For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

the ranks above him. Alec didn’t think any of his junior officers would go so far to secure a majority, but as the days marched on and James didn’t return, he began to wonder.

Finally, James Peterbury came back, a full week later. Alec was stacking cordwood a neighboring farmer had split for the widow in return for her spinning his wool. It was hard work, but Alec was determined to make himself well. The French saber had slid up his ribs before catching on his collarbone. The muscles burned with pain every time he raised his arm, but he forced himself to lift another log, and another. He refused to be left an invalid by this. But when he heard the horse approaching, he stopped stacking logs with as much relief for the rest as he had hope for the tidings.

Peterbury tied his horse to a tree, taking just long enough that Alec knew the news was bad. He turned away, ducking his head to wipe the sweat from his face with the tail of his shirt. Good God. He had really believed James would find the mistake, easily discovered and promptly believed. If not—if it couldn’t be proven or, worse, was simply not believed—what would he do?

Footsteps sounded behind him. “How goes it?” he asked without turning.

There was a pause. “Not as well as we hoped, I’m afraid.”

Alec nodded. “I suspected as much.”

“The papers…” James paused again, as if picking each word carefully. “They are apparently quite an extensive correspondence with a French colonel, over some years’ time.”

“Is there anything at all to identify the recipient?”

“I don’t know,” came James’s low answer. “I didn’t read them.” Alec jerked around then, incredulous. James held up his hands. “I tried—repeatedly. It took a devilishly long time to find someone who had actually seen the letters himself, and even longer to get anything but vitriol from him. Everyone thinks it does not matter now, as you are supposed dead.” He tried a weak smile, more gruesome than reassuring. “That is the good news. Since everyone thinks you’re dead, no one is looking for you or making a great fuss over the charges. There are whispers, but nothing more. The victory has crowded out most other talk.”

“That’s the good news,” Alec repeated. He lowered himself onto the woodpile. “At least there is some.”

James looked at the ground. “It’s more valuable than you think.”

“Believe me, I know.” Alec ran one hand over his face. “You said Will Lacey is dead.” He had hardly been able to think about his oldest, dearest friend lying cold and broken on the field, never again to flash his wry grin over a commanding officer’s tantrum or quietly lend a hand to a wounded soldier. Alec’s heart twisted with grief for the loss, not just to himself but to Will’s family, his proud, strict father and his newly widowed wife, not to mention the child who would never know him.

James sat on the woodpile beside him. “He died heroically. Ponsonby sent him to direct a squadron of dragoons to charge, and just as he was relaying the order, an artillery shell made a direct hit on the commander, cleaving him in two. They say Lacey seized the sword from the commander’s hand and led the charge himself, into deadly French fire. The fighting was fierce, but he pushed onward, and captured the enemy’s colors before being cut down.”

A true hero’s death. Alec bowed his head for a moment. “His wife? She was in Brussels.”

“I do not know. There are many widows in Brussels.”

He shoved himself to his feet. “Find her, if she’s still there. Do all that you can for her. I gave Lacey my word I would see to her security, but now…”

Peterbury understood. He jumped up and saluted crisply. “I will, sir.” Then he blinked and looked uncertain. “What will you do?”

Alec glanced around the little clearing about the house. Widow Gustave was ready for him to leave, and he would go mad if he had to stay much longer. “I can’t stay here.”

“Where will you go?”

That was a damned good question. Where, indeed? He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers until his knuckles strained white. “I will disprove this,” he said instead of answering James. “I will.” His hands curled into fists. “Somehow.”

After a moment James extended his hand, palm open. “I know,” he said. “You have my help.”

Alec laughed grimly. “You don’t need to promise me anything. Aiding a traitor isn’t in your best interest.”

“I’m not aiding a traitor, I am aiding a friend in need.” His hand hadn’t wavered. “And I pledge my help whether you shake my hand or not. I’ll find those letters and track down the true recipient, and expose this man as both a traitor and a liar. No one is served by the wrong man being punished; it makes a fool of the entire army.”

He took a deep breath. James was younger than he, but no green boy. He was a staff officer, albeit a very junior one, and he had always had a knack for talking people into seeing things his way. And now, he was the only friend Alec had. He clasped James’s hand in his. “Thank you.”

“Well, there’s something,” James said with a short chuckle. “The hard-charging Major Hayes has accepted my advice and aid.”

Alec held up one hand. He supposed this possibility had been fermenting at the back of his mind all along, that he would need a second plan of action if the allegations couldn’t be easily dismissed, because now there was no hesitation when he spoke. “Not Major Hayes. From now on I shall be Alec Brandon.” The name just appeared on his lips, his nickname and his mother’s family name. “Alexander Hayes is dead.”

Chapter 22

1820

If Alec had feared his confession would cause even more upheaval, he was happily disappointed. In fact, the household