The Firebrand (21 page)

“‘Twill have to do,” she muttered aloud.

She could not take a day more of this imprisonment and this silence. If she were to live out her life this way, then death offered no punishment, and only a passage to something better awaiting her in the next world.

Nichola paced to the door of the small room, listening intently for the distant sounds that would warn of her old caregiver’s approach. Now was the moment.

“The tide must be taken at the flood, they say...”

The utter recklessness of her act struck her fully as she covered her hand with her cloak and pushed the brazier over, spilling the chunky embers into the rushes. She simply could not endure this endless entrapment any longer, but the extent of the possible consequences of this fire could be far-reaching. True, she had lost all patience—but what of the people who depended on this castle for their livelihood? True, whoever owned this keep had mistreated her by keeping her against her will and without any human contact—but what if innocent people were injured or killed fighting this fire? What if this fire got out of control? Was the fact that she was ready to scream out and batter down the walls of her prison a good enough reason to destroy someone’s home or take someone’s life?

The rushes flared up and the mattress quickly caught. In an instant, black smoke was billowing into the air, and Nichola gave a mirthless laugh at her own rash behavior. To think that now, after years of preaching patience and thoughtful deliberation to her daughters—especially to Adrianne—she herself was reverting to wild and reckless ways!

The situation was suddenly as amusing as it was grim!

The smoke now filled the upper regions of the chamber, and Nichola covered her mouth and nose with her cloak. As she ran to the door, the two candles sitting on the small table suddenly went out, and Nichola found her breaths coming harder. She could hear air whistling in from beneath the door, and as she crouched beside the entry, she saw flames beginning to spread along the floor. The ancient oak boards themselves were beginning to catch fire.

She turned her head at the sound of a heavy door squeaking on old door hinges somewhere on the floors beneath her prison.

“FIRE!” Nichola screamed at the top of her voice. “HELP ME! FIRE!”

The thought suddenly occurred to her—immediately evolving into a certainty—that her captors might not believe her cry for help. The old servant would not hear her, that was certain. What if no one else were within earshot? She could now feel the heat of the flames spreading across the floor. Her eyes burned from the stinging smoke.

“FIRE!” she screamed again. “FIRE!!”

Moving from the iron-banded door to the hiding place behind the cot, she waited, suddenly doubtful that someone would come through that entryway. Holding the cloak over her mouth, Nichola stared, not so much with fear as with an eerie acceptance that perhaps this
was
how she was intended to die. She hoped she would be the only victim.

Then, in the smoke, she saw the face of Edmund, her husband. Then her daughters were standing beside him. The three lasses, smiling. But so young. Dressed in pristine white linen dresses, they were just bonny young things. The image shifted. They were running wildly across the moors toward her, but she kept drawing away from them. She could see their shining dark locks flying in the wind. The blue eyes pleading, their wee hands waving at her, motioning for her to wait for them.

Nichola turned her face and saw Edmund, down on one knee beside her. She cried out with pleasure at seeing him alive—seeing him whole. The tears of happiness were quick to rush to her eyes as she thought of how empty she’d felt without him. She reached out to touch his face, but a cloud of smoke was all that swirled around her.

“Edmund!” she sobbed quietly. She saw him starting to fade away. “Please take me. Take me with you, Edmund.”

The image of her children again presented itself—grown now and standing before faceless men. Catherine, her belly swollen with child, held a smiling Laura by the arm. Adrianne, a knight’s hand resting on her shoulder, was holding out a blue cloth, fringed with gold. It was the cloth that hung in her husband’s study.

“They look happy, Edmund,” Nichola heard herself whisper. “Content. ‘Take me…”

There was no one beside her. No blue eyes. No gentle face. No strong shoulder on which she might cry out her anguish and find solace. He was gone. In his place, Nichola saw only fire and smoke and three men frantically batting down at the flames with blankets. She looked at the door. It stood wide open.

She didn’t hesitate. Stepping out onto the landing, she saw her aged caregiver tugging open a long narrow shutter on the stairwell in an attempt to let in some of the night air.

