Chapter Twenty-Five
Shadowed Hills
He landed beside her, reaching for her. His hands shook. She made a soft, whining noise when he touched her, limp in his grip, her head lolling helplessly. She did not open her eyes, her face colourless under the dirt marring it.
“Careful!” Reid was beside him.
She was alive.
Darcy’s heart, all sharp points and edges cutting at him from the inside, seemed to start back up again with an enormous thump that knocked the wind out of him, then pelted off faster than a bolting horse.
His breathing rushed alongside it in a mad race to see which could fell him first. Sweat prickled colder than ice, the entire length of his spine.
He had to take two or three sharp quick breaths to settle himself.
Alive.
Oh thank God. Thank God.
“Careful of her shoulder. It’s out of joint.” Reid was faster than he at assessing Elizabeth’s state. “Keep your head down.”
“We were shot at.” Darcy could hardly get the words out.
“He was above and behind us.”
“He could have killed her! Did the bastard not see her?”
“Perhaps not. Or did not care.” Reid glanced up the slope. “We should be out of sight for now, below the edge of the road. But keep your head down, and hers. He may be moving, to try again.” He returned his attention to Elizabeth. “Her wrist is broken.”
That made sense. People usually tried to break a fall with their hands and arms. She must have landed badly, snapped the wrist and wrenched her shoulder out of its socket. The poor girl would suffer for it.
Reid ran his hands quickly over her arms and legs.
He pulled off and tossed aside her bonnet, feeling her head with great speed, yet with care and tenderness.
“I canna see anything else, but…” He scowled and lifted her up, thrusting her into Darcy’s arms. “Hold her still. I’d best do this while the lass canna feel it. ”
He raised her right arm, heedless of the odd angle it made, and bent it to carefully position her hand on the back of her neck.
With a quick, forceful movement, he pulled her hand sideways towards her left shoulder, and the joint clicked back into place with a sickening pop!
that had Darcy struggling to hold down his last meal.
Elizabeth let out a muted shriek, and a moan that tore at Darcy. “Oh,” she said, without opening her eyes. “Oh, that hurts.”
Darcy pulled her in closer for a moment, cradling her head with one hand, tangling his fingers in her hair and pressing her face into his shoulder.
She was not truly awake, but to hear her voice, strained as it was, unmanned him completely.
His heart did its hammering and thudding again, but this time he was grateful, so God-be-thanked relieved, that Elizabeth was alive and breathing. To hold her safe was all he asked for.
Reid said nothing of this display. He unknotted and removed his neckcloth, and then Darcy’s. “We must bind her arm to her side. It’s all we can do for now.”
He worked fast, casting many a sharp glance up the hillside, alert for any movement or sound above them signalling that their attacker was moving closer.
Reid used his own, shorter neck-cloth to strap her wrist tightly, Darcy’s longer cravat becoming a cradle for her forearm from elbow to wrist. Reid tied it into place around her ribs.
He shrugged out of his rough homespun hunting coat, rolled it, and placed it deftly beneath her head as Darcy laid her down again.
She moaned, and her mouth worked, though her eyes remained closed, the veins in her eyelids purplish-blue under the translucent skin.
Darcy scrubbed his face with his hands, sitting back on his heels, half fearing another shot would come their way but mostly agonising over how in hell he would get her to safety with her gig in splinters, and, with the shooter in the woods above them, no way to reach the horses without risking her life.
Astonishingly, only a few minutes had passed since his hat had been sent tumbling along the road.
It felt like years. He listened carefully for any hint that anyone was moving towards them, alert for the snapping of a twig or the rustle of grasses.
But the whole world was silent but for the thin piercing cry of a hen harrier high above the cloud wisps, and the faint music of one of the myriad streams tumbling down the hillside to the narrow valley below.
Reid, staring uphill, scowled with a ferocity Darcy had rarely seen in him. “We canna stay here. I’ll go up for the horses, then find help.”
“And if he shoots?”
“I’ll risk it. There’s no choice. I’ll head back to the farm, and get men and a cart. It’s closer than Pemberley.”
Darcy forced himself to stop all the internal yammering and to think, to be rational. She depended on them to save her. He would not be found wanting. “Yes. Almost two miles, still.”
“Better than the three or more to the big house.” Reid blew out an aggrieved-sounding sigh. “Bloody horses took off after the lass’s. Hope their reins trail enough to slow them down, so I can catch one of them. This could take a while.”
