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“I’ve got ye!” he shouted above the roar of the flames. “Stay with me, lass! I will save ye!”
He had to bend almost double to pick her up so that her entire weight was hanging on his forearms, and he grimaced in pain at the strain. He could see a faint patch of lighter smoke in front of him, and he steered toward it, feeling a little more hopeful. He only hoped it was daylight since otherwise they would be dead in minutes. There was no room for mistakes.
5
Later, Finn would wonder if there was a guardian angel looking after him and the woman that day because just as he stumbled out of the church, the entire roof fell in behind him with an ear-splitting crash. A great, towering wall of flame exploded from the doomed building, showers of sparks erupted, and the wind from the conflagration hit them a few seconds later, forcing all of them backward. It was like a hideous vision from hell.
Finn had managed to stagger a few yards further, just far enough to avoid the fire, but his vision began to blur and waver, and he could feel that he was about to pass out. His grip on Greta loosened, and he felt himself letting her go, but he could do nothing to stop it. For the moment, at least, his usual strength had deserted him.
Finn was about to sink to his knees and drop his burden, but Greta never hit the ground. Instead, Liam rushed forward and caught her, then laid her on the ground as he turned back to his brother.
He had not noticed the tiny flame that was smoldering at the edge of her dress. All he could think of was the fact that his brother was alive when he should have been dead. Or was he? He felt a surge of panic.
Finn was lying on his stomach, but Liam could see no sign of breathing. He rolled him over onto his back and began to beat his chest in frustration, calling his name over and over again.
“Don’t ye die on me!” he cried angrily. “I cannae lead this band o’ eejits on my own!” He was becoming angry now.
To his amazement, Finn’s eyes fluttered open, and he began to try to sit up.
“Where is she?” he croaked. His face was black with soot and striped with the trails of tears, which were still running freely down his cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot and he could hardly open them because of the stinging pain of the fumes. Fortunately, he had no burn wounds, although the heat had baked his skin a deep red, and it was shining with sweat.
Liam pushed him down to the ground again, but this time, Finn sat up at once.
“Where is she? The woman?” he demanded. His voice was hoarse, gritty, and he had to force every word out.
Liam pointed to Greta’s still form lying a few feet away. “There she is,” he said carelessly. “She’s dead.”
Finn crawled over to her. Greta was very still, but as soon as he put his finger on her pulse, she began to cough again in a wheezing bark that hurt his ears. She was alive! He was so overwhelmed with relief that he actually laughed, and Liam looked at him as though he had completely lost his mind.
It was at that moment that Finn noticed the flame that had started to burn Greta’s dress creeping toward her thigh. He cursed at his brother for not noticing it, then moved over to her and whacked out the flame with a handful of grass he plucked from the ground. His head was spinning as he bent over her and gently tapped her face, but suddenly he saw her head move sideways and heard faint a murmur of annoyance. Then she opened her eyes, bloodshot like his own, and stared into his.
Greta blinked and looked around her, puzzled for a moment, frowning as she tried to remember where she was and who Finn was. The last people she had seen were her mother and father, and now she wondered where they had gone. She blinked several times to try to clear her eyes of the sting of the smoke, then rubbed them with the heels of her hands. When she opened them again, she looked around for them, but with a plunging sense of disappointment, she realized that they were no longer with her.
“Who are ye?” she asked Finn, with a puzzled frown. Then, suddenly it all came back to her—the children, the fire, this horrible man. She pushed herself backward, bracing her hands against the ground, still coughing, then tried to stand up, but it was impossible with the tall, powerful man bending over her.
“What is yer name?” he asked. His deep voice was hoarse, and he was barely restraining himself from coughing.
Greta, too, could hardly stop her hacking cough, but she tried to answer. “N-None o’ yer business,” she managed at last. Her eyes were still streaming, and she could barely swallow, but she did not flinch from the gaze of his stormy blue-gray eyes.
“I am Finn,” he replied. He stood up and offered her his hand so that he could pull her up too, but Greta declined it and scrambled to her feet herself.
She turned and began to run but managed only a few yards before she stumbled and almost fell. However, just before she hit the ground, she felt the powerful grasp of a large hand pulling her upright, and she was dragged backward against a hard male chest. A pair of strong arms closed around her, then strangely, in the middle of all the mayhem and her brush with death, she felt safe.
“I will take care of ye,” Finn stated firmly. “No harm will come tae ye while I am here.” He could hardly believe what he had just said as he began to wrap his arms more closely around her.
Greta looked up into his dark blue-gray eyes and felt a surge of pure rage. This man had no right to say he would take care of her as if she were his property, especially not after he had just ransacked their village. She pushed as hard as she could against his chest, but although he rocked a little on his feet, he was as immovable as a marble statue.
He did not let go of her but tightened his grip. “Where did ye think ye were goin’?” he asked, frowning.
“Away from ye!” Greta snarled. “Ye said ye would take care of me? Aye? The same as ye took care of my village? Ye’re a monster. Ye will nae take care o’ me, an’ if I was a soldier, I would slice yer ugly head right off yer shoulders!”
Finn looked down at her furious amber-brown eyes and felt something within him shift. He had met many women, but none had ever stood up to him like this one. In the middle of all this chaos, smoke and fire, the roaring of flames, and the screaming of the terrified people, he had found the woman he wanted more than any he had ever wanted before.
“I have been called many things, wee lassie,” he replied, grinning at her. “But never ugly. Well done. Ye have hurt my feelings, an’ I have a heart of pure stone.”
Greta saw red. She bunched her right hand into a fist and swiped his face as hard as she could just above his jawline.
The blow did not have enough force to do any serious damage; it came from the wrong angle, and for a moment it infuriated him, but just for a moment. Then he threw back his head and laughed heartily.
