The Gallows Bride (25 page)

A surge
of anger swept through her as she considered the number of things
that needed to be done to the place to make it habitable. Her
thoughts immediately turned to Eliza. Once Eliza was married to
Edward, she would undoubtedly be living in the luxurious splendour
of his large mansion, and would not want to visit Padstow. Living
in the house that had once been her home wasn’t going to be an
option.

That
left her asking herself if she could face living there either. She
wasn’t sure. She hoped her future lay with the man now standing
beside her but, if she had learned anything over the past several
months, it was that life had a nasty way of throwing surprises at
you when you least expected them.

If he was her husband, would Peter want to keep the house?
Did
she
want to
keep it? She wasn’t sure.

She
stepped out into the early dawn sunlight and sucked in a huge
breath of crisp morning air, glad to be away from the dust. The
salty tang of sea air assaulted her nostrils, bringing a strange
feeling of abandonment. She paused and stared over the tangle of
weeds that had once been their neatly tended garden, and felt as
though she had lost her anchor and didn’t know what she was going
to do to keep herself afloat.

“
Come on, it is already getting late,” Peter whispered,
placing a hand beneath her elbow in an attempt to capture her
attention. He hated to see the lost look in her eyes.

Clearly,
returning home had disturbed her more than either of them had
expected.

Jemima
nodded jerkily and swallowed tears. She was going to compose
herself, and get through the next few hours if it was the last
thing she did. She could not afford to give in now, not when they
had come so far.

“
Wait,” Peter whispered, wrapping one long arm around her
waist and drawing her closer to the solid protection of the
house.

Jemima
froze and glanced over her shoulder in time to catch Peter place a
finger against his lips and tug his ear. She did as she was told
and listened, but could hear nothing other than the rhythmic
slapping of the sea on the small beach nearby, and the loud cries
of the gulls as they swooped and glided along the
coastline.

She was
about to turn around when she heard what sounded like a soft
footstep in the undergrowth. The sound was accompanied by the
cracking of twigs, confirming that there was indeed someone
creeping around nearby.

Peter
instinctively moved to push Jemima between himself and the wall of
the house, studying the dense foliage carefully. After several
moments of silence, he released his hold on her cloak and began to
creep toward the corner of the house, dragging her behind him. Once
there he paused, listening intently. His instincts warned him that
he was being watched, and it filled him with urgency to get out of
the area and to Harriett Ponsonby’s before they were
challenged.

Grabbing
Jemima’s hand, he ran across the open lawn and into the cover of
the hedgerow, one hand on the pistol resting on his hip. Once
there, he scoured the area around them, but couldn’t see anyone.
Now the sun had risen, it was easier to see into the dense thicket.
But that also made them easier to see.

“
Don’t stop,” he ordered, pushing Jemima toward a gap in the
hedge. “Just lead the way to Harriett’s house and I’ll follow
you.”

Jemima
didn’t waste any time questioning him, and ran down the length of
hedgerow. She stumbled once or twice on the uneven surface but
managed to prevent herself from falling flat on her face, with
Peter’s help.

She
couldn’t remember Harriett’s house being so far away, and was
intensely grateful when she saw the familiar single-storey stone
fisherman’s cottage on the brow of the hill. Knowing Peter was at
her back, and keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding area,
Jemima didn’t bother to check for danger, practically running up
the steep slope toward her goal.

“
Round the back,” Peter panted from behind her.

Jemima
flew around the side of the building, her scream captured by the
large hand that clamped suddenly over her mouth. Her wide eyes met
Edward’s for a moment before she realised who he was and she
relaxed against him.

“
What- ?” she gasped, breathing hard from the exertion of
running up the steep hill.

Edward
stood back to reveal Eliza standing behind him, relief clear on her
face at the sight of them.

“
Did you get them?” she whispered, studying the tear tracks on
Jemima’s cheeks with a frown.

Jemima
nodded briskly and frowned at the door.

She was
about to ask why they hadn’t knocked when there was a loud thump
against the door, followed by the long ‘meeeoooww’ of a cat, and
very loud hissing.

Peter’s
brows rose as he studied the door in consternation.

“
Harrold,” Edward announced flatly.

“
The cat?” Peter scowled as the door shook again. He shared a
look with Edward and was about to suggest tossing a coin to decide
who would go in first, when the door was yanked open and a very
dishevelled, and very beautiful, young woman appeared.

“
Jemima!” she gasped. Her face lit up at the sight of her
friend. The fact that she was standing between two large brawny men
didn’t register to begin with as she stared at her friend, hardly
able to believe that she was back in Padstow.

She flew
out of the door, which banged back against the wall and slammed
shut behind her, and clasped Jemima in a warm hug for several long
moments before turning to Eliza.

“
Oh, dear Eliza,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes,
“you’re back!” and she returned Eliza’s hug without
hesitation.

Their
reunion was cut short by a loud wail of protest coming from inside
the house.

Harriett
frowned at the door and only then seemed to realise Jemima and
Eliza were not alone. Immediately, wariness replaced the joy on her
face, which abruptly closed down to reveal nothing but mild
politeness.

The
change in her demeanour was so swift, so drastic, that the men
weren’t sure what had happened.

Peter
remembered Jemima’s warning that her friend was eccentric and
somewhat withdrawn with men in particular. Only then did he realise
why Jemima had made a point of mentioning Harriett’s oddities. The
sudden change in her demeanour warned him that she wasn’t going to
be amenable to anything they wanted, for no other reason than they
were men.

Shaking
his head, he stood back and watched as Harriett turned and pushed
open the door to her cottage. The loud wailing grew louder and was
accompanied by loud thumps and bangs that made Edward tense in
readiness.

