The Texas Hill Country

Book 1: Texas Hill Country

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

Introducing a bold new saga from the bestselling Johnstones. This is the epic story of new arrivals in the Old West—a proud family of dreamers in the untamed wilds of Texas Hill Country . . .

They came to America to start a new life. Three brothers and their sister, the Braxton heirs lost everything they had in Europe so they boarded a ship to the Texas coast, hoping to stake a claim in the land of opportunity. They knew frontier life would be hard. But their troubles begin before they even reach Texas. A man is killed on board—a member of the fierce MacLochlainn clan who blame one of the Braxtons for his death. So begins a blood-drenched feud that will haunt and pursue them as they try to build a future in Texas Hill Country . . .

Now a fugitive on the run, the wrongly accused Perry Braxton changes his name and joins the Texas Rangers—waiting for the day his past catches up to him. His oldest brother, Athelston, struggles to build a ranch in Commanche territory while the middle brother Jeremy turns to gambling and running with outlaws. Their sister, Bodie, falls in love with a rugged frontiersman, who teaches her the importance of riding, hunting—and shooting—in a life-or-death game of survival. Each of the siblings have forged a path of their own. But when one of them is in trouble—and a rival is out for revenge—the Braxtons stick together. Because family is family. And blood is thicker than bullets . . .

Release date: September 30, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Grand Duchy of Alpenstone

The clash of steel against steel created a clamor that echoed from the chamber’s ancient tapestry-hung stone walls.

The saber-wielding men lunged back and forth. The blades darted out, darted back, thrusted and parried, sent sparks flying when they came together. Each time when it seemed as if one of the men was tiring and might make a fatal slip, he found a reserve of strength and stamina somewhere inside and continued the battle.

His opponent was growing frustrated and impatient, Athelstan Braxton sensed. Charles Edgerton considered himself to be the finest swordsman in the Grand Duchy of Alpenstone. Granted, it was a very small country, but to be the best of anything was an achievement to be desired.

Charles wouldn’t like the idea of losing to one of his cousins. Especially not to a poor relation such as Athelstan Braxton.

Just as Athelstan expected, the frustration boiled over inside Charles and prodded him into acting rashly. He charged, swinging the saber in wild, chopping blows. Athelstan twisted aside and brought his saber down on top of Charles’s. As Charles’s momentum carried him forward, his sword’s point rammed against the stone floor. The impact jolted the weapon out of his hand.

Charles stumbled and might have fallen, but Athelstan gripped his upper arm and steadied him. Charles glared and pulled away.

“You’ve been practicing,” he told his cousin, with grudging admiration.

Athelstan smiled. “That’s the only way I can hope to compete with you and not be terribly outclassed.”

“I’ll beat you next time.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Athelstan said.

Soothing Charles’s ruffled feathers was grating, but it was the smart thing to do. Although the Edgertons and the Braxtons were both noble families, descendants of the English adventurers who had founded the Grand Duchy of Alpenstone in a corner of the mountains where France, Germany, and Switzerland all came together, the Edgertons possessed a great deal more wealth—and therefore, a great deal more power and influence.

This castle in Lornsburgh, the capital, belonged to the Edgertons, who owned a large estate outside of town. The Braxtons owned one of the neighboring estates, but it was smaller and much less ostentatious. Athelstan lived there with his brothers, Jeremy and Perry, and their sister, Bodicia. The siblings were the last of their line, for now. But Bodicia was the youngest at nineteen and Athelstan the oldest at twenty-eight, so they still had plenty of time to add to the family heritage.

Athelstan sleeved sweat off his face. It was cool year-round here in the mountains, but the two men had worked hard in their duel. He picked up Charles’s saber and held it out to him.

“Another bout next week?” Charles asked, as he took the sword.

“Of course. How else will I get better?”

Charles whipped the sword around and rested the blade’s tip against Athelstan’s chest, just above where the shirt hung open to reveal a bit of curly brown hair. He didn’t press hard enough to break the skin, but Athelstan definitely felt the point against his flesh.

