A Midsummer Bride (24 page)

Both Marchford and Penelope turned to look out the window. A red haze of flame and smoke funneled from the castle above. Penelope’s stomach sank. Maclachlan Castle was on fire.

“Thornton!” shouted Marchford. He did not take the time to go back out through the house. Instead, he opened the window and jumped out into the garden and ran for the path up the hill, with Penelope right behind.

Guests were running down, away from the fire. People were screaming, ladies were crying—it was a disturbing scene.

They ran until they were out of breath. Penelope’s sides were screaming in pain, but she kept running up the hill. Gasping, she entered the castle gates, her lungs stinging with acrid smoke. People were running about, shouting, screaming. She stopped to try to make sense of the scene before her.

One of the outbuildings, which Penelope suspected Harriet was using as a workspace, was completely engulfed in flames, shooting blasts of fire fifty feet into the air. The flames had spread to the thatched roofs of the surrounding buildings, and the old wooden roof of the main keep was beginning to burn.

For one dreadful moment, she was paralyzed. Harriet. Thornton. Were they all right? What could possibly be done? Marchford! Where was he? She ran forward to find him. Smoke hurt her eyes, but she stumbled forward until she saw his silhouette against the orange flames. He was standing frozen before the blaze.

“Marchford?”

He was staring at the flames without expression.

“Marchford?” She touched his arm. “James? What do we do?”

Her questions seemed to revive him. He shook his head. “We cannot stop this. If anyone was in this building, they are gone.”

“I am sure no one was in it,” reassured Penelope, mostly to try to convince herself.

Marchford gave a quick nod. “We need to put out the blaze before it spreads to the house.”

“Yes, of course. But how?”

“Water!” He pointed at the castle well. “Let us hope it still functions.” He swept off some glasses from a table with his arm and stood on it. “Ladies and gentlemen. We have a situation that requires immediate action. If the ladies will calmly make their way down to Thornton Hall, the gentlemen and staff members can assist me. We must douse the flames to prevent this fire from spreading.”

At his authoritative words, people stopped panicking and followed his directions. Penelope ran to the well and started turning the wheel to raise the bucket. The water was cold and pure and a welcome relief from the hot, acrid smoke billowing around her. Marchford brought another bucket, and she poured the water in it. Several men ran to help and they began to form a line.

“Keep going!” Marchford grabbed a bucket full of water and ran to the fire. He splashed it onto the base of the fire to no effect.

“This will never work,” said Penelope as she grabbed another bucket.

“It must,” said Marchford grimly. “Where is Thornton?”

***

Thornton wrapped his arms around her. “I must ask ye something.”

Harriet’s attention was drawn by some strange noises. “What is that?” she asked absently.

“I ken yer desire to return to America, but I’d rather ye stay here. With me. I know I said I would never propose marriage to an heiress, but—”

“Wait. Do you hear that?” Harriet adjusted herself to be more decent and sat up. “It sounds like shouting.”

“Harriet. What I am trying to say is—”

“Duncan, listen. I think something is wrong.” Harriet stood up and was shocked by the orange haze and rising smoke she saw. “Fire!”

Thornton was up in a flash, dressed and running. “The castle!”

Harriet followed him up the hill to the fire. The monster grew before her eyes. When they reached the castle, the sight made her stomach drop. Smoke and flame billowed from the windows of her laboratory. It was all gone. Everything was gone. In desperation, she ran to the ancient kitchen, hoping that she could rescue her equipment. Someone grabbed her hand and yanked her back.

She smacked into Thornton’s chest. She tried to pull free but he held her fast.

“I must get my equipment!” she shouted, even as a whoosh of heat blasted them.

Thornton spun her out of harm’s way and half carried, half dragged her back as the laboratory burst into a fireball. The roof blazed and roared with flames in the whirling winds. Sparks flew to neighboring trees and higher.

“Thornton!” She pointed up to the roof of the keep. A little patch of fire burned and smoked.

“The horses!” Thornton shouted. “Get to the house and stay there!” He ran for the secret entrance and she followed. If he thought she would simply walk away, he was mad. Her projects were gone, but she could still be of help.

