He never caught up with her. Helping John steady the wild-eyed stallion long enough to cool and blind him with the drenched blanket, he saw her leading out another of the carriage horses. When he led the stallion out, she had disappeared again. A terrified Michael, clutching the pet guinea pigs, pointed toward the smoking entrance of the stable when questioned about the countess’s whereabouts.
Containing his own fears, Heath directed the lad to carry the animals to the kitchen and be certain all the cats and the dog stayed inside. He could well imagine Aubree racing back after some missing animal at the risk of her own life.
The yard filled with animals not his own. Wagons and carriages rattled onto the broad lawn as the nearest neighbors poured into the courtyard to lend their backs and hands to the bucket brigade. He noted even his elegant sister hauled water beside the dim-witted Patience, and his mother’s haughty French cook dipped the household linens in the trough to pass out to those leading the animals to safety.
He followed Adrian’s raw, scarred back into the inferno of screaming animals and nightmare smoke. The flames only crackled in the rear, but the smoke had become so intense it scorched the lungs. He searched for Aubree’s pale muslin gown in the blackness, but he could see no farther than the hand before his face.
Commanding all he passed to detain Aubree outside if they saw her, Heath fought his way as close to the flame as he could, freeing the stall doors and smacking the skittish animals into a trot in the direction of safety. Plow horses, oxen, the ponies his men rode, all were quartered in this massive structure that had once held some of the finest horses in the land. At least these less elegant animals possessed more sense of self-preservation than the high-strung thoroughbreds as they stampeded toward the door.
Heath followed them out, throwing open stall doors as he went. He could no longer see if there were animals behind any of them. His lungs felt as if they filled with acid and each cough tore out a piece of flesh.
Outside, the air was little better. The cold stung the heat in his lungs, but the stench remained. Flames leapt from the roof now. It was only a matter of time before the hay set the whole loft afire and the entire structure came tumbling down.
He searched for some sign of Aubree. The pandemonium in the courtyard had reached fever-pitch and few could hear his hoarse questions. He was aware of more carriages arriving but paid them no heed as he grabbed John’s coat. The groom was heading for the inferno of the stable, though all the animals appeared to be milling about the yard, gradually being herded toward the paddock in the rear.
At Heath’s shouted question, John pointed back to the stable entrance. A small white figure flickered against the belching smoke and was quickly engulfed.
Never before in his life had he experienced such terror. He had met the charging brigades of French soldiery with fatalistic fear, watched Louise dive to her death with a horror he never wished to repeat, but the sight of Aubree walking into the flames of hell twisted him into demented terror.
Alerted by some common thread of fear, others turned to watch Aubree vanish into the smoke. Not until Heath’s roar of rage and anguish arose over the cacophony did they finally realize the peril.
A timber at the back of the stable began to creak and sway, shooting sparks of fiery debris into the night. A woman screamed as Heath broke into a run, shoving aside the men who jumped to intercept his path.
A man hurtled from one of the carriages that had just drawn up, but Adrian caught him in midstride and held him back.
“Don’t, Harley. There’s nothing we can do but pray.” They watched in paralyzed horror as Heath disappeared into the flaming building.
“My God, I never thought they’d strike so close,” Harley whispered, aghast.
“We were all wrong. Go move your father from danger. We have to wet down the rest of this place before it spreads.”
Beneath Adrian’s shouts and curses, the line again took up its mechanical pumping, this time concentrating on the burning timbers nearest the door. They could no longer reach the tower of fire groaning and spurting flame at the rear.
The hoarse cry of a raven and its inhuman cackling of curses flew from the burning timbers overhead. Furtive signs of the cross were made as the bird rained diatribes upon their heads.
But instead of an ill omen, the raven preceded good fortune. As the rear timber crackled and snapped and collapsed backward into the dusty, unused sheep pen, a figure in shirtsleeves staggered from the smoking entrance carrying a seemingly lifeless burden.
A cry of excitement rang around the walled enclosure as Heath worked his way from the smoke through the crowd. Without being told, Mattie handed her bucket to another and raced to the house in advance of his staggering stride. The bucket brigade returned to work with new vigor, inspired by the need to help the stricken earl and his unconscious young wife.
Anguish screamed from a new arrival as he fought his way through the milling animals and people.
“Aubree!” Geoffrey cried. “My God, what have you done to her? Damn you, you promised me. . .” Shouting incoherently, he stumbled over sheep and toes in his effort to reach the couple disappearing in the direction of the house.
Alerted by his cry, both Adrian and Harley halted what they were doing and shoved their way to intercept the newcomer. Before they could reach him, however, a shadow stepped from behind one of the carriages, catching the panic-stricken Geoffrey by his high collar.
Geoffrey fought, ignoring the warning. “Damn you, let me go! I’ll never forgive you for this. Never! My God, she could be dead and you’ve killed her!”
This last was uttered with a piercing shriek as the shadow flung his prey to the ground and vanished into the maze of carriages.
Too late, however. Adrian and Harley watched in astonishment as a cane smashed from one of the vehicles, catching the unknown intruder on the side of the head, sending him sprawling along the cobblestones.
