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She did the only thing she could think of, which admittedly she didn’t do nearly often enough.
She prayed.
Would God abandon her, the future wife of a curate, to succumb to the weather? Or was there a higher purpose in store for her?
“Please let someone find me,” she whispered.
Silence answered. Even the creatures of the woods apparently had found a much warmer place to wait out the storm.
She pressed forward, deciding to seek closer shelter rather than try to find her way back to the Wilsons’. She continued searching for familiar markers. There! Ahead stood the gnarled tree she’d passed on her way. She remembered a tiny home nearby recently left vacant when the tenant died.
There would be no signs of welcoming smoke to guide her, but she recalled the general direction of the building. She braced herself and trudged toward what she hoped would be her salvation.
* * *
Timothy pulledthe scarf closer around his face, breathing through the soft wool. The lull in the storm provided a respite against the stinging ice and wind.
He flexed his hands, alternating from one to the other, his fingers so numb he couldn’t feel the leather of the reins. He’d learned to suffer through severe winter conditions as a soldier. But he continued to search for shelter as his best chance for survival.
As the sheet of white stretched before him, he suddenly felt uncomfortably warm despite the frigid temperature. Dizziness threatened to unsettle him from the saddle, and his right ear ached like the devil. Something was amiss, and his mind scrambled to diagnose himself. He repositioned his scarf and scanned the area frantically for shelter.
In the distance, a ramshackle cottage rested on the crest of a nearby hill. No smoke rose from its dilapidated chimney, but the promise of shelter from the wind and the ability to find enough dry wood to light a fire in the hearth lifted his spirits.
He urged his mount forward, the poor beast as frozen as he was. “Maybe there’s a stable or barn, old boy. Hang on.”
The terrain dipped and rose in little waves, and the horse’s feet slipped on the icy ground as he descended a steep slope to the flat plain of land lying before the elevated cottage. “Almost there,” he muttered, his teeth chattering even as his head throbbed with heat.
Without warning, a woman appeared before him, stumbling out from a copse of trees. As he pulled back on the reins, the horse sidestepped, losing its footing and tumbling them both to the icy ground.
Trapped beneath the weight of the horse, he tugged at his leg to free it, then breathed a sigh of relief when the horse righted himself and rose.
His gaze darted toward the woman who stood stock still. “Grab the reins! Don’t let him run off.”
She bolted into action, thankfully restraining the horse, yet she took several steps back, staring at him with wide eyes.
Her cloak was caked with snow, flakes of it crusting the small bit of hair that peeked out from her hood, so coated with white he couldn’t tell its true color. But her eyes were as blue as the summer skies on a cloudless day.
From the cut of her cloak and quality of her kid-leather gloves, she certainly wasn’t a tenant. What the devil was she doing out in the storm? Perhaps he was closer to a home of a wealthy landowner than he’d first thought.
“Is your home nearby?” he asked.
She blinked and took another step back, taking the horse with her.
Damnation!
“I won’t hurt you. We both are in need of shelter. I was headed to yonder cottage. Do you live there?” he asked, the question ludicrous given her attire and the lack of evident life within the small structure.
“No. I became lost in the storm on my way to Grantham.” She pointed toward the cottage. “I was headed there as well.”
His right leg pained him like the devil. He held out his hand. “Will you help me up?”
She hesitated a moment, then took a tentative step forward, grasping his hand with hers. Thankfully, she’d brought the horse closer, and he used the leverage not only from her hand, but by grabbing the strap of the saddle to pull himself upright.
With the cottage still some distance away, it would be ungentlemanly to ride while she walked. But when he put weight on his leg, the pain radiated up his calf. He assessed her approximate weight.
Groaning, he slipped his left foot into the stirrup and mounted the horse.
She narrowed her eyes and in a tone most indignant, she said, “You’re leaving me?”
