Page 64 of Never Kiss a Scot
“Run!” He shoved Joanna in the opposite direction of the fire. When he turned to follow, he stumbled into her back and steadied himself.
“What the—?” The words died on his lips as he saw what had stopped his wife in her tracks. Mrs. Tate was there, wide-eyed, her hair loose from its tiny bun, and she held a long knife in her hand.
“What are you doing? Can’t you see—?”
Her harsh laugh cut him off. “The castle is on fire, my lord,” she sneered. “But ye aren’tmylord, and ye never were.” The sly, wide-eyed look transformed to one of madness.
“Mrs. Tate!” he snapped, and stepped in front of Joanna, putting himself between her and the cook.
“I’ve had to listen to ye give me orders, tried to see ye in his place. But ye aren’t him—ye could never behalfthe man he was.”
Brock’s gaze darted above them as sparking embers began to flutter down like black moths with their wings on fire.
“Ye are but a pathetic fool to think ye could ever be like yer father,” Mrs. Tate screeched. “Ye are your mother’s brat, you and the others.” The cook’s eyes were near black, and she began to laugh wildly.
“You were the one who poisoned Joanna.”
She snarled. “Bit of monkshood to start—wanted to take my time with it. But ye brought Dr. McKenzie, and he knew…” She curled her lip in a sneer. “Not that it matters now.” She laughed again. “Ye sent my brother away. He couldn’t stop me, not tonight.”
Brock grasped Joanna’s hand, keeping her behind him. They tried to slide past Mrs. Tate. She lunged, slashing out with the knife. Brock pushed Joanna, and she stumbled out of the way behind him toward the open corridor. Then a sudden crash sounded, and he spun around. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, just half a dozen feet beyond his wife. Joanna looked between him and the flames. They were trapped.
“Jo—” Pain tore across his back, and he crashed against the wall. He grasped the edges of his mother’s beloved unicorn tapestry, the silver and white threads glimmering in the raging fire. Everything seemed to slow down, unfolding like a terrible dream. Mrs. Tate stepped in front of him, the now bloody knife clutched in her hand. She must have cut him deep if his sudden dizziness was any indication.
The crazed cook spat at him. “Filth!Weak-hearted brat! Ye are na worthy of yer father’s blood!”
Brock stared at her, still stunned. He had always known Mrs. Tate had liked his father, but this woman’s obsession with the brutal man made little sense.
“Brock!” Joanna cried out. “There’s no way out. We can’t go this way.”
Mrs. Tate turned toward Joanna’s voice, and Brock knew he had to distract her away from his wife.
“I do notwantmy father’s blood. He was a rotten bastard, a cruel monster. A betrayer of his people!” His shouts drew the cook’s focus again.
“He was a prince among ungrateful swine!” Mrs. Tate lunged for him. Brock readied himself for the blow, but Mrs. Tate screamed and vanished from view as she flew past him and stumbled into the fire beyond. Brock blinked. Joanna stood there, panting. She had shoved Mrs. Tate into the flames at the other end of the hall. Her body writhed on top of the fallen wooden beams, her clothes catching on fire. She staggered out, fully ablaze, and fell over the banister to the ground far below. Joanna turned away, covering her mouth.
“Come, lass.” Brock grasped her hand as they rushed back to his chambers. They closed the door to keep the flames and smoke out for as long as possible.
“I have an idea.” Joanna pulled the sheet from the bed, dousing it with water from the basin on the nightstand, and then she rolled it lengthwise and pushed it under the door where smoke had started to curl its way in.
“Good thinking, lass,” he said. “That will buy us a little time.” He winced as he felt his back split in two with pain.
Joanna looked around, trying to think of a means of escape, but she was unable to find one. They were too high up to jump from the window. “Brock. We can’t go anywhere. We….” She came over to him, shaking violently as she embraced him. He swallowed the cry of pain, and she buried her face in his neck.
“I’m sorry.” He had let her down. He had made a vow to protect her, to give her a life of happiness here in the Highlands. But all he had done was bring her to an early end. Tears blurred his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, uncaring as they fell to his cheeks. The moonlight cut through the open window, catching his attention.
“Wait, I have an idea.” He pushed her away as he tore the bed hangings from the bed and began to string them together into a loose rope. If he could lower her down, at least she could climb to safety. And perhaps he could find a way to fasten it somewhere so he could follow.
When she realized what he meant to do, they worked together. Distant crashes outside the chamber made them both jump. His hands shook as he carried the makeshift rope to the window and opened it. The drop was a good twenty feet, but if he could get her most of the way down, she would be all right. He tossed the rope out and held on to one end.
“Start climbing,” he ordered. Joanna stared at him.
“You must tie the other end to the bed.”
“No, we need as much rope as possible. Now climb.” He couldn’t meet her gaze. If he did, it would crush his resolve forever.
“Brock, you’re coming with me, aren’t you?” Her words trembled in the air between them.
“I will, lass, but only after you’re safe.” It was all he could say before he feared his voice would break, just like his heart. She was his beautiful dream, the gift he had never deserved, and now he was losing her forever. But at least he would save her.
