity around her.

Joanna looked up at Gavin. He was busily
tying the body of the priest on top of his horse. The grim
expression on his face told her all she needed to know.

What would come next was clear. Margaret
would be found guilty of killing the priest. A sense of horror
seized her even more strongly when she realized that Gavin might
even think her guilty of killing the others. Joanna herself had
told him that Margaret had been one of the women present in the
crypt. And in his mind, if she was capable of doing this killing,
then she was capable as well of doing away with the others.
Margaret
had
been one of them, but Joanna now knew that she
was Mater’s own sister, and something in that gave Joanna pause.
Though her own response puzzled her, something in that fact seemed
to excuse, rather than condemn.

The older woman clutched at Joanna’s shoulder
and began to sob silently.

“I know you didn’t do this,” Joanna murmured
softly against the woman’s head. “I know, Margaret.”

She watched Gavin as he headed back in their
direction, and Joanna looked into his face, hoping to see some sign
of compassion for the broken creature in her arms. But there was
none.

“We’re ready to head back. You will ride your
mare...”

“What about her?”

“She can walk.”

“She cannot,” Joanna said shortly. “She does
not even know where she is, or who we are. Gavin, she’s not moved
out of my arms since you took his body away. You cannot expect
her...”

“She
will
walk,” he said, taking
Joanna by the elbow and jerking her abruptly to her feet. Like a
heap of rags, Margaret fell to the ground at their feet. “Now, I do
not plan to stand here all day arguing. So get back to your horse.
I want to be back in the castle before nightfall.”

Joanna stared into his dark, cold eyes in
disbelief. She’d never seen him this unfeeling, and suddenly the
impact of Margaret’s doom hit her full force.

“What are you planning to do with her?” she
asked quietly. “After...after we get back to Ironcross Castle.”

“We’re not discussing that now.” He turned to
go after her mare.

She quickly placed a hand on his elbow,
trying to force him to turn and face her again. “Gavin, speak to
me. I cannot allow you punish this poor woman. I do not believe
there is any way she could have done something so...so
horrible.”

“Well, she
could
have, and she
has
.”

“Nay, you’re wrong!” Joanna matched his
glare. “Having a knife in her lap does not make her the killer. She
could have come upon the body and picked up the weapon. Or she
could have witnessed the killing. Look at her, for God’s sake! She
is amazed... stunned!” She let out a quick and frustrated breath
before continuing. “There is no reason for her to kill the priest,
when...”

“She would have known about Iris. She would
have known that the priest got the lass with child, only to shrug
off his responsibility. ‘Tis clear what’s happened here. Margaret
went off with him. She thought that he was going to leave her, as
well. That is plenty reason enough for her to kill him.” Gavin
looked steadily into Joanna’s eyes and then held up his bloody
hands for her to see. “And she did kill him.”

“I cannot believe it,” Joanna said
stubbornly, looking down at the weeping woman at her feet. “No one
this distracted could be a murderer. How can you be so blind?”

“Blind?” he said through clenched teeth,
grabbing her by the arms and shaking her roughly as he yanked her
away from Margaret. “Does this not bring something else to your
mind? You stand here and proclaim this pitiful creature innocent,
even after finding her with the murder weapon in her lap, even with
the man’s blood covering her! None of this is enough to convince
you that she is guilty of this murder! And yet, on the other hand,
you hold Mater responsible for that fire, while all you witnessed
was some ritual.”

“‘Twas much more that!”

“Was it? Did you see something more damning
than what we’ve found here? Did you see Mater set that wing on
fire? Did you ever see her anywhere near that south wing?”

“I didn’t have to see her there!” she shouted
angrily. “If I had listened to my grandmother’s warnings...”

“Nothing different would have happened,” he
said adamantly. “Because whatever her reasons were for speaking
those words about Mater, they had nothing to do with what took
place here last fall.”

“But that’s not true. I saw them...”

“Where, Joanna? You saw them in the crypt.
Listen to me. ‘Tis time
you
faced the truth!”

She shook her head, trying to fight off the
tears that were starting to sting her eyes.

“There were things that your grandmother
never told you, Joanna.”

“I know that,” she answered harshly.

“Things having to do with why Lady MacInnes
never stayed here in the Highlands and why she made her home in
Stirling. Things that might explain why she hated Mater.”

A calmness suddenly descended on Joanna. A
clarity that startled her. She stared at him, wondering now what it
was that he had not told her.

“Your grandsire, Duncan, had a...a taste for
women.” He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. “He had a
reputation for taking mistresses. They say he never could pass by a
bonny face, no matter who the lass was.”

“How do you know this?”

“Some from Athol,” he answered quietly. “But
it only confirmed information I gathered about your family before
coming to Ironcross Castle.” He eased his hard grip on her. “Lady
MacInnes left the Highlands because she was sick of watching the
line of women making their way to and from Duncan’s bed. Word is
that early on she decided to spend as little time as possible with
him.”

