Flame Read online

  Flame

  by

  May McGoldrick

  ISBN 0451408071

  Copyright © 2009 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: May McGoldrick Books, PO Box 665, Watertown, CT 06795.

  First Published by Topaz, an imprint of Dutton Signet,

  a division of Penguin Books, USA, Inc., November 1998

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  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 will remember!”

  CHAPTER 1

  Stirling, Scotland

  “‘Tis a wish for death 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 are 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 has 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 are 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 at Ambrose.

  As the Highlander 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 m
oved 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 ‘tis. And my men are ready. A message has been sent to Ironcross Castle and to my neighbor, the Earl of Athol. I am expected there a fortnight from now, so whatever you two say will make no difference.” He paused before continuing. "Besides, ‘tis 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 is 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 ‘tis 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, ‘tis true. But the evil is human.”

  Gavin let out a long breath. “‘Tis time someone sought the truth.”

  CHAPTER 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 is 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...”