Red Winter Journey

A snippet from the best-selling novel Skulduggery 'A dog barked across the beck, and the moon provided some light to guide them. The wind picked up force across the moorlands, the Pennine all but covered in a ghost-like mist. They walked across the fallow field and made their way up the side of the strip of land they tended from dawn to dusk. Sheep, like white marauders, looked up disinterested as they grazed on land that had once been tenanted by other families like theirs, now divided by dry stone walls.
They saw him face down in the ditch at the side of the field, one leg bent awkwardly across the other, his shirt sodden from the earlier drizzle, and there was no movement. As they drew closer and lowered the torch, Thomas noticed a bloodied gash on the back of his head matted and thickened with blood. There was no sound except the rustling of the heather and a quiet groan coming from the injured man.
Thomas got closer and lightly placed his hand on the man’s back. Margery warned him not to get involved.
‘We can’t leave him, mother the beasts will have him through the night; he still breathes.’
‘Aye, and if you get the blame for this and end up hanging from a rope, what are we to do?’ She replied worriedly as she looked up at the light from their cottage.
‘Come on mother, help me get him up, and we'll take him back to ours.’ Thomas passed the torch to his mother.
'These are dangerous times son, what if he’s Catholic? Leave him be fer God sake’.