slow. The lantern finally crashed to the floor, shattering. With a whoosh, a bright yellow and orange flame shot up. It caught the fabric of the greasy, stained tablecloth.
Behind her Sophie screamed. Sir Helmsdon struggled to stand up. He pulled at Jane to get her away from the flames. Swearing, Georgie picked up a pillow and began beating at the fire, shouting at Crawley to help him, but Crawley had other interests. He ran to a cupboard and pawed frantically through the contents, throwing things every which way.
Thick smoke stung Jane’s eyes and burned her throat when she breathed. She coughed, stumbling after Helmsdon toward the door. Georgie saw them escaping, and his rage blossomed. "Witch!" he yelled, dropping the pillow and abandoning his fruitless efforts to stop the spread of the blaze.
He grabbed for Jane, using his bulky weight as an anchor. Suddenly caught between Helmsdon and Georgie, Jane felt her arms would tear from their sockets. She fought, twisting and turning. Helmsdon charged Georgie like a bull, butting him in the stomach. Georgie fell back, letting go his grasp. The edge of his coat caught fire. He screamed, beating at his clothing like a madman.
Crawley retrieved a heavy sack from the cupboard. Clutching it closely to his chest, he scuttled toward the door. Sophie was in front of him. He would have pushed her out of his way, but she fought like a wild thing. Finally together they pulled the door open to be confronted by two large black shapes with pistols pointed straight at them.
But they all gave way before the screams and the terrifying image of a burning man, a denizen of hell, charging toward them.
With even his hair on fire now, Georgie ran screaming past them to fling himself into the long grass outside the cottage. He rolled frantically to smother the fire. Jane, with Helmsdon in tow, ran after him. With her bound hands she beat at the remaining flames on Georgie. She scarcely noticed when the rope binding her to Helmsdon parted until the last of the fires on Georgie were out.
The smell of burned flesh rivaled that of burning wood, causing the others to gag. A blackened, distorted mass of flesh and bone lay on the ground, barely conscious. Tears welled in Jane’s eyes. "Oh, Georgie," she murmured.
His cracked lips parted, blood-red against black. "I just wanted to show my Mama . . ." he rasped, straining to get the words opt. A gurgling sounded in his throat, then silence.
Gentle hands pulled Jane up and away. Sobbing, she found her face pressed against a broad chest with a familiar masculine scent. Her head was stroked as soothing words were murmured in her ear. Behind her, the fire burned hotter. A loud boom and crash warned everyone that the cottage was doomed. Barely conscious, Jane found herself lifted off her feet and carried away from the heat and smell of the blaze.
She curled against the solid warmth that held her, her confused mind fractured into a thousand pieces. She whimpered as she was carried to a nearby horse. Like a mechanical puppet, she waited docilely by the animal while her benefactor mounted and lifted her into the saddle before him.
A wail pierced the quiet of the crackling flames. With dim surprise Jane realized the sound came from her. A choked sob caught in her throat as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. She pressed her face against the solid masculine warmth, clinging while he kept up a litany of soothing words. Slowly Jane relaxed her muscles. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Then everything went black.
The night became a crazy kaleidoscope of sensations and scenes. For awhile Jane was conscious only of the gentle, rhythmic plodding of the horse accompanied by murmured words of endearment. Later, she was transferred carefully to a carriage. A warm lap robe was wrapped about her and a distasteful liquid forced between her lips.
She fell into a light, uneasy slumber from which she often jolted awake as much from the poor carriage springs as from the fiery pictures that haunted her mind. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the carriage rolled to a stop. A swath of light pierced the night. Again she felt herself being lifted, this time carried up steps into that light. Around her a murmur of voices rose and fell; but she paid them no more heed than she did to the sound of crickets in the night. She was laid down, the warm arms that