“Just don’t get too good,” Charles said. For one grim moment, Athelstan wasn’t sure if his cousin meant the warning seriously.

Then Charles grinned and pulled the saber away. He clapped his free hand on Athelstan’s shoulder and said, “Come, let’s have some brandy.”

Their steps echoing against the high ceiling, the cousins left the hall and stepped into a small library. It was their custom to step in there for a bit of refreshment after a spirited round with the sabers. One of the servants already had left a tray with a decanter and a pair of snifters on the heavy inlaid table in the center of the room.

Charles tossed his saber on the table and poured the brandy. He handed one of the snifters to Athelstan and lifted his.

“To Alpenstone,” he said.

“To Alpenstone,” Athelstan echoed, happy to drink to their homeland.

As they drank, a new voice said, “You drink to a bit of land when you could be toasting a person instead.”

The two men turned as a young woman strolled into the room. Charles asked her, “In that case, to whom should we be drinking, Claudia?”

“Your beautiful sister, of course,” Claudia Edgerton replied with a smile.

“That seems quite reasonable to me,” Athelstan said. He lifted his brandy snifter in salute to the lovely fair-haired young woman.

Charles said, “If you have to goad people into drinking to you, I’m not sure how much of a tribute it really is.”

Claudia came closer and rested a hand on Athelstan’s arm. “You’re sincere in your admiration of me, aren’t you, Athelstan?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. Only a blind man could fail to admire Claudia’s lithe beauty, effectively displayed in a light blue gown with a square-cut, daringly low neckline. And even a blind man could enjoy the lilting music of her voice.

Charles snorted and said, “Our cousin admires you because he didn’t grow up with you bedeviling him at every turn.”

Claudia turned to him. “Actually, we did grow up together. Practically. Alpenstone is a very small country, after all, and our family estates are next to each other.”

“Yes, yes.” Charles drank the rest of the brandy in his snifter. “What do you want, Claudia?”

She lifted her hand and stroked the tight line of his jaw. “Can’t I simply desire to enjoy the company of my dear brother?”—a quick smile toward Athelstan—“and my darling cousin, of course.”

“There’s a time for the company of women,” Charles snapped. “The aftermath of a brisk contest of swords between two men isn’t it.”

“Oh?” Claudia reached down and closed her hand around the grip of the sword her brother had tossed on the table. She picked it up and turned quickly, raising the blade until the tip was poised in front of Charles’s face. “Perhaps you’d care to test my skill with a sword?” She whipped the saber toward Athelstan, who took an involuntary step backward. “Or you?”

Athelstan grinned and held up his empty left hand, palm out. “Not me,” he said. “I’ll readily admit your superiority, Claudia.”

“Oh! I know you, Athelstan. You’re just indulging the whims of a little girl. Have at you!”

She brandished the saber again and sprang at him, cutting the air back and forth. Athelstan had to give ground. Instinctively, he brought up his saber and blocked Claudia’s attack. The blades rang together.

The saber wasn’t a lightweight weapon, but Claudia handled it with relative ease. Athelstan knew her to also be a superb rider, and when they were young, she had been able to outrun all her male cousins and outwrestle some of them.

Despite how she referred to herself, she was no longer a little girl but a woman in the vigorous prime years of her youth. A wicked smile appeared on her face as she pressed the attack and Athelstan retreated across the library. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much room to withdraw. His back struck the shelves full of thick leather-bound volumes. The saber in Claudia’s hand darted at him. He barely turned the thrust aside with his blade.

Was she actually trying to hurt him?

Athelstan had a hard time believing that, but he didn’t have a chance to find out one way or the other. Charles grabbed his sister from behind, his left arm going around her waist while his right hand reached around her to grab the saber. He pulled it out of her grip and said, “That’s enough! What’s wrong with you, Claudia?”

“Wrong with me?” She twisted in his grip and glared at him. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral snarl. “There’s nothing wrong with me, dear brother! You boys just don’t know how to handle me.”

