Cinders and Ashes (2 page)

Despite
their desperate situation, Sebastian shot the panicked man a snide
grin.

“
Looks like you are going to have to join me, Rat. Danvers has
departed.” His tone was almost conversational, as he eyed the panic
in the smaller man’s eyes. “Death awaits
us
.”

He
watched as Rat paled and gripped the swinging straps tighter,
swearing loudly as the carriage lurched onto two wheels. It almost
tipped into the night, only to right itself at the last moment,
before continuing to bounce along on its breakneck
journey.

Feeling
no sympathy with the smaller man’s own demise, Sebastian lurched
clumsily to his feet. He took several fortifying breaths as he
studied the passing swirl of rain and shadows beyond the door. He
knew he couldn’t look out of the carriage door to check for trees
before jumping.

He had a
choice. He could either die within the carriage with Rat, or die on
the roadside.

Sebastian had only ever seen a carriage accident once. The
sight of the blood-soaked interior was something that had haunted
him for many months. He had absolutely no intention of dying the
same way.

Without
bothering to look back, Sebastian sent a silent prayer heavenwards,
took a deep breath, and stepped out into the darkness.

Amelia
pulled the meagre protection of her cloak tight around her
shoulders, and glared accusingly at the rain clouds darkening the
night sky.

You’re going to be soaked before you get to the edge of the
woods
, Amelia thought blackly, as she
stepped out of the luxurious warmth of the house and into the
deluge of rain. The timid light of her lantern was snatched by the
ferociously howling winds within seconds, and immediately she was
encased in darkness so thick she could barely see her hand before
her face.

Sighing
deeply in her most put-upon way, she carefully closed the door and
turned to look at the black mass of trees in the distance, with a
shudder. Her shortest route home was through the woods.

Although
the path was uneven, she felt reasonably secure walking through the
woods because of the reputation they had among the villagers for
being haunted. The rumours and superstition were enough to keep
even the bravest away from the area, even during daylight. Luckily,
Amelia had never seen the headless highwayman who was supposed to
frequent the area. She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t make a guest
appearance tonight.

Peering
through the gloom, she eyed the dark path before her with a frown
and briefly contemplated taking the road; immediately dismissing
the notion when she considered the added distance she would have to
walk. At three miles, it was a long enough journey when the weather
was nice. With the extent of the rain that had fallen throughout
the day, the road would be extremely muddy. Even if one didn’t take
into account the fact that walking alone at night was simply asking
for trouble, it would be at least an hour before she got home. One
long hour alone, in the darkness, battling howling winds and icy
rain.

Shaking
off the growing sense of unease, Amelia stomped through the garden
gate and headed toward the looming bulk of Marchland Woods before
her. She had walked the same path every day, since her arrival in
the small hamlet of Glendowie two and a half years ago. If she kept
to the trail, then she should have no problem in getting to the
small stone cottage she called home.

“
Stop it, you are fine,” Amelia muttered aloud, desperately
trying to ignore the imposing darkness that seemed to embrace her.
Despite her false bravado, her unease grew with each passing step.
She briefly wished she had accepted Sir Hubert’s offer of the
housekeeper’s quarters for the night, but the lure of returning
home to her tiny cottage was too great. Stark and sparsely
furnished it might be, but she had made it her own and was loathe
to leave it, even for one night.

“
Nearly there,” she chanted softly, stepping over the myriad
roots and branches on the forest floor carefully.
If you get there without falling on your face, it
will be a fine miracle indeed,
she thought
as she stumbled on a large root.

As the
winds swirled around her, she tightened her hold on the swinging
lantern. The cold metal hook bit into her work-roughened palm
reassuringly. Although useless for lighting her way, it was heavy
and would issue a heavy whack to anyone who chose to attack her.
She eyed the shifting shadows around her with a shudder. To someone
who was easily spooked, one could almost believe that the shifting
shadows were people, and she was surrounded. She quickly blanked
that unnerving thought out and lengthened her stride, desperately
trying to think of something else.

Her mind
immediately latched on to the haunting, almost howling noise,
created by the ferocious wind howling through the leaves and
branches high above.

At least now you know why they call it the haunted
woods
, Amelia thought with a
shiver.

“
Great, spook yourself why don’t you!” she snapped aloud, when
the cracking of a branch beneath her feet made her squeal in
alarm.

With
fear nipping at her heels, she broke into a run.

It
seemed to take an age before she finally saw the thin road marking
the end of her journey.

“
Oomph!” The rattling of the lantern hitting the ground was
accompanied by her squeal of surprise, as she landed on the ground
with a thud.

Stunned,
she lay face-down in the dirt for several moments trying to regain
her breath. Her heart hammering, she peered through the gloom
toward the soft mound her legs were lying on. Whatever it was
certainly hadn’t been there at dawn when she had left for
work.

Quickly
drawing her legs upwards and off the lump, she scanned the trees
for signs of anyone who may be lurking.

Desperate to find some security, she began patting the floor
in wider circles until she found her precious lantern. She didn’t
know why she was so eager to retrieve it now. With the winds being
so high it was practically useless, but simply holding it gave her
a small degree of comfort. She clutched it tight to her chest as
she peered through the driving rain towards the lump. She wished
she could see enough to find a stick big enough to protect herself.
There was something about the huge mound that rang alarm bells
within her.

Giving
herself a stern shake, she became aware that with each passing
moment she was getting increasingly soaked to the skin. Her fingers
were already numb from cold. The rain had long since soaked her
thin clothing, drawing the last vestige of warmth from her body. If
she remained outside for much longer, she would catch a chill and
that would be a dire circumstance indeed.

