Highest Stakes (44 page)

  "What have you learned of the coaching schedules?" Charlotte inquired between greedy bites of bread and cheese.

  "To our misfortune, we've missed the morning departure to Carlisle, which would have carried us within ten miles of the border," he replied, pausing briefly to swallow some ale. "The Edinburgh mail, however, should be passing through at approximately four this afternoon. We could take it as far as Scotch Corner." He proceeded to devour half a chicken.

  "How much farther from there?" she asked, washing down her meat pie with a most unladylike gulp of tea.

  Robert held his answer, lest he choke on the drumstick he'd zealously torn from the nearly naked chicken carcass. Pausing only to swallow, he continued matter-of-factly, "'Tis seventy miles after that."

  "Seventy miles! Still so far?" she asked in dismay as she tore a large hunk from their second loaf of bread.

  "I'm afraid we lost a great deal of time sleeping, but I fear we would ne'er have survived otherwise. As it stands, we must break our journey at Scotch Corner, and from thence, take the next coach to Gretna Green."

  She considered this, restraining herself to impatient nibbling on the remaining meat pie. "So we have two hours yet to wait on the mail?"

  He nodded, taking another long draught from his tankard.

  "Robert," she began, "would it trouble you greatly if I made some purchases while in Leeds?" She cast a dismayed look at her crumpled gown, adding, "I should so like to appear a proper bride."

  "I would with my entire being, that I was a man of means who could have provided your heart's desire instead of absconding with you in this pusillanimous and clandestine manner." He ended with a helpless gesture knowing he barely had sufficient funds remaining to cover the rest of the trip.

  Charlotte understood their financial difficulties and actually sought to pawn her father's watch and her mother's pearls, the items Robert previously refused to take from her. If her intentions were known, his pride would never allow the sacrifice.

  "I have need of only a few small items. If you would but escort me to a shop."

  "I suppose we have time," he said. "I'll take you directly, and then I must run by the livery to arrange for the horses. I can attend to them while you shop."

  Robert escorted Charlotte to the haberdashery, but as soon as he was out of sight, she made her way to find a pawn broker. The first proprietor of such an establishment eyed her keenly when she withdrew her treasures: the silver watch and milky pearls. With a trembling hand, she offered them up for appraisal.

  "One guinea," the man stated with a patronizing smile.

  "One guinea? Only one guinea? The watch alone must be worth twice the sum, and the pearls are of the highest quality. Surely the pearls are worth more?"

  "One guinea," he repeated with an avaricious gleam.

  The price he offered was only a fraction of the items' worth. She was infuriated to be taken advantage of but feared to seek elsewhere, lest she receive no better offer and be forced to return and accept even less. Her stomach churned in indecision.

  "I had presumed brigands haunted only the highways." The familiar voice came from behind her. "The lady no longer has need of your money."

  Charlotte whirled to face Philip Drake.

  "Be pleased to put away your baubles, my dear. I shall provide your fare to London." He put a strong arm about her waist and propelled her from the shop.

  Overcoming her initial shock, Charlotte struggled vainly against his grip. "Philip! Just what do you think you're doing?"

  He held her fast to his side. "Come along quietly. There is no need to draw attention. I am here to recall Devington, and at Sir Garfield's behest, to retrieve you back to your lawfully betrothed."

  "My lawfully betrothed!" she hissed. "It was my understanding you barely stomach
my betrothed
."

  "True enough, but there is more to this than you realize."

  "Pray don't insult my intelligence, Philip. You covet only my

cousin's fortune. I suspected as much from the start, but as Robert's friend, I gave you benefit of doubt."

  "My reasons are my own," he snapped.

  "But you professed to be his friend!"

  "Friendship aside, Robert has no choice but to release you. He has a categorical obligation to obey his superior."

  "How dare you interfere like this?"

  "I didn't wish it but am now in a most invidious position. I am obligated by my honor to return you."

  "But I will not go!"

