Undressed (Undone by Love) (26 page)

Another bright flash of lightning zigzagged across the sky, raising gooseflesh on Brenna’s arms
. The accompanying crack of thunder followed almost immediately, again rattling the tower’s old stone walls. A wave of fear washed over her. She should have returned to her room long before the storm gained its strength. Now, with the winds howling and rattling the shutters, ‘twas too late. The rain swept under the parapet, stinging her skin as it sluiced across her. At her feet, poor Hera keened, trembling in fear. Quickly, she gathered her charts and ink pot and prepared to flee down the uneven stairs, likely now wet and slippery.

Another bright flash of light
. In the moment before the thunder shook the walls, Brenna could have sworn she heard the pounding of hooves in the distance, drawing closer. What fool would be out riding in this storm? Hera meowed as the thunder crashed, and Brenna reached down to scoop the cat up into her arms, dropping her charts and ink as she did so.

“Poor Hera
. Dinna worry, I’ll get ye in before ye blow away. Och, dinna put your claws in me.” 

At once the fur on Hera’s back rose
. An eerie silence followed, and then a blinding flash of light lit the sky, accompanied by a crack so loud that Brenna screamed. The floor beneath her feet seemed to shake. Almost immediately, Brenna smelled scorched wood.

Smoke
. Dear Lord, she smelled smoke. Had the tower been struck by lightning? Though the main structure was made of stone, the crumbling stairs had been reinforced with oak planking in several places, and a wooden railing had been installed along the walls. If the stairs were burning, how ever would she get down?

Smoke began to drift into the observatory, billowing out on the wind and making her eyes water
. She coughed, the smoke burning her lungs.
No. Oh, no.
She was trapped. Clutching Hera tightly against her bosom, her mind cast about frantically for a solution. Her gown; she was soaked through. She glanced down at her skirts, stuck wetly to her chemise. Perhaps she could use her gown to beat out the flames once they began to threaten her. Gently, she set the quivering Hera down at her feet and, with shaking fingers, reached around herself to unfasten her gown. She stepped out of the heavy, wet woolen folds and looked about wildly. What now?

Help
. She must call for help. If no one came to her rescue, then she would attempt to make her own way down. But perhaps if she screamed loudly enough, someone would hear her. Celeste had known her destination, after all. She must hurry. The smoke was making her light-headed and dizzy. Taking a deep breath, she began to scream as loudly as possible, praying she would be heard above the din of the storm and the crackling of the fire below.

***

Near-blinded by the driving rain, Colin leapt from the horse’s back, pulling his hat low on his brow in a useless effort to keep the water from his eyes. Just as he’d ridden up at Glenbroch, lightning had struck the structure with a terrifying crack, and now the smell of smoke mingled with the scent of rain and earth. Thick, black smoke billowed from a round stone tower’s windows, on the south side of the property. Thankfully the tower appeared disused; it didn’t seem large enough to serve any purpose, other than perhaps as a lookout in the days of clan warfare. He must get inside the main house at once and find Brenna, ensure her safety.

He wrapped his cloak about himself and had taken two steps toward the house when he heard someone screaming
. A woman’s voice, coming from the direction of the tower. His heart dropped to his knees, leaving him momentarily breathless. Bloody hell, the tower. A lookout spot. No doubt Brenna would favor such a place, where she could gaze at the sky unfettered. Another scream sliced through the night.
No
. Dear God, no.

Mercifully the rains began to recede
. He sprang into action, sprinting toward the base of the tower. “Brenna?” he yelled, his lungs burning with the effort.

A thin woman, her face lined with age, rushed around the side of the house, holding up her skirts as she plowed through the mud
. “Saints preserve us, the mistress is up there,” she said breathlessly, pointing toward the parapet at the top of the tower. Flames could now be seen licking at the windows halfway up.

“Brenna
! Can you hear me?”  His heart was pounding so loudly that he could barely hear over it. He cupped his hands to his mouth and tried once more. “Brenna?”

