She brought the iron down on the door lock. It seemed to loosen but not yet give. She raised the iron rod again.
It ripped out of her grasp. She screamed and turned to fight. It was Aidan! He pulled her out of the way as Lord Lakehurst ran at the door with his shoulder. The lock and the door shuddered and gave way, throwing Gwinnie to the floor on the other side.
Mr. Gladely ran out of the room as Lake and Aidan rushed in. Lady Malmsby was coughing from the smoke, gasping for air. Lake picked up his grandmother and rushed her down the stairs and outside. Aidan helped Gwinnie get to her feet. She’d hurt her ankle and foot when Lake crashed the door in, the weight of the door landing on her foot.
They heard the crash of a large beam somewhere in the fire.
“Get out of here!” Aidan yelled at Bella as he helped Gwinnie hobble forward.
Bella ran down the stairs and outside to where Lady Malmsby and Lake were.
“Go help them!” she yelled at Lake. “Gwinnie’s hurt!”
The large man stormed back into the burning building. They heard another loud crash.
Out on the road, the fire brigade had arrived, passing buckets of water to wet down the thatch of the closest house, not even trying to save Bella’s house.
Tears streamed down Bella’s face. She clenched the Duchess’s hand in hers. Finally she saw Lake come out of the house carrying Gwinnie, Aidan was behind him, his coat singed, his right arm hanging limply. In his left hand he held the iron rod.
The Malmsby crested coach came around the corner, the coachman doubtless drawn by the flames.
“No!” screamed a voice. It was the Spaniard running around the side of the house straight at Bella, a gun in his hand. “You must die!” He took aim. Bella saw a flash of movement, an iron rod slamming down on his gun arm.
The Spaniard screamed in pain as the gun dropped to the ground.
Aidan stumbled as the strike put him off balance and, with his injured right arm, he couldn’t catch himself. He fell, the Spaniard charging him. A shot rang out and Vizconde Miguel Carrasco-Torres jerked, then folded to the ground.
The Duke of Malmsby lowered his gun.
Bella ran to Aidan. He lay on the ground two feet from the Vizconde’s body. His hair singed, part of his jacket burned away, and little burns from flying embers blackened one side of his face.
He flinched when she touched him. “My arm is broken,” he said, his voice smoke raspy. He coughed.
“If I help you, can you stand?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.
“I’ll get him up,” Lord Lakehurst said. “Stand aside, Lady Blessingame.”
He grabbed Aidan under his arms and lifted him up, staggering a bit. The Duke of Malmsby came up to help steady them both. Bella saw Lord Lakehurst’s clothing had multiple burn holes and slight burns on his hands and face.
Behind them, the burning roof and timbers of the house crashed down in an explosion.
The locals backed away. One man approached them. He bowed and pulled his forelock. “Everyone make it out?”
“I—I think so,” said Bella. “Mr. Gladely went out before us, but I don’t see him about,” she said, looking around.
“Gray-haired, spindly shanks bloke?” the man asked.
Bella laughed weakly. “That would describe him.”
“Saw him scampering down the road. Probably in the alehouse by now.”
“Farther, if he knows what’s good for him,” Bella said grimly. She looked at everyone, assessing their condition.
The Duchess’s breathing appeared improved, but still hard. They needed to get her away from the smoke. After conferring with his father, Lord Lakehurst picked up his grandmother and carried her to the Malmsby coach.
The Duke examined Gwinnie’s ankle, then helped her to stand, supporting her as she hopped toward the coach. Aidan hobbled toward Bella. She put her arm around him and together they made their slow way to join the others.
Mr. Martin rode up on a raw-boned horse. He jumped down and walked over to the Vizconde’s body. He checked to ensure he was dead, then searched his pockets for any other identification or documents. When he straightened, he conferred with the local who’d approached them and appeared to be the leader of the fire brigade. Then he joined the rest of them clustered around the coach. The groom had dug out the picnic supplies and the Duchess was gratefully drinking water.
