by Rebecca King
“What? What is it?” Jemima asked, waiting patiently for him to stop chuckling long enough to draw breath.
“We are all right, because the boot polish needs a lot of soap and water to wash off.”
“So?” Jemima frowned, wondering what was so funny about that.
“Eliza - oh God,” and he burst out laughing again.
It took several more minutes for Jemima to realise what was so funny. Jemima had streaked her hair with cocoa, which needed water. She would undoubtedly smell – and look – like a cup of hot chocolate if it rained heavily.
“Edward’s going to have a conniption,” Jemima said, biting her lip in an attempt not to laugh. But it was useless.
The thought of Eliza in her spinster-like clothing, riding on a carriage, with brown streaks of cocoa running down her face, smelling like a cup of hot chocolate, while Edward glared at her balefully was too much.
Their laughter remained with them for several long miles.
They stopped twice to eat, each time choosing a coaching inn located just off the main road. Although seemingly relaxed, Peter had remained watchful and had spent a lot of time studying the people around them for possible threats.
Throughout the day, they had found a variety of topics to discuss. Jemima now knew a lot about Peter’s childhood with Isobel, and Peter knew more about Jemima losing her mother at a young age, and the family’s struggle to continue a normal life without a woman to run the household. They had talked about their favourite foods and pastimes, their distant relations and immediate family.
By the time they turned into the slightly shabby tavern later that evening, Jemima felt as though she had known Peter forever. They had discovered they had so much in common that they felt a strong camaraderie.
It cemented Peter’s opinion that Jemima was indeed his soul mate.
Although she tried to be as matter-of-fact about it as possible, Jemima knew what the arrival at the inn heralded.
At Havistock she had readily agreed to travel with Peter as man and wife, although that also meant they were expected to share a room. Peter had insisted that they travel as man and wife to allow him to protect her as much as physically possible.
It also meant that they would be sharing a bed.
As she disembarked and entered the inn, Jemima was thinking about the next few hours and what it would mean for their relationship. Was she ready to be intimate with Peter again? She wasn’t certain. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t see the man approach her until they bumped shoulders.
Immediately she jolted and looked up, straight into familiar eyes. Everything within her froze as she studied those eyes for several moments, before Peter gave her a gentle nudge. His hand at her elbow encouraged her into the main tap room where he quickly arranged a room for them and ushered her up the stairs. By the time she had the chance to glance behind her, the man had gone.
Once in their room she immediately moved to the window and glanced down at the street below, but darkness had descended and she could only see her own reflection.
“Draw the curtains, Jemima,” Peter ordered, depositing their bag on the bed.
Jemima did that with a sigh of relief, and turned back to Peter, a frown on her face.
“Did you see that man?”
Peter paused, his gaze meeting hers directly. “Yes. Does he look familiar to you?”
Jemima considered for several moments and then gasped, “Oh!”
Peter nodded slowly. “He is going to follow us down. There is another man following Edward and Eliza.”
With his hair plastered to his head with a liberal amount of grease and combed over his high brow, several days’ growth of stubble, and old farmer’s clothing, Hugo had barely been recognisable.
“I didn’t realise he would be so close,” Jemima muttered, feeling vaguely reassured that there was additional support should they need it. Although she trusted Peter with her life and had no doubt of his fighting capabilities, it reassured her that, should he be outnumbered, someone who knew what he was doing was able to fight at his back.
She had learned from both Eliza and Peter that on previous excursions, Peter had been supported by Edward, Sebastian and Dominic. This time Dominic and Sebastian had been forced to remain at home. Isobel was due to give birth any day now, and Amelia was also expecting her baby in the near future, and needed to return to her own home for her own confinement once Isobel had given birth. Despite Dominic and Sebastian’s protests, they were not allowed to put their lives at risk, given the imminent arrival of their children. They were outvoted, and were forced to watch the rest leave without them.
“It’s his job,” Peter replied, sitting on the bed and tugging his boots off with a sigh. They were a little thinner than his own boots and pinched his toes. He wiggled the bruised digits tentatively for several moments. “He can hardly expect you to put yourself in such danger, while keeping himself at a safe distance. He clearly has every intention of carrying out his orders as fully as possible, even if that means guarding us himself,” Peter yawned. There was a knock at the door: their dinner had arrived. He rose to answer the door.
Silence descended for several minutes as they sat at the small rickety table before the fireplace, and ate the delicious food the maid had brought up.
Once her empty stomach was full, Jemima sat back in her chair and watched Peter finish his own meal.
“Have you seen anyone who is familiar?” he asked her, washing down the last of his bread with some wonderfully aromatic brandy.
Jemima shook her head. “Apart from Hugo? No.”
“Good,” Peter replied, studying her for several moments. “Which side?”
As they ate, he had sensed her discomfort at the sight of the bed only a few feet away from where they were sitting. Clearly, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of sharing it with him, but he certainly had no intention of sleeping in a chair or, even worse, on the floor again. However, he knew it would be folly to make any advances toward her until she was ready.
It was going to be a very long night.