“Colin?” came her disembodied voice from above, nearly making him weep with relief
. “Is that ye, Colin?”

Her amber-colored head appeared over the edge of the parapet
. “The stairs,” she called down. “I’m trapped. You must...”  The rest of her words were drowned out by the sounds of the crackling fire.

Colin turned toward the woman at his side
. “Go inside at once and gather buckets. As many as you can. Send out every man, woman, and child with a bucket of water.”

“Aye, sir.”  With a curt nod, she lifted her skirts and hurried back in the direction from whence she had come
. Colin ripped off his now-soaked cloak, holding the wet folds in front of his mouth. He pulled open the tower’s heavy wooden door and rushed inside, coughing as the smoky air entered his lungs, even through the fabric. Up he flew, up the steep steps till the snapping fire became louder, the smoke so thick he could barely see. At once he began to beat at the flames that struggled to thrive in the damp environment. His arms aching, he brought down his cape over and over again until he was able to pass through the worst of it. His feet nearly flew up the remaining steps.

At last he reached a wide corridor, which was filled with smoke
. He stumbled through the arched doorway at the end, his eyes burning and his hands raw and blistered.

“Colin!” Brenna cried out, her voice thick with tears
. In a hazy blur, she threw herself into his arms, and he stumbled backward under the weight.

“You’re safe, my love
. But we must hurry.”  He swept her into his arms, only barely cognizant of the fact that she wore nothing save a thin chemise.

She struggled against him
. “Nay, I must find Hera. I canna leave her.”

“Let me first take you down to safety, Brenna
. Then, I vow, I will come right back up for the beast.”  He had to get her down straightaway. There was no telling how long the stairs would remain safe.

“Hera?” she called shrilly, still struggling against his iron grasp
. “Where are ye, Hera?”

He heard a low mewl from the corner, beneath a small table
.

“There,” Brenna said, escaping his arms at last
. In a flash, she was on her hands and knees, pulling the frightened cat out from under the table and clutching her tightly against herself.

Colin quickly unbuttoned his coat, also soaked through, and shrugged out of it
. “Follow close behind me,” he commanded. “I’ll beat out the flames as we go down, but we must hurry. Here, take my coat. Use it if you must.”

Brenna nodded mutely
. In seconds they were in the smoke-darkened corridor leading down, feeling their way along the rough stone walls. Brenna clutched the back of his shirt with her fingers, coughing and sputtering behind him. As they reached the height of the flames, the space seemed to become void of air. The walls danced with orange and red, the roar near deafening. Tirelessly, he beat away the flames, his cloak slapping wetly against the crumbling wood and stone, over and over again. Behind him, Brenna did the same with his coat, somehow still managing to clasp the cat in one hand as she did so. Inch by agonizing inch, they made their way past the worst of it.  

At last they reached the gaping door, just as a half-dozen people rushed past them, carrying buckets of water that sloshed over the ground as they hurried toward the flames
.

Out in the damp air at last, Colin reached for his wife, scooping her into his arms
. Still clutched tightly to Brenna’s breast, the cat hissed, swiping at Colin’s face with an outstretched paw. Claws made contact with his skin, and he felt the sting of blood on his cheek.

Mercifully, the ungrateful beast leapt from Brenna’s arms and raced away toward the house, apparently unscathed
.

With a sigh of relief, he pressed Brenna against his chest, cradling her in his arms as he buried his face in her smoke-scented hair.

“Brenna, oh, Brenna, my love,” he murmured. “Thank God you’re safe.”

“Colin,” she rasped, and he gazed down at her soot-covered face.

His happiness turned to horror as her eyes suddenly rolled up in her head, and her body went limp in his arms.

No!
his mind screamed, his heart nearly stilled. He could not lose her now. Still clutching her small form, Colin sank to his knees in the mud, crying out like an injured animal.