Nichola moved quickly past the woman and ran down the stairs in a frenzied rush. At the landing below, another door stood open, with a gallery leading off in one direction and more steps leading downward.

The shouts of men racing up the stairs panicked her for a moment, but she quickly recovered, darting along the gallery past closed doors. At the end of the gallery, a torch on the wall showed another set of stairs. On her left, unglazed windows looked out on a courtyard below, and she could see men and women scurrying about, torches in hand.

Running along the corridor, she started at the sound of people ahead of her and slipped through a doorway into a dimly lit chamber. A half-dozen men and women raced past the doorway hauling sloshing buckets of water, and she could hear more coming behind them. She turned and stared at the chamber she was in. A warm fire burned in a fireplace, throwing light on a nearby settle and on the walls. On a desk in the center of the room, a number of parchment scrolls had been spread, carved stone weights holding them open. There was no other door that she could see.

And then she stopped, her mouth dropping open. There, on the wall above a small hearth, hung a shield with a coat-of-arms that she knew as well as her own.

Even more startling, though, behind the painted targe a fine cloth of blue had been carefully arranged. As if drawn to it by some supernatural power, Nichola stepped toward the blue cloth, staring in disbelief at the fringe of gold sparkling in the flickering light of the fire.

****

“So, what
specifically
do you intend to do to me once we arrive back at Duart Castle?” Adrianne’s head lay comfortably against Wyntoun’s chest. She breathed in the musky masculine smell of sea and leather and the winter forest at night. A thrill raced up her spine, and she tightened her hold on him .

“Adrianne…” His threatening growl caused her to smile mischievously. She placed a kiss on the exposed skin of his neck.

“But there is so much that I do not know. Perhaps if you were to begin giving me some instruction along the way…”

She could feel his manhood, hard and pressing against her hip. He shifted slightly, and pulled her even tighter against his chest.

“You continue this sort of talk, and there will be no arriving at Duart Castle this night.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder and smiled into his face. “You know of a closer place where we could take shelter for the night?”

“Aye! So long as you do not mind the frozen ground as your bed, the night sky as your roof, and the weight of your husband as your blanket!”

“I shouldn’t mind that, at all.”

The sound of his laughter ringing though the night made Adrianne’s heart ache with an affection for him that she’d not known could be so strong. She placed a hand on his cheek and saw his gaze lower to hers and linger there.

The oak trees formed a thick spidery canopy overhead. In the summer months, when the leaves covered the tree branches, it must be very dark here, she thought.

The knight slowed his horse to a walk, and moments passed before either of them spoke again.

“This game we are playing, Adrianne…you know there is a price to be paid.”

“Is there?”

“Aye…consequences. We are about to get into something far more involved than we bargained for.” He was staring straight ahead. Farther along the trail, she could hear the sound of the wide stream they had splashed across on their ride out to the bluff overlooking the loch. In her mind she could see the water tumbling over ice encrusted rocks.

“Do you find the price too high, Wyntoun MacLean?”

“Nay, I do not,” he said tightly. “So long as there are no regrets after all is done.”

“In that case, I
will
tell you where I go in the mornings. Does this please you?”

“Aye, that it does,” he chuckled softly, growing immediately serious again. “Though not everything between us will be righted so easily.”

She remained tucked in his arms, listening to the wind rise and whistle through the branches overhead.

Adrianne’s brow creased, and she gnawed at her lip as she considered his words.
After all is done…Everything being righted.
Did he still intend for her to go away once they had accomplished their task? Surely something had changed in their plans. Adrianne opened her mouth to ask the questions that had already begun to eat away at the moment, but she stopped as Wyntoun abruptly jerked the horses to a halt.

“What is it?”

“There…in the stream.” He pointed off the path, turning the horses toward the water. “There is something moving.”

She took the reins of the horses as he quickly leaped to the ground. She peered ahead through the openings of the trees. She could just make out the looming presence of Duart Castle in the moonlit distance.

“Someone is there. And it looks to be a wee one.”