“Harley! Fetch this rascal and tell me who he is. Make him speak louder. I want to hear his voice.” This querulous demand came from the depths of the Sotheby chaise Harley was already racing to the scene, with Adrian on his heels.
They caught Geoffrey before he could follow Heath into the house. Adrian held him while Harley jerked the sprawling figure from the ground. A small crowd began to form, circling the chaise and the combatants.
“It’s Eversly,” Harley announced with disgust, dragging the squire to a half-sitting position. “What in hell are you doing here?”
“Make him speak up, boy. I thought I heard him a moment ago. Eversly, is that you?” The blind man in the carriage leaned forward, listening.
“Who wants to know?” a hoarse voice croaked in defiance.
“Damn you, man, I knew you when you were young enough to steal the apples from my trees. Stand up and speak like a man.”
Squire Eversly threw off Harley’s imprisoning grip and stood, arrogantly dusting himself off. His collarless, loose-cut coat was torn, and his buckskin breeches reeked of an odor not common to a barnyard. He threw his furious cousin a malevolent look then spoke to the man in the carriage. “I cannot imagine what we have to speak about. I have not darkened your door since you threw me out of the garden when I was no more than a hungry lad.”
In the light from the fire, the old man turned livid with rage.
Coming up behind Adrian, Emily pushed her husband aside to hurry to the carriage. Sotheby waved her aside.
“Don’t lie to me, you young whippersnapper! I may be blind, but I’m not deaf! Harley, fetch the sheriff! That’s the man that killed your sister!”
A gasp of shock went up from the crowd. Heath’s farm hands edged closer while some went in search of the sheriff. Emily urged the enraged old man from the carriage, nudging Adrian and Harley to help her. Whispers grew to ugly murmurs.
“I think we’d better take them into the house,” Adrian said. Shoving Eversly in the direction of the abbey, he gestured for Harley to follow, dragging the frantic Geof
frey.
The angry crowd parted to let them pass. The glowing embers of the burned-out stable threw bright-red stars into the cloudless sky. The remaining men in the yard continued to douse the dying flames, while others herded straying animals into the paddock.
Atwood Abbey had brought the scattered occupants of village and countryside together again. But at what cost?
Chapter 29
Tears streamed down his face as Heath carried his unconscious burden up the stairs. He could not feel her breathe. Only moments ago she had been warm and vibrant in his embrace. Now she lay cold and still. The fates could not be so cruel as to rob his world of its only sun.
Mattie stifled a scream as he lay his burden upon the bed. Tears soaked the maid’s face as she carried a basis of cool water to her mistress and began mopping her grimy face.
Aubree stirred, and swallowing his terror, Heath took the wet cloth from Mattie’s hand. Mopping gently, he was rewarded with a choking gasp, followed by a long bout of harsh coughing. He could feel his heart tearing from its mooring with each ragged breath, but he could do no more than hold her and pray.
At long last, the worst of the coughing subsided, and long lashes swept upward. Green eyes stared upward. With a sigh of relief, she closed them again. “You’re safe.”
With a blaze of joy he clutched her closer. The coughing resumed, but it sounded as music to his ears. She was alive.
Choking on his relief, he barked at the maid. “Tell them below to help themselves to the ale in the cellars. There’s cause for celebration.”
As the maid bobbed a curtsy and rushed off, Heath removed Aubree’s grimy clothes and soaped her with the cooling cloths Mattie had prepared. Aubree’s coughing prevented conversation, but he worked patiently, holding her while great, wrenching heaves shook her slender body, then caressing her skin with scented soap until she relaxed again.
Until he sensed she rested comfortably, and all his pent-up anguish surfaced and spilled over in painful fury. “Why, Aubree? Why did you go back in?”
A spasm of coughing shook her as she fought to regain her speech. “Looking for. . . you,” she gasped.
Appalled, he lifted her in his arms, wishing he could breathe for her as she gulped for air. She seemed to rest more comfortably in this position, and he cushioned her head against his shoulder and held her there. “I let the animals out, Aubree. Why would I go back in there?”
“They said. . . you did. Heard Myna. . . thought, maybe. . .”
Her coughing was less fierce, but Heath continued to hold her, offering a sip of wine between each bout. He wanted to scream his anguish and demand to know who they was, but the conclusion was obvious. Someone had deliberately sent her into that inferno.
The bird puzzled him. The raven should have been the first one out when the doors opened, but instead, he had found it screaming over Aubree’s unconscious body. He might never have found her in time had it not been for the raven. From these few words he could not determine whether he owed the bird her life, or if the bird had nearly cost it.
“Aubree, you must know your life is much more valuable to me than any animal’s. If I discover you went back in to find that bedeviled bird. . .”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “No. I did not know he was caged until I released him. Why was he caged?”
Heath’s anger built, an anger even more compelling for its futility. To cage that bird had to be an act of madness—or deliberate bait for a deadly trap. But to prove either would be an impossibility.
“I don’t know, Aubree. All is well now. Don’t worry over it. You frightened me, my love. I apologize.” He held her close as she sipped at the wine.
