Love Betrayed: Brothers in Arms, #10

CHAPTER 1

British Lines at Torres Vedras, Portugal

March 1811

Wasn’t he English?

The voice came from behind Daniel. He still stood near Rivers’ body, which sat on the ground at the base of a tree. The body was leaning over precariously, the cravat and coat stained dark with blood from the slit throat. Any passersby would know from the unnatural position of the body that he was dead. Daniel had been debating whether or not he should drag the body out into the open where the rain would wash the gore away.

Daniel spun around, knife at the ready to face the threat only to encounter a single young man leaning negligently against the trunk of a tree about ten paces away. He looked familiar, and decidedly unthreatening. The night was overcast and the light weak, making it hard to discern his features clearly. Daniel had chosen this dark evening to finally make his move on the traitor, Rivers. They’d used a French sympathizer to arrange an urgent meeting deep in the woods, vaguely threatening to cut off Rivers’ money if he didn’t produce useful information. Rivers had fallen for the ruse and Daniel had made quick work of him, after Rivers had handed over documents detailing their defenses along Torres Vedras.

Seems unsporting to kill one of our own, the young man observed mildly. I don’t think we’ve got that many officers to spare.

I didn’t care for the cut of his coat, Daniel remarked carefully, using the preordained code to identify other War Department agents.

He didn’t care much for yours either, Mr. Steinberg. Or so rumor has it. The young man straightened and reached into his coat and Daniel tensed, ready to throw the knife. Very slowly the stranger removed his hand from his pocket, revealing a pouch of tobacco. Daniel relaxed, but not too much. This odd young man had not made the proper coded response to Daniel’s signal.

I’m sure his turned coat was more offensive than any I’ve worn, Daniel prompted.

This caused the stranger to pause. Ah, I see.

Daniel could see the stranger’s lieutenant’s insignia now. A member of the Fourteenth Light Dragoons. That must be why he seemed familiar. Daniel often gravitated to that division when he had a moment to rest. He had old friends in the Fourteenth. He grew impatient. Did James send you?

No, the young lieutenant said, tamping some tobacco down into a ludicrous pipe. But now, of course, I’m quite curious. Why would he send me?

How do you know my name? Daniel demanded.

At his question the young man barked with laughter, visibly having to restrain himself from making too much noise. How do I know the infamous Mr. Steinberg? he asked, a note of incredulity in his voice. Why, doesn’t the entire camp know of you? Though they know very little about you.

Well, that’s good at least. Infamous, am I? he asked.

Quite. The stranger put the pipe to his lips, though it was unlit. The sight jarred Daniel for some reason and his blood began to pound in his temple. He was always overly excitable after a foray.

You are too young to smoke a pipe, Daniel told him without rancor. You look ridiculous.

The young man looked surprised. Do I? Well, that’s damn odd. I didn’t know there were age requirements. And you’ve changed the subject. Did you mean Sir Barnabas James? He shook the tobacco out of his pipe onto the ground and put the pipe back into his jacket.

Don’t ask questions that people don’t want you to know the answers to, Daniel told him, crouching down and wiping his blade in the wet grass one last time. You know what they say about curiosity? Well, believe it.

I am not a cat.

Then you don’t have eight lives to spare, Daniel said. He stood and sheathed his blade and began to walk away.

Hold up, the lieutenant said, hurrying after him. Shouldn’t we…I don’t know, dispose of the body or something?

Daniel stared at him, rather bemused. Why?

Well, what if they find him? Won’t they wonder who killed him? Won’t they suspect you?

They can suspect half of Portugal, Daniel said impatiently. Particularly the French half. We are at war, after all. An officer, out alone in the dark of the woods—which is suspicious enough—would be easy prey for a French patrol. Someone will come along and discover him and encourage that idea.

Of course, the young man muttered. Of course, you’d have arranged that already.

Hmm, Daniel said noncommittally.

Why haven’t you killed me? the young man surprised him by asking. I’ve put you in a rather awkward position, haven’t I?

Not really, Daniel said, though it was a lie. He’d been wondering himself why he hadn’t taken care of him. He was no match for Daniel, though he was at least a hand taller and a stone heavier. If you were to try to implicate me, you’d probably meet the same fate as Rivers. Either that, or be found guilty by association. Which was also a lie. He turned the tables. You don’t seem overly concerned about Rivers’ fate.

I didn’t care for the color of his turned coat, either, he replied distastefully.

Daniel turned and confronted him. The young man nearly toppled into him he’d been following Daniel so closely. Why were you out here in the woods? How do you really know my name?

It was dark as pitch out now, but Daniel sensed rather than saw the lieutenant’s embarrassment. I was looking for you.

This is a very odd night, Daniel observed, watching as a cloud that had been blocking the moon moved off and light filled the clearing. He finally got a good look at the lieutenant. Yes, he’d seen him before. He’d only been here a few months. He was young. His eyes seemed to match the gray of the clouds, his cheeks full as he smiled at Daniel’s perusal. For some foolish reason Daniel wanted his chin to be weak. It wasn’t. And if he remembered correctly he had dark hair under his shako. He was just the kind Daniel preferred. Dammit.

Yes, it is, the lieutenant agreed, his smile still in place.

He had to get back to the camp, to report to James. And he needed…something. He always did, after. Do you drink, lieutenant? he asked.

The other man seemed unfazed by their disjointed conversation. I’ve been known to, on occasion.

And is this an occasion? Daniel turned away and began walking back to camp as quickly as possible, confident the young lieutenant would follow.

Isn’t everything an occasion of some sort?

Daniel grinned at the moon. Yes, of some sort.

My name’s Ashbury. Harry Ashbury. Harry broke the silence of the woods after they’d walked halfway back to camp. He couldn’t stand too much silence, not now that he had the object of his fascination alone. He wanted to know everything about the slight, silent, dangerous Mr. Steinberg. So far he wasn’t at all what Harry had expected. He’d thought to be dismissed outright by the older man. And when he’d caught him in the middle of…well, killing a man, he’d assumed he’d be next on the list. But it was more excitement than Harry had ever dreamed of in even his wildest youthful fantasies. It was