Seven Wicked Nights (64 page)

And then he was there. Appearing out of the smoke. Her husband. Her Jamie.

She shook everywhere. Relief and anger and concern poured through her at once.

He frowned when her saw her and immediately came her way. “Darling, you have to stay back.” A dark smear of soot slashed one cheek. Ash colored his hair and ruined his clothes.

“How much has been lost?” Fear sharpened her voice.

“I do not know, exactly. The blaze started in the baker’s chimney and is moving fast. I’ve not been here long.”

“You look a mess.” Her fingers trembled as they brushed the soot from his face. “What have you been doing, fighting the fire with your bare hands?”

He searched her eyes. “Your cottages…” He did not continue. There was nothing more to say.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. Jamie had been trying to save her cottages. He’d been fighting for her. And still, the homes were lost.

Cat waved her hand. A gesture that said nothing. Nothing about her heartbreak. Her gladness at seeing him. Her fear for the future. “At least the Warners’ home still stands.”

The wind shifted, smoke and ash choked the breath from her lungs. She raised a handkerchief before her nose and tried to breathe.

Men shouted and Jamie looked over his shoulder, then back at her. “The Warners’ cottage is all that remains between the fire and the rest of the village.”

Pricks of pain stung her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“We have two options. We can fight the fire as is, and hope for the best.” His face looked grim.
The best
was not going well so far. “Or we can pull down the Warners’ cottage. Create a firebreak.”

Pull it down?

What of the family, gaunt and haunted and desperate for a new future? Of the tidy home with lovely curtains and warm beds? “They have nothing else, Jamie. Can we not save the cottage?”

His eyes were serious beneath lowered brows. “I do not know. Perhaps. Fire is not predictable.”

Again, a gust of wind blew a thick cloud of smoke across the crowd. Cat mopped at the tears coursing down her cheeks.

“The decision is yours, darling. I will honor whatever you choose.”

Shouts lifted up, and men ran down the street.

It was a terrible scene.

A living nightmare.

And she had to choose. Ruin or ruin. There was no good option. “Do you think it will work?” she asked. “The firebreak?”

“We have no other ideas.”

Ideas were often in short supply during times of crisis. Cat knew this. Had lived it before. “Then do it. Pull down the Warners’ cottage.”

Jamie brushed the tears from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Cat.”

She straightened her spine. Now was not the time to mourn. “What can I do?”

“Stay back. For God’s sake, don’t go near the blaze.”

“But—”

“You must listen to me on this. I am not lecturing you. Your skirts could catch a spark and easily set to flame.” He grabbed her upper arms. “I’m sorry I was gone last night. The bridge was washed out and I couldn’t get back before today. Please, stay safe. For me.” He pulled her to him for a quick, hard kiss, then turned toward the angry blaze.

Cat couldn’t watch him go. She whirled away from him and the danger he faced. On the far side of the street, women and children huddled together and observed the men. She couldn’t help fight the fire, but she could help the villagers.

She grabbed a footman whose livery was ruined by soot. “Run up to the Abbey and tell them to fetch the doctor in Giltbrook, then to send any food and drink they can find to the village. I will be waiting for it.”

“Yes, my lady.” The boy hurried off.

“And salve and bandages,” she called after him. “For burns.”

It seemed a paltry thing, to worry about food and comfort now. But the men were exhausted and the children scared. And the women, the women silently endured it all, as they always had. The least she could do was offer the villagers strength for their bodies. And perhaps their spirits as well.

It seemed forever before the wagon arrived from the Abbey with refreshment. A farmer’s wife passed food to the women and children while Cat brought ale and bread to the men fighting the fire. They came to her blackened and sweating and exhausted, with minor burns on their hands and arms.

She watched the crowd for Jamie, listened for the sound of his voice. There was no sign of him. With each breath, she fought down her panic. Inhaled through the lump of fear that wanted to close her throat.

“The marquess?” she asked the men who stopped for a drink.

They shrugged, or pointed vaguely, or told her what she did not want to hear. “In the back. Where the flames are worse.”

Cat would not think on it. He had to be safe.

She loved him. With every part of her being, she loved him.

She could not lose him again.

Still the men came to her. They needed water. Bread. Bandages. She held herself together by sheer will and helped them.

By now, the fire had caught up to the Warners’ cottage, which lay in shambles on the ground. Flames licked across the ruins. Men scurried by with hoses and shovels, trying to protect the firebreak.

Somewhere, her husband was in the midst of it all.

A rumbling rolled through the crowd toward her, then an actual cheer. Cat stopped on shaky legs and peered down the street. At the far end of Abbey Lane, where her cottages lay in smoke and ash, appeared a horse and carriage. No, not a carriage, another hose cart. Jamie must have sent word to the baronet, their closest neighbor. The horses protested at being led toward the fire. Their harnesses jangled as they threw their heads and drew back from the smoke.

Five men rushed forward and freed the hose cart from the horses, then ran the cart down the street to the smoldering ruins of the Warners’ cottage.

Water. Glorious water poured over the flames, sputtering them out.

The village was saved. But everything Cat had worked for—the cottages, the lace factory, the barns—it was all destroyed. Burnt to a pile of ash and charred ground.

