Page 52 of Rebellion's Fire

So, it was all true. This must be the Lady of Tirebeck. Fergus smiled and turned his attention back to the tower.

*

Again, Christian hadmistimed her entry to the hall. It was almost dark as she hurried across the yard, and she knew that at William’s bidding, they’d be eating without her. It would never enter his head to send someone to fetch her, and that her women didn’t come for her was her own fault. She’d made it clear she didn’t need them to dress and direct her.

And yet, in spite of everything, Eua had said she was good at being the lady. In her heart, she’d known she would be, in the ways that truly mattered. She’d looked after Ranulf’s soldiers and their families, and then William’s, although there was never much in the way of family there. His men were largely rootless mercenaries like himself, employed for particular tasks. But here, they could take root. They all could. If she could negotiate some kind of peace with the MacHeths and curtail William’s ambition.

Of course, she mused as she picked at her food, it could all come to nothing if and when the king invaded, as he would have to do if William couldn’t defeat the MacHeths. And he couldn’t. She knew that now. He would have to come to terms, and then the royal army would invade. It would benefit William, perhaps, but destroy the relationships she was building. It came to her, with a pang of guilt, that she didn’t much care anymore whether they gave loyalty to the King of Scots or to the MacHeths, so long as they were united in peace.

However, in the long term, surely only the King of Scots could guarantee that peace. While the MacHeths raised rebellion, only turmoil could ensue. She didn’t want them to die.

She didn’t want the strange but vital force that was Adam MacHeth to die.

Her nostrils twitched. Smoke. Inevitably, her stomach twisted. But it was dinnertime. The kitchen fires would be burning full tilt. There was nothing in that to worry her, to make the damaged side of her face twitch with a distress she couldn’t control. Her body seemed to remember more than her mind, infecting both with her irrational fear of fire.

She even imagined she could hear shouting outside, over the general hum of noise in the hall. Chattering voices, odd bursts of laughter, the clattering of knives and serving dishes on the tabletops, the scraping of a bench as someone left the hall to relieve himself.

Surely the smell of smoke was stronger? Surely that shoutwasfrom outside, not in? Her heartbeat quickened as she watched the soldier open the hall door and go out.

Henry spoke to her. She smiled without hearing his words. This was stupid. What was she imagining here? If there was an uncontrolled fire in the kitchen, they would either deal with it or leave. The kitchen was far enough separated from the hall not to be a problem. And no one could attack unseen because of the new “castle” built right beside the hall.

Her stomach twisted. If the MacHeths burned the castle, the servants wouldn’t warn them. They’d cheer. They might even have done it themselves on MacHeth instructions. So much for her being their lady…

A trickle of sweat ran down her forehead; another dripped between her breasts. She was too hot. Fear? Or…

The hall door burst back open. “Fire!” yelled the soldier who’d only just left. “The castle’s on fire!”

William leapt to his feet. “The wind will blow it right into the hall,” he said grimly. Grabbing Alys by the arm, he strode across the floor, knocking tables aside.

It didn’t even surprise Christian that he ignored her. Only by Henry’s tight-lipped expression as he urged her to hurry did she realize the insult. The rest of her was far too occupied with fear. Which was no way to be a great lady. Her women were standing, wringing their hands in the chaos.

Christian shooed them forward behind Henry, who forced a passage for them through the men.

“The buckets are in place,” she shouted. “Use them!”

She knew they’d all derided her insistence on fire precautions. But in this country of wooden buildings, fire was a vicious and frequent weapon.

In front of her, by the door, she saw Henry spinning, dementedly looking for her, expecting her to be right behind him.

“Go!” she yelled, dragging a serving girl in front of her and pushing her on. Smoke was seeping through the roof and through the walls. Panic threatened her. Memory. Of thick smoke choking her; a man glimpsed through the hot, impenetrable fog, surrounded by flames. But there wasn’t time to remember or imagine; present reality was too vital.

Her gaze swept the hall, which was beginning to fill with smoke. She counted Eua’s children, stumbling out in a chain behind their mother. The youngest wasn’t there.

Christian turned, sprinting up the rickety wooden staircase to the loft. The little girl, slumbering happily through the noise below, looked ridiculously contented in her little cot by her parents’ bed. Christian didn’t even try to wake her, simply grabbed her up and stumbled downstairs again, clutching her.

Once more, the smell of fire threatened to fill her nostrils, her whole being, with mindless panic. At the hall door, two soldiers were trying to prevent a demented Eua from coming back inside, presumably for her daughter.

“I’ll fetch her,” one of the harassed soldiers promised. “But you have to—”

“No need,” Christian interrupted, thrusting the child into Eua’s arms and shoving them both out the door. Beyond it was fresh air.

“Is everyone out?” she gasped to the soldiers.

“All but you, lady,” came the reply, and she was more than happy to be pulled outside and breathe… Sort of. There was smoke everywhere, but at least everyone was safe and the men could concentrate on putting the fire out.

She pushed through the throng, trying not to gasp in air, her only concern, now that she no longer had to think about her people, to hide the terror consuming her. She pushed past them, rushing beyond the gates.

Instinct made her want to run to the sea. But she couldn’t be quite that cowardly. She could still have distance and fresh air and see what harm the fire had done and was likely to do. With purpose once more, she strode around the side of the enclosure, where the wind blew the fire away from her.

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