My Anthologie. The Revenge of Feidre Drummond COMPLETED

the Rapist and the Old Wolf

Skyrie caught up to me just as the afternoon light was bleeding through the canopy of the park-like lands that surrounded the marshes the river spawned in flood.

"I questioned his man of business and his lawyer for his sources," he said, his eyes fixed on the mess that had once been a fine suit and coat. "Be hell to clean that, Jon."

I shrugged. "What was pertinent?"

I stopped walking the fat man with a kick to his knees. He fell heavily, and lay still, his breathing rasping past the wire.

"His lawyer said the lass was the last, and she gets her parents money as well as his. The properties went to the man of business."

"Went?"

Skyrie smiled, and it was not a gentle expression, not on his lean, old face. "He reconsidered the wisdom of his choice, and the lawyer drew up a paper that handed ownership to a Miss Feidre Drummond, witnessed by both myself and the lawyer, and signed neatly by the man of business."

I smiled at Skyrie. " Ought to make sure we needn't worry about her dowry."

He nodded, grimly. "Roe caught up to me at the house. He said the lass had woken when she was bathed, but hadn't seemed panicked. He said he'd dosed her again, and to have whichever servants were closest to her at Drummond's house there when she awakens next."

I stared balefully at a large rent in the sleeve of my coat. "Do we need his signature on anything?"

Skyrie sneered. "I filtched a document with his name on it when I was with the lawyer. I can make a passable replica, but an hour of practice and I'll have it perfectly."

I tugged on the wire. "Up ye get, ye filthy whoreson."

Drummond rose, and we set off deeper into the parkland, the smell of the marsh terrors growing as we went.

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Drummond began to whinge and weep when we turned down the faint path that lead to the marsh's terrors.

Skyrie kicked him, savagery in every line of his old body. "Ye don't get the right to weep, ye foul, stinkin' great pile of lard."

I approved of the kick. It had been unexpected,  and the wire had tightened further around the neck of the sniveling tub, finally cutting through his skin.

I jerked him roughly to his feet, and Skyrie muttered, "I wish ye'd've dragged him the final way."

I almost regretted standing Drummond a'right.
"Aye, it'd be a worthy thing. But I've decided I want to watch him struggle like a blowfly in a honey-drop in the marsh terrors."

Drummond keened in fear, and Skyrie grabbed him by the throat and beat the breath out of him. "Too right, ye bastard. Ye've earned the terrors."

Gasping for air, the evil get bent forward, heaving for enough air to continue his noise.

I considered the target his wide trousers presented, arse-up in front of myself and Skyrie.

Skyrie was faster.

I released tension on the wire as
Drummond went rolling, head first, forward toward the terrors.

I appreciated Skyrie's well placed kick. "Reckon ye got 'is bollocks?"

Skyrie's smile was as satisfied as a well fed whelp. "I've got a gold that says aye."

The fat man lay curled several feet ahead of us, his hands clutching at himself. "It's a bet I'd lose, no doubt."