The Gallows Bride (21 page)

“
Will you two stupid idiots STOP!” she bellowed, wondering if
she could find a stick, or something, to smack them over their
stupid heads with.

She
sighed deeply when they ignored her and continued to trade blows.
Hugo, in retaliation for the brutal beating he was receiving; Peter
in vengeful anger. He was still angry with the man for asking
Jemima to put herself in danger, and then causing the carriage
accident that had left her stranded out in the middle of a
ferocious storm with nothing to protect her but himself.

Peter
wasn’t sure who he was most angry at; himself for allowing Jemima
to go along with Hugo’s request, or Hugo for requesting her help in
the first place.

Inside a
small voice warned him that he was being illogical, but he didn’t
care. The frustration he had felt over the past hellishly long
months had built to uncontrollable heights and now demanded
release. Hugo, unfortunately, was in the wrong place at the wrong
time. If he did work for Scraggan, Peter reasoned, then he was
getting nothing less than he deserved for being a ruthless bastard
willing to kill a woman to line his pockets and betray his
country.

Hugo
wondered if Peter had finally lost his grip on sanity. His
relentless pounding was driven by something far deeper than the
need to protect Jemima. That thought made him pause and dodge the
fists aimed at him, rather than return them.

“
Wait!” he gasped, cursing when he tasted blood from a cut on
his lip.

He
caught Peter’s fist in one beefy hand and glared at his opponent.
“Where is she?” he gasped, before Peter could continue his
relentless fury. It was enough to make Peter stop.

He froze
and glanced around them. There was no trace of her.

“
Jemima!” he shouted, swearing when she didn’t reply. He
glanced over at Hugo, who was also trying to peer through the
darkness. “If you have taken her, you bastard, I’ll kill
you.”

“
How in the hell could I take her? I was busy giving you a
pasting,” Hugo replied, wiping blood off his cheek. He ignored
Peter’s snort and tried to peer through the driving rain for any
sign of her. He put a hand on Peter’s chest, preventing him from
moving as he stared at the ground.

“
This way,” he nodded toward the hedgerow where he had left
his horse.

Within
minutes they were at the side of the road, just in time to see
Jemima turning the horse around and heading down the road leading
to the village.

“
Where are you going?” Peter gasped, trying to talk around the
stiffness in his jaw.

Jemima
stopped the horse enough to glare down at them. “If you think I am
going to stand in the middle of a muddy field, in the middle of a
raging storm, risking being struck by lightning while you two
grapple on the ground like stupid school-boys, then both of you
have another think coming,” Jemima declared flatly. “If you want to
stay here and pound each other until morning, get on with it, but I
am going to find myself somewhere dry and warm for the night.
Preferably somewhere that can also provide me with a meal because,
right now, I am cold, soaking wet and so hungry that even this
horse is starting to look appetising. Sort yourselves out, for
God’s sake.” With that, she clucked the grateful horse onward and
made her way toward the village, leaving the two shocked men in her
wake.

Peter
and Hugo watched her go in stunned silence.

“
She’s taken my horse,” Hugo mumbled, swiping blood from his
chin, or was it rain? It was hard to tell. “She’s right, you know,
we could still be here in the morning.”

“
You wish,” Peter snarled, shooting him a filthy glare at him
on his way past. Without bothering to check that Hugo was
following, he began to stalk down the lane after Jemima.

“
Where is the cart?” Hugo asked having spent several minutes
stalking silently beside Peter.

Peter
shot him a dirty look. “As if you don’t know.”

Hugo
glared at him, frustration mounting. “If I knew, I wouldn’t bloody
ask now would I? The horse you had pulling your cart turned up in
the village before the storm him, but nobody knew where it came
from. As soon as I saw it, I knew something had gone wrong, and
came to check on you.” He glared up at the storm clouds accusingly.
“Then the bloody storm hit.”

Peter
drew to a halt and turned to face the other man. “The wheel was
tampered with and fell off in the middle of the road about three
miles back there,” he pointed into the inky blackness behind them.
“Damned near killed Jemima, but that is what you wanted, wasn’t
it?” he replied snidely.

“
Why would I want Jemima dead? I need her help with the
witch,” Hugo argued, wondering if he had missed
something.

“
Someone has tried to kill her tonight. Are you seriously
expecting me to believe it isn’t you?” Peter snapped, shaking his
head at the other man’s duplicity. He didn’t care if the man was
going to lung at his back; frustration and anger were still riding
high, rendering him ready and able to strike back.

“
Wait a minute!” Hugo snapped, his own temper beginning to
fray. “What the hell do you mean, someone has tried to kill her? I
think you had better tell me everything, Peter, and
quickly.”

The
urgency in Hugo’s tone broke through some of Peter’s anger, making
him stop and stare. He saw the concern on Hugo’s face and it was
enough to make him pause. Something warned Peter that he was wrong
and Hugo didn’t pose a threat to Jemima.

Quickly
he explained what had happened to the cart, and the bolt being
loosened.

Hugo
swore fiercely and took off after Jemima at a flat-out
run.

Without
hesitation, Peter took off after him.

Jemima
rode through the driving rain, the lights of the village looming
steadily closer. She was on the outskirts of the village by the
time Peter and Hugo ran up behind her, panting heavily from their
exertions. She shot them a filthy glare but made no attempt to stop
Peter grasping hold of the horse’s bridle.

“
Get down, Jemima, we need to talk,” Peter demanded
quietly.

Something about his quiet tone, and the worry in his eyes,
made her pause. She quickly flicked a glance at Hugo and frowned at
the concern she saw reflected there.

Doing as
she was told, Jemima dismounted and watched as both men moved to
stand shoulder to shoulder before her. Her brows rose at their
strange behaviour. Minutes earlier they had been fighting like arch
enemies. Now they were working together?

