The Best-Laid Plans
Page 8
He led the horses back to the wagon and tethered them loosely where they could eat grass. He set his jaw and picked up the shovel. He might have to take a few short respites to rehydrate and forage for berries, but he would get this job done.
He had to. His life might very well depend upon covering his tracks—with making this look like the driver had followed through with his tasks.
If he were in this situation, Efren wouldn’t shirk, and neither would Marcelo. The bulging muscles on Efren’s arms and legs, and the breathtaking fluid strength evident over the length of his body, indicated he was no stranger to physical toil. A soldier needed to be strong, and a well-respected commander of those soldiers would be as capable as each man or woman under him.
Those muscles hadn’t developed overnight. At one time, probably as a child, Efren would have felt this same burn threatening to crush him and worked through it. It would take Marcelo a little longer to accomplish the same task as it would a conditioned man, but he could do it. He would do it.
The shadows had moved more than he liked, and he’d taken another trip to the creek before completing his task, but he wore a weak yet satisfied smile as he patted the last shovelful of dirt onto the mound that marked the double grave.
“I did it,” he murmured, and tossed the bloody-handled shovel into the footwell of the wagon. It lay alone there now. He’d buried the driver’s weaponry along with those that had been confiscated from the camp in a separate, smaller hole. All that remained in the wagon were that shovel, the hay bale, the tarp, and the remains of the gag and rope that had bound him.
Marcelo led the horses to the creek. Traveling along it would keep them either out of sight or visible only to local farms and would provide them with a constant source of water and hopefully more berries.
After another drink, Marcelo led the gentler horse to a fallen tree he could use to help him mount. He sighed in frustration after two failed attempts. Not having stirrups complicated things. So did being done in from his efforts of the past couple hours. Yet, the poor horse cooperated through it all.
Marcelo petted the animal. “Good girl. I wish I had a treat to give you.”
At least Efren wasn’t here to witness his failure. No. He slumped against the horse. He’d give anything if only Efren were here, even to witness his failure. He’d give anything to know if Efren was alive.
He blinked. Had Efren been alive on the ground by the tent? Although Marcelo had seen deceased people in the past, it had been only after they’d been prepared for viewing.
Until today. Today he’d seen two freshly dead men, and both had wide open eyes and open mouths. The man killed at camp had been stiff as a board. The driver’s body had flopped, and his eyes had remained open and his jaw slack, despite Marcelo’s attempts to close them.
Efren’s eyes and mouth had been closed. Marcelo had been unable to determine if Efren had been breathing, but his eyes had definitely been closed. He’d been alive.
The corners of Marcelo’s lips quirked, and a titter of laughter escaped. Efren was alive. Because surely if the intent had been to kill him, there would have been no reason to put it off, would there?
If he was alive, then he would be looking for Marcelo. Perhaps Marcelo should take the road. He’d be able to travel more quickly and would likely meet up with his husband on the way, because Efren would know to look for him in this direction.
Marcelo had far less trouble mounting the horse from the height of the wagon. It took him a few paces to adjust to riding without a saddle, but it came back to him quickly enough.
Speed was going to be of utmost importance, so he left the second horse free to follow or to be taken in by whomever came across her. She nickered and followed when Marcelo whistled.
He rolled his shoulders. Things were finally going his way. He was free, the grisly and demanding work was completed, and the second horse was following, which was a plus, because having her found by the wrong people would negate all Marcelo’s hard work and give them a clue that he’d escaped.
He made it back to the major east-west road without incident, then picked up speed, urging his horse to a trot as he headed toward the crossroads.
Where would Efren be now? What was he thinking? He would probably understand what the purpose had been in taking Marcelo. Would he have already passed by the side road where Marcelo had spent the past few hours, or would they know to check those?
Efren would know. Marcelo absently bobbed his head. But his husband would be hampered by having too few forces to mount a proper manhunt. So likely a couple had been quickly sent ahead to try and catch him on the main road, but others would be scouring the side roads as they came to them.
