Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

To her stunned amazement, Richard grabbed the singed blanket from her. Then threw it about his head and shoulders and plunged into the cottage himself.

"Richard!" Catriona heard her own scream, saw her hands reach out, grasping, trying to catch him to hold him back-but he was already gone.

Into the flames.

Others ran to her and gathered about, their eyes, like hers, glued to the open doorway. They waited, tense, on their toes, ready to dash closer at the slightest sign.

The heat held them were they were. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

Catriona prayed the hardest-she'd seen the inside of the cottage. Raging inferno didn't come close to describing it-the whole back wall and the ceiling were a mass of hot, searing flames.

Everyone in the yard fell silent, all gripped by the drama. Into the sudden, unnatural silence came a loud, prolonged creak.

Then the main beam beneath the front of the roof exploded.

Before their horrified eyes, it cracked, once, then again, flames spitting victoriously through the gaps.

A second later, the lower beam, between the ground and upper floor, groaned mightily.

Then, in a vicious splurge, flames spat around the lintel of the door itself. In split seconds, the wood started to glow.

Richard lunged through the door, staggering-a wrapped bundle in his arms, clinging, crying weakly.

Everyone rushed forward-the blacksmith's wife grabbed her child, Irons grabbed both of them in his huge arms and lifted them away. Catriona, Henderson and two of the grooms grabbed Richard, gasping, coughing, struggling to breathe, and hauled him away from the cottage.

On that instant, with a deep, guttural groan like the dying gasp of a tortured animal, the cottage collapsed. Flames shot high; there was a deafening roar. Then the fire settled to crack and consume its prey.

Bare hands smothering the flames flickering in Richard's hair and along his collar and shoulders, Catriona had no time for the cottage.

Richard was not so distracted.

Staring at the furnace growing beside the forge, he finally managed to catch his breath-finally noticed what she was doing. With an oath, he spun and caught her hands-and saw the telltale burns.

"Damn it, woman-don't you have the sense you were born with!"

Stung, Catriona tried to tug her hands free. "You were alight!" She glared at him "What happened to the blanket?"

"The child needed the protection more than me." Grabbing a full saucepan from a passing waterbearer, Richard plunged Catriona's hands, gripped in one of his, into the cold water. His face like thunder, he dragged her, her wrists locked in one hand, the other holding the water-filled pan, across to the back doorstep.

He forced her to sit. "Stay here." Dumping the pan in her lap, he trapped her gaze. "Stay the hell out of this-leave it to me."

"But-"

He swore through his teeth. "Dammit-which do you think your people-or I-would rather lose-the granary, or you?" He held her gaze, then straightened. "Just stay here."

Without waiting for an answer, he strode away. Into the directionless melee about the pump.

Within seconds, the women were drifting away, pans and pots in hand, uncertain expressions on their faces, all headed to join Catriona. Among them was Algaria. In answer to Catriona's questioning glance, she coldly lifted a shoulder. "He said we were more distraction than help-that the men would do better fighting the fire without worrying if their women and children were safe."

Catriona grimaced; she'd seen more than one of the men stop and hunt through the crowd, or leave their post for a moment to shout orders at their children. The women, as they neared, collected their children

as they came. The men, now all gathered about the pump, about Richard, taller than them all, were staring at the burning building, listening intently while Richard pointed and rapidly issued orders.

With a sigh, Catriona lifted her hands from the icy water and studied them. Then she grimaced and put them back into the pot. She looked up at Algaria. "Can you check the baby for me!?"

Algaria raised a brow. "Of course." She paused, looking down at Catriona. "That was a foolish thing to do. A few minor burns could hardly harm his black soul."

With that, she turned away and glided, like a black crow, into the house; stunned, her wits too shaken to respond quickly, Catriona stared, open-mouthed, after her.