Cinders and Ashes (3 page)

Tipping
her head backwards, she swallowed the raindrops that fell into her
open mouth gratefully, and contemplated her situation. She had
gotten him this far. In all conscience she couldn’t give up on him
now. Whatever the cost to her arms and legs. Ignoring her aching
back, Amelia bent over him.

“
Please wake up.” She fought tears when the howling winds
immediately snatched her voice. When he didn’t respond, she shook
him harder. Muttering dire imprecations, she tugged at the tight
bindings at his wrist until they unravelled. She was about to drag
him again when his low moan caught her ears.

“
Help me,” Amelia shouted into his ear, pummelling her fists
against his solid chest in frustration. She cried out with joy when
he issued another soft groan in response.

“
Get up. Get up.” Her voice shook with a mixture of exertion
and rising excitement, as the prospect of getting him out of the
rain, and herself home at last rose like a phoenix before
her.

“
Get up and help me,” she persisted with growing impatience,
when he didn’t immediately move. “Get up. Get up. Get
up!”

Her
tenacity was rewarded by the sudden jerking of his head as he
peered at her through the gloom. She pushed and shoved at his
lumbering frame, urging him to his feet. Shaking rain out of her
eyes, she prodded him forwards relentlessly when he tried to stand.
They only covered a few paces before he fell to his knees with a
thud.

For
several long and harrowing minutes they made their somewhat awkward
journey across the muddy cart track. Amelia would prod the man who
would heave to his feet and stagger a few steps, then slump to his
knees again. When his swaying became so bad that he looked as if he
would topple forwards onto his face, Amelia would stand before him
and tug his shoulders, making him walk just a few steps
more.

They
were so close. Just another few feet and they would be at her
cottage door. She could get them both inside to safety.

Luckily
her single-storey cottage had no steps inside to traverse. She was
fairly certain that without the gritty boulders and stones to
hamper his slide, she could move him easily across the floor of her
cottage to the bed.

The
heady scent of success wafted tantalisingly before her.
Straightening her shoulders with determination, Amelia stretched
her aching limbs and surveyed the few steps needed to reach the
door.

“
Get up, we are nearly there. Help me!” She prodded and pushed
when he would have slumped over. Over and over again, she poked and
pleaded, guiding him steadily to the reassuring bulk of her
cottage.

Slamming
the door open, she dragged his lumbering form across the threshold
and into the sanctuary of her home. Exhausted, she collapsed on to
the floor beside him with a heavy thump. For several moments she
lay where she fell, while she regained her breath.

Eventually she gathered the last remnants of energy and
stepped cautiously over his legs. Within moments she had crossed
the track on trembling legs to collect the lantern she had dropped
earlier.

Frowning
at the jumble of questions that had to remain unanswered for now,
Amelia returned to her cottage, dragging the man’s legs to one side
to shut the door. As an afterthought she carefully bolted it. For
added protection, she wedged a spindle chair under the handle. A
scream lurched into her throat when a particularly heavy gust of
wind rattled the door.

“
Don’t be such a goose,” she chastised herself, quickly
lighting the few candle stubs she owned, banishing the darkness to
the far corners of the small space.

As the
small light penetrated the inky blackness, Amelia reluctantly
focused on the man who had suddenly thrown her life into such
turmoil. A small flicker of awkwardness surged through her. Her
initial impressions of him outside had been accurate. He was very
tall with well-defined muscles. His unconscious bulk took up nearly
a third of the floor in her little cottage.

“
Oh dear.” She swallowed as she eyed the dips and hollows of
his chest, which was now clearly visible through the transparent
material of his shirt. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her
boldness and she quickly turned her gaze towards his
face.

Despite
the myriad of bruises, cuts and welts caked with mud and dirt, he
was ruggedly handsome. His tousled hair was jet black, and tumbled
in wild disarray over his high forehead. Long lashes covered his
well-spaced eyes. His long aquiline nose screamed aristocracy, as
did his sternly curved lips and firm jaw. The long lengths of his
muscled legs were quite clearly the well-defined legs of a regular
horse rider, and were encased in high quality breeches.

Everything about him screamed
Ton
. But did that automatically rule
him out as a murderer? Or worse? From Amelia’s experience of the
aristocracy, most of them were up to some illegal doings up to
their ears. She had no doubt this man would be any different.
Indeed, given his dire circumstance, it appeared he was definitely
involved in something sinister.

A
shudder swept through her, reminding her of her own immediate
needs. Quickly she shrugged out of her sodden cloak and boots
before changing into blessedly dry clothes. Bolstered by the
warmth, she set a pot of water to boil and reluctantly turned to
her new house guest.

She
dreaded what she had to do next. Her arms and back already ached
fiercely. She was loathe to drag him anywhere else but couldn’t
leave him where he was. Further half-hearted prodding didn’t even
raise a flicker of an eyelash. With a sigh, Amelia began to slowly
drag him across the stone floor towards the bed. She was suddenly
glad her single room cottage was so tiny.

“
I don’t suppose you are going to wake up enough to help me
again, are you?” she murmured, eyeing his masculine length
ruefully. Eventually, she drew to a halt beside the bed. Tugging
down the covers with a deep sigh of longing, she bent down to first
tug his boots off. It required so much effort; she was left gasping
and trembling from the effort. She eyed the sodden leather with
disgust, and tossed them casually towards the fireplace before
turning back towards him with a sigh.

No doubt he could afford another pair
, she mused cynically, refusing to feel guilty for her casual
dismissal of such expensive items.

“
I should just leave you to shiver.” She dreaded removing the
remainder of his clothes, but couldn’t leave him in sodden clothing
any more than she could leave him on the cold, hard floor. Already
his lips were turning blue and his skin was rippled with goose
bumps. She didn’t want to wake up in the morning to find she had a
dead body in the house, especially after everything she had done to
get him there.

