Ever since he had accepted his hatred of Edward instead of trying to push it down and live by his father’s rules for society, James had felt better. As a matter of fact, he felt better than he had in a long time as he stared into his mirror. There was little to stop James’ plans for the future now.
Soon Edward would be out of his and Emily’s life permanently. Surely the woman would rather have James than a convicted murderer, after all. He just had to bide his time and get through this war. James was confident that surviving this war was something he had been built for, though. Perhaps surviving was the one thing that James did better than Edward.
Chapter 6
The light from the sun barely touched Edward. Its warmth was a thousand miles away from his chilled heart. The guards came to get him. As they hauled him roughly to his feet, his throat was too dry to even do much other than groan at the pain.
Edward remembered their voices as the guards mocked his weakness. Their same voices had pelted him with accusations and slurs as their hands and feet landed blows on Edward’s body the night before. It was all he could do to just keep his feet under him even with their help. Thoughts of vengeance were far away and out of his reach.
The sunlight outside of the jail door glared, causing stabs of pain to sear his eyes. He squinted toward the sky, but he did not have time to locate the bright morning sun before one of the guards gave him a rough jerk on his arm. Edward stumbled into the man, and the guard muttered a curse as he shoved Edward back upright.
The gallows may have been hastily erected, but they stood stalwart and imposing in Edward’s bleary sight. Most of the regiment was out to see the sentence carried out if the size of the crowd was any indication. Edward felt nothing at the knowledge that the crowd likely held his friends and comrades. What did it really matter? In a few minutes, his life would end, and he would know no more.
Edward looked around as he was guided towards the wooden structure. His one eye was almost swollen shut. Edward’s good eye landed on his colonel. The man stood with a face that was almost completely devoid of emotion. As Edward watched, the man’s head seem to nod to Edward in a gesture that Edward almost missed. It was such a subtle gesture that Edward wondered if he had misinterpreted it with his fatigued eyesight.
There was no time to ruminate over the gesture as the guards shoved Edward forward. There was little he could do aside from continuing to move towards his death, and if Edward were honest, he probably was not fighting it that much. His world, his life had betrayed him. Everything he thought and held dear was wrong. What good was living in a world like that?
Edwards’s only regret as he falteringly went up the steps to where the noose hung was Emily. His good eye was filled with moisture that he could not deny at thoughts of the woman. His fervent prayer had gone unanswered, and her locket would go into whatever hole or ditch his body was tossed. Edward could feel the metal against his chest under the flimsy shirt he wore.
Someone somewhere cried out for what sounded like mercy, but Edward knew that plea fell on deaf ears. There was no mercy in the world. A man in an executioner’s hood came up and took Edward’s arm from the guards.
“What happened to this man?” Edward could not tell who had said the words or where the speaker was. His vision was blurred with tears for his Emily.
One of the guards said, “He lost his head when he realized he couldn’t get out of the sentence. He threw himself against walls and such while in the throes of his fits.”
Whether the person who had spoken to the guards believed the ridiculous lie, Edward could not tell. All he knew was that hands were guiding him towards the noose. He stood on top of the door that would open and let him drop to his death as the hands had guided him to do. He stood still and let them put the noose around his neck. Their hands were almost gentle. There was a tugging at his shirt,and Edward sighed as he wished it were quicker.
A loud voice somewhere to Edward’s right boomed out, “On this day—” Edward stopped listening to the voice as it was hurting his head. He knew it was his sentence the man was reading out. Edward knew all the sins that had been heaped at his feet. He would carry those sins to judgment and hope that the Heavenly host was nobler than the men that now judged him.
Edward relaxed as the man stopped talking. It was almost over now. Relief was so close that Edward could almost taste it. He closed his eyes and waited for the door to give way under him.
When it happened, it happened so fast that Edward was caught off-guard by it. Suddenly, he was falling, and then he was not. The force when the rope caught him was so that Edward’s vision exploded in colours at the impact.
As his vision cleared, Edward realized that he was not choking. Out in the crowd, Edward locked eyes with the colonel who stared back at him. Edward saw something in the man’s eyes. The nod had been real. The man had been intent on saving him. Edward acted his part and flailed wildly grabbing at the rope around his neck as if he were choking so that the spectators thought the execution was real.
Edward gasped and struggled as his body twisted on the rope. As he spun with his movements, Edward let his body go limp, and his eyelids slid closed. Just before his eyes closed all the way, he saw James. The man was staring at Edward with a twisted smile that spoke of pleasure. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was that smile.