Adrianne scrambled off the horse herself and followed him to the edge of the water. Looking past his shoulder, she could see the shadow of a small figure huddled in the water.

“Wait here!” He walked out into the icy water, drawing his dirk from his wide belt.

Quickly tying the horse’s reins to a nearby bush, she followed him without a second thought into the stream.

“I told you to stay back there,” he growled, looking down. Her skirts were billowing out on the water at her knees.

She glanced down as well, but ignored his reprimand, moving past him toward the huddled figure. For an instant her thoughts ran to the possibility of it being some fairy creature, some river dweller. As she neared it, though, with Wyntoun beside her, she saw the thatch of dark hair, the slim shoulders hunched and shivering from the freezing water.

Gillie!

“By the devil, is that you Gillie?” The knight sheathed his dagger and bent over the lad.

“Gillie, what are you doing here?” Adrianne asked, touching the boy’s hair. There was ice in it. She drew his chin up so she could make sure he was still breathing. His teeth were chattering and his eyes unfocused. She quickly undid her cloak to put it around him.

“Not yet,” Wyntoun ordered. “Let’s get him out of the water first.”

She threw her cloak around the lad’s shoulders as the Highlander began to lift him.

“My...f-foot...my...foot,” Gillie whispered, shuddering violently. “The d-d-d-devil ...h-h-has a hold...on my f-f-foot!”

Glancing sharply at her as he pushed the cloak out of his way, Wyntoun reached one arm elbow-deep into the frigid water. “A branch. He has one foot stuck in a branch. Get him to stand if he can.”

Adrianne did as she was told, and draped the boy’s arm around her shoulder.

“You can do it, Gillie.” Taking all of his weight, she pushed both of them to their feet.

“‘Tis a wondrous change to have you do as you are asked.”

Adrianne looked up, feeling her temper flare as she realized that Wyntoun’s reproach was directed at her. “I always do as I am asked.”

His huff of disagreement was audible, and she stared at him. Shaking his head, Wyntoun took hold of the submerged branch, straining to dislodge it. On the third powerful heave, the branch loosened, and he carefully freed Gillie’s foot.

In an instant, he had the boy in his arms and was moving toward the water’s edge. Adrianne waded alongside of him, struggling to keep up with his powerful strides.

“Can you possibly follow instructions?” he growled, carefully climbing the bank of the stream.

“I always do.” She ran a few steps to keep up with him. For the first time, she could feel the bitter cold, her wet clothes heavy around her legs. She hid her shiver.

“Adrianne, the lad needs help.”

“I know that!” she answered wearily, untying the horses’ reins and turning back to the Highlander. She peered at Gillie, reaching up and touching his cold face. He appeared to be unconscious in the tall knight’s arms. “We have to get him to the castle.”

“There should be two blankets, one in the travel bag of each horse. Take them out and wrap one around yourself.”

“I do not need one. Gillie is the one…”

“Do as you are told or, devil take me, I’ll tie you with a rope and do it myself!”

“Churlish, ill-tempered boor!” She muttered the words under her breath and did as she was told. “You want the other for Gillie?”

“Put the other down, and mount your horse.”

“Don’t you think we should see to Gillie…”

“If you hurry up and do what as I bid you…”

“Very well! I
am
doing as I am told.” She positioned herself on the horse, pulled the blanket loosely around her shoulders. “Well?”

He handed Gillie gently up into her arms.

“I have him!” she said, pulling him tightly into her lap and wrapping him in the blanket as she grasped the reins.

“Now if you’ll hold the lad for a moment, I will take…”

The Highlander’s next instruction was lost as she spurred the animal into motion. Adrianne didn’t need to wait. She knew what she had to do next. In a moment, they were splashing across the wide stream and up the far embankment. She could hear Wyntoun in the stream behind her, and kicked her horse into a gallop.

Shedding the lad’s wet clothes and wrapping him in warm blankets. Making a large fire and letting Gillie’s body gain back some of its warmth. Feeding him some hot broth and praying that the lad wouldn’t come down with a fever. Adrianne’s mind whirled with everything that she had to do as soon as she would arrive back at the castle.