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.
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.