***

Thirsty. So verra thirsty.
Brenna swallowed, her throat dry and parched, as her heavy eyelids fluttered open. It was night, and naught but hazy moonlight lit the room. Clearly the storm had abated, but whatever had happened to her?

At once the memories came flooding back to her—smoke, heavy acrid smoke
. Fire below her in the tower’s stairs, and then Colin... Nay, her mind countered, and she shook her head. A dull, throbbing ache accompanied the movement, making her wince and reach a hand up to her temple. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. Cruel tricks. Colin wasn’t there at Glenbroch. He couldn’t be.

Her gaze flitted across the room, her eyes stinging dreadfully with the effort
. Yet the vision remained. There, in a chair beside the bed. Someone was dozing, the moon reflecting off unruly golden hair.

Her heart began to drum against her ribs
. Could it be? Nay, she’d wanted him there so verra badly that her mind had simply conjured up his image, sleeping there in her chair. And looking so verra real. “Colin?” she tried to call out, her voice hoarse. “Is it really ye?”

He sat upright at once
. And then he was on his feet, moving to her side in a blur. “Brenna? Oh, thank God. Here, drink this.”  He lifted a glass to her mouth. Some sort of spirits, by the smell of it. She took a sip. Whisky. The liquid brought tears to her eyes, burning her throat as it scorched a path down to warm her stomach.

Relief flooded through her veins, nearly taking her breath away
. It
was
him, in flesh and blood, there in her bedchamber. Her husband. “’Tis really ye,” she said, her voice gravelly. She felt his lips in her hair.

“I should have come long before this
. Will you ever forgive me?”

She struggled to sit, leaning back against the carved headboard
. “Light a candle. I must see your face. ‘Tis been far too long.”

In moments, he complied, moving toward her with a single taper
. Brenna inhaled sharply, shocked by her husband’s appearance as the soft flicker of light illuminated his features. His face was far thinner than she’d remembered, his eyes darkly shadowed. Gone was the easy, wry expression, the sardonic tip to his lips. Instead, his mouth was taut and pinched, his brow creased. The scar on his eyebrow seemed to stand out in stark relief on his pale skin. A red, angry scratch, caked with what appeared to be fresh blood, ran the length of one gaunt cheek. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. However did a man age ten years in little more than a moon?

She found her voice at last
. “Hold me.”  ‘Twas all she could manage.

“I don’t deserve to,” he choked out
.

“Ye saved my life, Colin Rosemoor.”

He swallowed with obvious difficulty. “I love you more than life itself. I’d give mine in a heartbeat to save yours.”

“I know ye would, Colin
. ‘Tis what kind of man ye are.”  She reached for his hand, drew it toward her, then gasped in surprise as she saw the bandages wrapped around his palms.

“Your hands,” she said, her voice tremulous
.

“Not nearly as bad as they look, I assure you
. Mrs. Cannan put a balm on them.”

Ever so gently, she raised his trembling fingers to her mouth, kissing them one by one
. “Do they pain ye terribly?”

“Not anymore, they don’t.”

“My hero,” she murmured. “‘Tis the stuff of romantic novels, is it not?”

“I’m no hero,” he said sharply, shaking his head
. One wavy lock fell across his forehead. “God knows I don’t deserve you, but if you’ll give me one more chance, I’ll show you what kind of man I can be. No more drinking. No more gambling. No false promises. When I’m a better man, a stronger man, perhaps then you can love me. Perhaps you’ll understand just how much I love you.”

Her vision blurred by the tears that filled her eyes, she reached down and pulled the heavy aquamarine from her finger
. She held it up to the light, reading aloud the single word cut into the gold band. “Unbidden. An adjective. Something that comes uninvited. A love that steals into your heart before ye realize ye wanted it. A love that finds ye when ye weren’t even searching for it. Perhaps even when ye least wanted it. And yet perhaps the greatest love of all, a love that comes unbidden.”