Get yourself together, Amelia. Stop being such a
ninny.
Taking a deep breath, Amelia
stumbled to her feet and staggered over to the mysterious bulk,
giving it a nudge with her foot. Everything within her urged her to
turn and run home. To lock and bar the door behind her, and wait
until Sir Hubert came to see where she was. Probably sometime
tomorrow, if she was lucky.

Common sense held her still. How could she sleep at night
knowing that this
thing,
whatever it was, was out there? Lurking. Well,
not
exactly
lurking, but outside of her cottage nonetheless. It certainly
wasn’t a newly fallen branch. It was too big. Besides, there were
no leaves on it. Unless she was very much mistaken, it was
clothed.

Another
nudge. The lump rocked gently against her foot.

With
shaking hands, Amelia clutched the lantern tighter, and bent over
the mound.

“
Hello?” She swore softly when her voice was immediately
snatched by the howling winds. She knew there was nothing else she
could do but take a look. Reluctantly she shuffled forwards,
bending over the clothed mound cautiously. Slowly she tugged it
towards her.

A scream
locked in her throat, as it flopped over to reveal what she could
only describe as a macabre caricature of a man’s face. Battered,
bloody and covered in leaves and dirt, the man’s eyes remained
closed against the persistent splash of raindrops on his eyelids
and face. He showed no outward sign of life.

“
Please don’t be dead,” she pleaded, quickly lunging to her
feet. It was difficult to see through the inky blackness, but from
what she could see up and down the cart track, there was no
singular horse or overturned carriage to explain how he had come to
be lying in the undergrowth.

A sudden
blast of wind buffeted her, and she shuddered as icy fingers
snatched at the sodden folds of her cloak. It helped considerably
to snap her out of her shock.

She
knelt on the sodden floor beside the man, and gently brushed the
muddied mass of twigs and leaves from his angular face.

“
Hello?” She pushed his thick shoulder and carefully watched
him for any sign of acknowledgement. When several moments passed
with no response, she reluctantly knelt once again and dipped her
head towards his mouth. She almost wept with relief when the slight
tickling of air swept across the delicate skin of her
ear.

She was
no judge of form at the best of times, but she could see through
the almost transparent cotton of his shirt to the heavily muscled
chest. He was very tall and well built. It was going to be
difficult to move him.

The
alternative was to leave him there, which she simply couldn’t do.
If he didn’t drown from the amount of rain and mud he was lying in,
he would almost certainly freeze to death and she couldn’t bear to
have that on her conscience.

The
night air was already getting considerably colder, rapidly chilling
already frozen skin. He would not make the morning if he didn’t get
warm. Sir Hubert’s house was too far away, and there was nobody
else for miles around whom she could call upon to help.

It was
down to her to get him into her cottage, where she could at least
light the fire and get him warm.

When
another gust of icy wind swept over the folds of her thin cloak,
she lunged to her feet. Spurred into action, she was about to push
him onto his back when she realised that she hadn’t seen his
hands.

“
You have to have some,” she muttered. It helped her deal with
the situation she was faced with if she talked to him, even though
she knew he probably couldn’t hear her. It also stopped her teeth
from chattering. Grasping hold of his shoulders, she smoothed her
chilled fingers over the corded muscles of his shoulders and down
his arms.

“
Surely to God-.” Disbelief widened her eyes, as she stared
blankly into the darkness of the trees around them. She had found
his hands, and the tight bindings that held them together behind
his back.

Incredulous, she leant backwards to rest upon her heels and
stared at his battered face. Her mind raced with
possibilities.
Who would do such a thing?
Could he be a convict?
Amelia didn’t know
much about criminals, but had seen one or two as they were being
transported to gaol. They had been secured with iron manacles. This
man was tied with very tight rope bindings. Who was he, and what
had happened to him that meant he deserved to be bound, beaten and
left for dead beside a cart track leading to nowhere?

Running
around the south-westerly edge of Lord Bestwick’s estates, the
small cart track skirted the edge of Bestwick’s grazing lands,
before connecting with the main road leading out of the small
village of Glendowie. There was certainly very little through
traffic.

Someone
had sought to dump him here.

Shaking
her head in consternation, Amelia set her concerns to one side for
now. At least until they were warm and dry in the shelter of her
tiny cottage. She wondered briefly if she should leave his hands
bound for the time being. Despite the risk to her own safety should
he turn out to be a murderer or rapist, she knew she simply
couldn’t do it.

She was
about to unravel the bonds when a small voice of caution warned
her. Until she could be certain of his identity, and what had
caused him to be in such dire circumstance, she owed it to herself
to keep him bound. If not to himself, then she could at least bind
him to the bed, the table, or something.

“
You could at least wake up and help me,” she grumbled,
pushing to her feet. Grabbing the thin folds of his cotton shirt in
her small fists, she tugged at his heavy frame with all of her
might. A small grunt escaped her when, despite her best efforts, he
barely moved.

Fighting
to gain purchase in the deepening mud, Amelia dug her heels in and
cursed. Taking a huge breath, she pulled on his shoulders as hard
as she could, crying aloud with joy when he slid a few inches
towards her. Her chest was heaving with exertion when Amelia sank
onto her bottom at the edge of the track several minutes
later.

“
At this rate, we’ll both drown,” she gasped, eyeing the short
distance they had covered with a growing sense of defeat. She began
to doubt that she could actually get him to her cottage. The
puddles in the middle of the track were growing alarmingly deeper
by the minute. Her arms already shook with the effort it was taking
to drag him just a few inches over the soft ground. Pulling him
through the water and deepening mud would be impossible.