Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(37)

Why had he gotten into the fight in the inn? He had always been in some kind of trouble and always had promised her each time would be the last. But he'd never kept his word to her. Couldn't he have just walked away and ignored the taunts of the other man? Then she wouldn't be here. Alone. He'd only been gone a few days, but… Samuel, I need you.

She slumped against the cold cobblestones, shivering but too miserable to move. Tears dripped down her cheeks and plopped onto her dress. She grieved heavily for her last remaining family member. Nevertheless, she should have been more aware of her surroundings. Look where it had gotten her! Alone and lost. And possibly soon to die below the ground.

No one would have to dig her grave because she was already in it.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Sasha swallowed hard. What was that? She sat up straighter.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Vibrations through the dirt became stronger and more pronounced as the seconds ticked by. The ground trembled. Small stones, from somewhere in the wall above, pelted her arms and head, but any discomfort was dwarfed by the pain in her ankle.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Sasha peered upward. Someone's coming! Was it a horse pounding its hooves on the ground? Did the horse have a rider? She shivered, torn between excitement and fear. "Hello! I'm down here!" No one answered. Were they too far away to hear?

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, competing with the noise above. She needed to still her mind and heart. Holding her breath, however, wasn't successful, only serving to make her suck in mouthfuls of cold, damp air.

Sasha took a deep breath, letting it out a little at a time, and she calmed. She clenched her filthy fingers together. If the horse had a rider, she'd yell for all she was worth. It might be her one chance for life!

But her energy drained away, weakness creeping through her body and mind. Dizziness swirled her vision and thoughts. How much blood had she lost? Someone please help me.

****



Garrett Rothchild Cantlebury, the Fifth Duke of Ravensworth, slowed his horse, Ashe, when he spied something small and black lying next to the edge of the old well. Was it an animal? A piece of cloth? Wait, the slab covering the well had been moved. He gritted his teeth. He'd had it mortared closed after he'd seem some children showing interest in the well. And he'd been certain that would keep the slab down tight. Had they chipped away at it over time, loosening the seal little by little?

He didn't care that they believed the well was haunted by some ghost. If he ever caught them… but that wasn't likely. With the old house torn down, leaving a wide-open field, he'd be hard pressed to sneak up on them.

Garrett swung down from the saddle, left his horse ground tied, and squatted down. Pebbles skittered into the well. It was a boot, a woman's tattered boot. Crushing pebbles surrounding the opening, he picked up the boot, its broken laces caught beneath the edge of the slab. Sun warmed his face as he gazed around the old Bennett farm. He frowned. Why would someone go off and leave her boot out in the middle of his property? Had someone been using the nearby bushes for a tryst?

He stood and examined the boot more closely. It was of inferior quality, presumably worn by a servant. He turned the boot over. The leather was scuffed and the sole paper-thin. But the boot was still usable.

Garrett glanced toward the well's yawning black mouth. No, surely not. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. What if someone had fallen down there? It would be on his head, since he was the one ultimately responsible for the condition of his property. His farm manager was organizing the job of filling in the well in several months, but that took time. He shook his head. Too much time.

If only Garrett had ordered it filled in years ago. Years ago when… No, he wouldn't dwell on it now. Couldn't. It had taken him a long time even to be able to ride past the well without memories from the past assaulting him.

He dropped the boot, hoping with everything in him that he was wrong. Garrett leaned over the gaping hole and peered into its darkness.

"Is there anyone down there?" He held his breath. Please don't let anyone answer. Let the owner of the shoe be far from here and safe. Let it be—

A whimper, such as an injured animal might make, floated up from the depths of the hole. Garrett scooted closer to the opening. "Hello? Is someone there?" He leaned as far into the opening as he dared, closed his eyes, and waited. His breath caught in his throat as the seconds ticked by.

"Y-yes. Help. Help me, please."

No! Garrett widened his eyes, scrambling away from the well. His heart thumped and sweat formed on his face and beneath his shirt. As he paced back and forth, he ran his hand down his face, wiping away the perspiration. It was as he'd feared. A woman's voice had been his answer. But… the last time he'd had to go into that well… when another woman had been found there… Garrett hurried back toward the opening.

"Miss? Are you hurt?" Garrett clenched his fists and waited.

"I think… there is something wrong… with my, ah… a-ankle." Her voice was weak. Was she having trouble breathing? Was Garrett too late to help her?

"Miss, I need to go for help." There was an old gate from his paddock he could use to carry her on. And blankets, ropes, several grooms to help…

"Please… I don't want to… be alone. Is there a way…?"