The Gallows Bride Read online

  If he was honest, he knew the odds were stacked against them, but the battle-hardened warrior within him refused to just stand back and simply accept that she was going to the gallows. While she had breath in her body, there was still a ray of hope that they could get a stay of execution, or persuade the gaoler that she was a lady of quality and not the person she claimed she was. It would be enough – maybe – to get a stay of execution while they got her out. She may have given up on saving herself, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat so readily. There simply had to be a way to get her out of there. If the marriage thing didn’t work, then they would have to come up with another plan. He wasn’t going to leave her there.

  “You are my wife. We can request a stay of execution and demand a retrial,” Peter argued, his hard glare of warning defying the gaoler to contradict. “If you don’t admit the truth here and now, then you are going to die.” Desperation clawed at him when after several moments, it became clear that she wasn’t going to help herself.

  Grabbing her thin arm, he dragged her over to the window and pointed out into the darkness to the solitary wooden structure. The gallows stood in shadowy menace, waiting for dawn to approach. Jemima felt a jolt of horror surge through her as she stared at the gruesome sight with glazed eyes. She knew that, once she had been condemned, they would have to build the gallows, but hadn’t realised that they would be able to build it so quickly.

  Standing so close to him, his scent teasing her nostrils, so achingly familiar, she was sorely tempted to simply lean against him and beg for his help. To take the opportunity to declare her love and longing for him one last time. But she knew that to do so would bring him nothing but more pain.

  She had heard the old adage, ‘if you love someone, you have to let them go’, but she didn’t realise how much it would hurt. Somehow she had to spare him. Chained like an animal, with men deciding everything for her, there was little she could do except make him hate her.

  Turning to face him was the hardest thing she had ever done. She studied the beloved lines of his face for several moments, committing each sun-kissed dip and hollow of his angular face to memory. Tears pooled in her amber eyes as they met his turbulent green gaze solemnly for several moments. The words she ached to voice hovered so temptingly on her lips. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, for his ears only. All her longing, fear, desperation and sorrow were contained in those two simple words.

  “For God’s sake, Jemima, help yourself, tell the man I am your husband and we can get a stay of execution,” Peter demanded, fighting the urge to shake her.

  Jemima looked over to the gaoler, who sat shaking his head sadly. He knew the futility of their attempts to get her out, but appeared willing to at least let Peter try.

  “I don’t know what you want from me, but there is nothing you can do. I thank you for your efforts, but you must get on with your own life now,” she declared boldly, her chin raised in defiance as she began to shuffle away from him.

  He grabbed her elbow on a painful hold. “So that’s it? I’m just supposed to go and watch you swing?” He knew he was shouting, but desperation clawed at him. Why wasn’t she listening?

  “Go away!” Jemima gasped, wincing as his hard fingers bit cruelly into her flesh. She could feel the rage trembling in his fingers.

  “You are going to die! Does that not mean anything to you? Do we not mean anything to you?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her once, far harder than he ought. He was aware of a flurry of movement on the other side of the room, but didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Desperation drove him to force her to realise the significance of her plight. There was going to be no second chance. This was it. Failure would mean death.

  “Goodbye, Peter,” she whispered, trying to ease out of his hands. The pressure of his hold on her branded her chilled flesh, and she suddenly could stand no more.

  Drawing her chin upwards, she glared at him defiantly. “Thank you for trying to help me, but you really have to go now.”

  “What about Eliza?” Peter shouted, desperately searching for anything to make her see reason. “Does she mean nothing to you?”

  Jemima wrenched out from beneath his hands with a cry, and shuffled across the room.

  As she passed, her gaze landed on the oldest of the brothers. Even his ruggedly handsome face was filled with sorrow and sympathy. He knew there was no way out, but his affection for his best friend ensured he was there for him.

  “Jemima, please don’t do this. They are going to hang you, for God’s sake. Just admit that we are married and we can ask for a stay of execution,” Peter argued, his voice rising as he watched her cross the room.

  “We aren’t married,” Jemima replied, almost hearing her fate being sealed by her own declaration. “We have never been married,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with the depth of her emotion. “But you simply cannot and will not put your life – your very future – at risk because of me. I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill the mayor, of course I didn’t; but I have no way of proving that I didn’t do it.” Her gaze met and held Peter’s with an air of finality that made him curse fluidly.

  He stalked across the room toward her, bristling with temper.

  “Guards!” Mr Simpson bellowed, launching out of his chair at the ferocity on Peter’s face.

  “It’s all right,” Dominic soothed, moving to stand between the door and Jemima. He glared at Mr Simpson. “What do you think he is going to do?” Dominic snapped, glaring at the officious man from across the desk. “There is nowhere to go. She is chained, for God’s sake.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Mr Simpson announced. “It’s time for her to go back to her cell.”

  “But you just heard her say she didn’t do it!” Dominic argued. “You have a duty to make sure her side of things are taken into account.”

  “She was given the opportunity in court,” Mr Simpson argued.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Jemima interjected. “Nobody listened.”

  “What do you expect?” Mr Simpson snapped, his patience clearly running out. “You were caught standing over the body, holding a bloodied knife and the dead man’s coins in your hand.”

