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and
turned to him.
    “God rest her soul,” Allan continued
reverently. “She was a bonny lass, inside and out. ‘Twas 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.
    “‘Twas 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 did not 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 what is 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