The Witch Of Clan Sinclair (25 page)

Chapter 27

“A
llan! James!”

Mairi shouted for both of them but no one answered.

She headed for the stairs, only to encounter a wall. A living, breathing wall in the form of Logan Harrison.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a question he didn’t answer.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her arm.

She jerked away, prepared to argue with him. She never got the chance. The High and Mighty Lord Provost simply picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, leaving the newspaper offices and depositing her on the opposite side of the street.

She pulled away from him, staring at his face, limned in the light from the fire.

“Allan and James are inside,” she said. “I can’t just leave them.”

“I’ll go and find them,” he said. He took off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her. It settled heavily on her shoulders, smelling of his scent, something about it reminding her of forests and winter.

Since the coat swamped her, she grabbed at it with both hands.

“You stay here,” he said.

She had never liked being given orders, and tonight was no exception. As if he could hear her thoughts, he bent down and pressed his lips against her forehead.

“Please, Mairi.”

“Allan lives above the paper,” she said. “And James went to find him.”

“I’ll go look, but you need to stay here where I know you’ll be safe,” he said.

The fire made him a god, a living embodiment of all those Highlanders of old. His eyes hardened, his mouth firmed, and there was something in his expression that silenced her.

He didn’t stand on a barren hillside, looking out over a glen of battle hardened men. Yet even though this was the nineteenth century, not the middle ages, and the setting was different, it didn’t matter.

Anyone who fought him would lose.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

He left her in the next moment, heading back to the building.

Had she been distracted? Had she erred in lighting the lamps? Had something been too close to one of the globes?

Had her coming to the paper caused the deaths of two men? Please, God, no.

The wind carried a billowing cloud of smoke to her and she began to cough.

She went to the carriage, released the brake, and led the restless horses down the street. She soothed them as best she could, but they were still afraid of the fire. James could have calmed them with his voice. Had he escaped? And Allan?

What about Logan? Why hadn’t he returned?

The bells of the fire brigade were another sound added to the noise of the fire. She didn’t know how they had gotten word so quickly, but she was grateful nonetheless.

She walked slowly back to the corner, staying on the other side of the street, watching as the crowd gathered. Although this was not a residential area and there were few houses nearby, some proprietors made their homes above their shops, like the Sinclair family had for generations. People came out, dressed in their nightclothes, standing on the street to watch the fire brigade. With any luck, the fire wouldn’t spread. If they were really fortunate, some of the building would be salvageable.

From what she saw now, however, they would not be visited by any luck at all. Flames licked out of the third floor windows, smoke pouring from the attic. Because of the combustible nature of the products stored there, the fire had been fed well.

So many people were watching, all of them speaking in low tones as if in deference to the largest blaze they’d ever seen in this part of Edinburgh.

The fire was spectacular.

Billowing clouds of black tarry smoke puffed up from the roof. She clutched Logan’s coat around her as the wind made her eyes water and fueled the fire even higher. The smoke was tinged with a curious nutty odor as bits of charred paper floated to the grounds like black snowflakes.

Her heart constricted to a painful ball pressing against her lungs.

Anxiety, guilt, and worry swelled inside her until she could barely breathe. Tears were just below the surface, threatening to flood her.

Her lungs heated and her eyes watered from the smoke. She pressed her face into the collar of Logan’s coat, praying for the men inside.

Flames licked from inside the building to beyond the windows and doors, as if the fire had outgrown its cage, stretching its arms outward in a bid for freedom.

The other buildings were in danger now.

Where were the men?

The wind blew her hair off her neck, reminding her that once again she was without a bonnet.

Moving back still farther, she stood with the others on the street. At first, hearing their excited talk, she wanted to correct them, but that was the reporter in her. The woman remained silent, letting them speculate that an act of carelessness had caused the fire, that someone working late had overturned a lamp or a spark had escaped from a pipe.

The building abruptly shuddered. Flames shot through the roof like the hand of God had speared upward through the brick, flexing fiery fingers.

Mairi took another step back, the street trembling beneath her feet as a second explosion followed the first.

Where were the men?

T
he stench of the fire made Logan cover his nose with his arm. He knew the layout of the building a little from his visits in the past week but not the upper floors. He searched those smoke-filled rooms he passed on the way to the pressroom. There, however, the fire had gained way, so he stepped back from the inferno.

A narrow hallway led to the back. If he went in that direction, would he get trapped? Did the hall lead to the stairs?

Mairi had said that Allan lived above the paper, but where? Did he sleep on the second or the third floor?

He heard shouting above the noise of the fire and left the room, heading down the hall. At the end of it, almost like an afterthought, was a set of stairs. He climbed slowly, the heat level rising as he did. He heard another shout and raced to the top, where he found two men grappling in the shadows.

At first he thought they were fighting, until he realized James was trying to move a fallen beam. He bent and added his efforts, finally able to free the other man.

“We can still save the press!”

“It’s gone,” Logan told him.

There was not a damn thing they could do at the moment. Even breathing was getting difficult and the fire seemed louder, as if it were climbing the stairs after them. To his horror, he realized that he was correct. The bottom half of the staircase was engulfed in flames.

Before he had time to reason it out, he jumped from the landing, hitting the wooden floor on his hands and knees. James shouted something, then pushed Allan from the landing before following.

