Page 56 of An English Rose for the Highlander
“Is it truly morning already?” Rose’s soft, sleep-scratched voice whispered in the quiet.
“It does seem too early for it, lass. Perhaps it is only a verra bright star.”
Rose giggled, turning over to face him, everything about her all the more beautiful for how tussled and well satisfied she was.
“The sunisa very bright star, Dominik.”
“Och, none of that nonsense when I willnae be taken from this bed because of the light.”
They laughed together, Dominik’s lips finding Rose’s as she smiled. He held her against him, his small frame fitting so perfectly against his chest and even more so against his hips. His length snuggled between the gap of her thighs, and he rocked in a slow motion, not seeking out anything in particular but simply enjoying the feel of her.
“Dominik,” she squealed happily, “I don’t think we should—Do you smell that?”
It was such an odd question that it struck the Laird hard, making him stop short as he stared down at his wife. He paused,breathing slowly as he waited for what Rose had noticed to hit him. And then there it was, the scent of char in the air.
Sitting up, he looked at the fireplace. The roaring flames had died down, leaving the steady glow of embers in the hearth. Looking around his chambers, Dominik sniffed again, and yes, the smell of burning was on the wind and growing stronger by the second.
“Just a moment, lass.”
Dominik threw his legs over the bed, gathering up the fabric of his kilt and hastily securing it around his hips. He approached his window first, drawing back the curtains. When he did, the sight kicked him in the center of the chest, stealing his air.
It was not the sunrise.
Flames snaked up along the outside of the keep, consuming his vision of the east side tower and main entrance. Without a word, he rushed to the door, flinging it wide. He could not see fire in the hall, but smoke filtered up the stairwell from the ground floor.
“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, spinning on his heel and sprinting back into the room to a perplexed, clearly nervous Rose. “There’s a fire, lass. Yer clothes now. We cannae stay here.”
“What?” Rose shot up in the bed, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “A fire! Oh God, we must help the people.”
“Aye, lass. Dress now in whatever is quick. I must get to Oskar and the men. Can ye…can ye work with Eilidh and Fiona, there may be injuries.”
“Of course.” Rose stood up, not caring in the slightest about her nakedness, and began to pull on her shift and a few layers that would keep her from completely exposing herself. Dominik rushed inside as she did, pulling on his shirt and grabbing his belt from the floor. His sword and musket were still strapped to it, and he had a horrible feeling that he would very well be needing both.
Together, they tore from the room, going straight to the main floor, where they saw the massive doors of the keep steadily burning. Panicked clanspeople ran this way and that; smoke clogged up the air all around them as buckets of water were thrown on the flames. Unfortunately, those droplets didn’t do much. They needed more people in acoordinatedeffort.
“Me laird!” Oskar’s voice was to his right, and Dominik turned to see him rushing forward, sword in hand and bleeding from his forehead. “An attack. I was outside doing me round of patrol when I saw men rush the front gates with torches.”
Dominik pulled Oskar in close, running his stare over the man’s injuries. Thankfully, they didn’t appear too bad.
“Who?” the Laird bit out, glaring around the chaos of the main entrance as more servants woke from their beds in the keep to flames. “Did ye see who did this?!”
“Aye,” Oskar bobbed his head in a tired nod, “a man led the small militia, blonde hair, and a weedy-looking fellow. I…I recognized him from the inn.”
“Lord Egerton.”
Fury roiled in Dominik’s stomach, and then he felt thin fingers tightening on his forearm. As he looked down, the Laird remembered his wife. She’d fled the room with him, and he would need her safe. Particularly if that bastard Egerton had done this.
“How is that possible?” Rose’s voice was thready, nervous, and her stare roamed the middle distance before flicking up to him. “Has he been watching us?”
Dominik had come to the same conclusion. Ambrose must not have gone back to England as they expected. He’d been festering like an infected wound right outside their door, keeping a harmful eye pinned on them. Nodding with his jaw so tight it could crack; the Laird put his hand over Rose’s before lifting it.
“I believe he must’ve. Ye need to get to Fiona and Eilidh.” He turned to Oskar. “Get her to the healer’s chambers and then report back to me.”
“Aye, me laird.”
“It is too far to bring anyone injured.” Rose shook her head. “Bring Fiona and Eilidh to me. We will set up an infirmary inthe Great Hall. And any able-bodied should be at the door with water.”
With widening eyes, Dominik looked down at his wife as he knew Oskar did, with shocked awe. He could not deny the logical insight in her words, and he nodded once, turning to his man-at-arms.
