The Gallows Bride (19 page)

She
clutched at his shoulders, eyes glinting at him through the
darkness as she waited. Her skin was pearlescent in the moonlight
and he took a moment to absorb the delectable sight of her lying
wantonly open to him, without fear, without hesitation. Every
instinct screamed with hunger: the desire to capture, to plunder
was so strong he could deny it no longer. Easing her thighs high on
his hips, he slowly eased forward, impaling her on his rigid
length. He paused only briefly to allow her to adjust to his
invasion, before searing need took over and he began to rock inside
her.

Jemima
felt him deep inside her. Her thighs slipped over the outside of
his as she gripped his buttocks, urging him on. The hot moisture of
his mouth on her breast drove her onward relentlessly. She met him
thrust for thrust, her head thrashing wildly on the pillow as she
was barraged with sensation.

The
primitive side of him gloried at the sight of her long hair spread
out beneath her as she thrashed, her breasts rising and falling as
her body jerked beneath the force of his thrusts. He groaned as she
began to tighten around him. He increased his driving rhythm as his
mouth captured hers, his tongue plunging as deeply into her as his
shaft.

Jemima
gasped. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe as he drove her
body relentlessly toward the edge. His searching fingers found her
soft folds, teasing the sensitive flesh as she gasped and arched
beneath him. His weight held her down as the fiery tension coiled
tight inside her. With a small scream she shattered, her senses
imploding as she gave herself over to the shower of
stars.

Peter
paused only briefly to allow her last tremors to ease, before
teasing a pebble-hard nipple and driving into her once more. She
moaned and began to meet his thrusts, and he was lost to everything
but the driving need to possess, to brand her as his, and leave his
mark upon her.

He could
feel her begin to tighten around him again. Her clever fingers
found his buttocks, pulling them tighter against her as he impaled
her, over and over until neither of them was certain where he ended
and she began.

Jemima
moved beneath him as the raging need within his body built to
unbearable heights. Her keening cry was the last thing he
remembered before he succumbed to the demands of his own desire.
With one final thrust, he felt her body clamp tight around him, and
he shattered.

Sunlight
was streaming through the window when Jemima woke up the following
morning. Although she had slept soundly - when she did sleep - she
was still tired. Despite her exhaustion, she felt at peace with the
world. She glanced around the room, disappointed to find that Peter
had left, probably to speak to Hugo. She didn’t need to try the
door to know he had locked her in. Although she should balk at such
confinement after her ordeal in Derby, she found it reassuring that
there was a lock on the door that would help to prevent would-be
attackers from gaining entry.

Easing
out of bed she winced at the slight soreness between her legs and
groaned at the thought of having to spend another day sitting on
the hard bench of the cart again.

She had
just finished her ablutions and was busy packing their things when
Peter reappeared, shooting her a hesitant smile as he
entered.

“
Good morning,” he murmured softly, wondering if she was upset
with him for not being here when she woke up. He had wanted to be,
but he had woken later than he had intended. The need to meet Hugo
at their pre-arranged time warred strongly with the need to remain
in bed with Jemima until she woke up. Knowing Hugo would probably
have half the Star Elite behind him if he had to come and get them,
Peter had reluctantly eased out of bed and quietly left.

In the
cold light of day, although he didn’t exactly regret making love to
her, he wished he had summoned the strength to keep his hands off
her for just a few more days; at least until they got out of
Padstow, with her friend and back to Willowbrook Hall. With a sigh
he watched her close the bag, and frowned.

“
Wait a minute.” He moved to the bed and picked up two of the
small pillows, rolling them up and shoving them into the top of the
bag that held their personal effects; his razorblade, soap, her
hairbrush, and a change of clothing.

“
We can’t take those!” Jemima gasped, trying to open the bag
to drag them back out, only for Peter to smile conspiratorially at
her, swipe the bag off the bed and head toward the door.

“
Call it added protection.” He held the door open for her and
waved the bag, shooing her through the door. “We have to make up
for lost time,” he added as he passed, causing her to pause and
look back at him enquiringly. “Hugo’s waiting,” he reminded her,
ushering her toward the stairs.

Jemima
frowned, wondering if she had missed something or if he had decided
to spend today speaking in code in an attempt to keep her on her
toes. Added protection? Making up for lost time?

Jemima
was still lost in thought as she stood beside the old cart. A fresh
horse was already strapped to the traces, waiting patiently. She
almost groaned only for her curious gaze to be caught by Peter who
appeared at the other side of the cart. He opened the bag, picked
out the two pillows, unrolled them and put them on the bench seat,
shooting her a smug smile at his cleverness.

“
Climb aboard,” he ordered softly, clambering up onto the
narrow strip of wood and purloining one of the cushions for
himself. He sighed aloud at the blissful comfort and waited for
Jemima to climb up beside him. He wanted to go around and assist
her, as any gentleman would, but knew that people of their class
wouldn’t do that, and ladies were more often than not expected to
climb aboard conveyances by themselves.

Jemima sighed as she sat on the luxurious comfort of the
pillow, wincing as her bruised flesh protested at being sat on
again. She briefly wondered if she should just stand up in the back
but knew that, if anything did,
that
would certainly draw attention.
Although she couldn’t countenance theft of any kind, she knew he
had left enough coins to cover the cost of replacing the pillows,
and the benefits far outweighed the risks. Suddenly the day before
them didn’t seem so bad.

While
Hugo had proven to be exceedingly efficient, Peter knew they
couldn’t be lulled into a false sense of security. He had seen
enough of Scraggan’s men chasing Eliza to know just how determined,
and ruthless they could be, and he had no intention of being caught
out, alone, with Jemima’s life at stake.

