Cinders and Ashes

by King, Rebecca

  Outside, the wind howled its fury. The unrelenting rain steadily thrummed on the roof. It was a sound Amelia was beginning to loathe.

  Swallowing a curse, her heart sank when she tugged the curtain aside and stared out into the roiling clouds lingering menacingly in the sky. Clearly the storm was going to be with them for some time yet.

  Heaving a sigh, she quickly collected a pitcher of water, and began dipping several strips of cloth. The sheets were already wet with sweat, so Amelia had no qualms about getting them even wetter as she began to bathe his heated body with the icy water. Over and over she dipped the material before stroking his chest, bruised ribs, the torn flesh of his arms and wrists down to his fingertips, before retracing the path upwards to the thick column of his corded neck.

  Eventually his body cooled and he settled into sleep, leaving Amelia with the problem of how she could change the wet sheets. With yet more heaving and shoving, she finally settled the new bedclothes around him, before turning towards the hearth, once more laying the fire to boil water to make a drink and some broth.

  While she was waiting for the fire to heat the pot, she eased open the front door. Her heart sank at the sight that met her eyes. The dirt track outside the door had turned into a muddy pool with the volume of water that had yet to soak into the soil. Branches had been torn down from the trees and now lay across the rutted cart track, cutting them off from civilization completely.

  She could walk through the woods to get help should they need it, but would have to walk for miles around the outside of the forest, to get to the wrong side of Glendowie, before attempting to locate the doctor. She would once again get cold and wet, and even if she could find the doctor, there was no guarantee he would be prepared to make the journey to her tiny cottage through the howling winds and relentless rain.

  A niggling voice reminded her that she was unlikely to be able to afford to pay for a doctor, even if Sebastian could remember who he was and afford to pay himself. Indecision warred with concern for several moments before she reluctantly closed the door, replacing the chair beneath the latch with a sigh.

  Time passed slowly. Her routine of bathing, changing water, washing, drying sheets and clothing, banking the fire and boiling water while eating sparsely eventually took its toll. Each time she thought she was succeeding, his temperature would soar again and he would thrash about. Desperation matched the frustration and fear until she began to doubt there was anything else she could do for him.

  During one particularly bad bout of feverish thrashing, she knelt beside the bed. Gently taking his hot hand between her colder ones, she began to pray.

  When Sebastian woke, his thoughts were immediately of the intriguing young woman who had put herself at significant risk to come to his aid.

  Blinking slowly, he allowed his eyes to adjust to gloom, and turned his head in search of her. The sight that met his eyes made his chest tighten.

  Amelia lay in front of the hearth, curled into a small ball beneath a threadbare blanket. The fire had long since died, leaving the room feeling cold and damp.

  God knows how cold the stone floor must be. Sebastian thought to himself, wishing he had enough strength in his limbs to be able to scoop her up and move her to the bed and his warmth.

  “Amelia,” he called softly. He didn’t want to scare her, but wasn’t prepared to allow her to lie there a moment longer. He cursed roundly when she didn’t move.

  “Amelia!” His voice, although hoarse, was stronger and echoed threateningly around the room. A dark frown marred his brow as he stared in concern at her. Was she ill herself? Undoubtedly she had been out in the elements, getting cold and wet. Had she caught a fever too? Or had exhaustion claimed her?

  He couldn’t remember much about the night, but he could recall her soothing voice easing his discomfort. He wasn’t sure how many times he had woken up, but each time she had been there, emerging out of the confusing haze like a guardian angel.

  His heart clenched at the thought of her sacrificing her own wellbeing for him.

  “Amelia!” His voice was a sharp command, and as loud as he could make it without being an outright bellow. He was rewarded by the sudden twitch of her body.

  “Amelia, get up,” he ordered, frustration gnawing at him.

  Amelia yawned and pushed her riotous curls out of her face, before turning towards him with a wince.

