The one near the stables where they kept hay and grain for winter. It was fully engulfed, flames leaping twenty feet into the air.
"Water!" Magnus shouted. "Form a line from the well! And get those animals out of the stables before the fire spreads!"
Men were already moving, some still pulling on shirts, others barefoot in their haste. Magnus saw Torvald organizing a bucket line, saw guards rushing toward the stables.
And there, near the front of the shed, he saw Donnan. The Highlander was pulling burning hay away from the wall, shouting orders to the men around him, his face smudged with soot.
Yet… something about the man did not sit well with him.
Magnus filed the thought away for later and focused on what mattered, stopping the fire before it reached the stables. If the horses panicked, if they couldn't get them out in time...
He grabbed a bucket from the line, threw water on the nearest flames. Again. Again. The heat was intense, stealing the air from his lungs.
From inside the stables, he heard a horse scream.
Magnus dropped the bucket and ran.
The stable door hung open, smoke already pouring inside. Most of the horses were out, he could see them milling in the far paddock, frightened but safe. But from the back stall, that screaming continued.
Magnus ducked inside, covering his mouth with his cloak. The smoke was thicker here, burning his eyes and throat. He found the stall—one of the older mares, wild-eyed with terror, her lead rope tangled in the gate latch.
"Easy, lass. Easy." Magnus worked at the knot, his fingers clumsy with urgency. The mare thrashed, nearly catching him with a hoof. "Dinnae make this harder?—"
The rope came free. Magnus grabbed the mare's halter, pulled her toward the door. She fought him every step, her hooves clattering on the stone floor.
They burst out into the yard. Magnus released her, watched her bolt toward the other horses.
"Magnus!" Torvald's voice. "Old Callum's trapped!"
Magnus spun. At the far end of the burning shed, he saw movement. An old man—Callum, the stable master—was trying to pull a beam that had fallen across the doorway. The beam was on fire, and Callum was struggling with its weight.
Before thinking twice, Magnus ran.
"Callum! Get back!"
"The tools, me faither's tools, they're inside."
"Forget the damn tools!" Magnus reached him, grabbed his arm. "Ye're goin' tae get yerself killed!"
"I cannae leave them."
A section of the roof collapsed with a roar of flame. Burning thatch rained down around them. Magnus threw himself over Callum, felt heat sear across his shoulder as a piece of burning wood struck him.
Pain. Sharp and immediate.
Magnus ignored it. He dragged Callum away from the shed, toward the safety of the bucket line. The old man was coughing, his face blackened with soot, but alive.
"Stay here," Magnus ordered. "Dinnae move."
He turned back to the fire. The bucket line was working, slowly, painfully, but working. The flames were beginning to die down, contained to just the shed now. They'd lost the building, but the stables were safe. The animals were safe.
That was what mattered.
As dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, the last of the flames sputtered out. What remained of the shed was a smoking ruin, charred beams and ash, nothing salvageable.
Magnus walked the perimeter, studying the damage. His shoulder throbbed where the burning wood had struck him, but he ignored it. There would be time to tend wounds later.
Near the back wall, something caught his eye. He knelt down.
