Emily.
Emma grimaced and brushed the whisper away, but it came again, that name she hated. Unwilling to wake up and face her fears and regrets, she turned to her stomach and pressed her hands to her ears. The night swallowed her back into sleep.
Emily. A touch now, tracing the edge of her jaw. Emma's eyes snapped open. Hart was here. Hart.
She gasped and turned, pushing away from him as the voice came again.
"There is a fire, but do not be afraid." A hand reached toward her, severed from its body in the dark. "I'm here to save you."
A dream. It must be a dream. She'd dreamt of fire so many times after her uncle's death. The smoke thickened suddenly, making her cough. She wanted to go back to sleep.
"Come, Emily. We must go. I will take you home."
Her eyes stung from the biting smoke. And her ears were playing tricks on her. She'd heard this before. Matthew had uttered those words after her uncle's death. Come, I will take you home.
"This is a dream," she said.
"The smoke will make you sick."
And it was making her sick. She couldn't think past it, so Emma scooted forward toward the voice, toward the hand and the body it was now attached to. The hand closed around her arm. She looked up.
"No!" she screamed at the sight of Matthew's face. "Where is Hart?"
"It is me, Matthew." His fingers dug deep and pulled her from the warm bed into hot air. "I've come to save you."
"No, no, no." She struggled, choked on burnt air. "This is a dream. There is no fire. Let me go. I want Hart." But he yanked her toward the hallway, toward the dancing orange light.
"Matthew!" she screamed. "Stop!" But then they were out in the hall, heat burning her skin.
When he pulled her toward the rear door, Emma got her feet beneath her and followed. She could see the dark recÂtangle ahead, the door that would free her from this inferno. And Bess . ..
Oh, no. "Bess! Wake up. Please wake up. There's a fire! Matthew, you must get Bess."
"I've come for you, Emily. Hurry. You don't need this place. This is not your home."
Beautiful, cold air poured over them. Emma drew a deep breath and realized they were outside. "Bess! I must go back."
"No." He dragged her toward the silhouette of a shying horse while Emma fought and screamed. The horse screamed too, desperate to be away. Emma strained to look over her shoulder and found that the fire illuminated the whole yard. And there, crawling on hands and knees, was Bess. She cleared the door of her room and collapsed onto the grassy yard.
Emma cried with relief, and every sob drew fresh air into her lungs. The dullness of sleep and smoke was scrubbed free. "You," she groaned. "You did this." Something squeezed her hands. She stared down at the rope as it tightÂened to a knot. "You did this."
"Get on the horse."
"I won't. You're mad. You set fire to my home."
"This is not your home. Your home is with me."
"You . . . Oh, Matthew. You burned my uncle's house too, didn't you? You killed him!"
"No," he muttered. "No, no."
"You killed him."
"It was an accident! If you'd only been true to me. If you'd only married me, I wouldn't have had to trick you into my home. I meant for him to get out, meant for you both to live in my father's home until you saw reason. It was your fault. All your fault."
"Oh, God, my uncle."
"Get on the horse, Emily."