  God, she was stunning. Sebastian carefully averted his gaze as his manhood began to twitch beneath the sheets.

  Despite his illness, there were obviously some things that were unaffected, he thought ruefully, and shifted uncomfortably beneath the sheets.

  “Are you alright?” Amelia murmured, shuffling somewhat awkwardly towards the bed. Her delicate hand touched his forehead as she searched his face, looking for any signs of fever. Her fingers felt like ice against his warm skin.

  Despite being in the presence of a lady, he cursed fluidly. He couldn’t remember her having the dark smudges that now lay beneath her eyes, in a face that was paler than usual. Briefly, he wished he hadn’t woken her. She was exhausted and clearly needed to sleep, but the protective warrior within him refused to allow her to sleep on the floor a moment longer.

  “You need to rest.”

  She studied his dark scowl in concern. “I was,” Amelia chided softly, with no hint of censure in her voice. What had angered him so?

  “I know, but you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor.” Sebastian glared at her balefully, clearly disgruntled about something. He watched as she carefully straightened the covers around him, seeking to ensure his comfort once more. Frustrated, he captured her hands in his larger ones to hold them still, valiantly ignoring the fission of awareness that hung in the air.

  “It’s alright, I don’t mind,” Amelia hastened to reassure him, trying to loosen his hold.

  “You could lie down beside me. I promise not to make any advances.” He watched disbelief enter her eyes as she stared at him cautiously. “I can understand why you don’t want to join me, but why didn’t you sleep in the chair?” He nodded towards the solid wooden frame beside the bed. All the while he was talking; his fingers took inventory of her cold, work-roughened hands.

  “I was,” Amelia said, somewhat mesmerised by the concern on his face. Nobody had concerned themselves with her comfort for a long time. It was somewhat disconcerting to find herself the reason for his worry.

  “When you were feverish I spent most of the night in the chair, but it is hard and uncomfortable when you sit in it for too long.” She watched as Sebastian looked towards the cold stone floor in front of the hearth. “At least on the floor I could stretch out, and it is closer to the fire.”

  Sebastian thought about the tight ball she had curled into whilst asleep, and the cold fire, but decided to remain quiet. “You could stretch out here, Amelia. I know the bed isn’t all that wide, but I promise you, on my word of honour as a gentleman, that I pose no risk to you. You are perfectly safe with me.” He was quite proud of her for holding firm against him, even if it did irk him slightly. He sensed she was still indecisive, and wondered how much he should push her. “Besides, you know about my ribs. If I do anything you find offensive in any way, you could always poke me there!” His tone was rueful as he watched the small smile curve her lips.

  Amelia wasn’t convinced and, without answering him, reluctantly eased her hand from the comforting warmth of his. Pulling the only chair she owned around until she was facing him, she sat down. So many questions rose in her mind that she wasn’t sure where to begin. Now his fever had eased, she needed to find out as much as she could. There were decisions she needed to make, and couldn’t make them until she had all of the facts.

  “Do you have your memory back yet?” Her tone was almost conversational, as she asked probably the most important question.

  “I think so,” Sebastian replied with a frown, staring at his toes beneath the sheets.

  “Tell me your full name, Sebastian.” She emphasized
the ‘full’, making it clear she wanted his title, as well as his surname.

  “Sebastian Andrew Cavendish. Lord Torrington, Earl of Westhaven.” He watched as Amelia studied her hands, her face carefully blank. His gut instinct warned him she had just taken a huge mental step backwards. Did she know of him?

  “How did you get here?” Her voice was neutral. Carefully she tried to hide the disappointment that was so strong it brought tears to her eyes.

  He was indeed one of the Ton, and that made him as far out of her reach as humanly possible. Although she had surmised by the cut and quality of his clothing that he was, it was still hugely disappointing to hear it from his lips.

  He most probably had a wife tucked away somewhere, Amelia thought morosely. Handsome and titled men like Sebastian tended to have an equally gorgeous wife. The thought made her ache for something she couldn’t define.

