The Witch Of Clan Sinclair

by Ranney, Karen

  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.

  Glass 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.

  Mairi 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.

  For a few minutes the four of them watched the fire brigade at work. He knew they should move back, just in case another explosion occurred. When he stood, however, his legs nearly buckled.

  He gave himself a minute, bent over with his hands on his knees.

  Once he was breathing better, he left them, returning to the building and the fire brigade. As large as the fire was, they could use extra help.

  Logan strode back to the fire brigade. Allan and James joined him, all of them helping by grabbing the handles of the pump and working it while the other men manned the hoses.

  She went to help distribute tea a few kind ladies offered, grateful for the support of neighbors. She answered questions, accepted condolences, and on more than one occasion was brought to tears.

  For hours she sat at a safe distance, watching as the fire was slowly extinguished. From this mom
ent on, she knew she would smell smoke and recall this night. The sound of bells would make her remember the fire brigade, the shout of men, the cackling, malevolent laughter of the flames.

  When she finally saw Logan, she walked toward him, holding out her cup. He drank the rest of the tea, handing the cup back to her with a smile.

  Reaching up, she placed her fingers on his cheek, gently wiping at the soot.

  “I should go home,” she said.

  The fire was finally extinguished: the fire brigade was packing up their equipment. Nothing further could be done.

  “You could have died,” he said, his tone rough.

  “And you as well.”

  She owed him so many thanks. How could she possibly express everything she felt? She ought to at least try.

  “Without you, they would have died,” she said. “Thank you for saving them.”

  “Allan is seeing if there’s anything that can be salvaged and James is helping him. You’re coming with me.”

  How very pompous he sounded. Did he realize she didn’t have any energy to oppose him? She could barely blink her eyes.

  Logan Harrison, Highlander of old and now, startled her by picking her up in his arms and striding toward his carriage.

  “People will talk, Logan. Your constituents will be shocked.”

  “I find that I don’t much care,” he said.

  That comment surprised her so much she remained silent and allowed herself to be abducted.

  Chapter 28

  Her face was still, her blue eyes swimming with tears. He wanted to protect her from the sight of the ruins of the Sinclair Printing Company.

  Let the world think what they would. Let those people standing in the street fascinated by the sight of a destroyed dream turn their heads and see him. Right now, his political ambitions faded beneath a very real need: to comfort her, and to ease her pain however he could.

  “I can’t go home with you again,” she said once they entered his carriage.

  He didn’t answer.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “You’re the most stubborn man.”

  He bent his head down and kissed her nose.

  “Do you want me to promise to leave you alone? I will, if that’s what you want. I’ll install you in one of the guest rooms, and you’ll be a chaste woman in the morning.”

  She sighed. “That would be best, don’t you think?”

  “Do you always do what’s best?” he asked, knowing she didn’t. Mairi was often improvident and rash, but her heart could expand to hold all of Edinburgh and probably Scotland.

  “Yes,” she said, turning away from him.

  He smiled at the lie. She was right, though, he had to give her that. He shouldn’t be taking her to his house. He should tell his driver to turn around and go a half mile in the other direction. There, he’d escort her to the door, wait until he was certain she was settled in, then return to his home. He would congratulate himself on his wisdom as well as his restraint.

  He wasn’t going to do any of those things.

  They entered his home from the rear, the first time she’d seen this approach. His garden, draped by night, was much larger than hers. She had the errant wish to see it, wanted to return in the daylight.

  Instead, they crept through the back like thieves.

  The tip of one finger skimmed along the top of her hand, a gentle guide.

  Logan stopped in the shadow of a large tree, now denuded by winter. He grabbed her hand, his fingers resting between her knuckles, a curious pairing and one that was surprisingly intimate.

  He wrapped his arms around her. She sighed into his hug, winding her arms around his waist. She still wore his coat. He must be freezing.

  Before she had time to voice her concern, he bent his head.

  His kiss was deep and terrifying, leading her to a destination she knew only too well. He fisted his hand in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.

  He smelled of smoke and fire and death and destruction and life and promise.

  “Mairi.”

  She shivered at the sound of her name. Closing her eyes, she allowed him to sweep her from the garden, inside the house and up the stairs.

  Once in his room, he closed the door, shutting out the world.

  She should leave. She should remember her reputation and his. She shouldn’t be here, wanting more than a kiss.

  But she’d been without him for weeks. He was here and she could touch him as she’d wanted for too long.

