Unless he escaped in the next minute, he would die. But he had few options. Seek shelter in the fireplace—a decision that would only delay his demise—or find some way to move the bedpost.
He saw Brighid’s cloak begin to catch, pulled it from the chair where it lay, beat the flames out, held it to his face to keep the smoke from his lungs. Coughing hard, he leapt over veins of fire to reach the fireplace, grabbed the fire tongs, then dashed back. If he could only shift the burning post so that the door could open wide enough for a man to pass through, he could escape.
He tried to grasp the post with the tongs, but it was too big and the flames burned so high his hands were scorched in the attempt.
Next he tried to use the tongs as a lever, thrusting them behind the end of the post where it pressed against the wall. But the wall had caught fire, and the heat was so intense against his bare skin he could last only a moment or two at a time.
He sank to his knees coughing, aware he was beginning to suffocate.
On the floor beside him, he saw a glint of gold. Brighid’s
brooch.
The pin was covered with blood, and he realized she’d used it to stab Sheff. My
brave Brighid.
Jamie picked it up, slipped it into his pocket, determined to try again regardless of how badly the heat burned his skin. He’d be a hell of a lot hotter if he didn’t get out—now.
He forced himself to his feet, hung the cloak over his shoulder like a shield, gritted his teeth against the blistering heat. Then he drove the tongs between the post and the wall.
Something crashed against the door, made it shudder.
The flaming bedpost rocked.
Jamie leapt back as far as he could lest it fell on him.
From the hallway beyond, he thought he could hear shouting. He tried to shout back, but his words were lost in a fit of coughing.
This time whoever was outside the door hit it even harder. Again, the bedpost rocked, but did not roll out of the way.
Dizzy, Jamie knew he had precious few moments before the place where he stood was swallowed by flame. He pressed the cloak closer to his face, willed himself to stay conscious.
Wood splintered. The bedpost shuddered, rolled. The door fell inward, landed atop the flaming post like a bridge.
On top of the door lay Rhuaidhri. The boy looked up at him. “What are you waitin’ for,
Sasanach?
Let’s get out of here!”
Jamie followed Rhuaidhri out the door into the hallway beyond. Dizzy, he struggled to stay on his feet, sucked cool, sweet air into his lungs.
“Sheff.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse, and he struggled not to cough. “I need to find him!”
“Curse him!”
Jamie shook his head, tried to explain. “He’s badly burned. It was the pox. It’s driven him mad.” “The devil can take him! Come!”
Jamie shook his head. “I must try!”
He could see fire from down the hall where Sheff had fled. He held the cloak to his mouth, tried to follow the trail, Rhuaidhri behind him, cursing up a storm.
But they’d gone only half the length of the hallway when Jamie realized it was hopeless. The fire before them was thick, impenetrable. The manor, its walls weakened by tiny peepholes, was quickly becoming an inferno. If they didn’t get out, it would collapse on their heads. “It’s no good!” Jamie shouted over the groans of the dying manor. “Let’s go!”
“Now you’re makin’ sense.”
They turned back, stopped. The way they had come was a barricade of fire.
Chapter Thirty-three
Brighid watched in horror as the manor went up in flames.
Window after window showed the orange glow of fire, then shattered. Sparks shot into the night air. Smoke rose black against the dark sky.
Soon the blaze cast an unnatural light upon the night, a false dawn.
With each passing moment, her fear, her hopelessness grew.
Her teeth chattered from the cold, but she didn’t feel it. Tears fell unheeded down her cheeks. Beside her, Ailis wept openly, but Brighid didn’t hear.
She knew only one thing: Jamie and Rhuaidhri were in there, and she might never see them again. Somewhere in the distance a bell rang in belated alarm. Men and women shouted, screamed. Some seemed to be trying to fight the fire, while others stood by in shock and did nothing.
Then a great rumbling shook the night, and part of the roof collapsed, sending a shower of embers skyward.
Jamie!
Rhuaidhri! Their names were a whispered prayer on her lips.