“I’ll put you over my knee, that’s what I’ll do,” Charles threatened.

“It’s all right,” Athelstan said. This unexpected confrontation made him uncomfortable. “Claudia was just having a bit of sport with us, Charles. I’m sure she meant no harm.”

“She could have hurt you, waving that saber around like that.”

“Please,” Claudia said, contempt dripping from her voice, “if I’d wanted to hurt either of you, you couldn’t have stopped me. And I’d have done it with something other than a blade.”

Somehow, Athelstan had no trouble believing that.

Without turning around, Charles tossed the saber onto the table behind him again. Then he let go of Claudia, who gave him a withering look and said, “The next time you lay hands on me, Charles, you’d best be serious about it.”

“Believe me, I will be.”

She turned back to Athelstan. “I’ve not offended you … ?”

“Of course not,” he told her. “I know you meant no harm.”

He wasn’t completely convinced of that, but he saw no need to express that thought.

Claudia started to walk away but paused and looked back at the two young men.

“That’s the trouble with you boys,” she said. “You play at swords and fail to realize there are much deadlier weapons in the world.”

With that, she was gone.

Charles waited until his sister’s footsteps had dwindled away in the corridor outside the library. Then he said, “I apologize for Claudia. I have no idea what possessed her to act that way. I swear, sometimes I think madness must lurk somewhere in our family, and it comes out now and then in Claudia.”

“If your family is mad, then so is mine,” Athelstan pointed out.

Charles shook his head. “No, the Braxtons are very different from the Edgertons. The blood may be linked, but your family is the solid, hardworking stock that allowed England to spread an empire around the globe.”

“You make us sound dreadfully boring. Don’t forget, the Braxtons came here along with the Edgertons, the Fitzwarrens, and the Bucklands, to found Alpenstone.”

Charles clapped Athelstan on the shoulder. “True. You’re daring adventurers at heart, I suppose. And it’s your family that has the closest connection with the Habsburgs, and without that, Alpenstone most likely wouldn’t exist. We owe you a great deal, Athelstan.”

“Not me, personally. It was my grandfather, and yours, and all the others who left England—”

Charles laughed. “One step ahead of the law, no doubt! I’ve never heard the full story of how the grand duchy came to exist, have you?”

“No, not really. But I hardly think our ancestors were outlaws who fled the country.”

“Perhaps someday we’ll find out. In the meantime, allow me to apologize again for Claudia’s outlandish behavior.”

“You didn’t really mean that, did you, when you threatened to put her over your knee?”

Charles looked solemnly at Athelstan and said, “Cousin, I meant every word of it.”

The Huntsman’s Rest had a sign hanging over its entrance that depicted a man wearing old-fashioned clothing, including a peaked cap with a feather in it, and carrying a blunderbuss. The figure sported a sharply pointed goatee. He was supposed to be a huntsman stalking his prey, Jeremy Braxton supposed, but the patrons of this tavern—himself included—spent very little time tramping around the woods in search of wild game.

The only game Jeremy was interested in at the moment was vingt-et-un. He studied the cards in his hand, looked across the table, and nodded to the dealer, who lofted another card in front of Jeremy.

Only a heartbeat was required for Jeremy to recognize the cluster of pips on the card as being too many. He rolled his eyes in disgust before tossing his other cards away. The dealer’s gaze moved on to the player on Jeremy’s left. His eyebrows rose inquisitively.

Jeremy didn’t care what the hand’s outcome was. He wouldn’t be raking in the pile of coins in the middle of the table, so he didn’t care who did. He shoved back his chair, stood up, and headed for the bar that ran across the back of the smoky low-ceilinged room. Only a few lamps burned in the tavern, and the smoke made the lighting even dimmer.

One of the serving girls turned away from the bar with a tray in her hands laden with a pitcher and several tankards. When she saw him, she said, “You’re not playing anymore, Jeremy? Did you grow tired of the game?’

