"I was mad with worry for you. I thought you might be upstairs and unaware of the danger you were in." He lowered her onto a settle near the hearth, then sat beside her. "How did the fire at Darby start?"
Elspeth explained about the overturned candle and the whisky on the table, and how she'd escaped the men. When she absorbed the full impact of the loss of her home, tears stung her eyes. "I'm sure 'tis only a burned-out shell by now."
He nodded with regret. "'Twas a fine home."
"Did anyone perish in the fire?"
"MacTarril is the only one I know of. Course, he could've been dead before that flaming beam fell on him."
She gasped in shock. "In truth? The magistrate was killed?"
"Aye. Moments earlier, he had grabbed me around the neck, trying to force me to unhand Dalacroy, and I'd flung MacTarril off. My main concern was getting to you. I didn't know where the hell you were. I thought you might be in your bedchamber. I've never known such all-consuming fear and devastation," he rasped.
Tears burning her eyes at his heartfelt confession, she shook her head, then pressed her face against his. "Thanks be to God, we're all right."
"Aye." He kissed her forehead, warming her heart.
Emerging from the stairwell, Mistress Almsly noticed them. "Och. M'laird, m'lady. Are you both well?" She hurried across the great hall toward them.
Cyrus stood. "Lady Grey is injured."
"Oh, good heavens. Do you wish to go to your bedchamber so I can attend to you?"
"Aye." Using her arms to take some of the pressure off her knee, Elspeth pushed herself up.
"I'll carry you." Cyrus lifted her, causing another flush of heat to cover her.
"I'll be fine walking," she whispered.
He shook his head, giving her a mock stern look.
Before Cyrus, she had never been carried by a man and couldn't get used to the sensation. With his brawny arms supporting her effortlessly, she felt like a wee lass.
Mistress Almsly waited by the narrow spiral steps.
"Her knee and her neck pain her greatly." Cyrus climbed the steps. "And check to see if she has any other wounds."
"I'll be glad to, m'laird." Mistress Almsly quickly followed, then hastened forward in the corridor to open the bedchamber door.
After entering the cozy room Elspeth had used off and on since she was sixteen summers, Cyrus gently deposited her on the large four-poster bed. When he started to draw away, she caught his hand and squeezed it. "I thank you," she whispered.
He lifted her hand and kissed the back, his eyes still shadowed with concern.
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Could you make certain the other lairds feel welcome since I cannot be downstairs at the moment?"
"Aye. I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you." He gave a brief bow and left.
"I'm so sorry to see you were injured, m'lady." Mistress Almsly moved toward the doorway. Her lady's maid, Bernice, rushed in just before she closed the door.
When the two women wondered at her sooty, torn and muddy clothing and her injuries, Elspeth explained what had happened during the last several hours. Though the women appeared angry about her injuries from being abducted, they were stunned speechless at the loss of Darby Hall.
"Oh, m'lady, your beautiful home." Bernice blinked back tears.
"I know." Elspeth felt the loss deeply. "But we're all safe. That's what matters."
Her maid nodded. "Of course. Thank the saints you survived the ordeal. And I'm glad you have a good outlook."
"Aye. I can either live here or rebuild."
