Page 51 of Lyon’s Obsession (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #91)

“A rano!” the jailer called out.

The man rose wearily. “It is Almano,” he said.

“Don’t much matter to me,” the man said as he located a key on the large ring he carried and used it to unlock the cell that held Almano and a half dozen other detainees. “Man here to escort you to the magistrate in Middlesex. We’ll keep yer cot waitin’ for ye.”

Valentine Almano straightened his jacket and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles, but the effort was useless. He had been held too long awaiting justice. “At least today I may have my say,” he told the jailer who escorted him through the facility.

“Again, don’t much matter to me,” the jailer said as they exited the building to where a flat wagon and a familiar figure awaited him.

“Leave the shackles on. I’ve a key,” the man ordered. “I’ll bring him back later.” He motioned for Almano to climb up on the back of the short wagon.

Almano’s heart quickened. He knew the man well, and his friend meant to save him.

It was not easy for him to climb onto the wagon, but he managed without the assistance of either the jailer or his friend.

Once he was seated upon the low-railed flatbed, Almano laid out on his back to permit a bit of sunshine to find his face.

Within minutes, his friend had laced a chain attached to the wagon through Valentine’s leg shackles, but he noticed how the lock was not secured before the man climbed upon the seat and set the horse in motion.

Without raising his head, Almano said, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Just lay back,” his friend said. “It will take a bit to reach our destination. I thought of the former house, but Lord Duncan has it searched regularly.”

Almano said, “I thought Lord Marksman shot you. That was what I was told. That he shot you, and you fell into the rain-soaked river.”

“Shot at me, but only left an annoying flesh wound. Like never to have stopped the bleeding. The young lord will pay for his audacity.”

“Did Marksman marry Lady Theodora?” Almano asked as he adjusted his position on the wagon’s bed. The center would have less bounce and rattling of his bones than the area over the wheels.

“Yes,” his friend said. “Married Lady Theodora on the anniversary of Lord and Lady Duncan’s marriage. That bit of information was part of the marriage announcement posted over a week ago.”

“Why did it take so long to bring Lord Marksman up to snuff?” Almano asked.

“You recall the one styling herself as ‘Lady Caroline’?”

“Yes. The one who prefers women to men,” Almano said with a frown. “Thought for a bit to pursue her myself.”

“Good thing you didn’t. She and her father and a couple dozen others were arrested and detained for uttering fake bank notes. Can you imagine the audacity of such people?”

“Yep, I can imagine that and much more,” Almano said with a smile, glad to be free, or nearly free. “I thought someone said you worked for the marquis,” Almano suggested.

“No. I only work for myself,” his friend corrected. “Anyway, Lady Caroline shot Marksman when the young lord meant to arrest Honfleur,” the man explained. “But she did not kill him.”

“Too bad,” Almano said. “I suppose you rid yourself of most of the forgeries you had hidden away?”

“Burned most of it.”

Almano turned his head to look off to the passing scenery. They were headed out of London proper. He did not know where, though he did not care much as long as it was not back to jail. “Do we have a particular destination?”

“I have found a similar place we can use. Just rest until we reach it. It will take a bit of time.”

Almano still was not assured this was the best idea, but he knew himself adaptable. Had he not always survived by his wits and his cunning?

He closed his eyes and permitted the sun and the rocking wagon to lull him into sleep.

He dreamed of clean clothes and a bath and a decent meal, then how he would seek revenge on those who had meant to see him put away for life.

Somehow, he would scrape together the necessary funds to book passage to America.

He had hidden away a few hundred pounds in forged notes.

If he was careful and did not use them too freely, he could use those to escape England.

He did not know how long he had slept, but Almano knew it was not enough for him no longer to know weariness, but when he woke, the wagon was at a standstill and only birdsong could be heard overhead. With caution, he opened his eyes and sat up slowly to learn of his whereabouts.

Unfortunately, there was a sight he had not expected. His friend stood near the rear of the bed. “You were to kill Lady Theodora! Those were your orders. I wanted her dead and removed from Duncan’s life. I wanted his lordship to know the type of pain I have experienced!” his friend growled.

“I was to lure the chit to the house,” Almano corrected. “You were to kill her. You were the one to define the chaos and the suffering. Not me. I have always done as you instructed.”

His companion’s countenance filled with the rage found in his tone.

“Lord Macdonald Duncan still has not suffered as he should have. I wished for the opportunity to kill his wife and for him to know it was me. I wanted his grief to tear him apart, but Lady Elsbeth passed before my return to England.”

Almano shot quick glances to either side to locate a means of escape, but nothing showed itself possible, especially as the friend he thought to be his salvation was again ranting against the injustices he supposedly had suffered.

Hell, had they not all known hardships? Valentine had assuredly known his.

“You were to ruin Lord Duncan’s precious ‘child conceived in love,’ Lady Theodora.

Now Theodora Duncan has married Lord Marksman.

For all we know, the chit could already be carrying Duncan’s first grandchild.

His lordship’s legacy will live on, even after he dies.

They are all proceeding as if nothing ill has occurred in their lives.

Their futures are brighter than ever, while mine lies in the shadows! ”

“I can still finish off Lady Theodora. Would it not destroy Lord Duncan not only to learn of his daughter’s untimely death, but that said daughter carried his only chance at grandchildren.

If we wait until the beau monde returns again to London, surely the chit will be carrying Marksman’s seed inside her by then. ”

His companion shook his head in denial. “You had the opportunity. Twice, in fact.”

The man Almano thought he could trust now pointed two guns at his heart.

Before he could continue the argument, they fired in rapid succession.

Though he imagined someone would hear the sound carried around the open fields, Almano knew no one would come to assist him.

They would all think a neighbor had killed a fox or shot a rabbit.

No one would think a man was lying on a wagon and dying. No one would save him this time.

Almano was not to witness the shooter leaving the guns on the back of the wagon nor watching his murderer walk casually away from the scene. Nor would Almano hear the man grumble aloud, “This will not be the end! I say when there is an actual ending! Just me! Always my choice!”

~ Finis ~