Code of Honor

by Andrea Pickens

  Alex sucked in her breath at the sheer horror of the plan. "Why do you hate him so? What has he done to you?"

  "People bow and scrape before him. They fear him, but they respect him, just because of his war record," he said angrily. "Yet I am the one who is truly the clever one. They should look up to me! They should fear and respect me!"

  "They respect Lord Branford because he has shown courage and honor. Despite what you say, he is a true gentleman, while you are no better than a toad who has crawled out from under a rock."

  He laughed, a malevolent sound that sent a chill through her. "But in the end, you see, I've beaten you all." There was a note of triumph in his voice. "With my careful planning I have out maneuvered even the hero soldier — it was a stroke of genius, was it not, to become your confidant after turning you against Branford?"

  When she didn't speak, he narrowed his eyes. "Well? Answer me!"

  "You are a loathsome creature," she said slowly. "And not half so clever as you think. You'll see." She wished she believed the last part of her words.

  Hammerton's face turned ugly. "Shut your mouth! With such a shrewish tongue it is no wonder Branford couldn't stomach the idea of taking you to his bed — you have none of the charms that one of your sex should have."

  "And you have none of the qualities a gentleman should have. You are not fit to be part of respectable society."

  He raised a hand as if to strike her, then appeared to think better of it. "Later," he said, half to himself. Instead, he contented himself with rummaging in a cabinet until he extracted a length of rope. He jerked her to her feet, tied her hands together in front of her and then shoved her back down in the chair.

  "Make yourself comfortable," he sneered. "We have a while before it is time to fetch you dear brother." He turned on his heel and left the room.

  The door slammed with a thud. The key turned in the lock. Alex's chin sunk to her chest in despair.

  Sykes slowed the carriage. "Looks like we're coming to the place, Cap'n."

  "Keep a steady pace," called Branford in a low voice.

  He studied the entrance to the grounds of Hammerton's hunting box. The drive was narrow and overgrown, lined on both sides with gnarled elms whose branches intertwined to cast a gloomy shadow over the rutted surface. No building was visible from the main road. In fact, there hadn't been any sign of habitation since passing through a small village five miles back.

  After traveling for perhaps another quarter mile, Branford signaled for the carriage to pull over. Sykes guided the horses into a small clearing where a copse of tall bushes would screen them from any other travelers, though so far, the road had been deserted. The earl got out rather stiffly, followed by Justin.

  "Keep a sharp eye out," said Branford tersely to Sykes as he thrust his pistols into the pockets of his coat. "Make sure your weapons are primed."

  "Aye, they're ready." Sykes cast a glance at Justin, who stood in the earl's shadow, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Sure you'll not be wanting me to go with ye?" His dubious look implied his assessment of Justin's usefulness. "The lad here could watch the horses."

  There was the tiniest of pauses. "No need. I've no doubt Chilton here can handle things well enough."

  Justin's face struggled manfully to hide both his gratitude and his apprehension.

  Branford went on. "Perhaps you should keep watch on the drive. Though I don't expect it, we wouldn't want any unwanted visitors"

  Sykes nodded in agreement.

  Branford turned to Justin. "Let's be off."

  He moved into the trees with a lithe quickness that had Justin nearly breaking into a run in order to keep up. With nary a hesitation, the earl threaded his way through the woods until it gave way to the grounds of the hunting box. They were on the edge of a small clearing, behind the building that served as the stable. Branford motioned for Justin to pause behind the cover a bushy hemlock.

  "How did you find..." whispered Justin.

  Branford pressed a finger to his lips and watched for any activity. The sounds of someone moving around inside the stalls were clearly audible but there was not a soul in sight. The earl removed the pistols from his coat and wordlessly handed one to Justin. Motioning the young man to follow, he loped across the open space, then quickly pressed himself up against the rough stone of the back wall. When no alarm was sounded, he began inching his way around the building to gain a view of the doorway.

  A figure appeared, wrestling with a section of leather harness and paying no heed to his surrounding as a string of curses escaped his lips. It was only when the cold steel muzzle of the pistol pressed against his neck that his head jerked up, eyes wide with terror.

  "B . B . Bran..."

  "Quiet," snarled the earl, shoving the other man back into the dark interior of the stable. Standish dropped the harness and grabbed at one of the stall door to steady his quaking legs.

  "Well, well. I should have hazarded a guess you'd be involved in this." Branford's expression became grim "Where is she?"

  Standish appeared speechless with fright. Branford pressed the muzzle even harder against the pulsing vein in his neck and cocked the weapon. It made an audible click, which seemed to have the desired effect.

  "In... the lodge." His head nodded convulsively toward the high wall hiding the other building from their view.

  "Who is with her?"

  "Just Hammerton." Standish wet his lips. "I swear, he forced me...I wanted nothing to do with..."

  "Save your groveling for the magistrate," said Branford harshly.

