by Day Leclaire
After a minute’s hesitation, he followed. “I’m going to ask you again, Miri. What are you doing?”
She moved through the main room of the cabin, throwing open windows to air the place out. A light breeze poured in through the screens, causing the lightweight curtains to flutter like flags of surrender. “What I’m doing is waiting for an explanation.”
What was it about her? No other woman, hell, no other person he came into contact with on a daily basis, had the nerve to confront and push and demand the way Miri did. Didn’t she understand? He spoke; she obeyed. That’s how it worked. That’s how it had always worked. It was that simple. He’d told her to leave, told her in the most brutal fashion possible. Why was she still here, torturing him? He needed her safe so he could deal with the charges against him, so he could focus on what was to come.
“This is pointless, Miri,” he informed her harshly. “There is nothing left for us to say to each other.”
“Really?” She paused in her examination of the cabin and confronted him, folding her arms across her chest. “What about the allegations against you? Theft of the amethysts, or some such? That should give us plenty to talk about.”
He clamped his teeth together, literally seeing red. “How did you find out?” he ground out.
“Your spy is a turncoat. But then, that’s what happens when you use my mother. She’s susceptible to being flipped.” Miri swept a hand in the air. “Past loyalties and all that.”
He forked his fingers through his hair, fighting a losing battle to recover his self-control. “What do you want from me?”
She hesitated in front of him, her impudence fading, replaced by a sincerity that just about killed him. “I’d like the opportunity to stand by you, if you’ll let me.”
He had no idea how he managed to shake his head, let alone speak past the emotions clogging his throat. But he did it. “That’s not going to happen.”
“We’ll see.” She marched into the kitchen and started poking and prodding through the cupboards. “I have three days to change your mind.”
If he could have gotten his hands on Tolken in that minute, he’d have done serious damage. “Three days? I don’t have three days, I have charges pending against me in case you’ve forgotten.”
“There’s nothing more you can do that isn’t already being done on your behalf by people determined to prove your innocence. If anything critical happens, Tolken will come and get us.” She moved from the cupboards to the pantry, checking the status of their supplies. “He said the cabin is well stocked, as is the lake. We won’t starve, that’s for sure.” She smiled, as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m hungry. Why don’t I see what there is to eat. I don’t suppose there’s a freezer around here?”
Brandt shook his head. “No electricity.”
She actually brightened at that. “Are you serious? How romantic.”
Romantic? Oh, no. Not romantic. Not if he could help it. He’d make sure of that, no matter what it took. Rage continued to burn within, desperate for an outlet, but he fought to restrain it. There’d be ample time to confront Miri over forcing him into this situation. But not now. Not with fury hovering on the bare edge of control. Stripping off his suit coat, he flung it over the nearest chair before rolling up his shirt sleeves. “If we’re going to stay here tonight, we’re going to need kerosene lamps. And flashlights. I’ll take care of that, if you’ll throw something together to eat. I’ll also set up the bedrooms.”
He started down the hallway, but her question stopped him in his tracks. “Just to clarify. Did you say bedrooms, plural?”
Oh, yeah. “Very plural.”
“Okay, but fair warning. Plural is pointless, unless you’re planning to lock your bedroom door.”
“I’ll nail it shut if that’s what it takes.” He kept his back to her. It seemed safer that way. “You’re not pregnant, Miri. When we leave here you’ll still not be pregnant.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
It wasn’t. “It is.”
“Okay. You take care of the bedrooms, plural. I’ll see what I can put together for dinner. Then we can finish fighting.”
She was as good as her word. The moment their dinner dishes were cleared away, she started in on him again. “All this quiet and solitude will give us plenty of opportunity to straighten out our differences.” A gentle lob for a first sally.