People were organizing against the blaze, with Marchford leading the charge. They were going to try to save the keep, but it might already be too late.

Harriet glanced again at the roof before ducking into the tunnel. The fire spread fast on the old brittle wood. They did not have much time. Thornton outpaced her, but she kept running through the dark. She tripped once and landed hard on her knee. She cursed as only a sailor’s daughter could, got up, and continued to run.

She burst into the keep, which was lit with an awful orange glow. Sparks and embers floated down from the wooden roof above. It was only a matter of time before the whole thing caved in. Grooms and stable hands joined them and began to run outside with the horses. The main doors were already ablaze; the only way out was the tunnel.

“Get them out of here!” yelled Thornton as he worked to open the stables.

The horses whinnied and shrieked, sensing danger. The freed horses ran around the stable keep, spooked and unsure where to go. They would need to be led to safety.

Harriet found the mare she had ridden before. The horse bucked in her stall, making Harriet jump out of the way. She approached the horse again, forcing herself to be calm and gentle.

“That’s all right, everything is going to be all right,” she crooned. She grabbed a bridle, slipped it over the horse’s head, and buckled it in place. More embers were falling from the burning ceiling above. She did not have the time for a saddle. She climbed the stall planks and onto the horse’s back, hiking up the skirts of her gown that was not in the least made for riding.

Horses were running through the stables with stable hands trying to chase them out. She held on tight and kicked her mount into action. A group of five horses was running in circles, led by a bay horse with wild eyes. If she could turn this horse, the rest would follow. She swung around in the opposite direction to head them off. She galloped past the stalls, keeping one eye on the horses and the other watching for Thornton. Where was he? She spotted him for an instant pulling a horse from a stall, before she had to turn her attention back to the horses.

She galloped toward the leader at an angle, blocking his path. The horse swung left and out of the tunnel, the other horses following it. Stable hands and grooms ran to the tunnel, leading multiple horses.

“Come, miss!” Shouted a groom. “The roof will no’ hold much longer. Get out!” He ran past her leading several horses.

The stable had grown unbearably hot and was filled with smoke. She coughed and searched for Thornton. Almost all of the horses were out now. A burning ember fell on her head and she brushed it off quickly, slapping her hair to make sure it did not ignite.

She spied Thornton in one corner trying to lead a frightened mare out with a young colt. It was Lazarus, the baby who had just been born. She kicked her mount toward him, but the animal shied and shrieked, not wanting to go further into the burning room. She kicked the mount harder and got her moving again, galloping to Thornton.

“Duncan!” she screamed.

He turned, his face red with the heat. “Harriet! Get out o’ here now!”

“You must come. The roof is about to fall!”

“Take the mare!” he shouted, thrusting the reins in her hands. “She winna leave her baby.”

The colt was lying on the ground, bleating terribly.

“His leg was trampled in the confusion. Now go!” Thornton smacked her mount hard on the backside and her horse took off for the tunnel at a gallop. Harriet managed to look behind her to see Thornton lift the colt and put it on his shoulders before beginning for the tunnel.

Harriet galloped out of the burning stable, holding tight to the mare and dragging her along with them. She emerged into the cool night, taking a large breath of air. The grooms were trying to collect as many horses as possible, but many had run into the hills. Around the castle, servants and guests alike were beating out fire from bushes and shrubs with large sacks. Lines had been formed with buckets of water from the old well to douse the burning outbuildings.

The fire completely engulfed the roof of the keep, sending flames shooting into the night sky. Never had she seen anything so terrifying in her life. With a large crash, the roof fell in, sending a fiery wave out of the tunnel. Everyone stopped.

Where was Thornton?

Did he get out? She asked a stable lad but he could only stare at the destruction in mute horror. Flames leaped into the air, fueled by the hay and stables. Still there was no Thornton.

Where was he? She watched the entrance to the tunnel, waiting, willing.

“Lord, please let him get out,” she whispered. “Please don’t let him die.”

