Jemima thought about that for several moments. She hated to think back to that harrowing morning in the narrow corridor, listening to people meeting their death and the baying crowds that had come to watch, but knew she needed to if she wanted answers.
“I am positive that the man who stood in front of me was Hugo Dunnicliffe. Whether he is also working for Scraggan, I don’t know. But if he is, it doesn’t make sense that he kept me from going to the gallows,” Jemima gasped, fighting to talk through the need to breathe.
“Unless he needed the information both he and Scraggan knew you had. He had to save you from the gallows to gain your trust and retrieve the evidence against Scraggan.” Peter went cold inside, thinking of the plans they had made and Hugo’s insistence that he be the one to accompany Peter and Eliza to Padstow, rather than allow one of the Star Elite to do it, or them to go alone.
“But he has the evidence on him, so why has he been going to such lengths over the past couple of days?” Jemima gasped, relieved when Peter immediately jerked to a halt and turned to frown down at her.
“Shit!” Peter spat, staring at her.
“What?”
“We’re being set up,” he replied, taking the opportunity to turn in a circle and study what he could see of the area around them. Although there was no sign of movement, that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched.
“How do you know?” Jemima frowned, wondering what Hugo had said earlier that morning.
“We have arranged to meet at a tavern, in the village over there. The only way to the village is by that road,” he jerked his head back toward the way they just came. “He also knew that at some point during our journey the wheel would drop off, leaving us helpless and in the middle of nowhere.”
“Do you think we are walking into an ambush?” She glanced around her with fearful eyes, searching the shadows for danger. Although there were vague flashes of light, she could see very little around her in the inky blackness. She fought the wave of unease the darkness caused her, but slid closer to Peter anyway.
“I think we probably are,” Peter muttered reluctantly, frantically considering their options. He shook his head and cursed himself for being every kind of fool. If he was by himself, he would have no qualms about curling up in the hedgerow and waiting out the storm, no matter how cold and wet he got. But he couldn’t allow Jemima to stay outside in such inclement weather. She wasn’t battle-hardened, and he couldn’t expect any lady to suffer such an ordeal, whatever she had experienced in life so far.
“Then let’s skirt the village and move on to the next one. We can send word to Dominic from the next inn and ask if he could send us another cart. At least we will then be out of Hugo’s gaze and away from any imminent threat.” Trying to think the situation through logically was helping to keep her rising panic from overwhelming her.
Peter shook his head. “We cannot stay out in this storm, it is too dangerous.”
As if agreeing with his declaration, a huge gust of wind buffeted them, lashing them relentlessly with rain. Thunder suddenly crashed directly above them with such ferocity that Jemima squealed and jumped closer to Peter, her hands reaching for him through the darkness.
“We need to get moving,” Peter ordered, capturing one of her hands in his and tugging her toward the village. With no other reasonable option, they had to risk going to the tavern. If they went around the back, they could bunk down for the night in the stable. They could at least see if Hugo’s horse was stabled, and have a second way out of the stable yard if anyone posed a threat. More importantly, they would be out of the wretched storm.
They had taken no more than a few steps when a jagged slash of lightning lit up the night sky. Jemima screamed when, no more than a few steps away from her, stood a man, just as wet as she was, the sharp angles of his face lit by the flash of lightning. Just as quickly he was swallowed by the inky blackness around them as the lightening vanished.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Peter cursed.
Jemima was aware of him moving quickly past her before a loud grunt reached her ears. She gasped at the sound of flesh meeting flesh as he grappled with the stranger.
Jemima quickly turned in a circle, trying to see through the darkness for anyone else creeping toward them in the night, but could see nothing.
She could barely see Peter and the man wrestling on the ground.
“You bastard!” Peter snarled, landing a well-aimed blow on the stranger’s jaw – it was Hugo!
Hugo grunted, and dodged Peter’s other fist when it swung too close to his cheek, only to curse when Peter’s second fist caught his brow.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he gasped, knowing that, if someone didn’t do something, they would probably spend the remainder of the night grappling in the mud. He was wet, dirty and getting far too many cuts and bruises on his face for his comfort, but he wouldn’t give in and simply allow Peter to pound him. He had men to command; men who would undoubtedly raise questions if he looked like he had been in a bar brawl.
“You set us up, you bastard!” Peter snarled, shoving Hugo hard into the ground, one hand clamped painfully around the man’s throat.
Hugo tugged at his wrist hard, using his free hand to land a punch on Peter’s stomach. Peter grunted and loosened his hold enough to allow Hugo to pull free. Another well aimed punch winded Peter enough for Hugo to push him off his legs and wriggle free. He had almost got to his feet before Peter dragged him back down into the mud.
Jemima stared at them for several moments and jumped when another jagged bolt of lightning lit up the sky. She turned in a circle again, but could see nobody else around them other than a solitary horse standing beside the hedgerow, looking as wet and miserable as herself.
Realising Hugo was alone, she knew that if they had any chance of getting out of the storm, she had to break them up. Sighing, she roughly grabbed a hand-ful of the material at the back of Peter’s shirt when he would have dodged Hugo’s blow. His grunt as Hugo’s fist landed on his jaw made her wince, but she held little sympathy for Peter when he immediately moved toward his opponent with his fist ready to strike.
“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.