Edward swung for a long time as he let his body hang limp. He could hear voices, but they were all mixing together as the blood thumped loudly in his ears. Fear laced through him and his heart was beating so loudly that the executioner would surely hear it. Edward swung for so long at the end of the rope that he passed out as fatigue pulled him into unconsciousness.
***
James smiled as he watched Edward’s body swing under the gallows. There was deep satisfaction in the sight. James stood there long after the others had started to leave. When he did leave, it was with a smile still on his lips.
He walked back to his room where he found Augustus waiting for him. James rolled his eyes as the man got up off James’ bed wringing his hands. “Is he?” Augustus asked.
James looked at Augustus. “I’m sorry. What were you asking?”
“Is Edward dead?” Augustus asked as he wrung his hands together so tightly his knuckles went white.
James nodded. “Oh, yes,” James said, much as he would if he were talking about Sunday brunch. “He looked very much as if he had met some horrible fate beforehand. I imagine that your rumour was correct, and some of the boys must have roughed him up a bit.”
Augustus groaned. “We need to tell someone, James.”
“Why?” James asked as he walked over to his mirror and tugged off his good jacket. It wouldn’t do to mess up his formal uniform, after all.
Augustus was beside James then. His hands were waving and moving in such a way that James thought the man might be having some sort of fit. “James, we cannot live with this. We will all burn. We are all sinners, and we need to atone.”
“Your old childhood fears are getting the better of you, Augustus,” James said. “Remember when you used to be so afraid that God would punish every little thing you did? And yet, here you are … alive and well.”
Augustus’ lips trembled. “I may be alive, but I am not well. And neither are you, James. And neither is Oscar. Our souls are tainted.”
“Now that is quite enough,” James said firmly. “If you mean to go mad, then you keep your madness to yourself. It is the mark of a weak man not to be able to hold his tongue in check,” James’ bore into Augustus.
Shrinking back, Augustus nodded. “Of course, James. I have always listened to you.”
“And that is why you are here, and Edward is not, Augustus,” James reminded the snivelling man. “You would do well to remember that.”
***
Hands were on him, and Edward wondered if this was where he would receive his punishment for his sins. The earthly pains were with him, and Edward whimpered as he realized that death had brought him
no relief. “Quiet yourself, Major,” a voice with a deep Spanish accent whispered near Edward’s ear.
Edward blinked and saw little pinpoints of light coming through the blanket that was thrown over him. He was not dead. Edward dared not make another noise. That was right, Edward’s fevered brain reminded him. He had been saved. He was alive.
Hands were lifting him, and he felt his body being dropped onto a flat surface. After a few moments, the voices that were now speaking Spanish once again were further away. The flat surface Edward was laying on jerked and moved under him. Edward frowned as he realized that he must be in some sort of wagon. Where were they taking him?
After a few minutes’ride, the wagon stopped. The men’s voices grew close again, and they were talking to each other in Spanish. Edward knew precious little of Spanish, but he caught what he thought was the word for grave. Edward heard the sounds of shovels in the dirt.
Edward pondered why he had been saved as he lay as still as he could not to draw attention to himself. Edward did not know how long it took for them to dig the hole, but after an immeasurably long time, Edward felt the blanket being yanked. When the blanket was removed, the sun blinded him as it lay directly overhead.
A man with tanned skin and a dark moustache stood over him with a somewhat amused smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Major,” the man said with his thick Spanish accent.
“What’s going on?” Edward asked through cracked lips.
Another two men were over near where they were filling in a grave. So, that is what they had been doing. They were filling in his grave to make it look like they had buried him. Edward looked at the men and back to the spokesman who offered Edward a canteen of water. “Take it,” the man said as he pushed the canteen into Edward’s hands when he did not readily accept the offering.
Edward hesitantly sipped the water at first. The cool liquid was enough to make him moan with pleasure, and he quickly drank deeply of the water. The spokesman chuckled and reached around behind Edward. “Better be taking this off,” the man said as he untied some knots and pulled the rope off of Edward.
The knots that had been tied to his clothing came loose quickly enough, and Edward watched the men roll the rope up as if they meant to keep it. The spokesman saw Edward’s gaze on the rope. “You’ve got a benefactor,” the man said. “He paid us to make sure you got out alive. We better go before we get caught out here by some of your less than friendly comrades.”
At a gesture from the spokesman, the other two men climbed into the wagon. Soon they were moving away from the town where the regiment was stationed and headed east. Edward, exhausted from his injuries, collapsed down into the back of the wagon with the blanket they had covered him in when they moved him pulled over his head to block out the sun. The rhythm of the wagon lulled his aching body enough that Edward’s fatigue overtook him, and he slept.
