“Aye.”
“Follow me.” He moved into the trees, Justin right on his heels, and picked a path through the underbrush, threading his way through the tangled shadows until it gave way to the grounds of the hunting box. Slowing his steps, Branford crept up to the edge of a small clearing that butted up to the back of the stable.
After a quick survey of the surroundings, he motioned for Justin to pause behind the cover of a bushy hemlock.
“What do we …” whispered Justin.
Branford pressed a finger to his lips and cocked an ear.
The sounds of someone moving around inside the stable floated through the breeze, but there was no sign of any companion. Satisfied, the earl pulled the pistols from his coat pockets and handed one to Justin.
“Stay low and light on your feet,” whispered Branford. In the next instant, he loped across the open space, then quickly pressed himself up against the rough stone of the back wall.
So far, so good.Once Justin joined him, he began inching his way around the building to gain a view of the doorway.
A man appeared from the shadows, wrestling with a section of leather harness and paying no heed to his surrounding as he muttered a string of curses.
“You’re right—your cousinisa Satan-cursed son of a bitch,” said the earl, as he pressed the cold steel of his pistol’s snout against the fellow’s neck.
Standish recoiled and jerked his head around, eyes wide with terror. “B-B-Bran …”
“Quiet,” snarled the earl, shoving his captive back into the dark interior of the stable. Hammerton’s cousin dropped the harness and grabbed at one of the stall doors to steady his quaking legs.
“Well, well. I should have guessed that you’d be involved in this.” Branford regarded him with a razored stare. “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’s 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.
“Is she … unhurt?” demanded Justin, who had followed the earl inside
Standish could only nod, as his lips were trembling uncontrollably.
The earl regarded him with a 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.”
“A good point.” Branford considered the matter for a moment—and then suddenly spun around on his heel, his fist a mere blur as it cut through the dim light.
Thwack! The punch hit square on 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, milor… Branford.”
The earl allowed a slight smile. “The brutal campaign on the Peninsula taught me certain things that come in useful in situations such as these.” He gave Standish a none-too-gentlenudge with the toe of his boot. “Hurry and let us bind him anyway, though I doubt he’ll 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.