  Justin spoke for the first time. "Is she... unhurt?"

  Standish could only nod, his lips were trembling so badly.

  The earl regarded him with look of utter disdain. "Chilton, find some rope to bind the swine."

  Justin found a length hanging from one of the beams. "Shall I gag him as well? He might raise an alarm as soon as we leave."

  Branford brows came together. "Quite right." He appeared to be considering the matter when suddenly he spun on his heel, his arm a mere blur in the dim light. The fist connected with a solid crack to Standish's chin and the man dropped to the ground, senseless as a sack of grain.

  Justin gave a low whistle of appreciation. "I say, neatly done, my lor... Branford."

  The earl allowed himself a slight smile. "A campaign on the Peninsula teaches one certain things that come in useful in situations such as these. Hurry and let us bind him anyway, though I doubt he shall be in any state to trouble us for quite some time."

  They made short work of it, leaving Standish locked inside one of the stalls, then stealthily approached the wall surrounding the lodge.

  "Damnation," muttered Branford.

  Justin looked questioningly at him.

  "I should like to avoid dropping down in full view of Hammerton — there is no telling how he might react...." He left the sentence unfinished. "We cannot tell from here how the house is situated."

  He thought for a moment, then began to move around to where the gnarled apples trees hanging over the top of the wall afforded some cover as well as a means for scaling the height. Stopping at one of the studier trunks, he stripped off his coat, stuck the pistol between his teeth and began to climb. Once on the top, he sprawled flat on his stomach and slithered ahead over the moss and twigs for several yards. After surveying the area for several minutes, he motioned for Justin to come up as well.

  They were opposite the side of the hunting box. A squat, two story structure, it had only a few small windows facing in their direction, and those appeared to have their curtains drawn. Satisfied, Branford swung his legs over the side and dropped to the ground with barely a sound. His brow damp with perspiration from, his breathing ragged from all the physical effort, he paused by a thick oak, leaning up against its sturdy bulk for a moment to marshal his strength.

  Justin came up behind him. "Are you alright?" he whispered, noting with concern that a small patch of crimson was beginning to stain the
earl's shirt.

  Branford nodded curtly. "I hope your sister will be content to putter in the gardens of Riverton and devote her energies to her exquisite paintings when she is safe and sound — I am getting too old for this," he muttered through gritted teeth.

  Justin made as if to say something, then shut his mouth. Despite the gravity of the situation, a true smile flashed across his face for a moment as he realized the import of the earl's words.

  Branford took one more deep breath then edged noiselessly towards the lodge. From the vantage point of the timbered corner he ascertained that no one was outside and again motioned Justin to join him. Ducking low to pass underneath the main windows, the two men gained the front door. It was slightly ajar, but they could hear no sounds from within.

  Branford ventured a quick look inside, then withdrew to consider the next course of action. After a moment's consideration, he indicated to Justin to stay where he was, then pantomimed that he would enter the building alone. Justin looked as if he meant to argue, but something in Branford's eyes made him reconsider. Pressing his lips together, he nodded a silent assent. With an answering nod, Branford cocked his weapon and slid into the shadows.

  Even now, Hammerton was paying little heed to her. He had returned to the room a short time after leaving it and had made no further efforts at conversation. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he had fetched a bottle of brandy and pulled his own chair up to the long table. Turned sideways, his profile silhouetted in the fading afternoon sun, he seemed content to stare into his glass with the satisfied smirk she had come to hate.

  Tallying up his fortune and his lands no doubt, Alex thought bitterly. And gloating over his future, which now seemed safe at least. At least he had remained silent and she didn't have to listen to any more of his boasting. Yet she wasn't sure which was worse — having to listen to his chilling revelations or having to dwell on her own damnable stupidity.

  She bit her lip until she nearly drew blood. From the first, she had felt she could trust Branford, no matter what other people said about his reputation. Why had she had let her head overrule her heart? Why had she let reason banish intuition? He must think her just like all the rest now. Of course, he hadn't helped matters — why the devil hadn't he explained?

  Her throat tightened. Because she had not allowed him. A simple yes or no, my lord, she had demanded. So his own honor had demanded that he tell the unvarnished truth. She blinked away tears. How could he ever forgive her for not believing in him? And that wasn't the worst of it, she had to admit. A good part of her anger had stemmed from the fact that she had been unsure of herself, afraid that she could never be as glamorous or alluring as his other amours. So she had lashed out at him. It had been petty. It had been wrong.

  Not that it mattered much now, but she wished somehow she could tell him.... Suddenly she felt the knots were beginning to loosen from the constant twistings of her hands. Though her wrists were raw from the rough hemp, she could now slip her hands free. Banishing her regrets, she forced herself to stay alert, to stay watchful.

  Things weren't over yet.

  The chair scraped back on the plank floor. Hammerton consulted a pocketwatch and got to his feet. Alex noted with some dismay that he had limited his libations to one small glass of the spirits. Unfortunately, he was no fool in that regard.