She dismounted slowly, handing the reins to one of the stable hands. Thick black smoke was gushing out of the tunnel. She walked toward it then ran. He was in there, somewhere, and she was going to find him. She ran to the tunnel entrance, putting up her hands against the hot stinging smoke. Suddenly someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“Let me go!” She whirled around to face… “Duncan!” His face was so black with soot she could barely recognize him. But the colt was still on his shoulders. She could not speak words but embraced him, colt and all.

He coughed and set the colt down. Little Lazarus stood on three legs and leaned against him, shaking. She knew how the colt felt; she was shaking too.

“I am so sorry.” The flames around the castle had mostly been contained, but within the keep, there was nothing to do but let it burn itself out. All was lost.

Thornton squinted at the billowing smoke and shook his head. He handed the colt to a groom with hoarse instructions to care for the leg. He walked to the front of the castle and she followed. What else could she do? She would follow him anywhere.

The guests had gathered around the front. Many had helped to put out the flames, leaving them sweaty and disheveled, without coats or cravats. Sensing the worst was over, some had wandered back to the castle to witness the carnage.

“Thornton!” greeted Marchford, who was standing in shirtsleeves, holding a sack for beating out flames. Penelope, water bucket in hand, stood at his side. “Good to see you, old chap. The fire has been contained, but we could not save the keep.”

“Aye,” said Thornton in a low voice. “Thank ye, all o’ ye for yer help tonight. The fire may have spread even to Thornton Hall without yer help. I canna say how the bonfire got out of control, but because of yer assistance, I know how the fire ended.”

“Forgive me, Lord Thornton,” said Miss Crawley, looking radiant in a spotless lavender gown. “But I know exactly who started this fire. It was not the bonfire at all. You can see it is still contained.”

All eyes turned to the prepared bonfire. It indeed appeared contained. The worst of the damage was elsewhere, not around the bonfire.

“How did it start?” asked someone in the crowd.

“There she is!” accused Miss Crawley, pointing at Harriet. “It was Miss Redgrave whose unholy experiments have been putting us all at risk. This fire was no accident. It started in her secret laboratory!”

“That is untrue!” exclaimed Harriet. “I mean, I have been doing experiments here, but none tonight.”

“I will apologize for her actions,
mes
amis
,” said the Duc d’Argon. “I was to announce tonight that she has made me happy by consenting to be my wife, but now all I can do is to apologize for the harm she has done and to assure you all that I will ensure that her hobbies will in no way endanger anyone again.”

Thornton turned to her, his eyes large and filled with betrayal. Something in Harriet’s heart snapped. She put her hand to her chest. It hurt—it actually physically hurt. Surrounding her were eyes of accusation. Thornton had always protected her, always shielded her from the derision of people’s disdain. Tonight, he slowly walked away.

“No!” called Harriet. “No, I did not cause this!”

Harriet followed Thornton with her eyes until he disappeared into the darkness. How could d’Argon believe such horrible things about her? And why did he think they were engaged?

“I did not do this! And I have not given you my answer,” she insisted to d’Argon, but he was not listening. Instead, he was apologizing again, as if he was her parent and she had been a naughty girl. She wanted to scream.

People began to talk, glancing at her sideways and hushing their voices so she could not hear.

Miss Crawley had no such compunction. “I do not know why he would want to marry her,” she declared. “Now that all her money is gone.”

“What is this?” the duc d’Argon dropped a conversation he was having and immediately questioned Harriet.

“I thought you had heard about the money,” said Harriet.

“No, no, indeed I had not.”

“But you said what was important was the work, the science.”

The duc d’Argon stuttered for a moment. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Come now, my dear friends. We need to return to the house.” Marchford raised his hands to usher the guests back down to the Hall. “Thornton has graciously offered to put out a nourishing wine punch which will be good for the soul.” Marchford and Penelope led the way down the hill.

Harriet watched as the guests, including d’Argon, turned their backs on her and left. Her knees shook and she fought against falling to the ground. She had lost everything. Everything.

She tried to take a deep breath but coughed on the smoke. She considered having a nervous attack or collapsing from grief, but instead, she walked back to her former laboratory, careful to stay out of the way of the servants attending what was left of the blaze.