Flame by May McGoldrick Read Free Book Online

new laird
seemed to have put every available hand in Ironcross Castle to work
tearing away the wreckage. But in doing so, the damned Lowlander
was taking away what little safety and comfort she had. The sound
of axes chopping through burned wood and the ripping sound of
plaster had filtered down to her. But then, at last, when it all
had fallen silent for the night, Joanna had stolen back through the
passages to her room in the tower in search of what she could
salvage. All her meager possessions, even the rag she wore as a
dress, had been cleared out.
    Nothing had gone right since he’d arrived.
Nothing. Joanna tried to ignore the rumbling growl of her stomach.
Even her foray into the kitchen tonight had been a failure. Well,
not a total failure. Gliding through the pitch black chamber, she
had been lucky enough to stumble on this old dress, folded on a
bench in the corner. At least she wouldn’t have to haunt the castle
wearing only her shift.
    Not a comforting image, she thought,
gathering her knees to her chest. Her face clouded over. She had a
bit more than a fortnight before the full moon. So few days to
build her courage and finally go through with her plan of revenge.
But until then, she wouldn’t sit back and let this Lowland usurper
ruin her existence. Not one bit, she thought, brightening.
    From the time she was a bairn, she’d been
hearing about the Ironcross curse. She’d heard the women talk of
its ghosts. Aye, she knew the truth of it now.
    But as for the ghosts, this Lowlander must be
hearing some of the same tales.
    A mischievous glint crept into her eyes. Let
the shadows rise, she thought. Let the ghosts of Ironcross teach
this laird a lesson about disturbing a spirit.
     
    ***
     
    Still clothed in his wet garments, Gavin
gazed out through one of the small open windows into the pitch
black of the moonless night. During the day, one could see the loch
from this chamber, as well as the trail of hills leading southward
toward the abbey. On a night such as this, one could not even see
the boulder-dotted gorge below, and the only sound was the
pattering of the rain and the occasional echoing rumble of far-off
thunder.
    He was not to be disturbed, he’d said before
retiring to the master’s chamber of the Old Keep. In the morning,
Andrew would ride north to Elgin and collect enough carpenters to
rebuild the south wing of the castle--and a stonemason to build the
tombs for the family of his predecessors.
    Aye, for you, he thought, turning to the
portrait of Joanna MacInnes, propped up on a chest by the fire.
    Gavin tore his gaze away from her alert,
vibrant eyes and stared at his dinner, untouched on the small table
beside the fire. Of all that had happened that day, his visit to
the kirkyard had been the most troubling of all. So many fresh
graves. And so many who had died so young. He couldn’t shake off
the melancholy that had descended on his soul as he had stood in
the wind-driven rain.
    Stripping off his wet tartan, shirt, and
kilt, the laird heaped the clothes on the hearth. He gazed into the
fire for a moment, but as he sat down and kicked off his boots,
Gavin’s eyes were again drawn to the face of Joanna MacInnes. What
was it about this woman that haunted him so?
    Gavin drew back the blanket from his bed and
climbed in between its linens. Lying back with a hand propped
behind his head, he stared across the room at her face. He was
glad, now, that he had told his men to have the painting brought
here, rather that having it immediately wrapped in preparation for
the journey back to Lady MacInnes. It was selfish, he knew, to
delay the old woman’s request. But staring at the portrait, he
realized how dazzling a creature Joanna MacInnes had been.
    And he realized how easy it would have been
to fall under her spell.
    There was something much more powerful than
her beauty that captivated him. Nay, he had known many bonny women.
There was mystery in the violet blue depths of her eyes, in the
hint of a