A Cold Treachery Read Online Free PDF

woman shook her head, as if afraid he was going to lift her.
    “I must get you out of here. Do you understand me? If you stay where you are, you won't live through the night!”
    “Please—
no
—!”
    With the snow deep enough and treacherous enough to make carrying her nearly impossible, he said, “There's nothing for miles—no house, no barn. There's no help.” He could feel the wind sucking at his breath, as it had sucked at her will.
    “No—I must—
I must
—” She shook her head again, as if her mind refused to work clearly and tell her what it was she must do.
    Making certain, he said, “Were you alone? In the carriage? No one has tried to go for help?”
    “Yes—alone.”
    “I'm going to lift you to your feet. I'll be as careful as I can. And then you must walk, with my support. I can't carry you. But I have a motorcar on the road—”
    After a moment she nodded. With enormous effort she tried to get her feet under her, and finally, with her hands on his shoulders as he knelt to brace her limbs, she was able to stand. He was afraid to bring any force to bear on her arms or shoulders because of her ribs, and instead took her hands. But it wasn't enough to help her climb. Her feet stumbled in the snow as he pulled her upward, and she cried out again from the pain even that induced.
    The road might as well be on the moon, he thought, casting a despairing glance in the direction of his headlamps. With nothing and no one to help them.
    Hamish, carrying on a running argument in his mind, urged him to hurry.
    In the end, he had to wrap his arms around the woman and almost walk her like a child leaning on its father's legs and body, her shoes on the toes of his boots. It was like dealing with a puppet, no will of its own, yet its very awkwardness seeming to defy the puppet master at every step. The effort exhausted both of them.
    She bit her lip until the blood flowed, a dark line running down her chin, and fought not to cry out. But her legs were stiff with cold, and it was almost an act of will on both their parts to climb to the road again.
    Once he got her there, in the light from the headlamps, he released her for a moment to see if she could stand on her own. She nearly crumpled, and then managed to hold herself erect, swaying. He went to the motorcar, found the Thermos of tea, and brought her a steaming cup. And had to hold it to her lips because her hands trembled too badly to keep it there.
    She took the first sip as if it had burned her, jerking her head away, even though the tea was far from scalding. Then she managed to swallow a little. And the sweet liquid ran through her with life-giving warmth. Not enough to stop her from shaking, but enough to bring her back to her senses. And her pain.
    He took the empty cup from her, replaced it on the Thermos, and set it back in the floor of the car under his feet. Fumbling in the rear, without looking in the direction where Hamish always seemed to be sitting, he could feel the fringe of his rug, and he set that in his seat as well.
    Going back for the woman, he asked, “Can you walk as far as the car?”
    But she was looking back down into the darkness. “My horse—we must do something—I see him there—”
    “I'm afraid the horse is dead.”
    “Oh—a pity—” She went with him docilely then, and with his help was able to lift herself into the high seat. Her own rug was damp with snow, but he left it around her, and added his to cover her.
    Hamish said, “She's lost more warmth than she can make.”
    It was true. Rutledge gave her a little more of the tea, and finally, with great difficulty, got her into his arms, and himself into the passenger's seat.
    She lay against his chest quivering, and he could see the tears of pain running down her face.
    “I must get you somewhere with a fire. I don't know how far that will be. But first, we've got to make some headway in warming you up.”
    It took another ten minutes to stop the most violent shivers,