Chapter Ten

F
IRE IS AN EQUITABLE FORCE
. It clears away everything in its path, regardless of use or beauty.

Jamie’s shoulders sank with relief when the blaze was contained at last. God’s teeth, he’d seen the plumes of smoke from miles away. He thanked the men who had fought the fire, grateful there were no serious injuries, and went to find his wife.

By now, the unburnt half of the village was swarming with dazed, sooty faces. Everyone wanted to talk to him. He shook hands, murmured assurances, and answered what questions he could. Finally he spotted Cat by the village square. She stood beside a wagon, a line of villagers spread before her. Two men wandered away with slices of cheese and apples in hand.

She was feeding them.

She was safe.

Breath he did not know he was holding whooshed out of him. Her face was pale beneath the smudges of soot and ash. At some point, she’d removed her bonnet and her hair fell in tangles around her shoulders. The sleeve of her gown was ripped, her skirts in ruins. She looked exhausted. She looked beautiful.

She looked sad.

He headed straight for her, not stopping until his arms were around her. He did not care who witnessed their embrace. God, what if something had happened to her? He loved this woman. Was fair to bursting with it. “I am so damn proud of you, Cat. And so sorry about your cottages.” His voice was raw from emotion as much as smoke.

“Jamie.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung to him tightly. “Don’t you ever disappear again.”

“I won’t, love.” He buried his face in her hair. She smelled like smoke.

“You’re squeezing me,” she coughed.

“I want you close.”

“I waited all night for you.”

He might have thought she was angry, were she not pressing her face into his neck. “I apologize, darling. I had to go around the bridge in Polesworth and lost nearly twenty miles. It was an incredibly difficult journey.”

“Polesworth? Where did you go?” His shoulder muffled her voice.

“To get you a gift.”

At this, she pulled back and looked up at him. Her eyes were soft, surprised, but the corners of her lips dipped down.

He ran a finger down her cheek. “Why are you angry with me?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed.

Jamie didn’t want to stop touching her. “I’m sorry I was detained, Cat. I meant what I said.”

“You said you needed an heir.”

“No.” He pulled her back into his arms so she wouldn’t see his smile. “I mean, I said a lot more than that.”

“You said you liked my taste in bedclothes.”

He let out an exasperated laugh. What a saucy wife he had. He loved that about her.

He dropped his chin and glanced down at her. She kept her face buried in his neck.

“Look at me.” She must have heard the tenderness in his voice, for when she glanced up, no lines of anger marked her features. “Let me be clear. I love you, Cat. I always have. I want you as my wife. And I never want to be away from you again.”

C
AT STARED UP INTO
her husband’s blue eyes.

He’d said he loved her.

Or maybe the fire and smoke and shouting had damaged her ears. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Cat.”

Her heart leapt, and she began to tremble everywhere.

“I—” She stopped to catch her breath. Why was she so nervous? She placed her hand on his heart. Willed herself to be brave. She wanted to say this,
needed
to. “I never stopped loving you, Jamie.”

She did not know he could look like this, so soft and tender. She kissed him on his chest, where his shirt was open. “I suppose if something is worth doing once, husband, it is worth doing twice.”

“Yes.” He stroked her hair.

Cat looked up at him, this man she had loved for as long as she could remember. “We can rebuild.”

He tilted his head to the side. “The cottages?”

“Yes, the cottages.” Down the lane, smoke rose from the ruins of her homes. She’d put so much time and work and
hope
into those cottages. A part of her felt very nearly burnt to the ground with them. But another part of her, a stronger part, refused to give up. She
would
rebuild. The families could stay in the empty cabins on the western edge of the estate, closer to the fields. Jamie wouldn’t hire more laborers until spring, and by then her families would be settled in the village. In fact, the women and children could help with the restoration.

One setback, even a large one, was not cause for defeat.

When she glanced back at her husband, he was still watching, waiting. She took a deep breath. “And our marriage. We can rebuild our marriage.”

Relief softened his eyes. He lowered his head to kiss her, and she pressed up on her toes to meet him halfway. It was not an elegant embrace. Neither was it polite. But it was real. And raw. And full of love.

“I would like that,” he murmured against her lips.

“I am not saying it will be easy. And I am still frightened that you could hurt me again. But you are worth it.”

Jamie pressed his forehead to hers. “I regret my actions, Cat. I cannot change them. I cannot undo the hurt I caused you. But I promise I will learn from them. I want to be a better man, a better husband.”

“And I a better wife. We were both at fault. I should have put you first, that horrible night in London. I should have thought of you before my friend.”

“And I should have stayed and made amends.” This time, when he hugged her, he lifted her off her feet. “I never want to leave you again.”

“Especially not in a cold bed,” she grumbled.

He put her down and stepped away. “Wait here.”

Playfully, she planted her hands on her hips. “You just said you were never going to leave me.”

He threw her a smile over his shoulder. “I promise you will like it.”

Jamie disappeared into the crowd and returned wearing his riding coat. It was ridiculously clean where everything else about him was blackened and dusty.

He stopped before her and, to her surprise, dropped onto one knee.

“This is what my important business was.” He opened a small box and held it up. The most beautiful sapphire ring she’d ever seen lay nestled inside.