Fallen (27 page)

If they weren't here, he had no way to find them before it was too late. Sick with fear and responsibility, he turned in a slow circle, passing the lantern light over the room. Four mussed beds, a stand with a washbasin and pitcher, and an open window.

That was what was different. It was cooler in here, and fairly smoke-free, except for what he had brought with him from the hall.

Thinking quickly, he shut the door, pulling away the damp cloth from his face. Taking advantage of the clean air, he drew in great lungfuls, but his eyes still wept, this time from grief. The servant children had obviously tried to escape but failed; he had not reached them in time. Dear God, how could he ever live with himself?

"Milord?"

The tiny voice at his feet sent his heart into his throat, and he could make no sound as he looked down to see four petite figures squirming out from under the low beds. They ran to him and he swept them up, stricken dumb with relief. He held them tightly. Then he put them away from him. There was no time for anything but action. They were not out of danger yet.

Pulling a sheet off the nearest cot, he quickly tore it into pieces.

"Soak this! And you others, pull on your shoes to protect your feet." He could not carry them, and they would have to travel through tremendous heat.

If they were only one floor down, he would have attempted to lower them out of the window, but the drop was too risky from this height. Still, perhaps they could get to the second floor.

While the girls arrayed themselves in unhooked shoes and wet masks, he ran to the window. Leaning far out, he bellowed until someone answered from below.

"Stay there!" he ordered. "And call some help! We're going to try to get to the second floor!"

Grabbing up the smallest, a child who could be no more than ten, he flung his cloth over his nose and opened the door to the hall. The fire was growing, and the heat stung their skin.

One of the girls cried out and tried to pull back into the room, but the oldest caught her by the hair and towed her mercilessly on. Julian shot her an approving look and her reddened eyes crinkled above her cloth-covered grin.

He needn't have worried about finding the way, for the children apparently knew it in the dark. Leading him, still clutching her reluctant roommate's braid, the tallest child sped surely through the dense smoke.

Round they went, taking this way and that, until they came to a cramped staircase. Down the twisting stair, and into another smoke-filled hall. Julian hoped his plan would work, for there would be no second chances.

The ground level was aflame; he could feel the heat of the floor through his boots, and only the fact that this area was old, built of stone, and was rather inaccessible kept the fire from sweeping quickly upward. Soon, however, it would break through though, and what little air they had would be gone, sucked away to feed the flames.

As it was, they ran crouched almost on all fours—the smoke and heat were unbearable any higher. Trusting blindly, Julian held tightly to the small hand that led him on the twisting route back to the outer wall.

"Here! Here," came a choked cry, and Julian ran smack into the wall at the end. There was another door, in the same position as upstairs. They fell into the room, and Julian put down his burden and ran for the window. After tugging at the stuck sash for a moment, he simplified things by slamming his elbow through the waved glass.

Immediately, the cool outside air swept into the room, causing the girls to sigh with relief. Using the poker handed to him by his quick-thinking new friend, Julian knocked out the rest of the glass and leaned out. Below him waited a good dozen men, calling up to him with relief even as they shook the falling fragments of glass from their shoulders.

Julian reached for the tallest girl, but she stepped back and shoved the youngest into his hands. Swinging the shrieking child over the sill, he dangled her as far down as he could. It was still nearly twenty-five feet to the outstretched hands below, but there was no longer any choice. He let go. One enormous young man caught her, though it sent him to his knees. Good.

Turning, he pulled another girl into his arms and sent her to those waiting below. And another. Then there was a powerful rumbling, felt rather than heard. It went on and on, and he turned sick eyes to the last girl. "The fire?" he croaked. To his shock she grinned widely.

"No, milord! Rain!" Shouting hoarsely, she pointed behind him. It was true. The heavens had opened and dense sheets of water poured down outside. Laughing with relief, he swung the youngster around into a childish spin before tossing her gleefully to the cheering men below.