“Yes, that’s it, I’m tired of it,” he said. As good an explanation as any and better than admitting that he was—momentarily, to be sure—without funds.

“Well, if you’re in search of some other way to pass the time, I can make a suggestion,” she said with a bawdy smile, as she passed him, carrying the tray. “Just let me deliver this to that table over there.”

“Another time, Sophie,” he told her. “I wouldn’t be very good company right now, I’m afraid.”

“Suit yourself,” she said breezily, over her shoulder.

He went to the bar and nodded to the burly, white-haired tavernkeeper. “A pint, Fred.”

The man squinted piggish eyes at him, making them even more swinelike. “On the family account, I take it?”

“Of course,” Jeremy responded stiffly.

As he was drawing the pint, Fred said, “You know, lad, you’re the only one of the Braxtons I’ve ever seen in here, so it’s a reasonable thing to believe the family account is your account.”

“Athelstan handles the finances. I’ve explained that to you.”

“And you’ve informed him as to the amount you owe the Huntsman’s Rest?”

“Of course,” Jeremy said. That was a barefaced lie; he had told his older brother no such thing. But Fred didn’t have to know that. Jeremy was certain his situation would improve shortly. Any day now, in fact.

Fred looked like he didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but finally the tavernkeeper nodded in acceptance of Jeremy’s answer.

“That brother of yours had best get around to handling his responsibilities before too much more time passes,” Fred said with a frown. “Otherwise, I might have to go see him myself.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Just remember what I said, lad.”

Fred moved off down the bar, and Jeremy lifted the tankard to his lips. He drank deeply of the ale and tried to bring his anger and resentment under control. A man like Fred had no right to talk to him like that.

Sophie came back to the bar with the now empty tray under her arm. She leaned closer to Jeremy and said under her breath, “You need to meet me in the back.”

“I told you, I’m not in the mood for—”

“Not that. I have to talk to you.” Her eyes cut toward a corner where three men sat at a table.

Jeremy followed her gaze without appearing to do so, studying the men from the corner of his eye. They were strangers to him.

“I don’t know them, if that’s what you’re trying to tell me,” he said.

“You may not know them, but they know you,” Sophie said. “I overheard them talking about you just now. And it didn’t sound like they were your friends.”

Jeremy took another drink from the tankard to give himself time to think. Then he said, “Go on in the back. I’ll join you shortly.”

“All right.” Leaving the tray on the bar, she disappeared through a narrow door at the end of it. Jeremy knew there were a couple of private rooms in the rear of the tavern, as well as a storage area.

He stood there drinking slowly from the tankard, trying to give off an air of not having a care in the world. Handsome and dark-haired, he looked to be an indolent young man, which was exactly what he was.

He swallowed the last of the ale and placed the empty on the bar. Down at the other end, Fred saw that and looked a question at him. Jeremy shook his head and turned to stroll toward the door to the back.

Fred made a face but didn’t interfere. Sophie and the other girls who worked for him made their own arrangements with the customers, if such arrangements were to be made. Fred had no desire to mix in with any of that. He owned a tavern, not a brothel, he had been known to declare.

Jeremy stepped through the door into a hallway. At the far end was a window coated with a thick layer of grime. It let in enough light for him to see the two doors on the right that opened onto the private rooms and the single door on the left to the storage area.

Sophie stood in the first open doorway on the right. She beckoned to him in the gloom.

Jeremy closed the door to the tavern’s main room and joined her.

“What is it?” he asked. “Did you overhear those strangers plotting against me?”

“One of them asked the others if they were sure that was you at the bar. They said it was, and he told them to go ahead.” Sophie looked worried. “That sounds pretty ominous to me.”

“It doesn’t sound good,” Jeremy agreed. He looked at the filthy window. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to leave. I can always come back later after those men are gone.”

“Before you go—” Sophie reached up and put her arms around his neck. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his in a hard, hungry kiss.