  “I jumped from a moving carriage,” he stated with brutal honesty.

  “Jumped?” Her voice was incredulous and her round eyes met his.

  “Yes, jumped.” His blue eyes hardened when the stark memories of that fateful night returned. He watched a myriad of emotions flicker across her alabaster face. Her next question came as no surprise to him.

  “Why?” She was indeed Ton. Intrigued, and none the wiser to his thoughts, she leant forwards in her chair intently.

  He certainly didn’t look like a suicidal man, Amelia thought. Even if she did know what one looked like, she was certain it wouldn’t be anyone looking as roguishly handsome and relaxed as Sebastian did at that moment.

  “I had to jump.” Sebastian studied her stunned features for any signs of disgust or horror, but could see nothing but blatant curiosity and surprise. “I had to jump before I was pushed.”

  “Pushed? By whom?” The questions burst out before Amelia could stop them. Her curiosity was piqued. She wondered who would be out of their minds enough to want someone like Sebastian dead.

  Sebastian mentally made a note of her eloquence. “I don’t know for certain. Someone who employed a man to do the job for him.” A vivid picture of Rat’s gaunt and snarling face rose in his mind. “I have a feeling that whoever he is, he has wealth and status. He must have enough wealth to buy someone to do his dirty jobs for him, and enough status that he doesn’t want to directly be involved in my murder and besmirch his good name,” Sebastian replied, almost to himself.

  He hated to involve her in his troubles, but given everything she had sacrificed to look after him, felt he owed her total honesty.

  “There is only one person I have recently come into contact with who is vile enough to stoop to attempted murder to get what he wants.” He paused to consider his next words carefully. “Harrington Wilton, Lord Ballantyne. He is a dissolute gamester who has a penchant for obtaining things. Anything. Especially things he cannot have. He owns the estate that is near to my late uncle’s. He had been trying to get my uncle to sell it for several years. Lately, he had been pressuring my uncle, who had been in increasingly poor health, into signing the property over for half of its value.”

  “Your late uncle?” Amelia wondered if Sebastian’s uncle’s demise was caused by Harrington Wilton.

  “Yes, my uncle Benedict battled constantly with ill health in his later years. He was considerably weakened by a particularly bad bout of influenza that he didn’t seem to be able to recover from. Unfortunately, he died a few months ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Amelia murmured softly. As was her nature, she instinctively sought to comfort him, and without thought placed her hand on his where it lay on the sheet. She was made aware of her instinctive action when his warm palm immediately captured hers and held it firmly.

  Sebastian absently traced her fingers with his thumb as he continued. “About a week ago, my uncle’s man of business notified us that Ballantyne had been visiting the property. He caused considerable consternation amongst the few remaining staff by going so far as to speak to some of them about future employment.”

  “But it isn’t his property,” Amelia exclaimed, outraged at the man’s forthright behaviour.

  “It didn’t seem to matter to him. The man of business was becoming concerned that Ballantyne was pushy, so sent for my assistance. As the main benefactor of the estate, I visited Edenvale Manor to deal with some pressing estate matters. Furniture, family heirlooms and the like. Harrington Wilton doesn’t have a particularly good reputation for looking after his servants. None of Uncle’s staff wanted to work for Wilton, and became quite anxious that he was about to become the new owner. While I was there, I requested an interview with the man to warn him that he was to stay off the property and away from the servants.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “He was a little argumentative, but seemed to accept that the house wasn’t available to him.”

  “So what happened?” Unbeknown to Amelia, she was so caught up in the story, her hand tightened considerably upon Sebastian’s as she waited tensely for him to finish his story.

  “He eventually left with a warning that he wouldn’t give up. I didn’t think anything of it. The staff had packed and left to relocate to Tingdale, my own estate. Having dealt with some remaining paperwork, I had dinner and settled in front of the fire with a bottle of brandy. It must have been drugged because within moments I fell asleep, and woke up tied to a chair somewhere else.”

