Page 53 of Rebellion's Fire

The wooden tower was burning merrily, little more than a bonfire. The top had collapsed, but from the lack of screams, the guards had probably jumped out of it rather than burned to death. She hoped their injuries weren’t too severe. That would be her next task…

She found herself by the standing stone and sagged against it. The flames seemed to crackle with their own terrifying voice, saying a name she knew all too well.

MacHeth.

“MacHeth,” she repeated with despair. She’d almost liked him and he’d done such a thing. With his own hand or someone else’s. They had an ambition, a goal that burned everyone and everything in its path. “MacHeth…”

She swung away from the hall, her vision still misty. Or perhaps a particularly thick cloud of smoke had blown in front of her. She could remember the same thing happening before. A burning building, the old hall of Tirebeck, seen, surely from here… And another memory, inside—falling wood, impossible heat, roaring flames, screaming, and pain in her chest…and a gust of smoke billowing toward her, drifting upward to reveal the figure of a man engulfed by flames.

Christian blinked away the half memory. Perhaps as people discussed this fire, they’d drop information about the old one that she could never quite remember.

From nowhere, it seemed, the figure of a man seemed to have formed in front of her. She blinked away wetness from her eyes, trying to make out the stranger’s features by the flames of the castle fire.

Embarrassment in case he’d heard her speak the infamous name mixed with secret pleasure that someone had noticed her at last. Despite her desperation to escape all eyes in her moments of weakness, she took a step closer to him, opened her mouth to ask his identity. She didn’t even see his arm move before his fist struck her chin. Pain exploded through her head and neck, and utter blackness rose up and swallowed her.

*

What in hellis going on?

Sigurd, the shepherd’s son, watched the guards in the burning tower leap, still yelling, into the arms of their comrades below, though God knew with what injuries. Only just in time, for the structure was collapsing entirely, throwing planks of burning wood at the back wall of the hall.

At least by now, both soldiers and servants had formed a chain with remarkable speed, passing buckets of water from the yard well to the back of the hall most at risk. Of course, the lady had organized this from the beginning of her stay. Not surprising she was so aware of fire, given her history; and how useful her derided insistence had turned out to be.

Everyone was far too busy or preoccupied to notice Sigurd, standing stock-still and alone behind the backs of the watching household.

He saw Eua with her children, the youngest clutched in her arms. And at last, he saw the lady stumbling through the gates. She looked alone and lost, and Sigurd’s throat closed up in sudden pity. He couldn’t go to her. He was a shepherd pretending to be a servant. What comfort could she possibly find in his sympathy?

He should go and help with the fire. Only, Adam mac Malcolm had placed him here for a reason.

Sigurd backed away, melting, he hoped, into the shadows before anyone noticed him. The lady broke away from the crowd, perhaps for privacy. It didn’t matter. She was safe. And now it was time to find the arsonist. This was no mad scheme of the young lords, whatever wild ideas had entered his head at first.

Sigurd had started back toward the woods before the whinny of a horse caught his attention. Because it hadn’t come from the stables within the hall enclosure. It had come from the foot of the hills to the left of the hall.

His blood ran suddenly cold. Were there more of these people? If so, surely this had to be Fergus of Galloway’s men, a day earlier than Adam had warned of.

But it made sense in the bizarre, careless manner of the nobility. Fergus would imagine he was giving the MacHeths a present without understanding the implications. For one thing, Adam mac Malcolm had given his protection to the Lady of Tirebeck. For another, the young lords weren’t yet ready to defeat Lanson and risk a royal invasion this summer. Their plan was to take the war to the king. This burning could be nothing more than a gesture of bravado, for William would simply rebuild the castle, and again the MacHeths would let him.

Sigurd’s main concern was that Fergus’s men intended more mischief: cattle stealing, plunder, murder on this, the only piece of land in Ross held in the name of the king. It would be blamed on the MacHeths, which didn’t matter much. It was all food for the legend. But Adam would want to know. And in grim fury, Sigurd refused to allow his family, friends, and neighbors to be harmed or killed for such foolishness.

Sigurd changed direction, following the whinnying of the horse. It snorted a little later, thumped one hoof as he approached. But it was one horse and still, it seemed, one man, which explained, perhaps, how he’d got past Lanson and Sigurd’s own observations.

Sigurd could see him now, gazing toward the left side of the hall—where the lady had gone. Even though she would surely be in full sight of most of her people, alarm slid up and down Sigurd’s spine.

He approached the stranger obliquely, which turned out to be a mistake, for without warning, Galloway’s man, if such he was, began to move, hurrying with his horse down the slope toward the lady, who stood by the standing stone, gazing up at the hills and quite unaware of the danger.

The stranger released the horse’s reins and strode the last few feet toward the lady. Sigurd ran faster, lightly, silently, determined to take the man by surprise if he could. It was his only hope of defeating a seasoned fighter.

The lady turned, at last looking directly at the danger. There was no start of fear as he approached her. She even took a step nearer him. And then, the stranger simply hit her.

Sigurd couldn’t breathe as he pounded over the ground. He’d never get there in time. The stranger caught the lady in his arms, sprinted back to the horse, and threw her over the saddle. After which, he mounted behind her and rode off around the foot of the hill.

“Teeth of God,” Sigurd whispered in despair, dragging both fists down the sides of his head. He had to get a horse and follow them. And he had to get a message to Adam mac Malcolm.

*

The acrid smellof smoke left behind in the hall was unpleasant but harmless, so as everyone trooped back inside, Eua made plans to air it from first thing in the morning until dinnertime. The straw and rushes on the floor would all be changed, and she’d beat all her family’s bedding in the open until it regained its freshness.

So, the fire had given her extra work, but at least it had brought down Lanson’s castle. Perhaps Sigurd had done it. She knew Sigurd only worked here at the hall—sometimes—on Adam’s orders, and since Cailean’s capture and escape, he’d become the eyes and ears of the military-minded MacHeths in Tirebeck.

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