Her lungs burned and the heat at her back blazed as she gathered the stacks of papers and pushed her way toward the door.
She stumbled out of the study, her coughing uncontrollable. Her throat was raw, as if the fire had burned away the flesh inside. Her airway constricted with every breath she took. She gasped and wheezed. It felt as if she would never breathe fresh air again without the stench of smoke tormenting every breath. Pain stabbed at her lungs like a dagger plunging deeply into her chest.
The earl’s servants, and neighboring servants formed a line running down the steps as buckets began to travel up the line and into the study. Caillen made her way to the landing with her arms full of Astley’s correspondence.
“Her gown is on fire!” Someone yelled. She looked up to see Astley being carried down the stairs in a chair by two footmen. Charlotte flapped her wings on his lap, screeching in panic. Thank God, the footmen had listened. Astley’s face was pale and panicked, his broken limb sticking straight out from underneath a loosely draped banyan. Most of his muscular chest was visible, thanks to the sling on his arm. Belatedly, she realized through her coughs, that she had failed to rewrap his ribs with her angry exit from his rooms.
Blast it all, the man had to be in excruciating pain. As all of this raced through her thoughts, she suddenly absorbed his words and turned to see which maid was in danger. Yet, the few women within her vantage point seemed to be diligently at work passing buckets.
“Caillen! It’s your gown!” Astley yelled.
With those four words her chest seized even tighter, fear she hadn’t felt for over a year threatening to steal her breath—forever. Because the back of her legs did burn. She looked over her shoulder to see flames licking up toward her waist, while her life hung in the balance.
For a second time Astley was attempting to save her, but this time, he couldn’t.
Caillen dropped the bundle of documents on a settee in front of the window just before she was tackled. She hit the floor harder than she had from the arsonist’s blow and a body bounced on top of her own. What little wind she had was knocked clear out of her reach.
The stranger’s weight on top of her forced the past to come crashing back. A strangled, keening shriek of a dying animal rosefrom her throat. She screamed. Fighting with everything she had. She would not, could not endure it again. Arms flailing, she hit and struck and clawed. Water splashed over them. The boy lifted himself and scrambled to his feet. It was as if her feeble attempts to ward off his attack were nothing. He began beating at the back of her gown around her legs, and her reality altered once more. He was not trying to harm her. He was trying to save her. Yet still she couldn’t breathe. More water splattered over her. She sputtered for air, as voices filled her darkening vision.
“Caillen! Caillen! It’s me!”
There was a panicked sound to the boy’s familiar voice, but she couldn’t make out his face. She coughed, her chest rattling before the first real breath entered her lungs. It wasn’t enough. It felt as if she were attempting to use a bucket to fill her lungs, but only a spoonful of air entered.
“Put me down and take Lady Griffith outside, now!”
She knew his voice. She’d only heard it raised with such ferocity once before, yet as she feebly struggled against the footman lifting her up and into his arms, Caillen caught a glimpse of Astley sitting in his chair in the hallway, his eyes blazing hotter than the flames she had faced.
“Don…don’t…” She could do nothing be cough and cough, until she finally wheezed his name. “Astley.” It was the last thing she said before her body gave out and the world turned into a deep cloud of black smoke.
Caillen opened her eyes to a darkened room where a fire burned in the hearth—sizzling and popping, filling the emptiness with nothing by warmth. No one restrained her, held her down or tried to hurt her. Her gaze swept the room for a threat as herlungs constricted, and a coughing fit seized her chest. She looked over at the nightstand where a fuming pot with a strange spout extended in the direction of the bed, released the pleasant scent of cinnamon, and spices. The closer she moved toward it, the more relief she felt, and her breathing eased.
Expecting to see the room she’d inhabited for nearly a month at Astley’s townhouse, she suddenly remembered the fire, and her surroundings came into focus. Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t at Astley’s townhome.
The room was familiar, but it had been over a year since she had slept in the bed she now occupied in the monstrous townhome big enough to be a castle. It was the home of her brother-in-law, the Duke of Ross. Which was now her sister Iseabail’s home as well, since her oldest sister had married the duke nine months earlier and was expecting their first child.
This was the last place she expected to be. Where were the children and Astley?
Scrambling from the bed, she startled when someone spoke from the doorway.
“Everyone is fine, Caillen. Your son is asleep down the hall with Jane and his wet nurse. And Astley and his son are fine as well.”
“Iseabail?” Her voice cracked on her sister’s name.
“So, you do remember you have an older sister.” She came into the room smiling while carrying a tray she rested on her pregnant belly. She wondered if a duchess performing the duties of a servant was a sign she was still unconscious.
“Why am I here? Why are you here, and not in your bed with your husband?”
“Ross is with Astley. I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”
“Where is Astley?”
“At Astley House.”
“At his home? But what about the fire?” She rasped, her voice sounding more like a man speaking through a chimney stack instead of her own.
“Luckily, the fire was contained to the earl’s study and the adjoining sitting room.”
“Thank God.”