“But what does this have to do with her
hatred of Mater?” she asked, almost too afraid to hear the
answer.

“I cannot say with any certainty,” he
answered. “But she too was a young woman once. I think it may not
be too wild to suppose that your grandfather could have had eyes
for her.”

“But she has been at the abbey for as long as
anyone remembers.”

“For as long as
you
remember,” he
corrected. “And keep in mind,
you
were the one who
discovered she is a sister to Allan and this miserable woman.”

Joanna looked down at the sobbing creature at
her feet. Margaret had gathered her knees to her chest, her
expression that of one totally lost to the world.

“She could very well have lived at Ironcross
when Duncan was laird,” Gavin continued. “Is it not likely that is
how your grandmother knew her?”

Joanna’s head pounded, her thoughts and her
feelings a muddle of contradictions. She wished she could have some
time just to wade through this flood of information.

She stared at Gavin. “How are we ever going
to learn any more of the Mater’s past unless she is willing to tell
us herself?”

Gavin looked thoughtfully at the mute woman
before answering. “Well, we may have just found a way.”

James Gordon was already married. Not that it
seemed to matter!

Foolishly, Joanna had thought that Gavin
would be exhilarated with the news, but he hadn’t even come to see
her since his warrior Edmund had returned with the message from the
Earl of Huntly, early this morning.

Thinking Joanna lost in the fire, the good
earl’s nephew had since been betrothed and wed to a well placed
lass that Joanna knew from her time at court. To Joanna, this news
was of little consequence, since she had already given herself,
body and soul, to Gavin Kerr. But even before Gavin had come to
Ironcross, she had never felt any sense of belonging to the
handsome young Highlander. After all, she had only met him a
handful of times, every one of those visits in the company of her
family.

But still, she had thought that the response
would have elicited some enthusiasm on the part of Gavin, for he
was the one who had pushed so hard to resolve the issue of her
former betrothal.

Enthusiasm, she thought. Ha! Nothing! At
least James Gordon had had enough decency to write a letter to
her--a letter filled with explanation and apology. But Gavin had
not even deigned to come and see her.

Seeing no purpose in dwelling in
self-inflicted misery, Joanna sat up in her bed and drew back the
damask curtains. Feeling a pang of hunger, she knew that she
herself would not be sleeping for hours yet. Her body was still
telling her that this was the time to rise and go scavenging for
food. Pushing herself to her feet and reaching for her clothes,
Joanna decided to check on Margaret one more time before trying to
sleep.

There had been no reason to put the mute
woman in chains. It was evident to all that Margaret herself had
erected iron bars that imprisoned her more effectively than
anything man could construct.

She had remained in a continuous trance-like
state for the past two days. Unable to recognize anyone or anything
around her, Margaret had simply remained in one of the small
chambers off of a narrow corridor leading from the kitchens, and
after the initial curiosity had worn off, none of her fellow
servants had shown any interest in her or in her well-being.

Stepping into the corridor from her room, the
young woman faced the guard who seemed to always be by her door.
The Lowlander appeared surprised to see her.

“The laird thought you might already have
retired for the night, m’lady. He left a message for me to give you
in the morning.”

“A message?”

“Well, m’lady, you probably heard that Peter
came for the laird this morning.”

“Peter?” she asked, trying to remember the
name.

“Aye, he was searching the villages south of
here for some sign of a priest who was here...before this one that
was murdered.”

“Oh! Aye...Peter!” Joanna blurted out,
recollecting.

“Well, the laird wanted me to tell you that
Peter has found the old priest. He’s in a spital house for lepers.
He said there was no way for Peter to drag the old man all the way
here. And since the priest wouldn’t answer any questions of a
Lowlander...”

“What happened?” she asked impatiently,
watching the man’s frown darken.

“Well,” the warrior scratched the back of his
neck. “The laird and the Earl of Athol decided to ride back with
Peter and question the man themselves.”

“Are you telling me they are gone?”

“They are, m’lady. But...”

“He told me he would take me with him.” He
had implied as much when they had gone to the abbey. She'd wanted
to be present when he questioned anyone who knew anything.

“He said to convey his apologies. He hoped to
be back tomorrow or the next day. And he also wanted me to tell you
not to be...well, too angry with him...but he was not going to take
you visiting any lepers!”

She gaped with disbelief at the Lowlander,
coloring brightly and feeling like a shrew. Nonetheless, she forced
a smile and nodded, turning down the corridor.

Coward, she thought, turning and heading for
the kitchen. Gavin Kerr was no more than a coward. Too afraid to
face her for fear of her seeing through him. Too afraid of her
seeing his lack of joy over the news from James Gordon.