Chapter 63
Sixty-Three
Marguerite swallowed the agonized howl that tore through every fiber of her being. Her horse surged forward. Marcus’s last—please God not final, words to her had been, “Whatever happens, whatever you see, keep going.” And then, he’d kissed her. A quick press of his lips to her forehead.
Would she ever feel them again? She leaned forward. Tightened her grip on the reins. Spurred her horse. There would be more time. More kisses. There had to be.
Andre reined in his horse ahead of her. He swung out of the saddle. Knelt beside Marcus’s body.
No. Not beside his body. Beside Marcus.
“Is he alive?” she demanded.
Marcus lay belly down on the ground, his head turned to one side, a rapidly growing puddle of blood pooling in the dirt.
Andre pressed two fingers to Marcus’s neck just below the jaw. Then he gripped his jaw, turning Marcus’s head this way and that. He released it and stood. Stepping back, he hooked a boot under Marcus’s side, flipping him over as if he was a sack of rotting potatoes.
Marguerite couldn’t see Marcus’s face; it was turned away from her. Blood and dirt matted his brown waistcoat, the linen at his throat.
“He’s dead,” Andre said, looking past her at a guardsman, a man she hadn’t even noticed following them.
Dead. If she hadn’t been holding the pommel of her saddle, she might have fallen.
The guardsman reined his horse up beside them. “You sure?”
Andre nodded at him, then gestured back at the gate. “Tell that idiot with the coach we could use his help. Rouen wants the fellow alive or dead.” He gave a grim chuckle. “Dead’s going to be a hell of a lot easier.”
The guard, a lean man with pox scars, glanced back over his shoulder.
The coach was still blocking the gate. The dog was tied to a wheel rim, and David was gathering up the furniture.
He scowled at the obstacle course which now resembled a barricade.
Then, turning back to Andre, he said, “You’re absolutely certain the bastard’s dead? ”
“You want to check?” Andre nudged Marcus in the ribs with his boot. “Bloody mess, massive hole in his chest, but you’re welcome to look.”
“I’ve seen my share of dead men. City’s running out of places to put them.
” The man cocked his chin at Marcus. “And I’ve more than enough work to do this morning.
Far as I’m concerned, Rouen can have that one.
” With a glance up at the blazing mid-morning sun, he added, “Though he’s going to stink to the high heavens by the time you get him there. ”
Andre nodded in agreement. “I thought about taking just the head, but it’s a devil of a chore and I’ve only got the one clean uniform. That’s why I’m asking for the coach. Figured I’ll make the reek the driver’s concern. Tell him he’s been commandeered. Official business.”
“Only fair, the way the stupid sod’s jammed up traffic.” Wheeling his horse around, the guardsman trotted back to the gate.
Marguerite knotted her reins and slipped her feet out the stirrups.
Andre put up a hand to stop her from dismounting. “Stay where you are.”
he hissed. “Don’t look at Marcus. Or, if you do, look at him like you don’t give a damn.”
He glanced towards the gate; the guardsman had reached the Berlin and was pointing at them. David seated atop the box, the dog beside him, flicked the reins, and the team started forward. A few moments later, it rumbled to stop in front of them.
“Did you have to bring that beast?” Andre glared at the dog who was panting in canine delight.
David knotted the reins and jumped down from the box. “Isidore,” he said. “I’ve decided to call him Isidore. And taking him with us is the least we can do in payment for his loyal services.” He leaned down to pat the dog’s head and offer him a treat.
Andre nodded at Maguerite, “You can dismount now. Fetch Marcus’s horse. We’ll tie him to the back of the coach. Don’t look at Marcus,” he repeated his earlier warning, as she stumbled numbly to the ground.
Marguerite straightened, fixing her gaze resolutely on the dapple grey. It was standing a short distance away from Marcus. Its saddle was smeared with blood.
“Not until David and I have got him in the coach and we’re certain those fellows at the gate haven’t detected any plot holes in our performance and decide to follow.”
Performance? Marcus was dead and his so-called friends were calling it a performance? She walked past his body in a slow, sickened daze. She reached the horse, put a hand out for the reins.
“Lucky thing one of those guards managed to get off a shot,” Andre said.
Lucky thing? She turned to see David nodding in agreement. He was kneeling beside Marcus’s body; the dog was snuffling at Marcus’s bloody chest.
“I see my pig’s bladder of blood with the explosive fuse worked nicely,” he said, looking up.
“Can you get your beast off me?” Marcus hissed attempting to keep his features rigid.
Alive. Marguerite braced herself against the grey’s neck. Marcus was alive.
“His name is Isidore,” David corrected, catching the dog by the collar and drawing him back.
Getting to his feet, he said to Andre, “I’ll toss some of the furniture now—we’ll make a quick show of me protesting, you threatening me with your gun for the guards at the gate, then squeeze Marcus in there as best we can. ”
Hands shaking with relief and fury, Marguerite drew the pistol at her hip and pointed it at the men. “I think I can handle the threatening part of this performance.”
David threw up his hands. Isidore barked. Andre shot an elbow in Marcus’s direction. “This was his half-assed back-up plan.”
“Back-up plan? He planned this?” Pistol still pointed at David and Andre, Marguerite stared at Marcus’s splayed body in disbelief.
“He didn’t give us a great deal of time to work out the details.” Andre spread his hands. “Can…you…uhm…put the pistol down? Pretty sure the threat looks convincing enough for the guards at the gate. Looks threatening enough to me…”
“Me, too.” David added hastily. “And we need to get Marcus into the coach.”
Marguerite lowered her weapon.
David caught Marcus under the arms. Andre grabbed his feet, then glancing over his shoulder at Marguerite. “We can drop him a few times if you’d like.”
“A tempting offer.” She glared at her lover’s not corpse.
“I would not like.” Marcus muttered, as they lifted his blood and dirt-smeared body out of the road. “Going to have a hell of a bruise on my shoulder. And my ribs, thanks to your boot.”
“Had to make it look real,” Andre said, addressing Marcus, but his face turned as if speaking to Marguerite. “Isn’t that what you said, right after you clocked me in the alley?”
“Why do I feel like you’re enjoying this far too much?”
“Chatty for a corpse, isn’t he?” Andre said, reaching out a hand and swinging open the coach door.
“Chatty for Tyns.” David nodded in agreement.
“Almost like he’s been reborn.”
“A new man if you will.”
They both looked at Marguerite.
“I hear love will do that,” David mused, as they heaved him feet first into the carriage and Andre swung the door shut.