“Do you think it was an accident?” he asked, lowering his voice still further. “Because I don’t.”
“I hope it was. I truly do. But I wouldnae wager any coin on it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And I’m thinking ye should keep those extra men watching the sheep.”
He nodded, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You are a sensible lass.”
“And ye’re a fine man, stubborn though ye are. I dunnae think I was the only one to notice how ye stepped right into the middle of the lads to help. And ye let Brian save face. It almost makes me want to kiss ye.”
“‘Almost’?”
“Aye,” she said, grinning at the ground. “Almost. I’ve nae wish to turn this from a picnic into a hanging. Though I’m beginning to believe ye’d get by with a good flogging, after this.”
“That’s encouraging. Thank you.”
She bumped against his side. “I think ye should thank me later.”
Oh, that he would do. Several times.
Chapter Sixteen
Fiona wakened from a dead sleep, a sound she couldn’t quite identify pulling at her. Warmth surrounded her, and she shifted just a little to feel Gabriel’s solid form against her back. He had one arm stretched beneath her head, and the other draped over her ribs, and she wanted to stay that way forever. She loved the stubborn Sassenach and the way he was so willing to take on the impossible without even a second’s hesitation. When they were like this, she could see them together in a future with fields full of butterflies and crops growing tall and green.
In the dark she could also acknowledge that her being in love with him wouldn’t prevent him from marrying someone else, that he’d never mentioned words like “marriage” or “love” or “forever” in her presence. She took a breath. He was a soldier, accustomed to fighting in order to survive from one day to the next. Perhaps “forever” never occurred to him. And really, if all his day-to-days ended in her company, she had nothing about which to complain.
A low-pitched cry echoed dimly into the room, sounding like it had come from very far away. She couldn’t make out the words, but that had to be what had awakened her before. The hair on the back of her neck pricked.
“Did you hear that?” Gabriel asked, his voice alert.
“I did. I couldnae make it oot, though.”
He stretched, then sat up. “I’ll go find out. Stay here and keep the bed warm.”
Fiona scooted to the edge of the bed. “Ye can get a wee coal pan fer that, ye sluggard.”
The voice came again, from closer, and this time she could make it out. “Fire!”
Gabriel drew in a sharp breath. “The cow wasn’t an accident,” he muttered, grabbing for his trousers.
She had nothing but her night rail with her. Cursing, she slipped it on over her head. “I’m getting dressed,” she said, running for the door.
“Fiona, if you smell smoke, don’t stop for a gown,” he ordered, already stomping into his boots.
“If I smell smoke, I’m coming back fer ye,” she shot back, and pulled open his door. The hallway was empty, but she could hear voices coming from the direction of the stairs. The air didn’t smell of anything but an evening’s chill, either, and so after a quick mental debate over whether she should dress or go find out where the fire was, she hurried to her bedchamber.
Muttering curses to herself, she yanked open her wardrobe. In the dark she couldn’t tell which gown she touched first, but that didn’t matter. She left on the night rail and pulled the gown on over it. It wasn’t much, but it would provide her at least a little additional warmth. She also dug out her heavy work boots, which would likely serve her better than any of her prettier, less practical shoes.
A heavy man’s coat went on over everything, and she headed back for the door, pausing only to grab a ribbon so she could tie back her loose hair. She still didn’t smell any smoke, but it was a big house. And Gabriel would be ahead of her, diving directly into wherever the most danger lay.
On the second-floor landing she finally spied someone running below her. “Lochie!” she called, leaning down to see the second footman as he headed toward the front of the house. “What’s going on?”
“The mill, Miss Fiona. It’s blazing, Oscar said. We’re all heading up with buckets. The lads in the stable are getting wagons.”
Her relief that Lattimer wasn’t in flames vanished just as quickly as it came. “Go!” she said, motioning at him. “I’ll catch up.”
The footman continued on his way. Someone had thought to light lamps on the bottom floor, at least, so she could see where she was going. Fleming stood in the foyer, which would have been a normal sight except for the fact that he wore only his nightshirt with his coat pulled on over it. “Is the rest of the house awake?” she asked, moving sideways as another handful of servants ran outside past her.
“Aye, miss. The laird ordered me to stay, though, with some of the footmen. He said to watch for anyone who shouldnae be here.”
She nodded. “First the cow and now this. Someone’s doing this, George. It’s nae some curse that sets a fire.”