Had the driver been missed yet? Had he not shown up at a rendezvous? Were enemy agents looking for him? If so, they would more likely be behind Marcelo now, wouldn’t they?
He urged the horse to a canter. The sooner he lengthened the distance between himself and that wagon, the better.
Marcelo’s stomach fluttered, whether from hunger or anticipation he wasn’t sure. Another smile tugged at his lips as he pictured Efren opening his arms and calling him “my darling” when they met again, and directing a warm smile at Marcelo when he gazed into Efren’s eyes and called him “dearest.”
A squirrel was just a blur in Marcelo’s peripheral vision…until it wasn’t. The squirrel inexplicably darted into the road ahead of them and leaped into the air directly in front of Marcelo’s horse. The horse jolted to a sudden stop, and Marcelo flew over her head.
Instinctively, he bent his body forward and brought his left arm across his torso. He tucked his head, down and to the side, chin to chest. He landed exactly as he’d engineered, on the back of his left shoulder, and rolled to the side of the road.
Marcelo’s eyes watered, and his breath hissed in and out. He grabbed his shoulder and rocked as pain seared through him. That bump at the front of his shoulder was not normal.
A tear dripped down the side of his face into his hair as the pounding thwacks of the horses’ hooves rumbled into the distance. He’d been so hopeful, and now he was a sitting duck.
He turned his head to the side. A cornfield. He was lying at the edge of a cornfield. It would be so easy to just lie on the road and let whatever was going to happen, happen. His breath hitched. He was just so tired. He closed his eyes and pictured Efren again, and the pleased quirk of his lips when he’d caught Marcelo ogling him when they’d been riding side by side. When the future had looked so bright and sunny. Before.
Almost against his will, a slight smile tugged against the painful grimace distorting Marcelo’s mouth. He wouldn’t let this defeat him. He had to survive. He would survive.
He rolled to his right side, held his left arm stable, and dragged himself into the field before finally letting exhaustion overtake him. And just in the nick of time, as a grouping of horses thundered by. Looking for him?
Chapter 8: Good for You, Marcelo
Efren
Several men in Efren’s party turned to give chase as two loose horses galloped toward them, reins trailing behind. Saddleless horses that generally matched the descriptions given to them by the woman early that morning.
A farmer they’d quizzed a few short miles back had also seen that wagon go by, heading toward Gagel, some hours ago. He’d given greater detail regarding the description of the horses.
Denis had sent a party ahead at full speed toward Gagel with instructions not to delay by checking side roads. They hadn’t reported back yet, so something must have happened ahead of Efren’s current position, but behind that forward party. The horses, and presumably Marcelo and his captors, must have detoured down a side road between here and there.
Efren huffed a loud breath as he waited for the chasers to return with the horses.
“We’re close,” Denis said into the tense silence. “Too much coincidence for two horses to be loose like that and just happen to look like the ones we’re looking for.”
“Let’s go.” Efren turned his horse and leaned in, urging the horse to a gallop as the others did the same. Denis was right. They had to be close to…something. It didn’t make sense that those horses would be tearing down the road unless someone related to this business was nearby. “Please, please, please…” he muttered.
At a turnoff onto a country road a few miles up, Denis yelled orders, sending some men straight on while he, Stevyn, and Efren turned off.
Efren scanned the sides of the lane as he rode, but Denis spotted it first.
“Wheel tracks,” he shouted, and slowed his horse and veered to the left. At the side of the road, he dismounted, no doubt the better to evaluate the various tracks.
Stevyn and Efren dismounted, too. Stevyn backtracked and leaned down as he stepped a few paces into the field. “Two horses exited here at a walk very recently.”
Efren’s gaze shot to Denis, who nodded and added, “The wagon tracks are fairly recent. A few hours old, I’d say.”
The brush the wagon tracks led toward seemed to mock Efren. His chest tightened. What would he find there? A wagon, obviously, and no doubt a grave. But who would be in it?
