Page 34 of The Untamed Heart

“You did not, I gather?”

Marcus snorted. “He was all shiny buttons and no substance.”

“Ah,” Hawkney said, setting down his coffee cup. “I begin to see how resentment might fester.”

Marcus let out a breath of frustration. “It’s not like I got him into trouble deliberately, far from it. I did all in my power to cover up his… his blatant lack of care, his shortcuts and… and his bungling!” he said furiously. “I was forced to redirect ammunition wagons when he sent them off on a journey that would have got them blown to pieces. I put extra pickets out when he neglected to do so. I shared my own regiment’s supplies when Keller’s arrangements failed, and his men would have gone hungry.”

“But of course, someone noticed,” Hawkney said with a wry smile.

“Of course, the men bloody noticed. They’re not idiots, and they can tell the difference between a senior officer who is intent on getting them home in one piece and one who views them as cannon fodder. The men loathed him, and that was nothing to do with me,” Marcus said hotly.

Hawkney laughed and shook his head. “Whereas they worshipped the ground you walked.”

“Hardly that,” Marcus protested, looking disgusted by the idea.

“But closer to the truth.”

Hawkney did not need to see Marcus’s reluctant shrug to know he was correct. “What happened?”

“Keller was reprimanded.”

Hawkney’s brow rose. “Because of you?”

“Because he was a bloody fool!” Marcus retorted furiously before recovering himself. “I beg your pardon.”

Hawkney waved this away. “Think nothing of it. What did he do?”

Marcus hesitated and helped himself to more coffee, he glanced around to where a footman was tidying away the breakfast things and lowered his voice.

“He issued orders without understanding the ground we were covering. We were moving ammunition through difficult terrain, a pass close to the Spanish border. The men were asleep on their feet. Keller chose the route, and to give him his due, on paper it looked best, far shorter than any alternative. But my sergeant had spoken to a muleteer who knew the country. He said the road was overlooked for half a mile. I spoke to Keller, but he dismissed our concerns. He got bloody shirty when I persisted, truth be told.”

“Hell,” Hawkney muttered.

Marcus nodded, his expression darkening. “We heard from the muleteer again during the night. He’d seen the French heading directly for them, so I shifted two companies before dawn and put them above the pass.”

“Without orders?”

“There was no time to ask for any! The French came exactly where the muleteer had predicted. It would have been like shooting fish in a barrel. As it was, we held them long enough to get the wagons through.”

“And Keller?”

Marcus met Hawkney’s gaze, his smile bereft of any humour. “Arrived once it was all over and told the brigadier the precautions had been taken on his instruction.”

Hawkney cursed so loudly the footman clearing the breakfast things juggled a teacup and almost dropped it. He cast the duke a look of terror and fled the room.

Sighing, Hawkney returned his attention to Marcus. “Did you contradict him?”

Marcus shook his head. “No, but someone else did, and the brigadier had heard rumours about the man. He was a no-nonsense, dyed-in-the-wool military man and had no patience for popinjays like Keller. He asked me directly if I had acted without orders, though the devil knew very well, if I had to guess. In any case, I had no option, for he already had my sketch of the ground. It was dated and initialled by me. I was commended for my actions and Keller reprimanded. He never forgave me for that.”

Hawkney nodded. He wondered what such a man might do if he had orders to relieve a man, whom he despised for his competence and heroism, from a position that appeared certain to get him killed. It did not take great imagination.

“You have an enemy, Marcus,” Hawkney said, meeting his friend’s eye.

Marcus frowned. “The man’s an arse, but… but why…?”

“Because if he failed to send you an order, whether out of malice, cowardice, or simply another instance of incompetence, he left you to be killed. Yet you did not die. Against all odds, you prevailed, and instead of becoming just another dead soldier, you became a national hero. A hero about to be lauded in a magnificent exhibition at Horse Guards. I think that might stick in his throat, just a tad, my friend. I’d have a care if I were you, at least until Lucius tracks down the evidence he requires. If he discovers he has not frightened you off, he may try something a tad more direct next time.”

Marcus’s expression grew stormy. “Just let the devil try it. I’d be more than pleased to lay my hands on the gutless bastard.”