“I need a few words with Hugo about tomorrow,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep? I’ll only be a few minutes.” He didn’t wait for her agreement, and was aware of her watching him leave the room.
Once outside, he carefully checked the corridor before locking the door to their room behind him. Although he hated to lock her in, he couldn’t risk leaving the door unlocked for anyone to wander in.
He waited for several moments, but when there was no objection from Jemima, quietly eased away from the door and headed to the tap room. He had no intention of approaching Hugo at any time during their journey.
Before they had left, he had agreed that Hugo would leave his horse tethered in the stable yard of the inn they were meant to stay in overnight. An inn that had good exit routes, and secure locks on the doors to rooms that accommodated respectable clientele. At some point, Hugo would cross paths with Peter to confirm all was well. Hugo would then leave and find his own accommodation for the night.
After several minutes of sitting in the tap room looking bored, Peter returned to the room. As predicted Jemima was already in bed, curled up facing the window, the covers tucked up to her ears.
With a casual yawn, Peter blew out most of the candles scattered around the room before taking off his clothing and climbing into bed beside her. Although the progress they had made throughout the day had been wonderful, he knew he had to be patient. To rush her, might push her away, and he couldn’t bear her to look upon him with any kind of wariness. Although she was no stranger to him, it had been several long months since they had last made love and a lot had happened since. She had allowed him to share the bed with her; he couldn’t expect any more than that.
Blowing out the last candle, he settled down under the covers and fell asleep.
Her cries woke him sometime later.
Immediately alert he jumped from the bed
and studied the room, checking the latch on the door to make sure it was still locked. The room was still bathed in darkness, and he could see little else. Quickly lighting a candle, he looked at Jemima and cursed.
She was clearly trapped in a nightmare; perhaps of her ordeal at Derby. He didn’t want to think about what she was remembering. Given the horror clearly etched on her face, and the gut-wrenching sobs that were being torn from her, she was trapped in her own personal hell.
Peter quickly lit several more candles before resuming his place in the bed. He tried to ease her into his arms, only for her to thrash out wildly and protest.
“Jemima?” he whispered softly, giving her a gentle shake. “Come on, darling, you’re dreaming. Wake up for me.”
When he got no response, he shook her harder. He didn’t bother to whisper when he called her name again, and again. Eventually his persistence won through, and with a jerk, she cried out and sat upright.
Jemima stared at the unfamiliar fireplace blankly for several moments before she realised Peter was beside her. She turned tearful eyes to him as she waited for her nightmare to fade. As her breathing calmed, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow. Her eyes remained locked on Peter’s. His presence beside her was a safe haven while the stormy sea of dark memories began to calm.
“Come here,” Peter whispered, hating the lost look in her eyes. Encouraging her to lie back down, he pulled her tightly against his chest, relieved when she snuggled against him without issue.
He thought she had fallen asleep and jumped when she tipped her head upwards until her eyes met his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, still shaken by her nightmare.
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” Peter replied, wishing he could fight the nightmares as easily as any physical adversary.
Sleep was beginning to soften the edges of his world, when he became aware of gentle fingers teasing the liberal smattering of hairs on his chest. Trying to ignore his body’s instinctive reaction, he shifted a little to ease the ache and waited, hoping she would go back to sleep.
She didn’t.
“Jemima,” he muttered, capturing her hand against the warm flesh of his stomach. “We can’t.” He didn’t need to look at her to see that she was frowning up at him. Opening his eyes, he sighed deeply and turned to her. “It isn’t that I don’t want you, please don’t misunderstand. It is just that I want you to want me, not the comfort I can give you because you have nightmares.” He didn’t add that he wasn’t going to allow anything to damage the progress they had made the previous day, not even his desire for her.
“I love you, and I want you more than anything in the world,” Peter whispered, capturing her hand and holding it against his chest. “But only when the time is right,” he added, remembering her anxiety when they had first entered the room.
“When will that be?”
“You’ll know,” he replied. The first time they had made love, she had been filled with worry for her safety. Although their attraction had been mutual, he had often wondered if it had been fuelled by the desire to have a protector, rather than desire for him per se. She wasn’t cold-hearted or devious enough to sleep with him with an ulterior motive, but he wanted – needed – to know that she wanted him. If he had to wait until Scraggan was dead, and they were settled at Willowbrook free from threat, then so be it. He had waited months to find her again: a few more weeks of physical pain and discomfort would be worth it in the long run, if Jemima accepted his hand in marriage.
As sleep claimed him, the image of the old Norman church on the edge of his estate in Willowbrook swam in his mind, beckoning him with the tantalising promise of what could be. It was enough to reassure him that, despite the physical discomfort, he was making the right decision. For both of them.
“All right, the cart seemed a good idea at the time,” Jemima reasoned. “How was I to know it would be so darned uncomfortable?” She winced as she shuffled on to a particularly bruised part of her bottom and immediately began to wriggle.
“I’m sure I have got splinters in my backside,” Peter grumbled, wincing as the hard, wooden bench bit into his bruised upper thighs.