But when the coughing had dwindled and color began to return to her cheeks, he kissed her forehead and loosened his grip. “I must thank those who came to help us, my love. Will you rest if I leave you here?”
She shook her head. “You cannot go down those stairs again, Heath. You will reopen the wound, if you have not already.”
Ruefully, he realized she had regained her speech. It would be difficult to deny her, but he had to speak with the others.
“They are in the dining hall, halfling. I need only stand on the balcony to speak to them. The acoustics were designed for a reader to be heard throughout the hall, so I daresay my bellow will reach them well enough.”
Aubree had forgotten the speaker’s passage in the back hall. Chapters of the Bible had once been read from this vantage point above the silent monks. In later days, it had been opened out so that musicians might play above the great hall. The passage was little used now, but useful for the purpose. He would not have to descend the stairs to speak to the people below.
Almost shyly, she inquired, “Might I go with you?”
Her husband’s eyes lit as if he had just been gifted with his one desire. “You feel well enough?” he asked anxiously.
“If you can walk to the end of the hall on that leg, then I might manage,” she retorted. The cough that followed did nothing to reassure, but she had recovered sufficient spirit to fight for what she wanted. And she wanted to stand beside her husband in this moment of disaster—and triumph.
For triumph it was. Aubree could see it in the faces below them, hear it in the lusty cheer that rattled the smoked timbers as they appeared in the upper balcony. Heath had to wait for the cheers to die down before he could convey his thanks to the neighbors who had come at a time of need, despite the gossip that circulated of him.
Heath kept his speech brief and to the point. “I want to thank all of you for your help this night. Without you, our loss would have been much greater, more than I care to imagine.” The crowd grew silent at this reminder of what might have been. “I realize Atwood Abbey has not been the best of neighbors, but with your help, I would like that changed. With the mines closing and shipping down, we are in for a long, hard winter. But winter is a time for rebuilding and plowing and planning next spring’s crops. That’s what I intend to do, with the help of any of you who might offer their services. There is enough work to be done in this place to employ half the army should the French fall and Wellington bring our boys home.”
Another cheer rang around the hall at this sentiment. The crowd quieted as Aubree stepped from her husband’s shadow to indicate she would speak. She wore only her blue velvet dressing gown but she thought they looked upon her with the respect deserving of a Countess of Heathmont.
“I regret that our wedding feast was held elsewhere and gave me no opportunity to meet all of you good people. Circumstances have prevented any cause for celebration since then, but my husband permitting” —she threw Heath a mischievous glance that rated catcalls and feet stomping—”we should welcome the new year with a suitable feast. And if the stable is rebuilt, I should think a country dance or two would not be amiss. I have not yet seen my husband dance a jig, but perhaps we could persuade him.”
Heath relaxed as the people with whom he’d grown up with roared with laughter and applauded their approval. He had thought to win them through their pocketbooks, but Aubree had thrown aside caution and aimed for their hearts. From the sounds of the melee below, she had won them, too.
To the tune of laughter, Heath gave his wife a hearty buss and led her away. Too much success would empty his coffers as well as his kegs. And there were other more serious matters. Celebrations might be premature.
He waited until Aubree slept to slip down the front stairs to the study. Although his concerns had all been for Aubree, he had not failed to notice what went on about him. And the absence of Harley and Adrian at a time like this hardened his suspicions. He would see what their fracas had uncovered.
The group of men in the musty study turned at his entrance with varying degrees of relief and apprehension. The comfortable leather chair at the fire had been given to Mr. Sotheby, who had turned blindly at the sound of the door. Harley leaned against the mantel near his father while Adrian commanded the center of the room, his scarred back now c
overed with an unfastened shirt. At Heath’s entrance, he stepped aside to reveal the center of argument.
Geoffrey and Harry Eversly sat upon the ancient couch with Sheriff Fletcher close at hand. The sheriff looked uneasy at Heath’s arrival. The squire who had acted as local magistrate was now under charges. Heath was now the authority.
“How is she?” Adrian asked.
“If you heard the crowd in the kitchen, you would know,” Heath replied curtly, his gaze falling upon the men at the couch. “But we owe no thanks to the man who sent her in there. I’ll see him hung for that.”
Eversly coldly returned his stare, but Geoffrey choked and looked ready to flee. The sheriff’s broad frame blocked escape.
“There’s your culprit, Heathmont. Would to God that I could watch him hang.” The old man by the fire spoke vehemently.
Heath turned to the frail old man who had once been his father-in-law. Sotheby’s sturdy frame had dwindled to a shadow of itself, but the merchant vibrated with much of the vigor he had once possessed. He punctuated his words with a sharp rap on the floor with the his walking stick.
“It’s good to see you again, sir, though I regret the circumstances,” Heath said. “Did you wish to make a formal accusation against these men?”
Sotheby glared in the direction of the couch. “Don’t know the young whippersnapper. It’s Eversly you want. He killed Louise. Don’t doubt that he tried to do the same for your new bride.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the squire drawled. “I have never even met the present lady. Why on earth should I want to kill her? Or Louise? Why do you keep protecting this bastard? It’s obvious he’s a Bluebeard.”
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