High above was a small window which she might fit through if she could climb up to it.
Coughing, and holding her shirt up so that her nose and mouth were covered from the smoke already billowing up, she pulled the table across so that it was underneath the window. Then she placed the old wooden chair on it, hoisted up her skirts and climbed. Seizing the chair, she plunged it at the widow with all her force, breaking the shutters, letting in the air. While she had opened a space for herself to climb through, unfortunately she had also allowed smoke to billow through from the wall that was now blazing.
The fire had taken hold, flames were leaping up from the floor, and she had to beat out a scorching section of her kirtle, before even her gown caught on fire.
With her foot on the chair, she attempted to clamber up to the window, coughing, trying to cover her nose and mouth as she did so. Despite her best efforts, the opening was too high for her tobe able to obtain a handhold, and she fell back in a heap on the table. She despaired of ever escaping the conflagration tearing across the front wall of the room, consuming the door and the wall. She struggled to breathe. Each breath she drew was agony, the smoke burning her chest.
There is nay escape from the fire. I will die here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Edmund was in the bailey, sparring with Lionel, when he heard the first of the screams.
They paused, lowering their broadswords, listening.
“By all the saints, those cries are coming from the western gate.”
Clutching their swords they sprang into action. Lionel gestured to the waiting squires who also took up their weapons, while Edmund darted up the stairs that would take him near enough to the stables.
Once he reached the stables, he called out to the grooms as he ran past. “Bring yer weapons to the western gate, we’re under attack.”
He turned the corner and raced past the front entrance to the keep, and tore up the path leading to the gate.
Tyra emerged from the kitchen door as he approached.
She clutched at his sleeve. “What is going on me laird? It sounds as if we are under attack.”
“Hasten lass, retreat tae yer bedchamber, lower the latch and let nay one enter. If ye’ve the strength, pull yer chairs and whatever ye can tae block the doorway.”
“Thank ye,” she called to his retreating form.
As he rounded the last corner of the castle, he saw black plumes of smoke rising up from one of the timber outbuildings and rushed forward. Almost everything was enveloped in smoke, and it was difficult to make out what was happening.
He saw the two guards he and Lionel had placed to guard the western gate lying unmoving in pools of blood beside the gate.
So, they had been correct in anticipating an incursion into the castle, but they’d been taken by surprise when it came in broad daylight only hours after the damaged gate had been discovered.
It shot through his mind that they may have been forewarned and had made their advance before a proper guard could be set up.
Could there be someone in the castle who had alerted them?
As he raced forward, his longsword aloft, with Lionel and the squires only paces behind him, the hooded riders turned their ponies and galloped at full speed through the gate before he caught up.
Servants were darting to and fro in disarray, some of them carrying buckets of water to toss on the flames, while others filled buckets from the well. By now the building was well alight and the best they could hope for would be to quench the flames before they set fire to another nearby building.
One young lass ran to him, gesturing wildly toward the fiery building.
“The lady is inside.” She groaned. “The door was locked and we couldnae prize it open.
“The lady?” He’d only just passed Tyra and the only other lady he was aware of was Annora.
His heart raced and suddenly he could not draw breath. Before he had even comprehended what was happening, he bolted for the door. It was already alight, and the fire had started to consume it.
Kicking open the door, he dragged his shirt across his nose and mouth to avoid deadly smoke raging inside the building. He took one step, ducking his head as an overhead lintel came crashing down beside him, squinted his eyes against the burn, and looked around.
Then he saw her prone figure, still on the table as the flames licked through the floorboards beneath her.
“Milord, dinnae venture inside. Ye’ll surely die.” It was one of the young squires who was on bucket duty attempting to put out the flames.
