“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.