  She grabbed his hand with both of hers, pressing her lips against the base of his thumb.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she said, dropping his hand to wrap her arms around his waist and press her cheek against his chest. “I should be wise and sensible and demand you take me home.”

  Leaning back, he tilted up her chin with his hand. “Shall we be neither wise nor sensible tonight? There’s a lot to be said for being unwise and rash.”

  A glow started deep inside, brushing aside her sadness.

  She should leave but she didn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with him, with his soot-covered face and his reddened eyes. She wanted to tend to him, to care for him, to cradle him in her body, and feel the joy of possessing and being possessed.

  “I have no choice,” she said, and it was the truth.

  Here she would stay because with him she felt safe, protected, and just for tonight, loved.

  He should have bathed, washed the soot and stench of fire away, but he didn’t want to step away from her for a minute.

  Her eyes widened with each garment he unfastened. When he removed her bodice, her hands fluttered in the air but remained at her sides as if she couldn’t decide whether to flee or fight him. She did neither, merely stood like a sacrifice, each successive item of clothing causing her to tremble more. Next was the corset cover, he thought it was called, a gauzy thing that only served to veil her.

  He wanted her naked beneath him. Or naked above him, it didn’t matter. He wanted Mairi naked and joyous, her lips curved in a smile.

  Above all, he wanted to banish the look of sadness from her face, offer her passion in exchange for grief.

  He unfastened the busk of her corset, separated it by the simple matter of placing his hands beneath it and widening them. Her skin was so hot that he could feel it even with her shift in the way. She was still trembling, and that made him question whether he should hasten the task or slow it further.

  He really had no choice. His body urged completion at the same time, strangely enough, his mind sanctioned it as well. He wanted to bring her joy. Have her recall him each day, each hour, for the pleasure he brought her, if nothing else. If she didn’t think of their discussions, if she wasn’t interested in his arguments, then let her remember his loving.

  Let her hunger for him as he did for her.

  He got to his knees in front of her. He had never acted this way in front of any woman, but then she was not like any other woman. He reached up and unfastened her skirt, coaxing the button free, then working on the tape of her petticoats. She hadn’t worn a stiff hoop, but then she wasn’t a doyenne of fashion. Most of the time she didn’t wear a bonnet.

  “I missed you,” he said. “All those days you were away.”

  She didn’t speak, but he didn’t expect her to respond. When she was feeling vulnerable, Mairi retreated to silence, a condition otherwise alien to her.

  “I thought about all of those things that I would have told you if you were here,” he said.

  “Council matters?” she asked, a sparkle in her eyes. “To think that I might have overlooked a great source all along.”

  Her fingertips danced along his cheek, rested beneath his chin in a tender touch.

  His heart swelled at the curve of her smile.

  He slid her skirts and petticoats over her hips and down her body, taking his time.

  She was trembling more now, clasping her hands before her, her gaze on his face. From time to time he would
look up to find her eyes intent on him.

  “What are you thinking when you look at me that way?” he asked.

  Would she answer him?

  Surprisingly, she did. “How I feel like a maiden before you,” she said. “How you, a braw Highlander, seem from medieval days.”

  “Do I?”

  She nodded. “It’s your fault, you know. That first day, in your kilt. Was I supposed to ignore the sight?”

  “Or that day you touched my truss,” he said.

  “Your holster,” she said, correcting him with a smile.

  He had never known a time like this, torn in two by lust along with amusement. Then there was the tenderness that nearly swamped him and stole his breath.

  He bent to unfasten her shoes, slowly unlacing them with the same care he’d taken for her garments. Now, he rolled one stocking over her perfectly formed knee and then down her beautiful leg. She placed her hand on his shoulder as she lifted her foot. He repeated the action with the other leg, both of them silent.

  Kneeling there, sitting back on his heels, he studied her. Clad now only in her shift, she looked like a pagan goddess.

  “Let down your hair, Mairi,” he said, wanting to complete the picture.

  Without questioning why, she did, slowly removing the pins and letting them drop to the floor, while he remained still and silent and in awe of her beauty. When she was done, she threaded her fingers through the mass of her hair until it hung below her shoulders.

  “Not a pagan goddess,” he said. “But Aphrodite.”

  “Are you my shell, Logan?”

  He would be anything she wanted, anchor, helpmate, or supporter.

  She shivered, and he realized she was cold. Standing, he took her hand and led her to the fire. Then he bent and grabbed the hem of her shift, pulling it over her head until she stood there revealed and simply Mairi.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  “I’ve never been called beautiful,” she said.

  “Then I can only think the world is foolish, and I’m the only wise man alive.”