  Silence settled over the office.

  “I was set up,” Jemima replied weakly, feeling another wave of helplessness sweep through her. She was suddenly so very tired. She wanted to curl into a tight ball and forget everything.

  Within moments two burly guards appeared in the doorway.

  “Wait by the door,” Mr Simpson ordered them, resuming his seat with a glare at Peter.

  “From what I can see, there is no evidence to confirm you are married. The prisoner herself admits she is not married to you. There is no ground for a stay of execution, or even requesting the courts to go over the evidence again,” he reasoned. His eyes met and held those of the gaoler standing quietly in the corner of the room before he turned back to the prisoner, his face a mask of dispassionate arrogance.

  “You are adamant you didn’t marry this man?” he asked, his voice now officious and brusque. Clearly, his decision had been made and he would do little else to assist them.

  A sense of finality hung in the air as Peter turned his horrified gaze back to Jemima.

  “Why won’t you help yourself?” he demanded, so frustrated with her that he wanted to punch something. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her harshly. “Why? Why would you want to go to the gallows?”

  Jemima gasped, and reluctantly lifted her hands to place them on his forearms. Beneath the layers of material, she could feel the hard strength that thrummed with life and almost cried out with the need to be held by him just once more. Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared into his eyes one last time.

  “I have no life now. Scraggan has seen to that. Even if I got a stay of execution, he would still haunt my every waking moment. There is no stopping him, you see,” and she swallowed harshly, wishing she had longer to make him understand.

&
nbsp; But inside she knew that even if she had several hours, he would never agree; never accept what she was about to say. “Scraggan set me up. So professionally, so completely, that I am going to die. He doesn’t have to sully his hands with murder. His deviousness has led to me being killed by the authorities - how clever is that? Even if I got out, what life do I have? Always looking over my shoulder; always waiting for the day he will reappear. He will be there tomorrow,” she nodded at the wooden structure outside. “To see for himself that his scheming has beaten me.”

  She turned soulless eyes up to his, so lost in misery that she was unaware of the tear that had managed to escape and begin a solitary journey down her pale, dirty face.

  “Eliza: do you know where she is?” She turned instinctively to the man beside the door.

  Edward coughed and shifted closer. “Jemima, Eliza is perfectly safe from Scraggan. She is alive and well. She will soon have the protection of my name, and me to keep her from any further threat from anyone. I’m going to marry her,” Edward’s sympathetic eyes met hers. “She will be perfectly safe and cared for; have no fear.”

  “You have affection for her?” Jemima asked, feeling driven to ensure Eliza was a willing participant in this new turn of events.

  “Oh yes, most definitely,” he assured her, his own voice shaken.

  Jemima studied him for several moments, her tremulous hold on her emotions wavering alarmingly. “Then be happy.” At least her sister would find happiness, in spite of Scraggan.

  “Does she know?” She closed her eyes at Edward’s solemn nod. “Please keep her away.”

  “Jemima,” Peter’s whisper shook with clawing fear. “Did you ever feel anything for me?”

  Jemima couldn’t answer him. The words were there, but she couldn’t speak.

  “Please don’t stay. I don’t want you there.” She croaked, watching the panic on his face with growing dread. She couldn’t bear to see him debased in such a way. Not someone as brave and stoic as her beloved Peter.

  “Jemima, darling, please-” Peter argued, moving forward to grab her again and swing her around.

  Ready this time, Jemima twisted out of his grasp and found herself face to face with Dominic, the eldest Cavendish brother. She was aware of Sebastian and the silent man behind the door rushing forward to hold Peter back, and took a few precious seconds to study the man before her.

  “Keep him safe,” she whispered softly, tears flowing freely now she was away from Peter’s close scrutiny. “Please, if you have any affection for him at all, please take him away from here and don’t look back. I don’t want him there to watch.”

  She could hear her words as though they were spoken by someone else. In the past few moments something inside her had closed down and was gone forever.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Dominic declared, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. He wanted to sweep her into a hug, but instinctively knew she wouldn’t allow it. He felt the bitter sting of regret at the unfairness of it all as he watched her shuffle to the door and pause beside Edward.

  “Jemima!” Peter shouted, watching her move toward the door. “Please don’t do this. Please. Darling, I love you. Please don’t do this.” He twisted and fought against the hands that held him back.

  She daren’t look back. Tears trickled freely down her face as she stared out of the now open doorway into the darkness of the corridor beyond. It was like going down into the bowels of hell and she knew what awaited her at the end.

  She turned to the man beside her. Edward. “Take care of Eliza; tell her I love her.” She watched as Edward swallowed harshly and nodded. “You need these.” She dug down into the front of her dress and removed three folded sheets of paper and a letter, handing them solemnly to Edward. “She is to read the letter first. Make sure Scraggan doesn’t get to her too.”

  “I promise you here and now, Jemima, that Eliza is perfectly safe from harm. Nobody, not even Scraggan, will harm her while I have breath in my body,” Edward promised solemnly, frustration and grief at his inability to help sweeping through him as he watched her blink back the tears and square her shoulders.

