He yelled something to the man next to him—Mather—then snatched the bucket Mather held and threw the water high onto the roof of the cottage with the highest blaze. Searing smoke blasted across him. Phoebe stepped forward, but was forced back by a man who shoved past her to grab a blanket. He gave it a quick dousing, then raced to the cottage. The man pulling buckets of water from the well dumped more water into the tub. He shot her a questioning look and Phoebe dropped to her knees in the mud beside the tub. She grabbed the top blanket and dunked it elbow deep in the water, then barely lifted it to have it snatched from her by another man. She doused blanket after blanket, and handed them to men until her arms ached. At last, the pile of blankets had been exhausted.
For the first time since she’d begun the task, Phoebe looked up and saw the fire had diminished significantly. She looked back at the ground. No more blankets. They needed more. She jumped to her feet and dodged through the maze of people, only stopping when she found an open door several lanes down. She hurried inside. A woman, ransacking a large chest at the foot of the bed, looked up in surprise.
“What have you got?” Phoebe demanded.
“Take that.” The woman pointed to two heavy blankets on the bed.
Phoebe scooped them up, then dashed for the door. When she dropped the blankets at the well, the man who had just dunked a blanket in the tub of water thrust it into her arms. She ran to the cottage and dumped the wet tartan into the arms of the nearest man.
She turned and started back into the village, but slipped. Sharp pain lanced through one knee. She gritted her teeth against the tears that sprang to her eyes and started to push to her feet. A strong hand gripped her arm and yanked her upright. She looked at the man as he released her, then he seized the bucket his companion shoved into his view.
Phoebe backed away and, once clear of the bucket-line men, halted and rubbed her knee. She felt something slick on her wet dress and sniffed her fingers. Animal oil. She looked at the blaze. Smoke still rose in dark clouds from the flames. Heavy clouds, like those thick with the sort of oil meant for a lantern. A woman sped past, nearly colliding with her. Phoebe whirled and hurried back through the village.
An hour later, she stepped from the cottage of a young girl who had given her two linen sheets. The girl had seen her passing by with the single blanket she had found and insisted she take the sheets, but the men had finally reduced the fire to a smolder, and Phoebe felt certain it wouldn't be necessary to burn such lovely hand-made sheets. Phoebe headed for the square, but slowed at sight of a figure sprinting between cottages.
She hesitated, exhaustion warring with the impression that the man was purposely keeping in the shadows to avoid detection. She recalled the oil she'd slipped in. Her knee still ached. Phoebe glanced down the deserted lane. All the villagers had gathered at the fire, so who would be skulking through the deserted lanes? She tucked the blanket and sheets under her arm and crept along the front of the cottage until she could peer around the edge. The moon shone dimly through thin clouds, lighting the empty lane. A tiny splash drew her attention farther down the narrow road.
Phoebe crept forward between the cottages. She caught sight of trees and realized this row of cottages butted up against the forest. She stopped and cautiously looked around the cottage to her right. The figure hurried away from her toward the trees. She slipped around the cottage after him. He made an abrupt right turn as if heading back toward the lane. Phoebe halted. Maybe he simply took a short cut. She started at the unexpected bark of a dog, then whirled at a rustling in the trees.
*****
“Kiernan.”
Kiernan drew back after tossing up another bucket of water onto the smoldering ash to find Munro MacGregor looking anxiously at him. “If you have come to tell me Brahan Seer is ablaze, you can go to the devil,” Kiernan said.
Munro shook his head. “No. It's the Englishwoman.”
“Heddy?” Kiernan thrust the bucket into Mather’s hands and stepped clear of the bucket line.
“Aye,” Munro said. “Rebecca says her dog, Surry, chased her.”
“What's she doing in the village? Where's Rebecca?” he demanded before Munro could answer.
Munro pointed to Rebecca, who stood in the forefront of the crowd of onlookers.
Kiernan strode to her. “What's this about the Englishwoman?”
“We were coming from the north end of the village,” Rebecca replied, “when Surry barked and ran between the cottages. I chased him and spotted her running into the woods.”
“Damnation,” Kiernan cursed. “You're sure it was her?”
“Aye,” Rebecca replied. “Ye can't miss that hair.”
“No, you can't. Mather,” Kiernan yelled, then said to Rebecca. "Show me where you saw her."
Mather appeared at Kiernan’s side. “You called, sir?”
“Yes. Mather, seems our work is not yet finished.
Moments later, Kiernan spotted a boot print where Heddy had jumped a puddle, then frowned, upon noting another much larger boot print in the mud inches from hers. A dog’s growl jerked his attention to the trees. He lunged forward in tandem with a woman’s muffled cry. An instant later, he and Mather crashed through the trees as Heddy shouted, “Take a large bite of him, lad!”
The dog snarled and a man’s curse followed. The dog gave a sudden high-pitched yelp. Kiernan squinted in a frantic effort to pierce the darker shadows of the trees.
“Bastard!” Heddy shouted in a breathless voice.
“Heddy!” Kiernan yelled.
Boots pounded away from them, headed deeper into the forest.