Page 101 of The Phantom Duke
She thought of the inconsistencies she had noticed. The prisoner who was supposedly locked away, suddenly free. The locked door that concealed the staircase leading to the cellars, unlocked. She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts. It did not matter. All that mattered was that Damien was safe. Damien, Philby and Matthew.
Another window burst. Flames snaked along the roof like a crown of fire.
Simon rubbed his face with a shaking hand. “The whole house will be gone before dawn.”
Maria’s throat closed. “There must be another way. Someone must go back in!”
“To what end?” Simon said grimly. “Anyone who enters now dies. That’s not a rescue. That’s a funeral.”
She turned back to the line of helpers. They looked ragged and frightened, but they hadn’t fled. A farmer had thrown down his pitchfork to carry water. A laundress stood barefoot on the grass,skirts wet with pond water. She didn’t even know most of their names.
Damien hates having strangers in Winterleigh…
And… she had brought them. She had sent the call, unsure if anyone would answer. She hadn’t known if they would come. She hadn’t known if he would want them here.
What if he emerged and looked upon the strangers trampling his land with fury in his eyes? What if he hated her for it?
Let him be angry. Let him curse her name. Let him rage and roar and shatter the sky. Only let him come out.
Please, God. Let him be alive.
But then a ripple passed through the crowd. A cry rang out.
“There!” someone shouted.
The waterline stopped. Everyone stopped. A figure had appeared amid the flames. He dragged an unconscious body with another slung over his shoulder. The figure wore a blanket which was alight in several places. He ran, head down, charging forward through a wall of flame with a bestial howl of defiance.
By the time he reached the lawn, where the fire line stretched back to the nearest pond, the blanket that he had draped around himself was burning.
Maria and Simon rushed to him. He threw the blanket off and dropped the body from his shoulder, collapsing to one knee, coughing. The strength needed to drag two men from the house meant that the figure could only be one person.
“Damien!” Maria cried.
The body he had been dragging was Philby. The body across his shoulder was Matthew.
“They’re alive!” Simon cried, falling to his knees before them. “Unconscious from the smoke but alive! What the devil were they doing in there?”
“They wouldn’t leave their master,” Damien croaked. “They were searching for me, determined to aid me. What have I done to earn such loyalty?”
Maria collapsed beside him, throwing her arms about his shoulders and weeping uncontrollably. Damien embraced her, his head beside hers.
“Ezekiel,” Damien said. “The prisoner was his spy. He planned the fire. He wanted to destroy me and claim the dukedom. He was mad.”
Maria gasped in shock, thinking of her part in bringing Ezekiel into Damien’s life. She looked into Damien’s eyes and opened her mouth to speak. Damien read her heart and smiled.
“Do not,” he said, putting a finger to her lips, “say that you are sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I am sorry that I ever doubted you. It was fear, nothing more. Fear of being vulnerable. Of being weak. Defenseless. I once swore I would never be like that again. It has been a hard oath to break. But I am ready now.”
“I thought I had lost you forever,” Maria whispered.
“It was the thought of you that kept me going through the fire. You brought me out.”
“Keep the water flowing! We’re losing it!” Simon bellowed to the snaking line of water carriers.
Damien looked up, blinking. His eyes drifted across the crowd gathered on the lawn: farmers, children, housemaids, footmen, men in boots and caps, women in shawls and aprons.
“Why are there so many people here?” he asked hoarsely.
Maria bit her lip. “I brought them.”
