Jemima sensed the tension in him, and eased back in his arms.
“What is it?” she asked, following his line of sight back to the cart. Although she didn’t know what he was thinking, her survival instinct warned her that something was amiss. She didn’t know much about carts, but knew that wheels could break and often did fall off carriages; but not one as well maintained as Dominic’s.
“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 car
t.
“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?”