Peter
placed his hand on his pistol and waited. He didn’t care if they
had to shoot the damned cat; they weren’t going to remain outside
in plain view for much longer. He mentally began to count to ten,
his gaze locked on the doorway.

He got
to five and watched the door swing inward. A dishevelled Harriett
appeared, reluctantly beckoning them to enter. Wicked looking
scratches had bloodied the sleeves of her dress, which were now
torn beyond redemption. Peter shared a look with Edward, who just
shrugged and grinned, and followed everyone inside.

“
Before we go, I just have to take a look at that beast,”
Edward whispered, smirking at the thought of Hugo wrestling it out
of the door.

Peter
snorted. “You’re forgetting, my dear man, the beast has to go with
us!” He was aware of Edward’s horrified stare as he moved into the
house after the ladies.

Harriett
Ponsonby wasn’t what he was expecting, either. Peter was about to
turn away when a movement outside the window caught his eye. He
frowned and nodded to Edward who moved to stare out of the window
at the new arrival before moving to the door to let him
in.

Within
moments Hugo entered, shaking branches and leaves off his great
coat as he stomped through the door, a dark scowl of foreboding on
his face.

“
God, why are things never simple?” he grumbled, glaring at
Edward as he passed.

He was
about to turn to Peter, when his spotted the third lady in the
room.

The very
beautiful, dishevelled, but very intriguing, lady who must be
Harriett Ponsonby.

Surely
this can’t be the witch, he thought, wondering if he had missed
something in Jemima’s description of her friend. He had been
expecting to escort an aged harridan out of her house, not the
startling redhead staring openly back at him. This stunning goddess
before him; this epitome of perfection, was a witch?

“
Hugo, I’d like to introduce my dear friend, Harriett
Ponsonby,” Eliza said, nodding toward Harriett, who made no move to
approach any of the men. “Harriett, this is Sir Hugo Dunnicliffe,
the man who has arranged Scraggan’s downfall, and this is Peter
Davenport, Lord Harlec, and Edward Cavendish, my
fiancé.”

“
Good morning, Harriett, please excuse Eliza’s formality,”
Peter said softly, making no attempt to approach her. Clearly she
was uncomfortable with being presented with not only one male, but
three in one go. Despite her unease, if they had any chance of
getting her to leave with them, they all had to be at their
charming best.

In
deference to Jemima, he tried his level best to ease her wariness.
“Please call me Peter.”

He
pointed to Edward. “That’s Edward, and he’s Hugo. We don’t bother
with formalities, so first names will do.” With that he moved to
stand next to Jemima, openly placing her hand in his.

He
caught the look of gratitude Jemima threw him, and gave her a quick
wink in return.

“
Good morning,” Harriett murmured, uncertain how to greet
three strange men with aplomb while wearing a dress that had been
shredded.

She
jumped and rolled her eyes at the loud thump on the door leading to
the front of the house.

As one,
the men came to attention, all frowns and masculinity. Sensing
their disquiet, Harriett looked at Jemima before turning back to
the men.

“
Don’t worry, that’s Harrold,” she hastened to reassure them.
She wasn’t fearful for Harrold’s safety, but for theirs. If any of
them went to open the door, they would get far more than they
bargained for.

“
He must be quite elderly now,” Jemima murmured, her brows
arching as the door shook again.

“
He is, but it doesn’t slow him down,” Harriett replied. She
missed Eliza’s muttered, “Pity” and the sharp elbow she got from
her sister for her rudeness.

Hugo
went to the door and threw it open.

“
Wait!” Harriett shouted, spinning on her heel toward him, her
face a mask of horror.

Chaos
ensued.

An
exceedingly large ball of fur launched itself through the door in a
streak of hissing fury.

Hugo
briefly caught sight of feral yellow eyes glaring balefully at him
through a cloud of black fur before the wretched beast latched onto
his chest. His swore imaginatively as he jostled the animal, trying
to unleash its claws from the tender flesh of his chest.

“
Get this damned thing off me now!” he demanded, wondering
frantically just how many legs the cat hat. It felt like thirty. In
fact he was sure it was more like forty. He could feel every claw
piercing his flesh. The pain was searing, as he spun, twisted and
swore his way around the kitchen.

Harriett
flapped around, gasping soothing nonsense at Harrold while trying
to avoid being stood on.

Edward,
rendered practically useless by laughter, made no attempt to help
prise the animal off, and watched as Harriett grasped the creature
around the body and began to tug, to Hugo’s consternation, who was
still swearing and ordering her not to pull the bloody thing
because it was still attached to him!

In the
end, it was Peter who came to the rescue. Calmly easing Harriett to
one side, he grasped the beast by the back of the neck and pulled
it upwards.

Realising he was losing his grip, Harrold began to squirm and
protest against being held so rudely by the neck, his hisses and
yowls so loud that Jemima was certain half of Padstow could hear
him.

“
Where do you want him?” Peter asked Harriett, holding the
scrapping beast aloft like a hunting trophy.

Harriett
motioned toward the door, glaring at Hugo as she stomped past.
Outraged at being attacked by her cat, Hugo merely glared back and
began to dab the dots of blood on his chest.

“
That damned thing should be shot,” he declared flatly, one
lip curled in contempt as he glared at the cat hanging from Peter’s
hand.

“
He is my ‘damned thing’, as you put it,” Harriett cried, “and
if anyone is to blame, it is you.”

“
Me?” Hugo demanded, outraged.
He
had been the one who had been
attacked by her damned thing.
He
should be angry. What was he thinking? He
was
angry.