  “Could Ballantyne have laced the brandy himself?”

  “I think he must have laced it with laudanum or something, while he was waiting for me to summon him to the library. I can’t conceive it was one of the staff.”

  “So he may have laced the brandy with laudanum, knowing at some time you would drink it.” It wasn’t a question. “Where was the man of business?”

  Sebastian shook his head slightly. “He had to take some papers to London, so left the morning after I arrived. His services were no longer required, so he was heading to his family home to find alternative work. The house was essentially closed down.”

  “But how could he have known when you drank it?” Amelia frowned as she considered the possibilities. “I think one of the house staff may have been working for Ballantyne. How else would he have known you had taken any of the brandy?”

  Sebastian nodded, considering her argument thoughtfully. “He was frequently at the house. Often enough to know that the staff had left. He could have been watching the house. I stupidly didn’t close the shutters because I didn’t consider there was anyone who would watch. Obviously, I was wrong.”

  “Who were they? The men who kidnapped you. Did you see them?” Amelia’s gaze was rapt on his handsome face as he stared absently at his feet.

  “I saw two of them clearly. A tall skinny man called Ratchett and another, stocky man called Danvers. They held me in a cellar somewhere and began to question me about the house. They wanted to know if I intended to sell it and if so, they wanted the contents. Then they insisted I sign the house ownership over. When I refused to sign the papers they pushed at me, they tried brute force.” Sebastian lapsed into silence, sparing Amelia the sordid details of the beatings, the pain and the hunger. She had seen the bruising. She wasn’t stupid.

  “Why are they so determined to get hold of the property? Who were you supposed to sign the house over to? Who was listed on the papers?” Amelia questioned with a frown, as she considered how desperate someone would have to be to go to such lengths, and why.

  “I don’t think it is the property Ballantyne is after at all,” Sebastian murmured softly, thinking over the questions that were thrown at him, along with the fists. “I think it is something inside they are after. I got the distinct impression that they were after something other than the house. Ballantyne needs access to the property long enough to get it. He didn’t put up too much of a fight when I said he couldn’t have the house. The men in the cellar wanted the contents.”

  “For what?” Amelia frowned, wondering whether the incredible story was anywhere near verging on truth.

  �
��I am not sure at all. There was nothing strange or untoward about my uncle. He wasn’t interested in antiquities, or ancient artefacts. Although wealthy, he wasn’t the type to spend money frivolously. His wife died a year ago and he had a stubborn refusal to refurbish and remove her mark upon the place. There is certainly nothing within the house that is singularly valuable enough to kidnap and attempt murder for it.”

  “Why did they decide to throw you from the carriage? Surely they could have left you in the room. If you were in the middle of nowhere, you would have eventually died without anybody hearing you. If they wanted you to suffer, surely there was no better way?” Amelia felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, as she contemplated the sheer brutality of someone who could do something so heinous.

  “He couldn’t afford to leave me there and run the risk that I would be found. I have two brothers, and a very close friend who would become concerned when they didn’t hear from me. I don’t know where they held me, but Ratchett and Danvers were clearly under orders to ensure that I couldn’t report their activities, and took me on a carriage ride.” He immediately squeezed her hand as he noticed the look of horror that suffused her face.

  “It’s alright, Amelia; you were there to catch me.” His voice immediately softened and he sought to reassure her with a gentle smile.

  “How could someone be so horrid?” Amelia’s voice was laced with confusion as she contemplated the hideous turn of events that could have ended so horribly for Sebastian. “So brutal as to force someone to their death from a moving carriage?” Tears sprang to her eyes as the memory of Sebastian, bloodied and bruised, lying in the undergrowth with his hands tied behind him, rose unbidden in her mind.

  He hated to see her so disturbed. Gently tugging on her hand, he tried to draw her closer to the bed to sit beside him, only for Amelia to pull away.