Edward awoke sometime later in a bed. The mattress he lay on was thin, and the sheets were worn, but it was better than a hard floor. Edward blinked up at the ceiling. The wood was notched together with workmanship that was as good as any stately English home.
“Ah, Major, you have returned to us,” the man from earlier said as he tugged at his moustache. “Your benefactor should be along shortly. I was beginning to wonder if you would wake up. You have had a rough time with the looks of your bruises.”
It was then that Edward realized that his clothes had been changed. He tried to sit up but fell back against the thin mattress, gasping at the pain that tore through his torso as he did so. “Easy,” the Spanish man said. “You need to heal. You are among friends here.”
“I’ve seen what friends do; I care nothing for having your friendship,” Edward’s coarse voice said back to the man, his tongue thick in his mouth as fatigue made it hard for him to talk.
The man laughed. The sound of his laughter was harsh and bitter as if he agreed with Edward’s sentiment. “You’ll go far with that attitude, but it does pay to have someone on your side. Get some rest, Major. We will wake you when your benefactor arrives.”
***
It was dark when Edward’s eyes opened again. He had been roused from his slumber by hands shaking him gently. A man that Edward recognised as one of the men who had filled in his grave gave Edward a nudge. “You have a visitor,” the man said in English that sounded rusty as if he did not like using the language.
Edward sat up with the man’s help. The waft of the odour from the man was almost unbearable, but Edward knew that he smelled no better. He sighed in relief once he was upright. “Thank you,” Edward whispered hoarsely.
The man seemed genuinely surprised by Edward’s words, and he gave Edward a grin which revealed a mouth that had not seen any care in a very long while. The man left the room still smiling. As the man left, another man stepped into the room. Edward recognised his colonel immediately.
“Colonel Ainsley,” Edward said as his brow furrowed. “Why?”
The colonel took a seat on a rickety wooden chair that Edward had not even known was there. Edward noticed then that the room was furnished sparsely with only a table and some chairs, none of which seemed to belong to each other, or the table or bed on which Edward sat. Colonel Ainsley pushed the hood of his cloak down revealing his thinning red hair. Had it always been so thin? “I couldn’t bring myself to hang an innocent man, Edward. I knew you couldn’t have done what they said, but the evidence was so damning that I had little choice but to go along with my officers’ vote.”
“You did not accept my request to see you,” Edward said as he licked his lips.
Colonel Ainsley quickly stood up and grabbed a pitcher off the table and a cup that sat next to the pitcher. He poured a glass of water and brought it over to Edward. As he pushed the cup into Edward’s hands, Colonel Ainsley nodded. “I am afraid that I was not at the billet when you requested to see me. I was here arranging for your escape from death’s door.”
Edward drank deeply of the cup then gasped, “I prayed for God to save me. I prayed for him to let me see my Emily again.”
There was sadness in Colonel Ainsley’s eyes as he said, “It is never to be, Edward. You can never go back to England.” The man put his hand on Edward’s knee, and Edward winced at the pain of his bruises. The colonel quickly removed his hand and said, “You have to run, Edward. Run and hide yourself. If anyone finds out that I let you go, they will carry out the sentence and add a noose for me as well. Do you understand?”
“I have to prove that I did not do what they said,” Edward said, anguish lacing his voice.
Colonel Ainsley shook his head and stood up. “You likely never will. I do not know what happened that night, but I know that Captain Winchester was involved. I could not get anyone to speak, Edward. Whatever hold he has on his men, it is ironclad. I wish I could help you.”
“You have done enough,” Edward whispered. “If I can never see my Emily again, I think it would have been better to hang.”
Colonel Ainsley stared at Edward for a long moment, and Edward just stared back at the man. Finally, Colonel Ainsley nodded and turned to leave. As he got to the door, Colonel Ainsley stopped with his hand on the door handle. “I am sorry, Edward.” The man’s words hung in the air long after Colonel Ainsley had left through the door.
Edward stared at the door. What was the use of an answered prayer if it only meant a continued existence of pain? Edward let himself collapse over onto the bed. His injuries screamed at him, but Edward just let himself slide back into the black abyss as the empty cup slid from his hand onto the floor.
***
“Where will you go, Major?” The man with the moustache, or Hugo as Edward had learned he was called, asked the question as if he were genuinely curious. “Once your wounds heal, will you truly fight to see your name cleared?”
Edward sat in one of the chairs at the table. They were playing a crude hand of cards with a deck of cards that Manual always kept on hand. Manual was a lanky Spaniard who claimed his mother wa
s Polish, but Edward could hardly say if that were true or not.
The Revenge of the Betrayed Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 8