Chapter Four

"…the noise & crakling & thunder of the impetuous flames, the shreeking of women & children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses & churches was like an hideous storme, & the aire all about so hot & inflam'd."

John Evelyn about the Great Fire of London, 1666

Sara staggered back from the chapel, pulling Gus with her while he barked and tugged to run back to his master, who was now trapped behind the church door. Smoke rose from the wind-fed flames sinking its teeth into the thatched roof.

Muted yells from within were accented by the crackle of the flames and orders from Gilbert and their father to bar all exits, including the windows. Her father meant to burn the MacLeod wedding party alive! No wonder he'd sent Kenan away. Her oldest brother would never have allowed it.

Father Lockerby stared at St. Mary's Chapel with wide eyes beside her, passing the sign of the cross before him. "Heavenly Father, give comfort to those who will perish now. Forgive those who act with such violence against your house of worship."

"We must get them out," she said, shaking the cleric's arm. "They'll die." And there'd be war.

Dropping Gus's lead, Sara ran around behind the chapel. Her frantic gaze slid across the planks nailed over the windows. She didn't even have a chisel to pry them up. Hitting her bouquet of bluebells against one in frustration, she swung around, searching for a way to help those inside. No one was paying her any attention as they stood watching the blaze from the front and waiting with more boards to see if the MacLeods broke through those already hammered in place.

Wisps of smoke leaked out from around the covered windows like gray snakes trying to wriggle their way out. Curses and guttural yells came through the walls. Mother Mary, help!

Behind a series of shrubs, Sara spotted a short door in the foundation of the church. A crawl space . "They can go under!" With a glance over her shoulder to see no one, Sara grabbed the small iron handle and yanked. The old door swung open, and she ducked underneath to look within. Wooden boards ran above, and uneven dirt sat below. There were also spiderwebs, and something wriggled on the ground. Don't think. Move!

The cool earth soaked right through her petticoat and smock to her knees as she crawled under. Footfalls pounded above her, making dirt fall on her head. She sneezed, blinking against the grit in her eyes. Fingers, swiping and clawing through the dirt, found a rock. She rolled over onto her back, held the heavy rock in two hands, and pounded above her face.

Bang. Bang. Bang .

Eyes shut against the falling dirt, she slammed the rock until she heard a thump right above her face. "Yes!" she yelled. "Break through here!"

Something over her hit the floorboards, sending down a heavy shower of grime. She coughed and rolled over to crawl backward as fast as she could, pushing her elbows into the mud. Floorboards splintered right over where she'd banged, cracking as the heavy baptismal font fell through. It was yanked back out and hands ripped apart the boards.

The pleasant older woman was the first to lower through. Her eyes were huge in her ash-dull face.

"Duck your head and crawl," Sara called, and Margaret followed her to the barely cracked door.

Sara peeked outside before throwing the door open wide and sucking in fresh air and wind off the sea. Crashing behind her made her jerk around as she stood, watching the roof cave into the center of the stone church. Rushing forward, Sara helped Margaret stand and led her away as coughing men poured out of the little door forgotten between the bushes at the bottom of the church.

Sara watched as each man emerged, but both Rory and Jamie were still inside. "Please God," she prayed. Around them, MacLeods were drawing their swords and rushing to the front of the chapel. Coughing and cursing, they clashed with the Macdonalds while Margaret tugged Sara back from the violence.

"But Rory!" Sara struggled against her.

"Come, milady," Margaret said, but Sara broke away, rushing back to the small door as it flung open wide again. Jamie's head emerged, slid out across the beaten grass and dirt. His eyes were closed, and blood darkened his hair.

"Jamie!" she yelled, grabbing the man's limp arm, pulling him from the hole. Margaret helped, taking his other arm. Through more smoke Rory emerged, crawling out after his brother.

A small sob echoed in Sara's ears, and she realized it was her own. Thank you, God. She ran to Rory, her hands wrapping around one thick bicep, desperate to help him stand. Rory straightened, coughing, and Sara backed up as he yanked his sword free of the scabbard at his side. He was covered in sooty ash and debris, his eyes red from the smoke, and he took deep breaths, coughing and spitting. His gaze met hers, and she felt all the air leave her chest.

Brows narrowed, his eyes burned with hatred.

…

Betrayal and fury blazed through Rory like the fire rampaging through the chapel. The lion's heart within him roared hot and vengeful. There was no time to check that Jamie had survived the beam falling upon him, knocking him unconscious. Unlike his brother, Rory wouldn't leave a family member behind.

The Macdonalds were murderers, and Seraphina had known what was going to happen. The Flame of Dunscaith? How appropriate. He'd seen the sorrow in her face in the church, had realized it as she pulled Gus's tether from his grasp, not willing to let his dog burn.

Something isn't right. Guilt had tugged at her, made her warn him at the last second. Had she only gone along with the wedding because she'd known her father would release her from the marriage before consummating it? Once again, Rory had fallen for a lass's trick. Hot, thick turmoil roiled inside him.

A man cursed as he thrust his sword at Rory, but Rory jumped back. 'Twas easy to spot the devil Macdonalds for they were clean of soot, while the MacLeods who'd barely escaped wore tunics covered with ash and dirt, some of them singed from falling flames. But then other MacLeods, seeing the black smoke, raced down into the valley from Dunvegan.