“Differences?” Was the woman insane? “We don’t have any differences. What we have here is a blatant disregard for the obvious.” Darkness was fast descending and he lined up a trio of kerosene lamps. After trimming the wicks, he lit them, adjusting the brightness to a nonromantic level. “Let me make this simple. We can stay here three hours, three days, or three years, and it’s not going to change anything. You’re going home where you’ll be out of the line of fire.”
She picked up one of the lamps and carried it to a small end table centered between the two windows in the main section of the cabin. “I thought I was going home because you wanted the bloody throne. Or are you finally willing to admit the real reason?”
“Feel free to pick any reason you want, if it means you’ll return to Verdon.”
She crossed the room to stand in front of him. The nonromantic lamp light gave her skin a pearly sheen and lost itself in the soft green of her eyes. It even made her mouth seem fuller, rosier, and her hair richer, darker. “Please, Brandt.” She rested a hand on his arm. “All I want is the truth.”
Maybe if she hadn’t touched him, he’d have been able to resist. But that one simple caress had him giving her what she wanted. “Fine. The truth is that I won’t let you stay in Avernos, Miri. I won’t let you run the risk of being tarnished by the accusations against me. Nor will I have a child of ours born under a cloud of suspicion.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. You were willing to marry me if I’d been pregnant.”
He conceded the point with a nod. “Our baby needed the protection of my name, more than you needed the protection of distance from me. Now that a baby is no longer an issue, you’ve become my top priority. I won’t allow suspicion to fall on you. And I won’t have you married to a man who could spend the rest of his days in prison. You’d have the responsibility for all of Avernos. You’d have to give up your life to take over my duties. I won’t tie you to that. It’s too much.”
“That’s my choice.”
“You’re wrong. It’s mine.”
A hint of irritation gleamed in her eyes. “Lander tried this very same thing with Juliana. He didn’t want her touched by the scandal that erupted when you took your accusations against him before the TGC. He tried to keep her in Texas while he faced the charges. He wouldn’t let anyone tell her what had happened.”
Brandt winced. “I didn’t know.”
“She didn’t tolerate it and neither will I.”
“It’s not your choice. Lander and Juliana were married.” He braced himself to hurt her. “We’re not.”
Her mouth formed a stubborn line. “Fine. Be that way. Not that it matters. None of this will be a problem much longer.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Actually, I can,” she retorted. “I have Juliana looking into the accusations as we speak. By the time Tolken returns I expect to have all this resolved.”
He froze. “What did you say?”
She must have picked up on something in his reaction because her eyes widened and for the first time that day she seemed wary of his temper. “I said Juliana is looking into the charges. Like she did with Lander.”
“You brought your family into this?” he asked in a soft voice.
“You’re…you’re my husband. Legally or not.” She fell back a pace, as though scenting danger. “Of course, I brought my family into it.”
He stalked closer. “First, I’m not your husband. Chances are excellent I never will be. Second, you had no business involving the Montgomerys in this. Considering their culpability in the financia
l crisis Verdonia is facing, I don’t want them anywhere near me or my problems. Is that clear?”
Color ebbed from her face. “Crystal. One question.”
“Ask.”
“When you say ‘Montgomery’ like that, as though you despise the very name, does that include me?”
“Of course not. I don’t—”
“Good. Because in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Montgomery, too. Or perhaps I don’t count because I’m not one by birth.” She lifted her chin. “Is that why you tolerate me? Because I’m not a real Montgomery?”
“I don’t tolerate you. I mean—”
“That has become painfully obvious.” Snatching up one of the kerosene lamps, she stalked to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
Damn it! That wasn’t what he meant and she knew it. This was her infuriating way of putting an end to an argument when she was clearly in the wrong. Involving her family. Claiming she wasn’t a real Montgomery. Come morning he’d have a thing or two to say on those subjects. And with another couple days of blissful togetherness, he’d make sure she heard, loud and clear, even if he had to blissful her backside. Grabbing up the mate to her kerosene lamp, Brandt headed for his own bedroom, reasonably confident that he wouldn’t need locks or nails to keep her out of his bed. And if his door shut just shy of a slam, she could blame it on the wind.
