Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) by Jackie Ivie

Author:Jackie Ivie [Ivie, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2014-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Something woke her. It came through the shuttered window. Averill stirred on the bed, her arm automatically reaching for the vacant space where Tenny had been before cracking open an eye. It looked near dawn. She’d slept deeply. And hard. She felt safe. Secure. Drowsy. It wouldn’t take much to return to slumber. Averill stretched and looked over at Tenny’s portrait. It was official-looking and yet still showed his warm-hearted nature. And somehow she had the talent for capturing it.

“Fire!”

The word filtered through the shuttered window. Averill blinked the sleep from her eyes. Sat. Looked across at the aperture, just visible in the dim light. Did someone just shout fire?

Awareness came. Finally. A moment later she was at the window, unlatching the shutter to push it open. And the next she was yanking it back closed. Dense smoke filled the streets in every direction, billowing upward and outward. It stung her eyes. Filled her chest. She was bent over, coughing for some moments while her thoughts whirled. Nobody could be down there. They wouldn’t be able to breathe. They’d perish!

She counseled herself against rising panic. She had little time. She needed clothing. Where would Tenny’s friend put a wardrobe? She raced into the hall, checked two locked doors before finding one that opened. It was used for storage. Averill began opening trunks and found men’s clothing in the second box she opened.

She stared at the burnoose. Tenny’s friend was a man? He should’ve told her. It would’ve been less worrisome. Or…in truth, she should’ve asked. And she was wasting precious time. She slipped the pants on and fastened a cord around her waist with shaking hands. In the dim light of dawn, she could just make out fingers of smoke filtering across the wood underfoot.

The whole house is made of wood!

A roar blasted from somewhere in the house, ominously. With it, came heat. The soles of her feet felt it. She tossed on a shirt and then the burnoose. It was done, but her new clothing dragged on the floor as she left.

She staggered about the hall, gagging on smoke, but she’d gone the wrong way. She was back in her room, glancing first at the bed, then Tenny’s portrait, and from that to the bag of money Tenny had left her on a dresser. She might need that. A moment later she had the bag in her pocket and from there, it was a few rushed steps to the stairs. The fire hadn’t waited. Flames licked at the bottom steps, chasing her back up them, and right back to her room. Averill slammed the door and leaned against it, panting in fear, trying to think.

Nobody was going to save her.

Again.

It was up to her. She’d have to get out somehow. Or perish. What she needed was an exit…or water. And that’s when she remembered the pump. She grabbed the blanket from the bed, tripping over it in haste, fell against the dressing table, and knocked Tenny’s portrait from its perch.

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