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“The stables and outbuildings. They look all right, but—”
He broke off at the sound of hooves pounding along the path from the distillery. A rider was hell-bent for leather from the sounds of it. He strode to the gate with Kathleen scurrying behind him, just as a familiar figure pulled up and flung himself off the horse.
“Mr. Kendrick,” gasped Dickie Barr. “The distillery is on fire.”
Grant’s heart slammed into his ribs. Fire and explosion were a distiller’s greatest fears. He and Graeme had almost set themselves on fire more than once back in the day. But Graeme had learned from those near mishaps and made the new building as fireproof as possible.
“How did it start, Dickie?”
“Arson. Some bastard climbed in through the back window and—”
Grant didn’t need to hear those details. “Is there anyone in the building?”
“Adams, the night watchman, was upstairs when it happened. It started at the base of the stairs, cutting them ... uh . . .”
Grant almost shook him. “What do you mean, them?”
“Miss Jeannie’s with Adams, ye ken,” Dickie blurted out. “She came to see the cat.”
When Kathleen gasped, Grant snaked an arm around her waist.
“You’re saying Jeannie is trapped?” she choked out.
Dickie grimaced. “I was about to try to get up the stairs, but Adams shouted I had to run for help, instead.”
Grant knew what he had to do. “I’ll take your horse, Dickie. You run to the kitchens and raise the alarm. Get all the help you can. Kathleen, go with him.”
“I’m going with you,” she snapped.
“Lass, I don’t have—”
She pulled away and hurried through the gate, taking the reins from Dickie. Cursing, Grant followed her.
“Run!” he ordered Dickie.
As the young man took off toward the house, Grant hauled himself up into the saddle. The horse shied a bit, but Kathleen firmly held him. Once she’d transferred the reins, Grant reached down a hand for her.
“This is a bad idea,” he grimly said.
“It’s not up for debate.”
He reached down for her. It was a bit of a scramble, but he got her quickly settled in front of him. Then he turned the jittery animal on the narrow path.
“Hold tight,” Grant said.
Kathleen wove her fingers in the horse’s mane. “I’m not an idiot, sir.”
She’d gotten her fear under control, but it went against all his protective instincts to bring her toward danger. Still, he understood, and knew he would do the same if in her position.
He prodded the horse into a canter, resisting the urge to gallop. It was dark, and he didn’t know the path as well as Dickie.
“This is my fault.” Her voice was tight with anguish. “If I’d gone up to check on her—”
“The only ones at fault are the bastards who set the damn fire. And I’m bloody well going to kill them when I find them.”
When they rounded the long curve in the path, Kathleen let out a strangled cry. Grant hissed a curse under his breath.
Flames were visible through the windows on the ground floor, and smoke seeped out from doors and windows. He couldn’t see any flames on the upper floors, so Jeannie and Adams should still be relatively safe. Unless—
