The Brat Page 0,100
built, but the blacksmith had grown prosperous from his work for Balan's father and added on, making the cottage two rooms. The second was where the smoke seemed to be originating. It was darkest in that area, and Balan feared where he found the fire would be where he found his wife.
Hearing Osgoode coughing violently again, Balan snapped,
"Get outside!"
"Nay!" his cousin snapped right back. "I am helping you."
"Then get on the floor at least," he said shortly. "You will be little help if I have to carry you out as well as my wife. Murie!" He paused to cough up some of the choking fumes he'd inhaled as he spoke, then felt something bump against his hip. His cousin had listened and joined him on the floor he realized with a grunt of satisfaction.
"I think she must be in the back room," Osgoode gasped, crawling up beside him.
"Aye," Balan agreed, not bothering to mention that he'd already thought of that, which was why he was headed that way. They worked their way the last couple of feet in silence, moving as quickly as they could until they reached the wall. It had been years since Balan was in the cottage, and the smoke made it difficult to judge the arrangement of everything, but he thought the door was to their left. He began to move that way on his knees, one hand holding the cloth over his face, the other feeling along the wall in hopes of finding the door. Balan knew he'd found it when he felt the heat under his hand. It was almost as hot as a poker.
Cursing deep in his throat, he moved around to the side and grabbed Osgoode's arm to drag him that way as well; then he reached up and pulled open the door.
Fire roared out like an animal, lashing above their heads in a stream of hot fury. Had they been in front of the door when it opened, it surely would have roasted them alive. As it was, Balan found himself gasping for breath and falling back, dragging Osgoode with him.
"She cannot be alive if she is in there," Osgoode said grimly as the flames died back. They could now see that the room beyond was fully aflame. It had been burning slowly before they opened the door, but the influx of oxygen had set it to a roar. Balan was silent, his body completely still for several heartbeats. His wife was certainly dead if she had been in there, but he was suddenly quite sure she was not. None of this made sense. There was no reason for her to be at the village when there was so much to be done at the castle. And why would she have waved from the door and then come inside a burning cottage. Nay, his wife was not here, and he was a fool.
"Get out!" he shouted, turning and pushing Osgoode before him. " 'Tis a trap! Get out!"
Even as he began to herd Osgoode back across the floor, he saw the white square of smoke that was the front door begin to narrow.
Roaring in fury, Balan lunged to his feet to make a run for the opening, but it slammed shut seconds before he crashed against it. Cursing and choking, he shoved at the door, threw his weight forward, but sagged weakly against it as his lungs seized up and he began another coughing fit. He felt Osgoode tugging at his arm and allowed his cousin to pull him back to the floor, where the air was a little less polluted.
"There was no smoke coming out of the windows," Osgoode gasped, realizing what they should have noted on their approach.
"They were boarded up," Balan said once he had breath back. He'd noted that on the periphery of his consciousness as they rode up, but had paid it little attention, his concern with his wife and why she was in the cottage.
"'Twas a trap," Osgoode repeated on the heels of another coughing fit. "And we walked right into it."
Ran, Balan corrected. They'd run right into it like fools. But he did not say so aloud; the more they talked, the more smoke they inhaled.
Leaning his back against the door, he peered around the room. He couldn't see anything in all this smoke, but he was trying to recall the cottage in his mind's eye, trying to place where the windows were, or what might be available to use to break down the