“Mother of God! Brlghid?”
Brighid turned her head, looked into Fionn’s worried eyes.
Fionn could tell she was in shock. Her eyes seemed to see through him. But she recognized him, said his name, reached for him.
He shed his coat, wrapped it around her shoulders. Then he pulled her into his arms. “Brighid! I thought you were safe in London.”
The girl whose weeping had drawn Fionn to this stand of trees began to babble almost uncontrollably, making no sense.
“At first I told the
iarla
everything because I thought he cared for me now that I’m carryin’ his baby, but then I started to feel for Rhuaidhri, and then, when the handsome
Sasanach
was brought in, I helped them escape. I got the key, and the
iarla
tried to kill Brighid. He beat her badly, and they saved her, but now they’re inside!” The girl ended on a wail.
Fionn lifted his sister’s chin, saw the bruises on her cheeks and her throat. If the bloody
iarla
wasn’t dead yet, Fionn would kill him with his bare hands. “Brighid, talk to me. Where is Rhuaidhri?”
She met his gaze, then looked toward the manor, pointed. “He went to save Jamie. Fionn, they’re in the fire!”
Fionn looked at the manor as another portion of the ceiling collapsed. The entire structure was in flames. His mind told him no one could possibly still be alive in that conflagration. But his heart dared to hope.
He turned to the weeping girl. “What’s your name, love?”
“Ai-Ailis.” She sniffed.
“Ailis, listen carefully. I’m going in after them. If I don’t come back, I want you to watch out for Brighid. Take this.” He grabbed the last of Blake well’s coin from his pocket, placed it in her palm. “Head to County Clare. I have family there who will take you in and make certain you’re cared for. When Brighid is herself again, she’ll be able to guide you. Do you understand?” Ailis gazed in apparent disbelief at the coin in her hand, nodded.
Fionn bent down to kiss Brighid’s cheek. She sat as if transfixed, watched the manor bum. “Brighid, I’m going to go get them out if I can.”
Then her eyes grew wide, and she pointed. He looked toward the manor, watched as two men leapt through a seeming wall of flames. Something heavy was draped over the shoulder of the taller one.
Blakewell.
Running beside him was Rhuaidhri.
“Mother of God!”
Brighid heard Fionn swear, heard Ailis begin to sob afresh. She felt relief wash through her, an elixir of joy. She could not see their faces, but the firelight behind them was enough. She’d recognize the catlike grace of Jamie’s stride—and the cockiness of Rhuaidhri’s—anywhere. Fionn rushed forward, helped Jamie lower the heavy bundle to the ground.
It was no bundle, but a man wrapped in her cloak. “He’s dying.” Jamie coughed. “Badly burned. It was the pox. Drove him mad.”
Brighid did not hear Ailis’s distressed cry. Her eyes were fixed on the man shivering in her cloak. At first she did not recognize him. Then she gasped. It was the
iarla.
Jamie looked down at the man who’d once been his closest friend, the man who had tried to destroy him, the man who had almost raped and murdered Brighid. He didn’t know what to feel. Relief? Rage? Grief? The only thing he knew for certain was that Sheff would be dead in a matter of moments. They had found him facedown on the servants’ stairs, surrounded by fire, had pulled him out. But it had been too late to save him. The flames had burned his body far beyond a doctor’s skill to heal, and the smoke had ravaged his lungs.
Sheff’s eyes opened. “Jamie, old boy.”
“Sheff.”
“We’ve gotten ourselves in a bad spot, haven’t we?” He took a long shuddering breath, coughed. “Was it a brawl?”
Jamie realized Sheff’s mind was gone. The fire, his burns, had robbed him of any true awareness. Or perhaps the pain had sent him to another time, another place. “Aye, a brawl.”
“You look like hell, old friend. It looks like they got the better of us this time.”
In Sheff’s eyes, Jamie could again see the shadow of the man who’d once been his friend. His throat grew tight. “Aye, they got the better of us this time.” “And me, I’ve had too much to drink, else why would I be flat on my back?” Sheff gave a weak laugh, shuddered. “Will you get me home, Jamie?”
