Tears spilled into the soot on her cheeks. “I dinnae ken—one o’ them—he grabbed her. I tried tae stop him, I swear I did, but?—”
His grip tightened. “Which way?”
She pointed, sobbing. “That way—toward the east end. But then the fire?—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. He was already moving.
The east end of the village was worse. Half the houses there were nothing but skeletons of blackened beams, the air thick with falling ash. The smoke was so heavy it felt alive, wrapping around him, trying to blind him. He pressed forward through it, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his skull.
“Catherine!” he shouted, voice hoarse.
No answer.
He pushed on, eyes searching, muscles burning from the heat. “Catherine!”
Then he heard her voice. A scream. He spun toward it, running.
It came again, clearer this time, muffled by wood and flame. “Aidan!”
He froze, heart slamming against his ribs. The sound cut through the roar of the fire like a blade.
“Catherine.”
He moved toward it, half-stumbling over the wreckage, smoke clawing at his lungs. The world was heat and chaos, but that voice anchored him. It was the only thing that mattered. Another crack split the air as a roof beam gave way somewhere nearby, the sound like thunder rolling through the ruin. Sparks rained down, stinging his skin, and still he ran.
She screamed again, closer now. “Aidan!”
He saw the shape of a small house through the smoke, its walls already collapsing, the doorway blocked by a fallen beam.
He didn’t think. He threw himself toward it, boots sinking into the mud, the fire’s glare searing his eyes.
“Hold on,” he shouted, though he could barely hear himself above the crackle and roar. “I’m comin’ fer ye.”
And then he was gone into the smoke.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The world was fire and shouting and smoke.
Catherine had never known fear like that—raw and living, with teeth. The village had been peaceful only moments before, the air thick with the smell of wet earth and the sound of children laughing as they hauled what was left of the barley from the flooded ground. Now there were men in MacLeod colors tearing through the lane, torches in hand, voices cutting through the rain like knives.
She barely caught sight of Sofia’s braid whipping through the smoke before a scream ripped the air—her sister’s voice, thin and terrified—and then a hand seized her arm so hard it wrenched her backward.
“Let go!”
The cry tore from her throat, raw and instinctive, but the man’s grip only tightened, the strength in it brutal and certain. Hedragged her into the narrow space between two huts where the firelight couldn’t reach. His breath was hot against her cheek, thick with ale and rot. Mud streaked his face, the rain cutting channels through the grime, and his eyes gleamed yellow in the flicker of flame—wild, hungry, the eyes of a man who’d already decided what he was about to do.
“Ye’ll come wi’ us, lass,” he hissed, pressing her hard against the wall. “Our laird’s been waitin’.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She could taste the smoke on her tongue, the salt of fear rising in her throat. The torchlight caught on his teeth when he grinned, and something inside her snapped.
Her knee shot up before she thought, catching him hard in the ribs. He grunted, swore, and swung at her, but she ducked beneath his arm and tore free, skirts catching in the mud. Another man reached for her, catching only a handful of linen as she darted between two burning stalls.
“Catherine!” someone shouted—Sofia, desperate, faint beneath the roar of the flames.
The air was thick with smoke now, choking and hot. Sparks spat like angry insects in every direction. She stumbled across the yard, the ground slick beneath her shoes. Behind her, the shouts grew louder, closer.
“Find her!” one of them barked. “The laird wants her alive!”