For a second, Jeremy felt a surge of impatience. He had no idea who those men were or what they wanted from him, but he owed money to more than one man in Alpenstone. A few others held grudges against him involving wives and daughters. With so much potential trouble hanging over his head, the details didn’t really matter. He needed to get out of there, and she was delaying him.

But the urgency of her embrace, the pliant softness of her body as his arms went around her, the hot sweetness of her mouth, all those things were too much for Jeremy to ignore. He clasped her more tightly to him and returned the kiss.

The crash of a door slamming open shattered Jeremy’s preoccupation. He let go of Sophie and jerked around to see two men entering the gloomy hallway. He couldn’t make out any details, but he was sure they were two of the men the serving girl had overheard talking about him.

For a second, he thought that perhaps she was working with them and had distracted him and delayed his flight so that they could catch him.

Then Sophie gave him a shove toward the window. “Get out of here! I’ll slow them down!” She ran toward the two men and waved her hands in front of her as she cried, “You can’t be back here!”

With his suspicion of her dispelled, he dashed to the window, which had a brass handle at the bottom for lifting. He grabbed it and thrust the pane up, then threw a leg over the sill.

The alley behind the Huntsman’s Rest was almost as dark and gloomy as the corridor Jeremy had just left. His boots had barely landed on the hard-packed dirt when a rush of footsteps came from nearby.

He twisted toward the sound and spotted a large indistinct shape charging toward him. Two of his enemies had followed him into the rear hallway, but the other man had left the building and circled around to cut off this means of escape. It was a sound strategy.

Jeremy glanced at the other end of the alley where numerous crates were piled up. He might be able to navigate through them, but they would slow him down and the attacker would overtake him.

Faced with that obstacle, Jeremy turned the other way and threw himself toward the ground. His shoulder rammed into the man’s legs. The stranger, carried forward by his momentum, yelled as he hurtled over Jeremy’s back.

The man landed on Jeremy’s legs, weighing them down and pinning them to the ground for a moment before Jeremy kicked his way free. The man rolled and grabbed at him, but Jeremy landed a kick to his face and knocked him away. Jeremy scrambled up and ran for the street.

Behind him, someone shouted, “Gustav! Gustav, get after him!”

Jeremy threw a look over his shoulder. In the thickening shadows, he couldn’t make out anything clearly, but he thought the two men who had burst into the tavern’s rear hallway had climbed out the window after him. One of them was tending to the man Jeremy had kicked while the other lumbered after him.

The man chasing him looked big enough to tear him apart. But to do that, he’d have to catch him, and Jeremy was faster. When he reached the cobblestone street, he darted right, away from the tavern.

Lornsburgh, although not as old as many of the towns in Europe, had the same air of antiquity about it: the narrow, twisting streets; the heavy, imposing stone buildings; the dark passages between looming structures. Jeremy ran into one of those openings and was swallowed up instantly by shadows. He stopped a few yards in and pressed his back to the wall as he struggled to control his rapid breathing. He didn’t want his pursuer to hear him gasping.

The big man huffed and puffed past the alley and never even glanced toward Jeremy. Jeremy waited in the shadows to make sure the man didn’t come back and that no one else came along looking for him. He thought about going the other way in the alley, but the gloom was so thick, he couldn’t see a thing. He decided not to venture in that direction.

Finally, he eased up to the alley mouth and leaned out just far enough to look up and down the street. A few people were still out and about since it was only early evening, but no one appeared to be searching for him. He stepped out and, with his head down, walked swiftly toward the next street. He wanted to get back to the stable where he had left his horse when he rode into town from the family estate earlier in the day.

He hadn’t gone very far when he heard the scuff of shoe leather on the cobblestones behind him. An instant later, something hard and round pressed against the back of his head, causing him to stop short and freeze in his tracks.

“Please try to run, Herr Braxton,” a man said. “I would like nothing more than to blow your brains out.”