  Philip spoke quietly but compellingly into her ear. "Your refusal could put Devington in great danger. I can place him under arrest, you know. He could face charges."

  "What charges?"

  "Insubordination and absence without leave. If I am pressed, these are grounds for the courts-martial." Gripping her shoulders, he spun her to face him squarely. "Do you fully understand what I am telling you?"

  "Y-you can't possibly mean it," she said, appealing to pitiless, dark eyes.

  "I regretfully assure you I do. Don't challenge me," he threatened. "I suggest you come quietly, before Devington has wind of it. Regardless of what you might believe, I harbor a strong repugnance to stain my sword with my best friend's blood." His voice was rueful.

  "Your friend? You defile the word!" Grating steel accompanied the retort as Robert drew his saber from its scabbard.

  "Sheath your sword, Devington! That is an order. You have led me a merry chase, but I regret to say, my friend, you are run to earth. The hunt is over."

  Devington was no match for him. Philip hoped the captain realized as much. Although Philip was prepared to cross swords, he hoped to avoid disgracing him in front of Charlotte.

  "It is far from over. It is now become a point of honor,
Major
." Robert weighed and balanced his saber with a fierce glower.

  "Devington, this is senseless. On horseback, you have no match, but you shall never best me with a blade. I order you for the last time, Captain," he said with deadly calm, "Sheath. Your. Blade."

  "It's been a long time since we have sparred, Drake. Are you still so assured of your superiority?"

  "I never intended this, Devington, but you edge to insubordination. Dangerously close. Pray consider your actions carefully." His voice was low and ominous.

  "I should advise you to remove your coat, lest the bulk hamper you." Robert shrugged out of his own.

  "No, Robert! Don't!" Charlotte threw herself at him. "You could face the courts-martial over this! Please!" she begged. "Please let this be over now. I will go back to my uncle. I could not bear to see your life ruined for love of me. I could not live with it!"

  "No, Charlotte. It shall end today, but on our terms, not theirs. We have been held apart by every deplorable means. I won't suffer it any longer."

  "But if you should lose."

  "I shall not sacrifice my honor to these selfish, avaricious bastards. I could no more stand as a man before you if I allowed it. If you love me, Charlotte, stand aside."

  Preparing for the inevitable, Philip shrugged out of his coat, tossed it carelessly to the ground, and drew his saber.

  Powerless to hinder this madness, Charlotte ran off to seek help from anyone who might intervene.

  Both men now faced one another, blades raised in silent salute. In an act meant to both mock and intimidate, Philip boldly kissed his sword hilt, preparing for what he reckoned would be a clumsy and impassioned assault.

  Unleashing his fury more nimbly than Philip had anticipated, Robert lunged into a swift thrust. Philip effortlessly parried and countered with a riposte, met by his opponent in a clash of blades.

  Disengaging, Robert fiercely advanced again with a vertical slash. Philip agilely sprung back and dodged.

  Perceiving his opponent's retreat, Robert dove in with a low thrust to the midsection. Philip narrowly evaded with a swift sidestep. The blade tip caught his shirt and shallowly grazed his flesh.

  Seeking only to disarm, Philip made a lightning-fast counterstrike, slamming his blade downward near Robert's sword hilt, but rather than disarming, the tactic drove the point of Robert's sword into the soft, trodden dirt.

  By this time, the smell of blood permeating the air had drawn a small crowd around the dueling officers. Included in the spectators were several infantrymen, and their commanding officer, whom Charlotte had drawn from the tavern, begging them to stop the fight.

  The infantry commander who had followed the near-hysterical girl stopped in his tracks at sight of the combatants. Lieutenant Prescott was unable to believe his eyes, or his good fortune. Fighting this illegal duel was the same pair who had humiliated him two years ago. He smiled.

  The Articles of War gave him authority to quell all quarrels, frays, and disorders, even with those of superior rank, but Prescott saw no need to intervene so soon. If they did not kill one another, as he hoped, the same articles conferred upon him the authority to end the duel and place them both under arrest. Heedless of the girl's plea, he would act in his own good time.

