“Yes, I understand. And that's all right. Go on,” he said again.

“I can't feel my feet-”

“They'll be fine, as soon as we find help. Do you know this part of the country? Is there a farmhouse near here?”

“I-I can't remember-”

He took one hand from the wheel and gripped hers where they were clenched under the blanket. They were still cold, her leather gloves wet through.

“Take off your gloves, and if you can bear it, tuck your hands under your arms…”

She did as she was told, cradling her body. “That helps-” she told him. “Except for my p-poor feet.” She had twisted herself in the seat to shut the wind out of her face and ease her ribs. He couldn't see her features except as a blur against the dark rug.

“Have you come far? It's foul weather to be on the road!”

“I-I drove down from Car-Carlisle-”

He eventually came upon a lane with wind-drifted snow blocking it, and got out to plow his way up the hill to the porch of a house, his shoes thickly encrusted. Although he knocked with his fist, no one came to the door, and there were no lamps lit. He stepped back, and could see no smoke in the chimney.

“Empty as a drunkard's purse,” Hamish grumbled as Rutledge started back down the drive.

“No one at home,” he told his passenger as he climbed once more behind the wheel. “We'll find another soon enough.” And hoped that he was right.

CHAPTER FIVE

The road rose over a hill and then dipped again. Off to his left Rutledge could see a turning with a fingerpost, and a hundred yards beyond that, the rough shape of a house. The wind carried the heavy scent of woodsmoke to him, and he said cheerfully, pointing, “Over there. You'll be by a fire soon!”

The lane came up so quickly he nearly missed it-no more than a long rutted bit of track that twisted up to the house and around to the yard.