Izzy inhaled gratefully when she and Lizzie burst into the clean night air. Looking over her shoulder as she sent the eager mare through the gate, she saw the red glow of flame from the stableboys' garret window. The fire would move through the stables quickly now, fed by the wooden frame of the building and the straw stored within it.

Her rescue was about to become too risky. There was no time to lead them all out. As much as she loved the horses, she must not jeopardize her own safety and that of her child. Chewing her lip, she listened to the increasingly frightened screams of the panicked horses left within. With their growing fear, they would soon be too distraught to handle at all.

Tears came to her reddened eyes as she debated, one hand pressed protectively to her midriff. One more trip. Just to open the stall doors and give the poor beasts a chance. She could do no more than that safely, but at least she could give them the possibility of survival.

Stepping purposefully into the stable, she pressed her wrapper to her nose and mouth to hold back the smoke that was beginning to pour through the lower level of the building. Even as she came to the occupied stalls, the horses were calming to the familiar sound of her voice.

Inwardly she blessed the impulse to befriend them these past weeks, for now they trusted her. When her hand touched the first closed latch, she twisted it quickly and flung the split doors wide.

The next stall, and another horse fled into the night. Another, and another, until there was only one left. Izzy could see the pale glow of white hide through the uprights in the stall wall.

It was the white mare that Julian had acquired just days before. Although the mare didn't know her, Izzy spoke to her, her voice low and gentle despite her frequent coughing. The smoke swirled darkly above her head and she could see it thickening in the dimness.

The mare screamed. She had not calmed at all, but only threw herself more violently against the wooden barrier before her. Izzy started backward as the stall door shook with the impact of the mare's frantic body slamming against it.

It was too dangerous. Izzy turned away and began making her way back through the darkness. Although her heart ached for the doomed horse, there was no possibility of saving her. To open the door on that madness would only endanger—

The barrier shattered with a crash. Instantly Izzy threw herself to one side, but she was not quick enough. The glancing impact of the horse's passage caught her by the shoulder and flung her down against a sturdy post.

Her head struck hard and dizziness overcame her. No, she had to get out, she had to…

Fingers losing their grip on the rough wood, Izzy slid down the post and slumped to the floor.

Getting himself down from the second floor proved more difficult, with the carved stonework slick with rain-soaked bird droppings, but Julian scarcely noticed in his exultation. When his grip failed at the last, and he fell ten feet to land in the mud, he only rolled to his back in the mire and let loose a wild yell of triumph.

Several grinning men pulled him to his feet, slapping ineffectually at the bog of his clothing. One young man, as thick as an oak, flung his arms around Julian, shouting, "Sister, you saved my sister, my lord," in a high, choked voice. Julian extricated himself, patting the weeping boy consolingly, and sent him off to tend the girl.

Nodding absently at the thanks from one red-eyed father, Julian watched as the folk of Dearingham,
his
folk, gathered around the four happily weeping servant families. Old faces and young openly showed their fear and relief. For the first time he saw them as not simply part of an inheritance, not a debt he owed his brother, but as people.

People like him, like Izzy, like Manny and Eric. Friends and family, a community, that had banded together to save their own. And by the warm grins and hearty slaps on the back he was given, apparently he had crossed some boundary for them, as well.

"Yer a right one, ye are, yer lordship. Never thought to see a Dearingham lord risk hisself to save plain children, I didn't." The old man beside him rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "Yer brither, now, he woulda been right beside ye there in the fire. He was a right one, too, he was."

Julian stiffened, reliving his constant conviction that the people of Dearingham found him lacking in comparison to his brother. He turned away from the families to give the elder villager a long look. Nowhere in the man's lined face did he see a sign that he was less a lord than his lost brother. He saw nothing in the rain-wet visage but an old man's meager admiration and a respect he knew had not been earned by his title.

