“Unless I am mistaken, you should have been hanged in Derby a while back; what went wrong?” Scraggan’s voice was conversational, but lost none of its sinister edge. He clearly didn’t want an answer. “I guess that’s what happens when you send someone else to do a job for you.”
Jemima j
umped, and stared in horror at the outline of the small, wiry man barely visible through the gloom. Peter’s hand briefly encircled Jemima’s. He could feel her fingers trembling and silently willed her to stay calm and trust him to keep her safe.
“It’s about time you showed your face Scraggan,” Peter grumbled, wishing he could slide his arm around Jemima and reassure her, but he daren’t take his eyes off the man before him.
For someone so small, he certainly managed to cause a lot of destruction in people’s lives, Peter mused cynically, eyeing the stick-thin legs of the much shorter man. Height for height, Peter outclassed him. Weight for weight, there was no competition. Despite the physical advantages, Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about facing down Scraggan.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the older man announced evilly, eyeing them all with contempt.
“How did you get through the Redcoats?” Peter asked, thinking of the long, impenetrable line of soldiers that had waited for them to leave Padstow before closing ranks.
“Ha! Redcoats! That idiot bunch are useless. I knew something was happening when word got to us that they were gathering in Bodmin,” Scraggan boasted proudly. “My men were ahead of them and told me where they were camped. They also told me you were still alive and were in Little Petherick, Jemima.”
Jemima flinched, and knew he was telling the truth. The small hairs crept up on her neck as she realised that they had been watched since their arrival.
“We watched you go to the witch’s house,” Scraggan boasted, turning to nod at the small cliff path not far behind him. “Didn’t take much to see which way you were going, and follow by boat. Rowed straight out of the harbour, we did. Right out from under the Redcoat’s noses, and they didn’t suspect a thing.” Scraggan’s voice was laced with satisfaction.
Peter couldn’t see the cliff path through the mist, but had no doubt it was there. He knew there was no other way Scraggan could have found a way past the Redcoats. He cursed his luck, and made a mental note to remind Hugo to watch out for such things on future operations. Right now though, he had bigger problems.
Peter watched Scraggan saunter toward them. Despite the slippery rocks beneath his feet, the smuggler’s tread was as steady as a mountain goat’s, warning Peter that, should it turn into a physical fight, Scraggan would have the advantage.
“Where are the others?” Peter demanded, staring at the smaller man.
“They’re safe,” Scraggan replied defensively. “I’m not a murderer.”
“No,” Peter agreed, in a tone that was anything but agreeable. “You prefer to get everyone else to do your dirty work for you, don’t you Scraggan?”
Scraggan turned hard eyes on first Peter, then Jemima, smiling when she looked away, clearly scared. “Obviously, I have relied on the wrong people to do a proper job.” He sighed loudly. “It looks like I am going to have to my own dirty work this time.”
Releasing his hold on Jemima, Peter put himself between his love and the imminent threat to her life.
“Aaah, isn’t that cute,” Scraggan snarled, “he’s showing some bravery.”
“Who the hell are you talking to, Scraggan? There is nobody here to listen to you. If you are trying to unnerve us, you are going to have to do better than that.”
Scraggan snorted. “It’s about time we came face to face, Davenport,” he said, drawing to a stop a few feet away; close enough to pose a threat if he decided to lunge at them, but far enough away to be out of Peter’s reach if he decided to throw a punch.
“So, what do you want with us Scraggan? You will get nothing from either Jemima or me, I can promise you that,” Peter announced.
With the fog shrouding them from watchful eyes, Peter knew that everyone’s survival depended upon the next few minutes.
“It’s payback time,” Scraggan snarled, his small, beady eyes almost feral as they glared at Peter. “Did you really think you could evade me?”
“I’m not trying to evade you Scraggan, I’m not frightened of you.” Peter’s voice was full of arrogant dismissal, and to emphasise his point he slowly trailed his condescending gaze from Scraggan’s wild grey hair to the tips of his grubby boots.
“You are the kind of man who enjoys terrorising women,” Peter snapped. “It isn’t brave to chase after a woman, Scraggan. Even you must have enough intelligence to realise that. You aren’t worth bothering with. Without your men, who are undoubtedly busy right now going to Bodmin, you are nothing. Nobody.” He knew that last remark had hit its mark when Scraggan immediately drew himself up to his full height, flicking Jemima a brief look of contempt before seemingly dismissing her as being of little interest.
“I’m not after the bitch, you fool! I never have been. Although, with the trouble she has caused, I should have murdered her the first time I clapped eyes on her,” Scraggan spat with such finality that Peter paused.
“What?” Jemima gasped, unsure she had heard him correctly. She glanced questioningly at Peter. Despite her fear of him, Jemima had to ask. “You weren’t after me?”
“You have no idea, do you?” Scraggan asked, ignoring her and studying Peter closely. He seemed to find this extremely funny.
It wasn’t his hilarity that unnerved Jemima, but the suddenness with which it stopped. One moment, he was laughing almost maniacally, the next he was glaring in cold contempt.
“It’s you I want, Peter Davenport. You owe me,” Scraggan stated flatly, clearly expecting Peter to pay up there and then.