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.
&
nbsp; 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.