Rory's jaw opened like the maw of the king beast, the rumble coming up from his clogged chest, and his lips pulled back in a snarl. He coughed but kept his teeth bared. His look, full of seething hatred, startled the Macdonald battling him. The slip in the man's concentration gave Rory the opportunity to slash across his chest. The Macdonald fell to the trampled earth. Rory spit out soot and coughed, his lungs aching, and leaped into the bloody frenzy before the burning church.

Where had his defensive instincts for sinister plots gone? Had the beguiling look of a Macdonald lass stolen his prowess? The bloody Flame of Dunscaith! The witch. She'd even bespelled his dog. Gus stood before her barking ferociously to keep everyone away.

Rory spun to see Jok parry the sword of Gilbert Macdonald, Seraphina's younger brother. Was this why Kenan hadn't come? Did he know about the attack and refuse to be part of it? No warning had come from the man who'd worked with Rory to escape Carlisle.

Rory grunted as he turned and dropped low, slicing across another man who'd tried to catch him from behind. "Foking bastard!" Rory roared but heard the wheeze in his words. He coughed again as he kicked the man in the chest, sending him sprawling backward, his chest flayed open and bleeding.

Rory spun around, sucking smoke-tainted wind, and coughed out more clogging ash. He met Walter Macdonald's gaze. "Ye foking monster! Setting a trap to murder at your daughter's wedding." He stalked toward the Macdonald chief as the man held his sword. Rory wiped his hand across his mouth, further dirtying his sleeve with gray stain. "Ye have no claim on Dunvegan," Rory said, "even if Jamie dies."

"My daughter is his wife," Walter Macdonald yelled back.

Look for her, Macdonald, Rory thought. Turn your attention even for a second. But the calculating warrior knew better than to take his gaze off the Lion even for a moment, even with Rory coughing.

"They never consummated the marriage," Rory replied. "The contract is void. The union is a farce, and I am very much alive to take over the chiefdom."

"How did ye get out of there?" Chief Macdonald yelled and waved an arm to his men.

"Ye aren't getting away, ye bastard," Rory said, but three Macdonalds ran at him with swords. Daingead . While he fought them off, the wily chief limped to his horse, his son dashing off with him on his own horse.

Rory would have given chase, ordered his men to follow and continue the battle, but they were all coughing. Rory felt hot blood washing down his arm and glanced at the bright red of his tunic sleeve where a sword must have nicked him. "Aye, run, devil," he said, watching Walter Macdonald and his son escape. There'd be another time for revenge, and it would be swift and painful.

Father Lockerby stood slack-jawed before the burning church. Rory ran up to him. "The wedding contract, where is it?" The priest pulled it from his pouch. Rory grabbed it and hurled it into the blaze where the fire ate it quickly. He turned back to Lockerby. "The union did not happen. The vows were lies." He waited until the priest nodded his agreement before turning to Margaret, who'd appeared next to him.

"Let me tie this around the wound." She tightened a rag over the bloody slash.

"Is he dead?" Rory asked, glancing past his old nursemaid toward Jamie. Sara crouched beside him, her flower crown holding halfway down her curls.

"Nay," Margaret said, but her voice was grim. "But he's sorely injured."

Seraphina's blue eyes lifted to Rory as she straightened. She blinked and rubbed at them as if the smoke stung.

"She knew," he said, and a wheezing cough followed. He pointed. "The Flame of Dunscaith! 'Tis why ye dragged Gus out," he yelled. The bitterness of soot came up on his tongue, and he spit into the grass.

Her striking eyes narrowed, and her full lips pulled back in disgust. "I knew nothing of his plans."

"The Flame of Dunscaith," he spat. "With a name like that, of course ye—"

"The name is a farce." She shook her head vehemently as her arm threw out to emphasize her words. "I've never heard it before my father uttered it this morn."

"Ye went along with the wedding knowing ye'd be free of the marriage!"

"I knew nothing!"

"The marriage is void, the contract eaten by the flames," Rory said, glaring at Seraphina. She didn't say anything, but stood, continuing to keep her gaze on him, mud and ash over her wedding ensemble.

Rory's voice rose above the flames and wind. "The Flame of Dunscaith is not wed to any MacLeod."

"There's no such thing as the bloody Flame of Dunscaith," the woman yelled, which brought on a coughing fit. She turned away from him.

She stared at the burning church, proof of Macdonald evil. Father Lockerby walked to her. "Yer father destroyed a house of God," he yelled. "He will burn in Hell." Even though the priest spoke of her father, he raged at Seraphina with his dire prediction.

She stood there, hands fisted by her sides as if ready to defend or attack. Her embroidered blue gown was smeared with mud and soot. The wreath of bluebells was tossed backward, hanging in the tangle of hair with grass and dirt. Smudges of black smeared her forehead, and her bottom lip bled as if she'd bitten it. Stepping back from the heat of the flames and the condemning priest, she turned in a circle as if looking for her clan.

"They've abandoned ye," Rory said.

She wiped quickly at her streaked cheeks. No hysterics came with her tears. She stood straight, hands in fists. "I think he knows I…" Her voice trailed off.

Rory met her eyes with a hard, narrowed stare. Despite her beauty and courage, she wouldn't find the weakness of leniency within him. "Seraphina Macdonald," Rory said, "ye will come to Dunvegan, not as a bride, but as a prisoner."