  “You should have agreed he was your husband,” he scolded, knowing as well as everyone else that it was pointless.

  Slowly she shook her head. “He has sacrificed so much for me, given me so much that I can never repay him. I know that I have no way out of this: we all do. There is no absolution. Even if there was a stay of execution, it would only delay the inevitable. He doesn’t deserve to have his good name associated with a condemned, woman. Not after everything he has done for Eliza and me. Keep him safe. When this is over, and you are all old and grey-” Jemima paused, her voice wobbling with her tears, “tell him that I did love him, to my very last breath.”

  With a sad smile, she shuffled out of the door and into the darkness. Peter’s shouts were swiftly cut off by the heavy slam of the door behind her. The only sounds left were those of the booted feet of the men returning her to the condemned cell to wait for death.

  “I’m sorry, Peter,” Dominic murmured. The sound of Peter’s desperate pleading echoed hollowly in Dominic’s ears until he couldn’t stand it any longer. With little choice on how best to help him, Dominic stalked across the room, drew back his fist, and felled him with one well-aimed blow.

  Stunned silence settled over the room as Peter’s unconscious body was slowly lowered to the floor by Sebastian and the gaoler.

  Dominic turned to Mr Simpson, his cold eyes laden with menace. “We will prove her innocence, and the men who hang her will be brought to justice for their ignorance.” His eyes met and held the gaoler’s for several moments in silent warning. With some satisfaction, he watched the gaoler grow pale and drop into his chair, clearly shaken.

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Edward murmured, heaving Peter’s prone form over his shoulder and turning toward the door Sebastian held open. “He shouldn’t be here when he wakes up.”

  Once outside the office, they watched the heavy cell door close at the far end of the corridor. Its heavy thud rang solemnly through the silence. A dank, musty smell of stale air hung over them, heavily accentuated with urine, vomit and a plethora of unidentifiable smells that assailed the nostrils and churned the stomach.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Sebastian muttered, shaking his head and studying the long line of cell doors. Although the wall esconces were lit, their meagre brightness did little to penetrate the gloom within the cavernous walls. It gave the building a fatalistic air that scarred the soul. He wondered if anyone ever made it out alive.

  His respect for the woman who had returned to the condemned cell grew as he considered the last few moments. Despite her dire situation, she had sought to protect those around her, namely Peter, from any scandal that being associated with her would undoubtedly cause. Even Eliza hadn’t escaped her protection. He was humbled and awed by her strength and generosity in the face of such desolation.

  “Wait,” Dominic ordered, frowning at Peter for several moments. “Peter’s going to want her back.” His eyes met and held those of his brothers. “In the morning, when it’s all over.”

  “He can’t stay here to watch. Jemima doesn’t want him there. You saw what he was just like,” Edward reasoned. “Don’t think for one second that I’m stopping to watch.” He didn’t add that, if he was away from Havistock Hall for too long, Eliza would most probably set out after him to find out what was happening. He was eternally grateful she hadn’t been with them to witness that past half hour.

  “We need to get him away from the area, and then make plans before he wakes up,” Sebastian added, moving toward the door. He had to get out of the fetid place before he threw up. The pervading sense of gloom was starting to fray his nerves. If he remained in the desolate hole any longer than absolutely necessary, he was going to start screaming himself.

  “Hold on a minute,” Dominic snapped, returning to the office and throwing open the door without bothering to knock. He scowled at Mr Simp
son and the gaoler, who were deep in conversation. They froze at his intrusion, but made no move to call for the guards.

  Closing the door behind him, Dominic met each man’s gaze in turn and made his demands. Moments later he swept from the office, slamming the door behind him. He winced as the sound echoed hollowly down the empty corridor, and mumbled an apology at the faces that gazed helplessly out of the cells as he passed.

  Within minutes they were stepping out into the fresh air of the prisoners’ yard, the heavy thud of the gaol door echoing threateningly in their ears as it was slammed behind them, leaving them to face the long walk across the prisoners’ yard alone. To the left of the path lay nine empty graves, ready and waiting for the new arrivals. Dominic cursed and quickened his stride, flicking Peter a glance to make sure he was still unconscious and wouldn’t witness such a macabre scene.

  On their arrival at the gaol a lifetime earlier, it had been pitch black. They had stood before the heavy wooden doors waiting for their ring of the bell to be answered, not knowing what to expect. Having never been inside a gaol before, they had been lost in their own thoughts, mentally planning the few desperate options available to them.

  With only the gaoler’s torch to light the way, they hadn’t seen the open graves.

  Now, as the first stain of sunlight began to shimmer on the horizon, the haunting sight of the empty pits was almost painful to see, especially knowing that one of them was meant to contain the remains of the woman who had touched all of their hearts with her bravery in the face of such overwhelming adversity.

  Edward quickened his stride and, moments later, draped Peter unceremoniously over his horse. His breath fogged in the cool morning air, and he took a moment to steady himself as he breathed the crisp air deep into his aching lungs, the stench of the gaol still heavy in his nostrils. He ached to have a bath, to scrub himself clean and rid himself of the horror of the hellish pit of inhumanity, but he knew that it wouldn’t be enough.