  "It is time for us to leave, dear cousin," he said as he slipped the watch back in waistcoat pocket. "Arthur should have the carriage ready and we wouldn't want to keep your brother waiting, would we?"

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I think not, Hammerton."

  Hammerton spun around, mouth agape.

  "Sebastian!" cried Alex as she shot up from the chair.

  Branford stepped deliberately into the room, pistol fully extended, pointed square at Hammerton's chest. "Are you alright, my dear," he asked, never taking his eyes from the other man.

  "Y... yes," stammered Alex. "But how did you ever..."

  "Your father's letter," answered Branford. "I finally gave it the attention I should have when you first asked me to look at it. If I only had — well, I'm sorry. I should have prevented this."

  "You are sorry," exclaimed Alex. "I..." She suddenly noticed the ugly red splotch seeping through the fabric of Branford muddied and disheveled shirt. "My God, you are hurt!"

  Instinctively she took a step towards him.

  "Alex! No!" he began. But it was too late.

  For a brief second, she came between Hammerton and Branford's pistol. It was all the time the other man needed. His arm shot around Alex's neck, dragging her right up against his body to shield him from any further threat. In a flash, he whipped out a knife he had hidden in his pocket and pressed it up against the side of her throat with enough pressure to draw a bead of crimson.

  "Put the gun down on the table," he shouted.

  Branford hesitated.

  "Don't, Sebastian, " said Alex. "You know he'll only kill us both. Put a bullet in the monster."

  "Shut up, you bitch." He shook her roughly, causing Branford to take an involuntary step towards him.

  "Stop! Put it down," he cried again, his grip tightening around her throat even more. "I swear, I'll cut her throat if you don't by the time I count to three — and I shall enjoy every second of it." The wildness of his expression made it clear the threat was not an idle one. "One!"

  Branford's eyes narrowed, the only sign of emotion on his face. For the first time he took note of the darkening bruise on Alex's cheek. "

  "Two!"

  "You know, you have just signed your own death warrant, Hammerton," he said softly as he lowered the weapon and set it skidding halfway down the table.

  It was still out of Hammerton's reach. Even so, he relaxed his hold on Alex, letting the knife fall ever so slightly away from her skin. Sure of his victory, he couldn't help but gloat.

  "Hah! You see, I am smarter than all of you," he crowed. "I've beaten you, by God, Branford. I've beaten you in the battle of wits and now I'm going to shoot you down like the dog you are."

  "Is that so?" inquired Branford with no trace of emotion in his voice. He seemed to want to keep Hammerton talking. "Why exactly do you hate me so?"

  As he spoke, he moved ever so slightly forward.

  Hammerton didn't notice, so caught up in his rantings was he. "Everyone thinks you are the clever one for having saved Wellington. Any idiot can appear a hero in war. You're nor clever, merely lucky. I'm the clever one. People should look at me with respect in their eyes, not you. Why you, you are nothing but a murderer!"

  "Rather the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?" said Branford dryly. He inched another step closer.

  "Oh that." He smirked. "Was I to let a an eccentric old man take away what I had worked for all my life?" He slanted a quick glance at Alex. "So the old codger did manage to warn you? I don't see how — I climbed down to the wreck and checked his pockets and belongings quite thoroughly. And I inquired at every possible place he could have posted a letter."

  "Not thoroughly enough, it seems," said Branford, saving Alex from having to answer her tormentor. "He left a letter of warning in one of his books."

  Hammerton furrowed his brow. "There was nothing but scientific gibberish."

  "It was in code." Branford gave a slight smile. "I'm afraid the eccentric old man managed to outwit you."

  Anger flashed in Hammerton's eyes. "Hardly! The fool is dead. And so will all of you be in a short time, including that sapskull of a brother of yours. For all the trouble you've given me I shall be well rid of a tiresome nuisance." He gave Alex another shake. "I am protecting what is rightfully mine! I am the true Earl of Hammerton." The hand that held the knife jabbed at the air to punctuate the point.

  Alex saw her chance. Her hands slipped out of the loosened bonds. One shoved Hammerton into the table while the other shot out for the pistol. Hammerton recovered and moved nearly as quickly towards the weapon, but she managed to knock it away from him and twist out of
his reach. His arm dealt her a resounding blow as she escaped his grasp, but he wasted no time coming after her. He lunged for the gun.

  Branford moved at the same instant. The two of them came together, grappling for the pistol that lay so tantalizingly close. The struggle went on for what seemed like ages, the two bodies intertwined, first one on top, then the other. It appeared that Branford had the advantage, with his superior size and skill, but his strength was ebbing from all the previous exertions. Hammerton managed to free one hand and land a vicious blow to Branford's injured side. It doubled him over, sending him to his knees and allowing Hammerton to grab the pistol. He jumped back, out of arm's reach.