To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 50
The front door was only about 10 yards ahead, wide open. Inside, the military police could appear at any moment.
Frederick kept his eyes on that direction as he carefully led the horse backwards. He didn’t go toward the back gate because he didn’t have time to check whether there were military police there or not.
At the front gate, he signaled Betty. She emerged from the ivy, moving as fast as a hare. Her speed, however, noticeably slowed when a noise came from inside the open door.
A woman’s scream, or was it crying?
‘…Countess Glenwell.’
Whatever was happening inside, he couldn’t go there now. Betty hesitated, but Frederick quickly motioned for her to go. Just then, someone shouted from behind the mansion.
“Captain, what’s going on?”
The voice was familiar. Without hesitation, Frederick drew his pistol.
Lysander Cottenham.
He couldn’t have mistaken the voice. Terrified, Betty stopped again. As Frederick mounted his horse, a tall shadow appeared behind the stable. It was another familiar figure.
“Who’s there! Stop!”
“Kyaak!”
In the end, Betty screamed.
The startled horse began to run forward.
Frederick barely managed to change direction, grabbing the stumbling Betty and pulling her onto the horse. While Betty clung to the horse’s neck for dear life, he shot once toward Lysander, without aiming properly.
The sound of the shot rang through the air, shaking the stillness.
It was insane to fire a warning shot at the military police while sneaking around, but he didn’t care. He’d shot at Cottenham before, but missed because it had been too far.
When he found out that Cottenham had proposed to Deirdre before him, when he learned that Cottenham had insulted the corpse of Daymond Havisham, when he realized that Cottenham had been one of the military police who came to Marquis Havisham that night in Aspen, Frederick had sworn that one day he would shoot him dead with his own hands.
He had sworn three times, but the opportunity never came, and he had been growing restless. Not to mention, that bastard had been harassing Deirdre recently.
“Gale! What are you doing? Get that bastard!”
Cottenham shouted. A bullet whizzed past Frederick’s ear, the sound of it cutting through the air. He lowered his body and shielded Betty.
Cottenham was a sharp shooter.
Frederick remembered what Christian had once said with a smile.
<Lord Rochepolie, you can’t use a gun, so you’re no fun. Viscount Knox is a sharp shooter.>
<When I hold a gun, my hands tremble. I apologize for not providing any amusement, Your Majesty.>
<Fun can be seen in other ways too. Maybe next hunt, I’ll make those who can’t hunt, like the Count, the prey. Of course, I don’t mean to actually shoot a gun.>
However, at one banquet, Christian actually shot at Caroline.
It was around the time when the Queen had her second miscarriage. The King, blaming her for being too weak and unable to bear a strong Leonhart child, tried to teach her courage by shooting down her crown.
The crumpled crown rolled, and the Queen collapsed to the floor. Watching the Queen, who could barely breathe, Christian happily chattered, saying if Cottenham had been the one, he would have even shot the earrings off her.
<If my vassals accomplish something, I wonder if I’ll set up such a beautiful target for them as a reward. If you’re jealous, why not practice a bit yourself? >
<I faint at the sight of blood, Your Majesty.>
<That’s why it’s such a blessing that you married that daughter from the coward Havisham. Leonhart doesn’t need any cowards.>
Christian had always hated the idea of Sabrina and the Fairchilds getting involved. It wasn’t just about wanting to avoid Sabrina’s name being mentioned among people.
When high-ranking nobles marry into royalty, their family inevitably gains influence over the monarchy.
Christian could never tolerate anyone standing above him. That’s why, under the pretext of making peace with Froiden, he married the princess to Grand Duke Dietrich, who was twenty years older, and sent her away forever.
The King also spared the princess, but contrary to what people believed, Frederick didn’t beg for her life. Rather, Sabrina had been prepared as a ‘backup’ in case Caroline truly couldn’t have children.
That madman would have tried to preserve Leonthart’s bloodline through his half-sibling if necessary. It had to be stopped before that happened.
By the time the military police came rushing out, Frederick had already passed through the front gate and was heading into the mountains.
By the time Cottenham contacted the Holborn military police to organize a search party, he and the Count’s daughter would have already been far away. There were many lodging facilities for travelers along the border between Upper Island and Holborn.
Just a little further ahead, there was a bridge under construction by the Fairchild family in the valley.
Be safe, just for tonight.
Frederick muttered as he galloped up the hillside.
Just tonight, just this week, just until the end of this month…
The tasks he undertook were often terribly urgent with deadlines that drained people’s energy, and the rewards for success were ridiculously small compared to the effort. Sometimes, he gained nothing at all.
By tomorrow morning, news of the Count and Countess of Holborn being dragged away by the military police under ridiculous charges would reach Swinton.
Frederick was curious to see what absurd excuse Cottenham would use to imprison the innocent Count.
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