"Yes," Julian agreed, feeling something bitter fall away inside him. "He would have been right there with me." The old man gave a spare but deferential nod and moved back into the throng.

There
was
something different within him. Somewhere in the last hour, he had ceased to be ruled by reluctant duty. He might never love farming, but he felt the pull of responsibility differently now. It was more of an honor than a burden.

The rain had taken the momentum from the fire, and the buckets were finally doing some good against the flames. Julian ordered that everything receive a thorough wetting and moved back from the line of jubilant men. Grinning at the rejoicing groups who were moving in out of the blessed rain, Julian grabbed an agitated Simms.

"Where is her ladyship? Is she in the house?" At his valet's bewildered reply, Julian fought back an instant unease.

"Your horses, milord!"

The horses
. Reminded, Julian swung about, but even from here he could see that it was too late. Although the rain was drowning the flaming roof, smoke and sparks billowed from the open stable doors. Only tongues of flame came from the silent structure.

It had come sooner than he would have thought, but perhaps that was a mercy. By the time he had thrown the last child clear, there would have been little possibility of calming his string enough to get them safely out. The maddened horses would be too dangerous. Dear God, how the poor beasts must have suffered.
Tristan
. Sickened, he turned away.

"No, milord. There!" Grabbing his soaked sleeve, Simms bodily swung him around, pointing out to the darkened grounds. There, huddling in a bunch, with a defiant Tristan on guard, stood a large group of frightened mares.

With a defiant scream, a single horse galloped frantically out of the stable. The white mare shone ghostly against the smoking doorway.

He couldn't believe it. How? Who? After the first rush of joy came a jolt of unadulterated terror,
Izzy
. Whirling, he frantically eyed every knot of people, yet nowhere did he spy the delicate figure of his wife.

"
Izzy
!" The cry tore from his raw throat, and then he was running faster than he had ever run before. He knew she had done it. Worse, he knew she was still in that cursed stable. And as he dove into the roiling smoke he knew he was not coming out without her.

The smoke was the thick, dark color from burning straw, and Julian virtually crawled across the mucky floor beneath it. There was still good air under the smoke. He could only hope that Izzy had known to seek it.

The flames already had destroyed the end of the building where the lads were quartered, and they were now tearing through the storage area above him. Down on the floor it was relatively cool still, the open door providing an upward draft.

But it wouldn't last. Even now, bits of burning straw were dropping around him, and the stall area would be wholly aflame in no more than a minute.
Where was she
?

The straw was kicked into piles, and one stall door hung half off its hinges. His hand slid across something silken, and he recognized Izzy's wrapper. Moving even faster, he slithered wildly across the ground.

"Izzy! IZZY!" The smoke choked his shouts as he moved desperately from stall to stall, peering into the flame-lit darkness. Then he saw the glow of her nightgown, white against the darkened wood of a shattered stall door.

«
^
»

She lay at the foot of a post, one small hand upturned by her face as if she were sleeping.
Oh God. Oh no, no, no
…

Wrapping her in his arms, Julian pulled her to him. Stroking her hair back, he saw a trickle of blood on her brow. Praying fervently, he pressed his head to her chest but could hear nothing over the roaring flames. He had to get her out. Pulling her tightly to him, he began the crawl back to the door.

"Julian?"

His heart stopped, then began beating gladly. He didn't halt, didn't want her to know what danger they were in, so he kept her face tucked into his neck and continued moving.

"I'm here, love. We're almost out."

"Sell her, Julian. The white mare."

"Of course. Sell her we must."

"Unless you are breeding for silliness. She really has no brain at all."

Julian murmured soothingly, silently vowing to shoot the white mare himself at the first opportunity. Hell, he would have gladly shot them all, Tristan included, if it meant keeping Izzy from such danger.

How could she be so foolish? Didn't she know how much he needed her? They were almost there, he could feel fresher air on his face. Taking a chance, he picked up Izzy and ran blindly, keeping his face to the clean air.