They followed the tracks and found the wagon fitting the description they’d been given. Efren stumbled when he spotted the grave. Unlike the decoy, this one looked genuine.
And big enough for two bodies.
Efren shivered and took a few steps back. Denis and Stevyn got straight to business, climbing onto wheels and inspecting the wagon bed, the driver’s footwell, the ground around the wagon, and even tracks to and from the creek beyond.
While their expressions remained sober, their eyes seemed to express a glint of optimism. “Tell me,” Efren said.
“I think it’s good news, sir,” Stevyn said. “We’re convinced this is the actual wagon and site we were looking for. It’s not another decoy.”
Efren nodded. He’d figured out that much from a distance. His lips parted, but he remained silent, unable to trust his voice. He held his breath, waiting for Stevyn to continue.
“First of all, sir, the ropes indicate he escaped.” Stevyn gestured toward the wagon. “There’d be no reason to untie him at all, so the very fact they’re in there is a clue. Beyond that, it looks like he got his hands free on his own, probably picking at it with that second tent stake he must’ve hidden in his trousers, and the gag removed same way. The rest is cut, I’m guessing after he dispatched the driver, because he probably wouldn’t have been able to get at a knife before that.”
“What else?” Efren took a step toward them.
“Looks like the driver was standing here when he was killed.” Stevyn pointed to a patch on the ground that Efren hadn’t noticed. Of course, he hadn’t been looking. “Some blood hit the outside of the wagon here, but most of it pooled down there. It’s exactly how we would expect a surprise hit coming from someone in the wagon bed to go down. No reason to leave behind clues like that mess if it was Gagel agents killing Prince Marcelo. They’d’ve dumped him in the hole, still bound, and done it there.”
Efren winced at the visual that presented, but nodded again for Stevyn to continue.
“Also, it looks like the weapon was removed and wiped off in the grass over here.” Stevyn gestured again. “And those marks are consistent with something like a tent stake, or possibly a dagger, can’t rule that out, but not a wide-bladed knife. And someone vomited over here, which points to someone who’s not a trained assassin. Also, whoever vomited didn’t have anything in his stomach other than the same type of berries that can be found by that creek.”
Efren stood straighter, as if the weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders. Marcelo’s inner strength and determination were admirable. “Good for you, Marcelo,” he murmured, echoing his thoughts back at camp. He looked to Denis for confirmation of Stevyn’s analysis.
Denis nodded. “I concur with all of that. Also, judging by the layers of fresh blood smeared onto the handle on that shovel, whoever dug these holes wasn’t used to manual labor, and I can’t see Gagel agents either taking the risk or wasting the time to make Prince Marcelo do that under duress, not when they knew they might be pursued. Also, they’d have taken the wagon with them so it wouldn’t draw attention to this spot. This site looks like something an amateur did to throw off potential pursuers. Made it look like the intended deed had been done. At least to the best of his unskilled and inexperienced ability.”
“Holes?” Efren asked. “More than one? He didn’t put them in the same grave?”
“Sorry,” Denis replied. “Two holes, but only one’s a grave. Mound is big enough to indicate two bodies in it. I’m guessing our weapons are hidden in this smaller hole. They were probably in the wagon. Prince Marcelo alone wouldn’t be able to take them along, not without any packs, and he wouldn’t want to leave them in the wagon, so I’m guessing that’s what’s in this smaller hole.” He pointed to the front of the wagon beyond Efren’s line of vision.
“Let’s retrieve those,” Efren said. This wasn’t over yet, and they might need those. “Do you see any reason to exhume the bodies to confirm who’s in the grave?”
“No.” Denis’s tone was definitive. He had no doubt. “One more point to make is that whoever tracked back and forth to the creek was wearing shoes, but I think he was wearing shoes that were larger than his own feet. The distance between steps indicates a man of about Prince Marcelo’s stature, but the shoes that made those prints were fashioned for bigger feet and a correspondingly taller man who would’ve left more space between each step.”