“I had rather you wait. If we hear nothing for a quarter-hour, say, then by all means go, but if he is still up there, you will be a fine target the instant you raise your head to the level of the road. You have preached patience to me every time we found ourselves in like difficulties.”
“Aye, but those times we had no injured lassies with us.”
“Do you think her in danger? I mean, other than from whoever is on the hill?”
“We are all in danger, lad. This was no accident. From now on, you will go nowhere without me, and you will go armed. Do you have your pistol?”
“Yes. In my pocket.” Darcy pulled the uncocked, but loaded, Wallis pistol from one pocket, its barrel plugged with a shred of cotton. The tiny flask of powder for the pan came from the other.
Reid looked broodingly at Elizabeth a moment.
“She’ll be in pain, but isna in danger of dying, I deem.
She’s a strong girl. I’ll be easier, though, when we can get her back to Pemberley and get the doctor out to her as soon as may be.
I’ll wait ten minutes.” Reid looked around, and peremptorily demanded Darcy’s handkerchief, adding, “Keep that pistol handy.”
Darcy nodded and handed over his handkerchief.
He readied the pistol with hands that shook a trifle, grateful the flask put a measured dose of powder into the pan because he was far from being calm enough to measure it by eye, snapped the frizzen into place over the pan, and set the pistol on a nearby stone within reach of his hand.
It would be the work of an instant to move the trigger from half-cocked to full if he had to snatch the pistol up.
He would not hesitate to use it if anyone came down from the high woods.
“Good.” Reid had prepared his own Wallis, and held it ready in his hand. “I’ll be back as soon as may be.”
He slid down the slope through the trees, leaving Darcy to stare at Elizabeth and pray to God her injuries were not more severe than they appeared. She was reviving, moving her head from side to side, moaning softly under her breath.
Uuunnh. Uuunnh.
It hurt to hear it, and, as gently as he could, he put his hand on her uninjured shoulder. It might not comfort her much, but it comforted him to touch her, to feel less useless and helpless.
Reid was back within five minutes, scrambling up the steep slope, not even breathing hard. Both his handkerchief and Darcy’s were sopping wet. Between them, they cleaned her dirty, bruised face. The cool water must be refreshing.
Reid indicated his brandy flask. “Had a nip, then filled it with water.”
“I have plenty of brandy in mine.” Darcy regarded her narrowly. She was moving more now, the sodden handkerchiefs serving to help rouse her. “Although I should not give her much.”
“Don’t want her bosky,” Reid agreed. “Keep it until we must move her. She’ll need it then, and we won’t get her up to the road easily without it.”
Elizabeth groaned just then, and opened her eyes. “Oh.”
Darcy bent over her in an instant, and Reid hesitated, then settled back. “Lie still, Elizabeth. We have you. You are safe with us.”
She stared at him through eyes dulled from their usual brilliance. Blinked once. Twice. Then thought and understanding dawned again. “Mr…” She paused, ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “Mr Darcy?”
“Lie still. There was an accident.”
“Oh.” She glanced from him to Reid. Her gaze sharpened, and she tried to move. “Oh!” The breath hissed between her teeth. “That… What?”
“You came out of the gig, lass, and ended up halfway down the hill.” Reid watched her carefully. “Your shoulder and wrist are hurt. We’ve strapped up the wrist, but it will be better for you if you don’t move too much.”
“I… I will not. I can promise you that.” She managed a wan smile, poor girl. “Came out of the— Oh, I remember. Puck reared up. I couldn’t hold him.”
“He broke out of the harness, and the gig went over.” Darcy closed his eyes for an instant to shut out the memory. “You were lucky to be thrown clear.”
“Lucky.” She used her free left hand to touch her injured shoulder, and winced. “I shall endeavour to remember that. An accident, you say? You seem prone to them, Mr Darcy. Careless of you.”
“My greatest regret is that you have been caught up in them each time. Not very well done of me, I am sorry to say, when it is a gentleman’s part to keep a lady from harm.”
“Well, I daresay you would avoid them if you could. I will not hold you to account.” She winced, and once again ran her tongue over her lips.
“Thirsty?” Reid proffered his flask.
“Not if that contains ardent spirits, sir.”
Reid smiled down at her with a tenderness he rarely betrayed. “I promise it’s but water from the stream below, lassie. Drink, now.”
Gentle as any woman could be, he lifted her head and held the flask to her lips. She drank greedily, smiling when she had finished and he made her comfortable again.
“Thank you, Mr Reid.”