Logan strained to see through the smoke and the black clouds. The fire raced up the stairs. If they didn’t leave soon, they were going to be encircled by the flames.

Standing, he gripped James’s forearm with one hand and pointed with the other. James grabbed Allan and followed him down the hall.

From the density of the smoke, they were going to play hell getting out of the building. They couldn’t afford to get lost or make any mistakes.

He counted the steps back to the doorway where he stood when the explosion had occurred. The faint outline of a window in one of the offices gave him hope.

Suddenly, an explosion shook the building. He stood in the doorway, both hands braced on the frame as the walls shuddered around him.

When the tremors subsided, the fire seemed even louder. Once inside the smoke-filled room, Logan stretched out one hand, finding a desk in front of the window. He knelt atop it, jerking on the window frame.

He’d been taking shallow breaths for the last five minutes, but now he couldn’t even do that without coughing. He was getting dizzy, his eyes smarting, his ears overwhelmed by the roar of the flames now at the doorway.

Removing his shoe, he used the heel to shatter the window. He urged James out, and then Allan, before following.

The smoke was plentiful here, too. They staggered to the opposite curb. Logan bent over, hands on his knees, coughing, then threw his head back, taking big gulps of air.

G
lass shattered, another window exploding because of the fire.

Mairi breathed the smoky air, fear and horror keeping her still. Her stomach churned, curling her tongue with a sour taste.

She fought back her tears. If they came, they would drown her. Her throat ached and the prayer she murmured was simple. “Please God. Please God. Please God.”

Three shadows coalesced on the side of the building then separated to become Logan, James, and Allan.

Mairi grabbed the lapels of the greatcoat and ran toward them, stopping only inches from Logan, prevented from throwing her arms around his neck by the watching spectators. But she couldn’t stop herself from examining him, from his shoes to the top of his wind-tossed hair.

His vest was torn and the right sleeve of his shirt was ripped. His face was covered in soot. He wiped a forearm across his eyes before grinning at her.

“We got him,” he said, nodding at Allan.

She turned to James. He, too, was covered in soot, his clothing in even worse shape. His shirt looked as if it had caught on fire before being extinguished.

“Are you injured?” she asked, fingering the burned cuff.

“No, I’m not. Thanks to the provost. A beam fell on Allan and he helped me pull it off.”

She walked to stand in front of Allan. She wished the light were better, because it looked like one side of his face was red.

“Are you burned?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said. His smile was bright in the scarlet night.

She thought he wasn’t being entirely truthful, but he wasn’t the type to complain. Perhaps he’d be more honest with Fenella.

“You’ll take him home,” she said, nodding to James.

“I’ll not be going anywhere right now,” Allan said, turning and staring up at the building. Only the front facade still stood. The brick had crumbled on the side of the building, probably because of the explosion. “We’ll need to see what’s left.”

“Nothing’s left,” she said, uttering the truth in a dull voice.

Nothing remained of the Sinclair Paper Company, only memories.

Here, Macrath had the idea for his refrigeration machine, the success of which had propelled him toward his dream of creating an empire. Because of his talent and his determination, he’d moved them from this place to their house, to live a life of near luxury.

This building was the source of her comfort when Macrath had left Edinburgh, and she’d been fueled with a dream of her own. She’d been as determined as her brother to succeed, to be the editor of the
Edinburgh Gazette,
to be respected for her business acumen, her talent in writing, and her nose for a story.

That dream was in ashes, just like the building and all its contents.

There were no historical copies of the paper or drafts of her favorite columns, the broadsides she written by herself and from information she’d obtained on her own. All the research files she’d accumulated were gone.

Some people might remember the sign that hung there indicating that the printing company had been formed more than thirty years ago. Some of them might recall Macrath’s name as editor and publisher. Some might even remember seeing her there, laboring at night when most of the world was asleep.

The
Edinburgh Gazette
had died tonight. Everything was gone, from their supplies to their press.

At least she had the notes for future columns safely at home, as well as the names and addresses of all her contacts.

Most of all, everyone had survived. For that she would be eternally thankful.

M
airi was fluttering about, checking on James and Allan, before returning to his side. By the light of the fire she was a sight, garbed in his greatcoat, so large on her that it trailed from her wrists and puddled on the street. Her hair was askew, tears tracking through the soot on her face.

He’d seen her fuss at him, terrified and in pain. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry, and he wasn’t altogether certain he wanted to see the sight again. Her tears twisted his stomach until it was in knots, made his hand shake as he reached out to touch her face.

“Shh,” he said, his voice a raspy croak. “It’s all right. They’re all right.”

“You very nearly weren’t, any of you. What took you so long?”

She looked too precious at that moment for her scowl to have any effect. He only smiled at her, reached over and patted her cheek again. She turned her head and placed a kiss on his palm, such a tender gesture that he smiled.

Mairi was a woman of great emotion beneath an exterior of competence and bravado. The greater the fuss, the more she hid.

“I’m afraid Allan was all for saving the building,” he said.

She peered beyond him to where Allan sat. He waited for her to say something comforting to the man. A promise to rebuild, perhaps. Or a declaration that a simple fire wouldn’t stop her. She didn’t, however.

Instead, Mairi turned away, staring at the building that held her life’s work.