The Gallows Bride (20 page)

“
Do you think it was deliberate?” Her voice was almost timid
as she asked, and she glanced up and down the road suspiciously for
any sign of someone approaching.

Peter
shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think we should
stand here to wait for someone to find us. We need to get moving.”
He turned toward her, his face stark in the encroaching darkness.
“Do you think you can walk? The next village is a few miles ahead
of us, and we are going to have to go on foot.” He didn’t add that
it was going to get very dark, very quickly and he had no light to
guide their way. Jemima was terrified of the dark, and would hate
to be out alone without even a candle.

Jemima
sensed his worry and hastened to reassure him, in spite of her own
fears and doubts. Bravely smiling up at him, she nodded, trying to
keep the quiver out of her voice.

“
I’ll be fine. Do you think we should try to move it?” She
nodded toward the now useless cart.

Peter
shook his head. “No. If someone is following us, they can move
it.”

Jemima
made a mental note to ask him about his comment later, when they
were away from possible danger. Instead she drew back her aching
shoulders, took a deep breath and glanced at him.

“
If you know which way this village is, let’s get going then.
We can’t stand about here chatting all day now, can we?” With that,
she stuck her chin in the air, skirted tentatively around the
lumbering mass of wood now lying uselessly in the middle of the
road, and began to walk.

Peter
watched her go with pride. He knew she had just fobbed him off, and
was undoubtedly as shaken as he still was, but he admired her for
her fortitude and determination not to be cowed by the latest turn
of events.

He took
a moment to grab their bag and his cloak, and study the wheel in
the waning light. It confirmed his suspicions that someone had
loosened the bolt. Cursing roundly, he hurried after Jemima,
studying the area around them carefully as he walked for any sign
of the missing item.

Within
minutes, it began to rain.

“
Do you think we should get off this road and out of sight?”
Jemima asked, wiping moisture from her eyes so she could see Peter
more clearly, only to gasp at what she saw. His hair was plastered
to his head, but the steady rivulets of water trailing down his
chiselled cheeks was black, as the volume of rainwater began to
penetrate the thick boot polish, washing it away for all to
see.

Peter
shook his head, eyeing her sodden hair and the black stripes
running down her face. Despite their dire situation, he burst out
laughing.

Although
the rain was rapidly turning the ground beneath their feet into a
quagmire, Peter couldn’t resist the lure of her blackened face.
Whether it was due to lingering fear for her safety, or the sight
of her soaking wet, he gave in to his driving need to sweep her
into his arms. The warmth of his lips captured and held hers for
several minutes as he snuggled her against him.

The
heavy rumble of thunder in the distance broke them apart several
minutes later. Peter released her lips and glared into the sky,
cursing fate for being so cruel. Being rained on was bad enough,
and made their journey to the village on foot treacherous, but to
be out in the middle of nowhere in the midst of a raging
thunderstorm was simply asking for trouble. It was imperative they
get to safety; and quickly.

“
We need to get moving,” he declared, reluctant to break all
contact with her. Keeping hold of her hand, he began to walk,
stepping carefully over the muddy holes and puddles forming rapidly
around them.

As they
trudged along, listening to the rumbles of the thunder approaching,
Jemima was filled with a sense of urgency unlike any other. Having
spent most of her life living beside the sea, she wasn’t a stranger
to thunder-storms, and knew from the almost constant thunder that
this storm was close, and was going to be a bad one. Lengthening
her stride, she was practically running beside Peter as they
decided to cut across the fields and shorten the distance they
needed to cover.

In the
far distance, the small dots of lighted windows were barely
visible, but at least they were in sight. They gave Jemima a ray of
hope that they would get to safety before being struck by
lightning.

“
Do you think someone tampered with the cart?” Jemima gasped,
trying to keep pace with Peter’s long stride. She hadn’t missed
Peter’s careful study of the cart and wheel before he had caught up
with her. Clearly he had his own suspicions, but hadn’t yet seen
fit to discuss them with her.

As the
miles had passed and he had made no move to broach the subject, she
realised it was down to her to ask the question.

Peter
glanced over at her thoughtfully. Given she had been tossed from a
cart, nearly trampled on, was soaking wet and was streaked from
head to foot with mud and boot polish, she at least deserved his
honesty.

“
I think it may have been. The wheels were checked thoroughly
before we left Dominic’s house. I know for a fact the bearings were
changed not so long back, so are still relatively new. It doesn’t
look like they failed, or the wheel succumbed to the ruts in the
road. Unless I am mistake, the bolt was loosened, as it wasn’t
anywhere near the wheel, or cart.

“
So you think someone loosened the bolt, knowing that it would
cause the wheel to fall off – at some point during our journey?”
Jemima immediately thought of Hugo.

It appeared that Peter was thinking along the same lines when
he sighed and looked over at her, pausing only long enough to help
her over the stile before answering her. “I think someone
may
, and I stress
may
, have.”

“
Give me the truth, Peter,” Jemima gasped, drawing to a halt.
Ignoring the steady stream of water running down her hair, she
tossed the sodden mass over her shoulder and glared up at him
through the darkness that had now settled around him.

“
I don’t know,” Peter practically shouted over the thunder,
which was now directly ahead. “If we don’t get out of this bloody
rain, we are both likely to drown, so move!” He grabbed hold of her
cloak, his frustration mounting with doubts that just wouldn’t go
away.

“
Do you think Hugo tampered with the cart?” Jemima was
determined not to be put off and jerked her shoulder out of his
grasp, glaring at him defiantly when he glanced over at
her.

“
I don’t know. Are you certain it was him who was with you in
the gaol? Could he not be disguised himself?”