“
I haven’t set you up, Jemima,” Hugo assured her. “I promise
you I mean you no harm whatsoever. Getting you into Padstow and
back to Willowbrook to resume your life is of paramount importance
to me. Whatever happened to the cart wasn’t done by me.”

“
You can’t ride into the village like this, Jemima, it’s too
risky,” Peter added, swiping a hand down his face and wincing at
the assembled bruises that were forming beneath his battered
flesh.

“
So what now? I am not staying out in this all night,” Jemima
snapped, still put out with their childish behaviour.

“
You’re not going to,” Hugo replied nodding toward the tavern
behind her. “We are all going in, together.” He shot a glance
toward Peter, before checking his gun. “I take it you are armed
too?”

Peter
nodded briskly, motioning beneath his muddy cloak.

“
Your priority is getting Jemima out of there if anything
untoward happens. I’ll keep them back, and meet you at the next
meeting place
but one
,” he said the last two words with emphasis, watching as
Peter nodded.

“
Is there someone inside I should know about?” Jemima asked
hesitantly, picking up on the tension.

“
That’s just it, we don’t know,” Peter replied honestly. “Stay
close, darling, and we will get you out of this infernal
storm.”

Jemima
lapsed into silence and didn’t object when Peter drew her before
him, directly behind Hugo. Together they walked to the inn, the
sodden horse following them dolefully.

Their
entrance, although quiet, drew the eye of everyone within the
half-empty tap room. Only when they were inside did Jemima realise
what a sight they must look. All three of them were filthy, soaking
wet and Peter still had dark streaks of boot polish on his face.
The men were battered and bruised; Hugo bleeding from a split on
his lip; Peter’s eye swelling shut as it grew steadily
darker.

Despite
the earlier warning from Peter, Jemima took it upon herself to
explain about their carriage accident, hoping it would go some way
to easing the ripple of disquiet at the extent of some of Peter and
Hugo’s cuts and bruises.

It
didn’t.

Immediately the tavern erupted. Men came forward, offering to
help remove the cart, only for Peter to wave them back down. Given
the poor condition of the road, it was unlikely that anyone would
be travelling in such weather, and the cart would be fine where it
was for the night. Someone offered to fetch the doctor, only for
Hugo to protest that it wasn’t necessary as there was no damage
that some water wouldn’t fix. At that, the innkeeper hastily
arranged trays of food and warm water to be sent up to their
rooms.

Within
minutes they were ushered upstairs, leaving the tap room abuzz with
gossip about the three battered and bloody travellers who appeared
out of nowhere in the middle of one of the worst storms of the
year.

“
Well that should ensure we are safe from any further threat,
at least overnight,” Jemima murmured as she climbed the
stairs.

“
What do you mean?” Hugo asked, wincing as his battered
muscles protested against the strain of climbing
anywhere.

“
Nobody would dare harm us now, with half of the village aware
we are here and sympathetic to our plight,” Jemima replied. “They
also know there are three of us travelling together. Anyone who
turns up asking questions about us will do nothing but raise
suspicion.”

Peter
nodded, impressed by her logic and reasoning.

“
I suggest we all get some rest, and we will decide what we
are going to do in the morning. We aren’t that far from Padstow
now,” Hugo sighed, glad to see the door of his room before him. “I
don’t know about you two, but I am going to get cleaned up, have
some food and a good night’s sleep,” he said with a
yawn.

Bidding
them a quick goodnight, he closed the door and sighed deeply. There
was one thing for certain, Hugo mused, easing his boots off with a
deep sigh. If anything good came out of the past hour, it was the
knowledge that at least he was going into Padstow with the right
man at his back.

Downstairs, in the far corner of the tap room, a solitary
gentleman was thoughtfully drinking his pint. He had watched the
commotion carefully, his eyes going again and again to the
beautiful woman accompanying Peter Carpenter. So that was Jemima
Trevelisk, he thought to himself, finally realising why Scraggan
and Peter were so determined to get her.

There
was only one small problem that ensured neither of their plans were
going to work.

Him.

Luckily
he had arrived before the rain had started, waiting for the moment
when he could go back down the road. He cursed at having his plans
thwarted once again.

With a
sigh, he settled back against the wall and began to adjust his
plans.

Once
inside their own room, Jemima removed her sodden cloak and boots,
and went to stand before the roaring fire, grateful for its heat.
The rain had long since drenched her clothing right through to the
skin, leaving her flesh chilled and rippled with goose
bumps.

“
You need to get out of those clothes,” Peter muttered,
pulling his own sodden shirt over his head and dropping it on to
the floor. He sat tentatively on the chair before the fire and
tugged off his boots, pausing only briefly to open the door to
allow the maids to enter.

He stood
back and watched as the bath was set up before the fire and filled
with buckets of steaming hot water.

“
Bath or food first?” he asked Jemima. The need to warm his
chilled flesh warred with the need to fill his empty
stomach.

Jemima’s
stomach rumbled loudly at the same time as a huge shiver racked
her. “Bath first, then food, then bed.”

She
watched, astonished, as Peter quickly divested himself of his
breeches, clearly intending to climb in. Quickly turning her back,
she stared blankly at the wall for a moment, wondering how she was
going to get out of the room while he had a bath.

“
You can’t get a bath in your dress,” Peter whispered,
directly in her ear, making her jump. She turned and was about to
ask him what he meant when he began to draw her dress down off her
shoulders. He paused only briefly, his eyes met and held
hers.

“
I am not going to try to make love to you, no matter how much
you want me to. We could wait for each other to have a bath, at
which point the food would be cold. But, given that I have already
seen your body before, then I think it would be quicker if we had a
bath together, and then went to bed
with
the food, so we don’t have to
get up again.”