Jamie forced a smile. “Aye, old friend. You’re going home.”
“Knew I could count... on you.” Sheff took one long, rattling breath, then lay still, his eyes open, lifeless. Brighid watched the war of emotions on Jamie’s face as the man who’d been his friend, the man she hated and feared above all others, breathed his last. She wanted to go to Jamie, to comfort him. She fought her way to her feet, took one unsteady step.
And then he was there, standing before her. “Brighid!” He pulled her into his arms, pressed his lips to her forehead, whispered her name.
He smelled of smoke and sweat, and she savored the feel of him, alive, strong. She knew in her heart she had almost lost him, and she felt she might never be able to let go of him again. She let herself sink against him. She heard his quick intake of breath, felt his body jerk.
He grinned apologetically. “Bums, love.” It was then she saw the redness of his skin, the raw blisters on his chest.
“Oh, Jamie! We must get salve—“
He cupped her face in his hands, wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, tilted her face upward until her gaze met his. “I’ll be fine, sweetling.” And then there were no words.
His lips found hers, or hers found his. It was a kiss of release, a kiss of deliverance, a kiss of prayers answered. Tears of happiness trickled down her cheeks as their lips met, caressed, as their tongues twined, tasted. Salty tears, smoke, sweat.
Her legs, already trembling and weak, gave way. He steadied her, lowered the two of them until she sat in his lap, his arms holding her safe.
He ended the kiss, nuzzled her ear. “When I opened that door and saw you lying so still and covered in blood, I thought you were dead. My God, Brighid, I don’t know what I would have done!”
She savored his words, turned her face up to him, met his gaze. “I watched the manor burn, feared you and Rhuaidhri had died in the flames. Oh, Jamie, I died a thousand times thinking I’d never see you again!”
“Rhuaidhri saved my life.” He pulled her against him, kissed her hair. “You’re not going to be rid of me so easily,
a Bhrighid.”
Behind them, she heard her brothers talking.
“So this is the way of it.” Fionn didn’t sound too angry.
“Aye, so it is.” Rhuaidhri didn’t sound angry at all.
Jamie slowly stood, gently helped Brighid to her feet. Then he turned to Fionn. “We need to leave quickly. It won’t be long before they realize the earl is. .. dead. They’ll send for the authorities.”
Brighid saw a current of understanding pass between the two men.
Fionn took a deep breath, nodded. Then he stepped forward, met Brighid’s gaze, rested his hands on her shoulders. “Brighid, you and Rhuaidhri are goin’ with him to the Colonies. Aye, and you, too, Ailis, if Jamie is willing.” Stunned, Brighid stared at her brother, her heart a riot of emotion. She started to protest, but Rhuaidhri beat her to it.
“I’ll be bloody damned if—“
Fionn exploded. “The next time you defy me, Rhuaidhri, I’ll take it out of your hide! Look where your rashness has brought us all!”
Rhuaidhri shut his mouth, looked at his feet. Brighid spoke, her voice thick with emotion. “But why must we go? Can we not also stay with Seanan? With the
iarla
dead, is that not far enough away?” Fionn shook his head. There was grief in his eyes, but also strength. “No, litde sister. I won’t take that chance. Had I sent you both away the first time Jamie offered to take you, we might all have been spared great pain. I’ll not risk either of you again.”
“But, Fionn, we cannot go without you!” Fionn closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, met her gaze. “Aye, you can. You must. I will follow with Aidan and Muirin when I am able.” “Muirin?” Brighid and Rhuaidhri spoke at the same time.
“Aye, she’s my wife.” He smiled.
Brighid heard Jamie offer his congratulations, but she could do little more than gaze, amazed, into her brother’s blue eyes. Beneath the exhaustion, beneath the worry, she saw deep contentment. And she knew. He was in love. “My brother a married man!” Rhuaidhri chuckled, slapped Fionn on the back. “Of course, there’s no explainin’ Muirin’s choice.”