Efren closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. It made sense that Marcelo would have taken a pair of boots from the man he’d killed. “Okay. We’re so close to where we ran into those horses. Where do you think he is?”
Denis cleared his throat. A habit that often indicated he was about to say something Efren wouldn’t want to hear. “Well, sir, we can’t discount the notion that he got waylaid by more Gagel agents on the road after leaving this field. But if that’s the case, the men we sent down the road will intercept them.” He nodded toward the dense thicket of trees. “While there are plenty of tracks indicating numerous visits to the creek for water and berries, there aren’t any signs that he began walking beside the creek. I suppose he might have started walking in the water to throw off potential enemy trackers.”
“I dunno.” Stevyn retrieved the shovel and started digging up their weapons. “If he just sent the horses walking out but went to the creek himself, why did they tear off like they’d been spooked? We didn’t see anybody between here and there.”
“Good point.” Denis rubbed his chin. “It’s possible, though. Could be anything…a bee, a rat. Who knows?”
What had Marcelo’s state of mind been at that time? Would he consider himself safe enough on the road if he could travel fast enough to evade potential pursuit from Gagel? Considering the time of day, he would likely be expecting help to be coming for him from the west. He would know that Gagel pursuers would be behind him, so if he just went fast enough, he’d be safe. But…
“He would be bareback. He’s a good horseman, but he wouldn’t be used to that, and I doubt the horse would be either.”
“He might’ve been thrown.” Denis nodded. “Here’s what I think. If Gagel retrieved him, we’ve got that covered by our men who continued east. If he’s in the creek, he’s relatively safe for the moment. If he’s shaken up or injured and made his way into a field, he needs help sooner. I think we should check that first, then the creek if we come up empty.”
Stevyn rooted through the leather bag he’d retrieved from the shallow hole and drew out a sword. “Good. I liked this one.” He pulled his borrowed sword from his scabbard and slid his own into place, then pulled another out of the pile and handed it to Denis. He dumped out the contents and found their knives before
peering at Efren. “Yours are missing, sir.”
A grin twitched at Denis’s mouth. “I imagine Prince Marcelo has them.”
Stevyn handed Efren a sword he didn’t recognize. Probably the Gagel agent’s weapon. Efren slid it into his scabbard to go with his borrowed knife.
After Stevyn had secured the remaining weapons to his pack, they took off at a trot. Slow enough to take a closer look at the edges of the road as they passed.
* * * *
Marcelo
Low, indistinct voices filtered through Marcelo’s pain-fogged and weary brain, and he instinctively stiffened in fear. His eyelids snapped open. Gagel.
They’d come after him. And there was more than one of them. With his good arm, Marcelo pushed himself to sit, then crouch.
What should he do? Run? They’d catch him easily, bumbling through the cornfield. Stay and fight? He might have half a chance against one, but—he tried to focus on the voices, but instead grimaced as a jolt of pain speared his shoulder.
He put his good hand on the handle of Efren’s sword, then closed his eyes. No. He didn’t have a chance with a sword. He had no idea how to handle it. He moved his hand to the knife. He had more of a chance with that, unless they saw it first.
That blasted stake was his best hope. He pulled it out of his trousers and tucked it up his sleeve. He would have to drop and grab it at the last moment as he’d done at camp. And that trick would work only once, but at least he would take out one more of the enemy before they killed him.
Marcelo’s vision blurred as he stumbled to his feet, and a man pushed through the stalks in front of him. The man stopped. Marcelo’s stomach flip-flopped, and he hesitated.
The man spun and yelled, “I found him!”
Marcelo let the stake drop and gripped it below the curve at the top. He blinked and tried to focus. He needed to be ready when the man faced him again.
The man pivoted back, and Marcelo’s arm tensed, then jerked as he stopped his upward thrust. There was something about the way the man was grinning at him. It was…joyful. It wasn’t an I’m-going-to-enjoy-hurting-you-for-killing-my-friends leer. It was…