Out in the main room of the cabin, the wind did blow. The lightweight curtains caught each gust, swirling in their own private dance. They danced well into the night, danced like moths drawn to the bright flame that came from the kerosene lamp that sat on the table between them.
They danced until their wings were singed and they finally caught fire.
Nine
Miri never knew what woke her. Perhaps it was the sound, a continuous and intense snap and pop that disturbed her sleep because it was so out of place. Perhaps it was the odor, the insidious permeation of smoke where no smoke should exist. Or perhaps intuition had her bolting upright in bed, going from unconsciousness to wide-eyed wakefulness in the span of a few disorienting seconds. Whatever the reason, the instant she came to, it was with the gut-level certainty that something had gone seriously wrong.
Scurrying from the bed, she ran to the door, remembering just in time to check the knob for heat before opening it. The metal blistered her fingertips and she jerked her hand back, retreating across the room. For endless seconds she stood there, the sound of her breath jackhammering in and out of her lungs so loud she couldn’t think straight.
Stay calm! she ordered herself. She couldn’t afford to panic. She needed to get a grip and figure out the best way to deal with the emergency. “Brandt,” she whispered.
Why wasn’t he here? He had to still be asleep or he’d have beaten down the door to get to her. Oh, God! Could his inaction be due to something more serious? Could the smoke have already reached his room? Was he unconscious? Suffocating, while she stood here in a daze? She had to move. Now.
Spinning around, she darted to the window. Endless seconds were wasted as she struggled to unlock it and then pry it open. Age, humidity and a recent paint job made it a struggle, which was why she hadn’t opened it earlier. The crackle from the outer room of the cabin grew louder, nearly a roar, and she threw a swift, fearful glance over her shoulder.
To her horror, wisps of smoke slipped beneath the door. She finally managed to raise the window as far as it would go, but a screen blocked her egress and she shoved at it with all her strength. It bowed outward, then popped free of the frame. With more speed than grace, she tumbled through the opening onto the porch that surrounded the cabin. Leaping to her feet, she ran to the window adjacent to her own, pounding frantically on it. The screen deadened the noise.
“Brandt!” she shouted. “Brandt, the cabin’s on fire. Wake up!”
No response. There could only be one reason. He’d passed out from smoke inhalation. Fleeing the porch, she searched in the dark for a rock or stick large enough to break the window. She managed to find a decent-sized stone by stubbing her toe on it. Limping back to the porch, she heaved the rock at the window with all her might. It ripped through the screen and shattered the glass beyond.
Smoke poured from the opening, and with a sudden, ferocious explosion of heat and light, flames flashed through the room with a deafening howl, consuming everything in their path. The intensity of it drove Miri back. Sobbing, screaming herself hoarse, she circled the burning cabin, hoping against hope that Brandt would come stumbling from the building in the nick of time. But with each passing minute, hope faded, and likelihood became impossibility.
Flames shot skyward, erupting from every window now and eating through the roof. There wasn’t a part of the cabin that wasn’t fully on fire, no safe place for a person to escape from. Tripping over the dragging hem of her nightgown, Miri fell heavily to the ground.
No. No, Brandt couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t go on if she lost him. She loved him, loved him more than she thought it possible to love another human being. He couldn’t be gone. Life wouldn’t do that to them. Not now. Not when they’d come here to work out their differences. She began to shake. Not when she’d forced them to come here.
But staring at the raging inferno, she knew that no one could still be inside that and survive. Hopelessness consumed her. Brandt was dead, probably gone from smoke inhalation before she’d even awoken. She was a fool to pretend otherwise. This was her fault, all her fault for thinking she could force him to love her. That she could force him to acknowledge feelings that weren’t there and never would be. Dragging herself away from the heat and rain of hot ash, she huddled beneath a nearby tree, curling into a tight ball of utter desolation.
