The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3), Sahara Kelly [english novels for students .TXT] 📗

It was almost an inferno.

“No,” he whispered… “No, no, no…”

*~~*~~*

One look out into the hall, and Gwyneth knew they were in bad trouble. “Get down on the floor,” she ordered sharply.

“She’s right,” Harry barked. “More air down there.”

All three dropped immediately and began to crawl forward. It was hotter, and to one side was a glow that frightened her. It was the fire itself, licking its way up the aged wood panelling.

She heard something over the soft crackle—footsteps.

“A fitting end to you all,” shouted the man who owned the boots. Gylbart strode toward them, apparently ignoring the fire and the smoke.

His nose was blackened a little and his eyes wide and wild. Gwyneth’s eyes were already tearing. How could he walk through the smoke like that?

“You bitch and your stupid men. Now you’re going to die and this place will burn to the ground and I’ll buy it for sixpence or less.” He sneered, then coughed. “I hope your souls rot in hell.” He stared at Gabriel, and then started to laugh. “You. So this is where you ended up. Still got my brand on your arse?”

Gabriel froze.

“Well, now you’ll die with my brand on the rest of your body, you sodding little bugger.” Wiping the soot from his face, he turned away, heading for the front door, wheezing a little, but with his head held arrogantly high.

“Stop. Don’t…” Harry tried to yell, but the smoke was too thick and his words vanished in a harsh cough.

Gwyneth tried to stand, to follow his steps to the door and safety, but it was growing even more dense above her and she fell back to her knees, watching in horror as the flames arched over her head.

The beams were burning now, the vaulted ceiling a pattern of light and dark.

Gylbart reached the door, wrenched it open—and the inrush of air sent fuel to the flames in a terrifying roar, knocking him back several steps.

They lit up like bolts of lightning, and the beam above the door cracked with a sound that rattled her teeth.

It fell, dropping onto Gylbart who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. His screams filled the air, savage ripping cries as he lay beneath the burning timber. They faded into choking sounds and then silence.

Harry glanced at Gabriel and Gwyneth. “We have to get across the hall. There’s a room with a window on the other side. Crawl. Keep your faces near to the ground if you can. Come on. We can do this.”

His rough rallying cry helped Gwyneth steel her nerves, and she looked at Gabriel. “We can do this, love,” she repeated. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She saw his eyes warm and incredibly, he smiled and nodded. “I’m with you, love. Always.”

The three of them set off, worming their way across the tile floor that was already littered with burning embers. Her skirt caught in a couple of places, but the wool was thick enough to smoulder rather than burst into flames. And what she could see, she beat out with her hands.

Harry’s boots were just ahead of her and she followed them as best she could. Gabriel was slightly off to one side of her and a little behind, so he too beat out any flames on her skirts that she missed.

After what seemed like an eternity, every minute of which Gwyneth expected to be crushed by a burning timber, they reached the threshold of the other room and crawled over it. The smoke was as bad in here, but at least the floor was carpeted, and she hoped Harry was right in that there were windows. Windows meant the possibility of escape. She felt Gabriel’s hand frantically pushing her forward.

She turned to make sure he was inside the room. Almost all of him was. But not enough to escape another huge beam that cracked from the ceiling with a chilling rip of wood and nails.

It fell on his foot and leg.

Gabriel screamed, and so did she.

Harry turned and squirmed back. “Fuck.” He grabbed one of Gabriel’s hands. “Gwyneth, take the other hand. We have to pull him away before he gets badly burned.”

Numbly, she did as she was told, her eyes fixed on Gabriel’s face, twisted into a mask of pain and terror.

“Now pull…”

The two of them crawled backward, tugging and pulling at Gabriel to get him free. Each time they did, he choked out a cry, his eyes closing, his breathing thick and tears streaking the soot on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Gabriel,” she sobbed.

“C’mon lad,” urged Harry. “Don’t make Gwyneth cry…”

They pulled once more and with a last desperate burst of strength they managed to get Gabriel’s leg free of the timber. Harry immediately grabbed him by the collar and dragged his entire body out of the hall, leaving enough room to slam the door.

It wasn’t much help since the room they were in was full of thick smoke.

“Stay where you are, both of you. I’ll find the window.”

Gwyneth crawled to Gabriel. “You’re all right, my darling. You’re all right.” She lay next to him on the floor and kissed his dirty cheek. “You scared me.”

“My foot,” he whimpered. “I think I lost my foot.”

For one horrific second, Gwyneth’s mind blanked. Then she looked down his body and slumped, relieved to see both feet where they were supposed to be. Although one was in bad shape.

“No you didn’t. Both feet are there, Gabriel. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” He tried to nod. “But I can’t feel it.”

“Oh my darling,” she managed to get an arm around his neck. “We’ll be out of this very soon. Harry will break the window and get help.”

The sound of breaking glass filled her with hope. “Harry?” She