Despite her discomfort, Jemima giggled.
“I told you we should have bought the whole pillow and not just the cases,” Peter added, shooting her an arrogant look.
Jemima shook her head at him. “We are thieves, and will be lucky if we don’t end up in gaol.”
“I left the innkeeper some coins; that means we have paid handsomely for them so, in theory, we haven’t stolen them,” Peter reasoned, pleased that they were back to their easy camaraderie again. He liked to banter with her, and loved to see the way her eyes lit up, free of shadows, when she smiled at him. It made him want to make her laugh more and more.
“But did you ask him if he wanted to sell them to you?”
“No, but I could hardly say we were so tired we didn’t wash the boot polish off our hair last night, and the pillow covers look like they have been in the stables with the horse,” Peter declared ruefully. “Taking them and leaving coinage seemed a reasonable exchange, and has stopped us leaving a trail of gossip in our wake about the strange couple who have a penchant for boot polish!”
Jemima smiled and shook her head, wriggling at the discomfort in her upper thighs.
“We are going to stop at the next village,” Peter nodded at the small group of buildings ahead of them. “Not long now,” he added encouragingly, flicking the tired horse with the reins in the hope the horse was as eager to finish the day as they were.
It took an age before the cart turned into the road leading to the village’s one and only tavern. Jemima gazed at it longingly for a moment.
“Shit!” Peter tilted his head down to her. “Duck your head low and keep your face as hidden as possible!” He made no attempt to mask the urgency in his voice.
“What?” Jemima frowned, trying to see past his head.
“Do it Jemima, don’t look up until I tell you.” He knew he was scaring her. She had suddenly gone pale and her eyes were wide.
“What’s wrong? Is it Hugo?” she whispered, ducking her head low. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t tied her hair back so severely and instead left it loose so it could fall around her face, but there was little she could do now.
“He’s detected a problem; just keep your face averted,” Peter cautioned, unsurprised when she immediately slid across the wooden bench until she was pressed against him.
Although seemingly unperturbed, Peter practically hummed with tension as he kept the horse at a steady pace down the main street. As he approached his eyes met and held Hugo’s meaningfully for several moments. He caught Hugo’s slow blink and quickly looked away, urging the horse onward, past the inn’s entrance.
“What is it?” Jemima whispered as they turned off the main street and started to make their way out of the village.
“I don’t know. We agreed that Hugo would ride ahead and check the taverns before we arrived. If he saw anything unusual, he would wait outside, so we could see him, so we knew not to stop.”
“Do you think it is Scraggan or his men?” Jemima’s stomach lurched at the thought of such evil being so close. Suddenly the discomfort of the bench beneath them seemed a minor thing, in comparison to their safety. She felt a pang of loss for the easy companionship they had shared throughout the day. Even the sun, shining so brightly up in the sky, suddenly didn’t seem so warm or so bright.
“I don’t know.” Peter eased the reins into one hand and slid his arm around her. “You’ll be all right, Jemima, I promise.”
He hated to see the haunted look return so easily, and cursed Scraggan for his very breath for the damage he had done to such a wonderful woman. Quickly checking the road ahead, he waited until the hedges on the sides of the road disappeared before tipping her head backward for a quick kiss. He took the opportunity to take a quick look behind them, and caught sight of Hugo galloping across the fields, clearly trying to get ahead and search for s
omewhere else to stop.
Jemima was so cold. Peter’s warm body sitting so close to her did little to penetrate the chill that pervaded her bones, yet she returned his kiss without hesitation. The warm reassurance of his chiselled lips gliding softly over hers was so tender that she felt some of her tension begin to wane. When he would have drawn back, Jemima eased her hand into the soft hair at the nape of his neck and held his head still while she deepened the kiss, reassured when he gave her everything she asked for.
“You’ll pay for that, minx,” he whispered huskily, placing one last, lingering kiss on her lips before easing back. He eyed the slight flush that gave her face a peachy glow with masculine satisfaction, and continued to hold her tightly against him as he settled back to study the area, urging the horse onward with the reins.
“What do we do now?” Jemima asked, still struggling to shake off the sensual fog Peter had woven around her so easily.
“We move on to the next village,” Peter replied, catching sight of Hugo heading around the village ahead. Clearly, they wouldn’t be stopping at the next village either. Shaking his head, he understood that Hugo wanted to put some distance between them and whoever had just passed, but that didn’t do anything to aid their sore bottoms, or help their tired horse.
As it turned out, they travelled for several more miles until the sun was beginning to wane, before Peter saw Hugo lingering ahead on the outskirts of a small hamlet several miles away from Gloucester.
They were too close for Peter to make eye contact with him, but heaved a sigh of relief when Hugo slowly turned his horse down the main thoroughfare.
“What is he doing?” Jemima whispered, casting a furtive glance around.
Peter smiled encouragingly at her. “He is signalling to us that this village is fine, and we can go straight to the tavern.”
Jemima scowled and wondered if she had missed something. “Is this some sort of secret boy’s code?” She hated being kept out of the loop and hated secrets even more.
