Free Stand and Deliver Your Love by Killarney Sheffield

was no sound other than the birds chirping and a few busy bees flying about. Her mare stepped onto the soft side of the road and immediately sank, almost knee deep in loose mud. Shadow floundered for a moment then regained her footing. Sarah clutched the horse’s mane and looked both ways down the road. There was no one in sight. She turned west in the direction Byron had been coming from during the storm. The horse picked her way through the muck and broken tree limbs. As she rode she listened for any sign of a rider approaching. If she were found here she would be hard pressed to explain how she came to be out alone this far from any property.
    Rounding a bend she came across a large black shape in the brush to one side. Her mare danced nervously and snorted. Upon closer inspection she realized it was the carcass of a dead horse. Crows already fought and cawed over the mud-caked animal as they tore through the hide to the f lesh underneath. Pity for the dead animal she realized must be one of Bacchus’ unfortunate harness mates allowed a tear to slipped down her cheek. A little further on she came across the remains of another black horse and the wreckage of the carriage they must have been pulling. There was no sign of the fourth horse. Sarah guided Shadow to a nearby tree and dismounted, tying the reins to the sturdy trunk. She approached the overturned carriage cautiously. Something lying on the ground half under it drew her attention. It was a muddy silk handkerchief. She crouched down and gasped when she picked it up. A set of lifeless eyes stared back at her from a young man’s pale face concealed underneath. Jumping to her feet, she dropped the cloth back over the dead man’s face.
    Slipping and sliding she made her way around to the other side of the carriage. Peering in the broken window she made out the twisted body of a second man inside. Her stomach twisted and rebelled as she forced herself to climb inside and look around for any luggage. Trying not to touch the body, she felt around until her fingers found a damp paper folder. She snatched it up and scrambled from the carriage. Once outside she crouched in the mud and involuntarily relieved her rebellious stomach of its contents.
    After her insides settled she leaned back against the side of the carriage and wiped her sweaty brow with her sleeve. Death in the orphanage, although upsetting, was just a soft passing away of the soul compared to the sickening smell of rank bodies and twisted limbs she just discovered.
    Willing her hands to stop shaking, she opened the folder. The ink on the papers was smudged by rain and mud, but clear enough to make out ledger columns. From what she could gather it appeared someone had been embezzling funds from the government war accounts. Flipping through, the pages showed more unbalanced totals and named two possible sources of the discrepancies. The Earl of Winchester, whom she had never heard of, and the Marquis of Hampton. Byron.
    Sarah shoved the papers back into the folder and stood. Making her way back around the other end of the carriage she came across a small trunk and a satchel. She lifted the lid on the trunk and found clean gentleman’s garments, as well as various grooming accessories. His lordship’s clothing, she assumed. Opening the satchel she found more official looking documents regarding various investments and holdings, pertaining to the lord, and a sack of coins. She shook the coins out into the palm of her hand and counted them. The sack contained a measly thirty pounds. She supposed a man as wealthy as the marquis had no need for coins; he probably purchased anything he needed or wanted on accounts. Sarah sighed, it wasn’t much, but it would pay the rents for another two months.
    The trunk was too heavy and awkward for her to carry, so she untied her cloak and spread it out on a small grassy patch near her horse. Then wiping her hands on her skirts in an attempt to clean them, she made her way