Cinders and Ashes Read Free Page A

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