And then she wept, deep, helpless sobs that came from the very heart and soul of her.
Brandt pointed the beam of the flashlight along the path in front of him, hoping a lap around the lake would exhaust him enough that he could sleep instead of picturing Miri alone in her bed without him. He was a fool. A fool to have abducted her. A fool to have kept her. And even more of a fool for sending her away again.
He glanced toward the lake to check his position. Almost exactly halfway around and nowhere near exhausted enough for sleep. Maybe he’d need a second lap around. Or a third. He caught a flash out of the corner of his eyes, a flicker of light that didn’t belong, and paused for a closer look. Clicking off his flashlight, he peered through the darkness.
It only took a minute to comprehend what he was seeing. On the far side of the lake a deep orange glow erupted through the trees. There was only one thing that could cause that. A fire.
“Miri.” He swore violently. “Please, God, no. Not Miri.”
Flicking on the flashlight, he ran, flat out. Brambles and branches overgrowing the path reached out to snare him, ripping at his clothes and tripping him. He didn’t slow. Roots. Rocks. Logs. He flew over every obstacle, keeping his eyes focused on the path ahead as he pounded the endless distance back. Every step of the way he could see the flames from the periphery of his vision, and could tell the fire was building in intensity. And he knew, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, that he wouldn’t make it back in time. He’d be too late to save her.
She was dying as he ran. And it was all his fault. If he’d stayed. If they hadn’t fought. If he’d been willing to take her to his bed and give her one last night of love, she’d be alive. But he hadn’t done any of those things. Hell, no. He’d been determined to face the accusations on his own, to protect her from the public outcry. God, what irony. Instead of protecting her, he’d killed her.
He dashed sweat from his eyes and raced on. Maybe she woke in time. Maybe she got out. Maybe she escaped unscathed. She had to be alive. She had to. He couldn’t survive without her. The litany ran in a desperate loop, ran in pace with the driving thud of his footfalls. And all the while the cabin burned, a ferocious testament to his failure.
He could barely pull air into his lungs by the time he reached the clearing where the
cabin stood—or rather, the conflagration that had once been a cabin. He desperately scanned the area, searching for some sign of life, some sign of Miri. There was nothing. He shouted her name but got no answer. No one burst joyously from the darkness. No one raced to throw herself into his arms. There was only the roar of a hungry fire.
Brandt needed to get away from here, clear his head and lungs of smoke. But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without Miri. He straightened and began another circuit, slower this time. Heavier.
Up ahead something white flickered beneath the trees and he stared at it dully. An animal crouched near the flames. No, that didn’t make sense. Animals ran from fire. Only humans were foolish enough to embrace it.
The crumpled heap of white stirred. “Brandt?” His name escaped in a disbelieving quaver. “Is it really you?”
Joy burned hotter than the fire, shooting through him like quicksilver. “Miri? Oh, God. Miri!” He raced across the singed grass. Scooping her up in his arms, he sagged to his knees, his hands sweeping over her face and shoulders, her torso and legs. “Are you hurt? Are you burned? Talk to me, sweetheart. Are you okay?”
“No, yes. I’m fine. I’m fine.” She cupped his face with shaking hands, her words barely coherent. “Where were you? I called and called and you never answered. I thought you were—” Her voice broke and she wept helplessly, tears tracking sooty lines down her face. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I went for a walk. I was clear across the lake when I saw the flames.” He rained kisses down on her face. “You have no idea how I felt when I saw the fire. When I realized I’d never get to you in time.”
“Don’t leave me. Don’t let go.”
“Never. Never again.”
He wrapped her up in his arms, holding her so close he could feel her heart pounding in rhythm with his own. Beyond them the cabin continued to burn, the snap and pop of the wood mingled with an occasional ping of exploding nails. Heat radiated from the blaze. And yet, they remained crouched in the grass, clinging to each other. It wasn’t until the wind shifted, blowing soot and ash in their direction that he felt compelled to move.