With a
shudder, she squared her shoulders and untied the laces down the
front of his shirt, grumbling softly as her fingers brushed against
his frozen flesh. Easing the sodden strips of material apart, she
pushed and shoved him until he rolled over enough for her to tug
the shirt off his back. A careful survey of the muscled flesh on
his back revealed plenty of grazes and cuts, but no visible bones
or deep cuts requiring stitches. Relieved, she carefully eased him
back down with a frown.

“
You need to help me.” She leant down and roughly shook his
shoulder. Through the gloom of the candlelight she could see the
darkening bruises covering his chest, ribs and stomach. She hated
to move him, but to leave him on the cold floor in his sodden
condition could kill him.

When he
remained unresponsive, she pushed again. “Please, you need to help
me get you up.” Grasping hold of his arm, she tugged hard on it and
was rewarded when he awkwardly pushed himself up, lurching to his
feet.

“
Sit,” she ordered softly, aware of the solid wall of his
chest mere inches from her nose as she guided him down onto the
bed. He was so tall against her not inconsequential height, she
felt almost feminine against him. She tried hard to ignore the
crinkling of his chest hair against her fingers, as she pushed
gently on his chest until he sat down on the bed with a thump. She
guided his shoulders backwards until he was lying down, having
succumbed to unconsciousness once again.

Aware he was already unconscious; Amelia reluctantly eyed his
wet breeches. If he had any chance of recovering and leaving her
house, he had to get warm and dry. This meant removing
all
of his
clothing.

Amelia
frowned down at him in consternation. Could she do it? Should she?
Or should she pretend she hadn’t the strength to wrestle them off,
and leave him to take his chances? She knew she couldn’t do it. She
couldn’t leave him in wet clothing. She had gotten this far. It
wasn’t fair on him to leave him to die of cold to preserve her
blushes. After all, it wasn’t as if he was watching her.

If he
woke up then he could take them off himself. But as it was, he was
out cold. So it looked like it was down to her.

She
really did try to keep her eyes off him as she removed his
breeches. Her gaze remained locked on his face for the most part.
She only peeked, with one eye, to make certain she had hold of the
cloth as she undid the front placket, and loosened them enough to
tug them off. Eventually though, feminine curiosity won the battle,
and she found herself studying his stunningly masculine physique
with something akin to awe.

It was
the first time in her life she had seen a man in all of his naked
glory, and it was enough to send her pulse pounding.

Colour
rose within her cheeks as she tried to keep her eyes from the soft
length of his manhood nestled within the dark thatch of curls at
the apex of his thighs. A brief glance at his face revealed not a
flicker of movement. Amelia coughed uncomfortably and looked away.
Despite the fact she was on her own, her cheeks still flushed with
embarrassment. She could only be fervently glad that he hadn’t
suddenly woken up to find her staring at his private, manly
parts.

Carefully averting her gaze, she let her eyes travel
curiously over the dips and hollows of his wide, muscled chest. He
was definitely
Ton.
His elegantly cut hair was well groomed. The clothes and
boots she had just removed were made from the finest materials, and
probably cost an entire ten years’ worth of Amelia’s
wages.

She
studied the myriad of multi-coloured flesh covering his ribs.
Whatever had happened to him had been brutal, and had taken place
recently. She had received her own share of bruising since working
as a housekeeper, and knew they only turned the colour of his when
they were relatively new. Unfortunately, there was no way of
knowing what was going on underneath the damaged flesh. Amelia
could only pray that nothing severe was happening that could take
his life.

Shaking
her head, she carefully covered him in sheets and blankets before
turning to the rhythmic clanking of the water pot on the
hearth.

Several
moments later she had gathered everything she needed, and quietly
set about bathing the mud and grime off him, before tending to his
battered flesh as best she could, given her own lack of
supplies.

It took
longer than she thought and was late when she finally stood up and
arched her aching back. At last, he was clean and dry. All of his
wounds were now washed and, where necessary, bound with strips of
what had been her only petticoat. He seemed to be resting
comfortably and more importantly, warming up.

Wearily
she added more wood to the fire before easing herself into the
chair beside the bed. Of larger than average size, it had been left
behind by the cottage’s previous owner and was the only one she
had. Its solid bulk seemed to envelope her as she settled back into
its embracing comfort. Tugging the tattered edges of the last
blanket she possessed around her, Amelia rested her head against
the chair’s back and within seconds fell asleep.

It had
been a long time since Sebastian had felt such contentment. He was
blessedly warm and relaxed, lying on the softest bed he could ever
remember having slept in. The sheets were luxuriously soft beneath
his skin, and smelled faintly of roses. They reminded him of the
many summers he spent as a young boy, rollicking around in his
mother’s rose garden with his brothers.

Keeping
his eyes closed, he listened to the myriad of gentle noises around
him as full consciousness returned. The steady crackling of wood in
the fireplace was interspersed with the rapid drumming of rain on
the roof over his head. Ferocious winds howled and rattled against
the window panes, searching for the smallest sign of weakness to
gain entry.

A small
frown began to mar his brow as dark thoughts suddenly encroached on
his pleasure. Swirling, confusing snatches of memory surfaced
briefly enough to give him a glimpse of something he felt it was
important to remember, only for his brain to suddenly head in
another, more confusing direction.

Dragging
in a deep breath, he immediately groaned as pain unlike any he had
ever known lanced down his side. Stars danced before his eyes, and
bile rose in his throat. Despite the instinctive reluctance to do
so, he had to draw another breath, and was unsurprised when even
the smallest breath increased the pain further.