Jemima
thought about that for several moments. She hated to think back to
that harrowing morning in the narrow corridor, listening to people
meeting their death and the baying crowds that had come to watch,
but knew she needed to if she wanted answers.

“
I am positive that the man who stood in front of me was Hugo
Dunnicliffe. Whether he is also working for Scraggan, I don’t know.
But if he is, it doesn’t make sense that he kept me from going to
the gallows,” Jemima gasped, fighting to talk through the need to
breathe.

“
Unless he needed the information both he and Scraggan knew
you had. He had to save you from the gallows to gain your trust and
retrieve the evidence against Scraggan.” Peter went cold inside,
thinking of the plans they had made and Hugo’s insistence that he
be the one to accompany Peter and Eliza to Padstow, rather than
allow one of the Star Elite to do it, or them to go
alone.

“
But he has the evidence on him, so why has he been going to
such lengths over the past couple of days?” Jemima gasped, relieved
when Peter immediately jerked to a halt and turned to frown down at
her.

“
Shit!” Peter spat, staring at her.

“
What?”

“
We’re being set up,” he replied, taking the opportunity to
turn in a circle and study what he could see of the area around
them. Although there was no sign of movement, that didn’t mean they
weren’t being watched.

“
How do you know?” Jemima frowned, wondering what Hugo had
said earlier that morning.

“
We have arranged to meet at a tavern, in the village over
there. The only way to the village is by that road,” he jerked his
head back toward the way they just came. “He also knew that at some
point during our journey the wheel would drop off, leaving us
helpless and in the middle of nowhere.”

“
Do you think we are walking into an ambush?” She glanced
around her with fearful eyes, searching the shadows for danger.
Although there were vague flashes of light, she could see very
little around her in the inky blackness. She fought the wave of
unease the darkness caused her, but slid closer to Peter
anyway.

“
I think we probably are,” Peter muttered reluctantly,
frantically considering their options. He shook his head and cursed
himself for being every kind of fool. If he was by himself, he
would have no qualms about curling up in the hedgerow and waiting
out the storm, no matter how cold and wet he got. But he couldn’t
allow Jemima to stay outside in such inclement weather. She wasn’t
battle-hardened, and he couldn’t expect any lady to suffer such an
ordeal, whatever she had experienced in life so far.

“
Then let’s skirt the village and move on to the next one. We
can send word to Dominic from the next inn and ask if he could send
us another cart. At least we will then be out of Hugo’s gaze and
away from any imminent threat.” Trying to think the situation
through logically was helping to keep her rising panic from
overwhelming her.

Peter
shook his head. “We cannot stay out in this storm, it is too
dangerous.”

As if
agreeing with his declaration, a huge gust of wind buffeted them,
lashing them relentlessly with rain. Thunder suddenly crashed
directly above them with such ferocity that Jemima squealed and
jumped closer to Peter, her hands reaching for him through the
darkness.

“
We need to get moving,” Peter ordered, capturing one of her
hands in his and tugging her toward the village. With no other
reasonable option, they had to risk going to the tavern. If they
went around the back, they could bunk down for the night in the
stable. They could at least see if Hugo’s horse was stabled, and
have a second way out of the stable yard if anyone posed a threat.
More importantly, they would be out of the wretched
storm.

They had
taken no more than a few steps when a jagged slash of lightning lit
up the night sky. Jemima screamed when, no more than a few steps
away from her, stood a man, just as wet as she was, the sharp
angles of his face lit by the flash of lightning. Just as quickly
he was swallowed by the inky blackness around them as the
lightening vanished.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Peter
cursed.

Jemima
was aware of him moving quickly past her before a loud grunt
reached her ears. She gasped at the sound of flesh meeting flesh as
he grappled with the stranger.

Jemima
quickly turned in a circle, trying to see through the darkness for
anyone else creeping toward them in the night, but could see
nothing.

She
could barely see Peter and the man wrestling on the
ground.

“
You bastard!” Peter snarled, landing a well-aimed blow on the
stranger’s jaw – it was Hugo!

Hugo
grunted, and dodged Peter’s other fist when it swung too close to
his cheek, only to curse when Peter’s second fist caught his
brow.

“
What the hell is wrong with you?” he gasped, knowing that, if
someone didn’t do something, they would probably spend the
remainder of the night grappling in the mud. He was wet, dirty and
getting far too many cuts and bruises on his face for his comfort,
but he wouldn’t give in and simply allow Peter to pound him. He had
men to command; men who would undoubtedly raise questions if he
looked like he had been in a bar brawl.

“
You set us up, you bastard!” Peter snarled, shoving Hugo hard
into the ground, one hand clamped painfully around the man’s
throat.

Hugo
tugged at his wrist hard, using his free hand to land a punch on
Peter’s stomach. Peter grunted and loosened his hold enough to
allow Hugo to pull free. Another well aimed punch winded Peter
enough for Hugo to push him off his legs and wriggle free. He had
almost got to his feet before Peter dragged him back down into the
mud.

Jemima
stared at them for several moments and jumped when another jagged
bolt of lightning lit up the sky. She turned in a circle again, but
could see nobody else around them other than a solitary horse
standing beside the hedgerow, looking as wet and miserable as
herself.

Realising Hugo was alone, she knew that if they had any
chance of getting out of the storm, she had to break them up.
Sighing, she roughly grabbed a hand-ful of the material at the back
of Peter’s shirt when he would have dodged Hugo’s blow. His grunt
as Hugo’s fist landed on his jaw made her wince, but she held
little sympathy for Peter when he immediately moved toward his
opponent with his fist ready to strike.