Braxton Manor was a rambling, one-story stone house with a gabled roof located in the middle of five thousand acres several miles north of Lornsburgh. The estate also included stables, a blacksmith shop, storage sheds, and a number of cottages to house the workers who tended the fields to the south of the manor house. To the north of the house lay thick, practically untouched woods. A few trails had been laid out through the forest, but other than that, the area looked very much as it had for hundreds of years.

Perry Braxton rode along one of those trails. He held the big gray stallion down to a lope. The horse wanted to run, but this was no place for it. The trail was too narrow and twisting. A hard run risked a stumble and fall. Besides, a few low-hanging branches extended out over the trail, and Perry didn’t want to risk bashing his head into one of them.

A voice called from behind him, “Perry! Perry, wait for me!”

Perry reined in and looked over his shoulder. The branches were so thick overhead that they cast the trail into deep shadow, but beams of light slanted through gaps here and there and reflected off the blond hair of the rider hurrying after him. That hair tumbled in waves around the shoulders of his sister, Bodicia.

For years, their mother had tried to civilize Bodicia and turn her into a proper member of respectable society. That effort had failed for the most part. Bodicia and her cousin, Claudia Edgerton, had seemed to be in some sort of competition for most of their childhood to see which one could act most like a boy.

Despite that, both girls had grown into lovely young women.

Genevieve and Alexander Braxton were both gone now, taken by the sickness that had swept through Europe, including Alpenstone, two years earlier, leaving their four children to carry on. Athelstan, the eldest, was the head of the family now. It would be up to him to find a suitable husband for Bodicia, and since she was nineteen now, the sooner the better.

Perry didn’t envy his older brother that job.

He turned the gray and waited in the trail. Attempting to get away from Bodicia would be a mistake. That would just goad her into trying harder to catch up. Better just to let her ride with him.

It didn’t take long for her to join him. The chestnut mare she rode was nimble and fast. She smiled as she drew even with him.

“I told you to let me know if you went for a ride and I would join you,” she said. “Did you forget?”

“That’s right,” Perry said, making an effort to keep the dry tone out of his voice. “It slipped my mind.”

Bodicia made a scoffing noise, but she didn’t seem upset. She was full of life, excited by practically everything that happened, and she seldom got angry about anything. To her, each day was a new adventure.

Her mother wouldn’t have been pleased to see her now with her hair loose, wearing a man’s shirt and trousers, and riding astride. But she was happy and healthy, and that was what mattered to Perry.

He was three years older, but anyone who didn’t know about the difference in their ages might take them for twins. They had the same golden hair, slender build, and dark blue eyes.

One difference was that Bodicia was unarmed while Perry carried a flintlock rifle across the pommel of his saddle. Wild boars roamed these woods, and encounters with them, though uncommon, did happen.

“Where are you going?” Bodicia asked.

“Nowhere in particular. It’s just too fine a day to stay cooped up inside.”

“You’re not going to Edgerton Hall?”

Perry frowned as he looked over at her. “Why would I do that?”

His sister wore a sly smile as she said, “I thought perhaps you might be paying a call on Claudia.”

For a moment, Perry didn’t respond. Then he laughed and shook his head.

“If you’re trying to insinuate that I might be interested in courting our cousin, you can put that completely out of your mind. That’s the most insane idea I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not sure why you’d think that. She’s beautiful, and the Edgertons have a great deal more money than we do.”

Perry’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t dispute either of the things Bodicia had said. Claudia, undeniably, was beautiful. Perry also had thought more than once that she was a bit mad—perhaps more than a bit.

The Braxton family’s financial situation was precarious, too, although no one would ever know that from Athelstan’s demeanor. The oldest of the Braxton siblings didn’t like to display any signs of weakness.

But Perry had overheard Athelstan talking to Jeremy a few days earlier, and Athelstan hadn’t been happy. He had laid into Jeremy about the gambling debts he was running up, not to mention the drinking and carousing he did in the taverns of Lornsburgh. According to what Perry had heard Athelstan saying, Jeremy’s behavior was a threat not only to the family’s social standing but to their financial well-being.

Jeremy, of cour. . .