Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

Huggins nodded and went. Catriona coughed as billowing smoke gripped her throat. Turning, she surveyed the yard-there was a large crowd waiting, buckets, pails, pots and pans in hand around the pump. It wasn't hard to guess the problem. The roads had cleared, but it was a long way from spring-the main snows on Merrick had yet to melt, so the river was still at its winter ebb. Only a gentle gush came up through the pump, enough for daily needs, but not enough to fight a fire.

A hot roar at her back had Catriona whirling; she backed as heat hit her like a surging wave.

Sparks and cinders rained down-a real danger for those running close to throw their precious water on the fire. Then came a loud crack!- a beam exploded; flaming debris showered down, driving everyone back.

Gasping, Catriona found herself cowering protectively over Tom. "Blankets!" Tom looked up at her-she shook his shoulder. "We need blankets to beat out the sparks. Get the others and fetch the horse blankets from the tack room."

Tom nodded and fled, shrieking through the din for his cohorts to follow him. They did, an unruly band streaking for the stables. They returned in double time, staggering under the weight of the heavy blankets balanced across their arms. Catriona grabbed one and started beating out the flaming cinders. Other women saw and did the same.

Huggins and his band had reached the back of the house; Catriona heard th

em bellowing for more help. Brushing the back of her hand over her flushed forehead, she looked around. "Jem, Joshua!-take your pails to the back."

They nodded and changed course around the side of the forge.

In the yard, everyone redoubled their efforts, trying to fill the gaps left by those who'd gone to the other front. But the pump would yield only so much. Glancing back through the swirling smoke, Catriona saw Irons had stripped off his shirt and was now bending his back to the pump handle. Henderson was slumped, wheezing, on the water trough-now empty.

"Lady!"

Catriona turned at the tug on her sleeve. Huggins, doubled over and panting, struggling to catch his breath, grimaced up at her.

" 'Twas the woodpile behind the house-that's where it started." He paused to drag in another breath, his eyes going to the fiercely burning cottage. "We can douse the pile, but it's almost ashes now. But that won't stop it. The flames have got a good hold on the back wall, particularly on those big lintel beams across the back."

Following his nod Catriona stared at the huge wooden beams that crossed the cottage, one above the door and window, separating the ground floor from the first, and the other above the first floor, supporting the roof timbers. Matching beams spanned the back.

"It's going to go." Huggins shook his head and slumped forward again. "We can't reach those big beams, and we haven't got enough water even if we could. It's an inferno, up there."

Catriona stared at the greedy flames, then dragged in a huge breath. She coughed and took a firm grip on her wits. And ignored the fright licking at her nerves. "All right." She squeezed Huggins's arm, sending him a little of her hard-won calm. "Tell your men to concentrate on saving the granary and the forge." She hesitated, then added: "The granary first if a choice has to be made."

They couldn't afford to lose the grain and other foodstuffs stored in the granary, their larder for the rest of the winter.

Huggins nodded his understanding and stumbled away to issue her orders. Catriona took one last look at the fiercely burning cottage and went to find Irons. She found him slumped by the pump; Henderson was manning it again. Grim-faced, his gaze on his burning home, Irons heard her out, then, with a pain-filled grimace, nodded.

"Aye." With an effort, he hauled himself to his feet. "You be right. Cottage can be replaced-granary, and what's in it, can't."

He started bellowing orders himself; Catriona rushed forward once more to take charge close to the house, instructing the waterbearers where to fling their loads.

Her voice hoarse and fading, she grabbed a pot from a maid hard of hearing and showed her where to throw it-at the junction between the walls of the cottage and the granary. Handing the empty pot back to the woman, she paused, wiping the sweat from her brow, trying not to notice the heat washing over her-

She heard a cry.

Not from the yard, but from the cottage.

She stared at the building, the rough stone between the burning beams glowing pink-and told herself she'd imagined it. Prayed she'd imagined it.

But it came again, a whimpering wail that died beneath the flames' roar.

"Oh, Lady!" Hand to her mouth, Catriona whirled and searched the host of scurrying women for the blacksmith's wife. And found her, frantically grabbing the older manor children, having to peer through the soot and grime covering their faces to recognize her own. As Catriona watched, the woman grabbed one girl close, hand gripping the slender shoulder like a claw-she saw the woman scream her question, saw the girl shake her head, her own features changing into a mirror of her mother's horror. Then both mother and daughter looked straight at the burning house.

Catriona didn't hesitate. She grabbed a horse blanket from one of the weary beaters and flung it over her head and shoulders. Then she lunged for the closed door of the cottage.

She forced it open, and stepped through-

The flames roared-a wall of heat beat her back.

She staggered and nearly fell; cries and screams from all around filled her ears. Sure of the whimper she'd heard under the roar, she tightened her grip on the blanket and gathered her courage to step forward once more.

Before she could, she was bodily lifted and unceremoniously dumped on her feet ten feet back from where she'd stood. "Damn, stupid woman!" was the mildest of the oaths that rang in her ears.