Jemima
lapsed into silence, and frowned when she picked up on his tension.
She wondered what he wasn’t telling her. If Scraggan was nearby,
surely she had the right to know, didn’t she? Clearly, whatever
Hugo had seen had been enough of a threat for him to feel she and
Peter would be safer elsewhere.

Despite
their proximity on the thin wooden bench, Jemima felt a distance
form between them, and wasn’t sure what to do about it. She wanted
to push him further, but something kept her quiet. Lost in her
thoughts, she eased back against the seat and lapsed into
silence.

They
remained that way for the majority of the day, until Peter wondered
if he should pull the cart over to the side of the road and give
her a shake. His attempts at conversation had been rebuffed,
allowing a stilted and slightly awkward silence to grow between
them. He noted this time that she made no attempt to snuggle
against him as she had done the previous day, and felt a pang of
loss for their easy camaraderie.

“
Tired?” he asked her, when he couldn’t stand the silence any
more.

Jemima
shook her head, studying the road ahead. Over the past few miles
the road had become increasingly rough, with most of the cart track
covered in potholes. She had taken to holding on to the edge of the
seat beneath her to keep herself from bouncing off the cart
altogether. It made their progress incredibly slow and, with no
other passing vehicles, boredom had begun to set in.

The wind
had increased over the course of the day, doing its best to snatch
the last vestiges of warmth from her flesh. Turning around, she
retrieved her cloak from the back of the cart, tucking it around
her carefully and snuggling into its warmth. Luckily, it was an old
cloak of Isobel’s and was thick and warm, rather than a cheap,
thinner version a servant would be more likely to wear.

Although
it was only early evening, the sun had already given way to dark
clouds, which hung over them menacingly, threatening a deluge at
any moment.

Jemima
studied the clouds and turned to ask Peter how long it would be
before they got to the next village, when a loud crack broke the
silence.

The
wheel next to her abruptly broke away from the cart which promptly
began to tip over.

The
horse squealed as the traces tugged painfully against him.
Immediately he began to panic.

Peter
struggled to keep control of the reins and, despite his anxiety,
murmured soothingly to the startled beast, to little effect.
Instead, the horse began to gallop, trying to free himself from the
cause of the pain the only way he could.

The
cart, minus a wheel, lurched and jolted against the ruts in the
road as it ploughed its way down the track, digging deeper into the
soil until it could go no further and flipped over, throwing both
Peter and Jemima into the air.

Jemima
screamed as she was pitched out of her seat. Pain shot up her
shoulder as she landed heavily on the unforgiving
ground.

She had
no sooner hit the ground than she rolled over, screaming again at
the sight of the wooden planks of the back of the cart heading
straight for her. Frantically clambering forward, she slipped and
slid toward the safety of the hedgerow, gasping in fright at
Peter’s frantic shout from the other side of the cart. Cowering
under the thick foliage of the thorn bush, she watched the cart
crash to the ground, upside down, the three remaining wheels
whirling wildly far too close for comfort.

The
horse, still tethered, began to scream and thrash as he was dragged
down on to his side, the traces biting into his flesh
painfully.

Peter
cursed, knowing the horse would kill himself if he didn’t stop
thrashing. He saw Jemima hiding under the meagre protection of the
hedgerow. Relieved that she at least appeared unharmed, he quickly
removed the knife from his belt and cut the harness to release the
horse. Although the last thing they needed was for him to run off,
if he remained tethered he would harm himself and be useless
anyway. Peter had been around horses enough to know that if he
tried to get to his head and soothe him, the beast would just run
him over; and that was the very last thing he needed. He knew he
was taking a risk, but had no option.

He cut
the harness and lifted the highest trace enough for the horse to
lunge to his feet. Sensing freedom, the animal broke into a full
gallop.

“
Peter!” Jemima shouted, watching in horror as the animal
disappeared down the road.

“
We have no choice,” Peter replied, dropping the trace he was
holding and heading toward her. “I hope he won’t run too far. Are
you all right?”

Jemima
tried to stand up and winced at the pain down her back. Although
she ached, there was no overt pain, indicating that nothing
substantial was broken. Still trembling, she accepted his embrace
as he swept her into his arms.

“
Just shaken,” Jemima gasped. “Are you all right?”

Peter
nodded, hoping to God he never again saw anything as horrific as
Jemima lying helpless as a cart fell almost on top of her. “I’m
sure I will have a nightmare or two myself, but otherwise am
unharmed.”

They
stood clinging to each other by the side of the road for several
minutes. Peter placed random kisses around her face as he murmured
soothing endearments to her, clearly still shaken by the near miss
that could have ended so badly for Jemima. She couldn’t have moved
if her life depended on it. Her knees trembled so badly that she
wondered how they managed to carry her weight. If Peter released
her, she would fall into a heap on the floor.

Holding
her tight against him, Peter frowned at the cart. He had checked
the wheels himself that morning before they had left the inn.
Although the main body of the cart was worn, the wheels and
bearings were in excellent condition, having been replaced only a
few months ago. Peter was positive that the wheel had been intact,
with no sign of wear and tear, or cracking. Although the track was
rutted, the holes weren’t deep enough to damage a wheel
sufficiently to make it fall off.

The
longer he stared at the protruding metalwork, the deeper his frown
grew.

Jemima
sensed the tension in him, and eased back in his arms.

“
What is it?” she asked, following his line of sight back to
the cart. Although she didn’t know what he was thinking, her
survival instinct warned her that something was amiss. She didn’t
know much about carts, but knew that wheels could break and often
did fall off carriages; but not one as well maintained as
Dominic’s.