  The duelists fought, oblivious of the gathering crowd. In the course of yanking his buried sword from the ground, Robert spewed dirt straight into his opponent's face. Blinded, Philip staggered back in retreat, fighting to clear his vision, and Devington, perceiving opportunity, advanced.

  Quickly wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Philip defended with a spin and slashed downward, connecting with the captain's thigh. The slice was long, clean, and deep.

  Charlotte shrieked when Robert buckled in searing pain, fighting to maintain his feet.

  "First blood, Devington," Philip remarked impassively.

  "This isn't a game," Robert growled.

  "Your injury hampers you. You have no hope of besting me. Certainly not now," Philip said.

  Robert grunted and shifted his weight onto his left leg. "We fight to the last man standing."

  "You really wish to continue?" Philip forced his impassive reply. "While I applaud your tenacity,
you
won't be standing much longer."

  "I'm not finished with you by half, Major."

  "As you wish, Captain." Philip bowed mockingly, rigidly determined to end this briskly.

  Robert, unable to trust his right leg enough to advance, stepped back with a slight stagger. Philip slowly circled like a wolf around his wounded prey, looking for the most vulnerable moment to strike.

  Attempting again to disarm, Philip aimed another powerful stroke just below Devington's sword hilt, but in attempting to parry, the captain brought his arm into the path of Philip's blade. Rather than locking swords as intended, the saber scored his arm, cleanly severing muscle and sinew.

  Robert's blade clattered to the ground. He clutched his maimed arm, now spurting copious amounts of bright crimson blood, against his chest. Ashen-faced and drenched in his own blood, Robert swayed and then crumpled to his knees, cradling his mangled arm.

  Philip froze for a moment, incredulous. He recovered with a curse.

  "Damn you to hell, Devington! There's only one man standing

now!" Throwing his bloodstained saber to the ground, he strode off to find a surgeon.

  With a horrified shriek, Charlotte threw herself upon Robert, but he was as unresponsive as a fallen statue. She frantically tried to staunch the blood still coursing in pulsating spurts. Charlotte prayed to God the surgeon would come quickly. There was so much blood, too much blood!

  Whether in answer to her prayer or in response to Philip's dire threat to his life, the barber surgeon arrived to take charge of the wounded man. Now incapacitated by blood loss, Devington was carried to his lodgings while Charlotte followed helplessly.

  Setting immediately to work, the surgeon managed to staunch the bleeding and plastered the leg wound. Tearfully sitting by his bedside, Charlotte strained to listen through the door as the surgeon gave his prognosis to Major Drake.

  The leg could be saved if infection was averted, but the arm was another matter. The blade, slashing near the elbow joint, had sliced through muscle and tendon, nigh clean to the bone. There would be no saving the member. He advised taking it off with all dispatch.

  "'Tis too damaged to repair, I fear. There is no surgeon so skilled that can reattach what your sword has severed, Major."

  "That's not acceptable, damn you! The captain will be seen by a military surgeon, one accustomed to treating such injuries, before such drastic measures are taken. Do I make myself bloody well clear?"

  "Major, 'twould be a se'nnight before such a surgeon could be dispatched. By that time…" He shrugged grimly.

  "Then you'll bloody well stabilize him for transport and see him to the surgeon general at Westminster. Moreover, he shall arrive with two arms."

  "And whom should I expect to bear the expense of this?" the harried surgeon inquired.

  "All of this patient's expenses will be borne by Sir Garfield Wallace of Wortley. I've no doubt the man is well known in these parts, but you have my sword on it!" Philip swore angrily.

  "Speaking of that sword, Major, I believe you left it behind," Lieutenant George Prescott interrupted.

  "Prescott, is it? Quite the unexpected pleasure to find you in Leeds," Philip remarked, silently cursing his luck. He did not need these complications. Prescott had an axe to grind, and opportunity had presented itself.