Chapter Nine #2
“No, you proved yourself a caring and compassionate ruler towards the people. I would have left him in the stocks another day, but you took pity upon him. That is a good sign but take care to remember that pity has its place.”
Suddenly, Caddock lurched, and Thora's hoof slipped causing Elizabeth to twist in her saddle and nearly slide off.
Darcy's head whipped around as he tried to find the source of the ruckus.
Eight armed men were riding at them full speed.
She gasped, her chest tightening. With haste, he grabbed Elizabeth and steadied her.
“Ride for those trees!” It was a command, not a suggestion.
“But—”
“Do not argue! Ride!” Towards his men he shouted, “Protect the princess!”
She sped off, gripping the reins tightly, bile rising from the fear of having nearly lost her seat.
The animal and rider ducked into the copse, hoping against hope that the attackers would be dispatched quickly.
Through the leaves, Elizabeth could discern that two men came upon her new husband, followed by the furious flash of swords.
The horrible sound of crashing metal quavered through the air like a foul disease searching for its next victim.
A bloodstained man, one of Darcy's attackers, fell from his mount, who trotted on, unmindful of the body beneath its back hooves. The other man fought on, matching Darcy blow for blow until Darcy's dagger appeared and ripped an unnatural canyon across his throat in a fatal mock-up of a joust.
The other men were engaged equally as brutally, and one of the royal guards had fallen. No one had made it to the grove with her.
“And look what we have here. A Southerner miles away from home.”
In a trice, her head turned towards the voice. A man merely a few years older than her was leering at her. His teeth were yellowed, and his hair was heavy with grease. Elizabeth choked on his stench.
“Sir, I warn ye, harm me not!”
“'Ye?' Oh, that is pathetic! They neglect to teach you toads anything, do they not? You cannot even speak properly.” He pulled his horse close to hers so they were eye to eye. “But I suspect you are a sweet bit of ass to have driven our High Lord so mad.”
She struck him hard enough on the cheek that her palm stung, and tears sprang to her eyes. He was knocked back, but not down, and the horse moved with him.
“You shall pay for that, Sweet Bit,” he hissed.
“And you shall hang for treason. Move away from my wife.”
Oh, thank the Lord, her husband was here!
“She is at the tip of my sword, Lord Darcy. This bit is going to die no matter what you do.”
“Move away from my wife. I will not tell you again.”
Elizabeth stared down, frozen, at the blade hovering against her belly.
Slowly, it slipped into her mind that she had spent hours with her husband in the marriage bed and she might, even now, be with child.
The thought of somebody harming her suddenly paled in comparison to the possible destruction of her innocent babe.
She was unarmed, but she was not stupid.
Willing him to understand her, Elizabeth met Darcy's eyes, took a deep breath, and gave a nearly imperceptible jerk of her head.
Before the toothy man knew it, Thora had been jerked backwards, and Darcy was descending on him.
Once again swords clashed violently enough to cause sparks.
Each loud hit caused her to flinch. The men fought hard, and the traitor seemed to be able to match his opponent in every way.
Unexpectedly, the greasy man switched hands and managed to slice Darcy's sword arm from shoulder to elbow.
Elizabeth screamed, unable to tell the depth of the wound, and made to tug Thora's reins and direct her mount to Darcy’s side.
“Stay back!” Darcy yelled at her. She moved Thora away, but the space was limited amongst the trees. He probably wished she would ride for Nanningbrook, but she would never leave him now.
He took his own sword in his right hand and played on the traitor's surprise by running him through just as more riders appeared. Darcy manoeuvred Caddock in front of Thora, and his three remaining guards followed suit, surveying the dead, the dying, the injured, and the new party.
“My lord! I rode as fast as I could. One of my spies learnt of the plot to abduct and kill the princess and informed me. I had hoped to reach you in time.” Foster was panting hard.
To abduct and kill the princess? Oh, my lord! She could fall faint! She had no idea! Her one thought had been that this was to hurt her husband, who was hurt!
“You have,” said Darcy. “I have injured men, and I fear my wife is going to go into shock.”
“You are injured too, sir!”
“Pay no mind to me. We must get back to Nanningbrook now.”
Swords drawn, the new riders surrounded the Pemberley party. Elizabeth drew Thora next to Caddock and reached towards the blood on Darcy's arm with cautious fingers. Without thinking, her eyes wide and tear-filled, she touched his cheek.
“I thought I had lost ye,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
With his good arm, he took her hand, then wrapped his bleeding arm about her waist, pulling her over to his saddle.
“You shall never lose me, my sweet. Even when you most want to.”
“Tease me not,” she said in a solemn, hushed tone as the riders began to move. “Without ye, I am an unwelcome stranger in an unfriendly place.”
“You have made friends enough at court. This is isolated.”
“Aye, it makes me feel isolated.”
“Take heart, Elizabeth. The survivors will hang, and the traitors died pitiful deaths. This will set an example to those who do not accept you.”
She shook her head. “That is what I am afraid of.”
* * *
When they reached Nanningbrook, Darcy had wanted to tend to his wounded men, but Elizabeth insisted he be looked at first. The physician met them in the same bedchamber they had previously occupied and inspected the ugly gash on his arm.
The blood had crusted over, and the flesh was a swollen, angry purple, but the wound was not deep.
The physician moved to clean it, but Elizabeth ordered him out to tend to the guards.
“You were worried about losing me. Are you now hoping an infection will set in?”
In her frustration, the lady made an unladylike noise through her nose.
“Nay, ye dolt. I shall clean thy wound myself.” Carefully, she washed the dried gore away, placed a salve with some healing herbs on the cut, and wrapped it all in a soft, clean cloth.
When the wound was dressed, she pressed her lips to the gauze then to his forehead.
“A thousand thanks for saving our lives.”
“What?”
“It occurred to me when that blade was against my stomach that I may already be with child. If I am, I just wanted to thank ye in advance. Not every man would spill his own blood for his wife.”
“Then that man would be a fool. Or he is not married to my wife, which is a good thing because his blood would spill regardless.”
It was then that she began to cry: fat, heavy tears slipping down her round cheeks.
Her shoulders shook and her nose ran, and Darcy stared at it all in a fascinated sort of horror.
He had caused many women to cry, but none had ever sobbed in his presence.
Unsure, he gripped her shoulder and squeezed.
“My sweet, all is well. I am still here.”
“I know,” she wailed, weeping harder.
He bit back a witty observation and pulled her into his arms, sensing she needed physicality instead of banter. Immediately, her breathing calmed though she still snuffled. Gently, he rocked her, smoothing her hair and whispering soft, sweet words.
“Surely, you cannot be this upset over me.”
“Why not? Are ye not my husband? Are ye not the man I have lain with? Might ye not be the Papa of my child? Do not tell me I cannot mourn or be scared.”
“You loathed me two days ago.”
“I did not.” She sounded offended.
He gave her a look. Could she see his doubt in the statement?
“Perhaps I did, but I loathed ye under false pretences, as I have already explained. I will not have my sincerity questioned!”
She tried to pull away, but he only held her tighter.
“I am not questioning you. I am attempting to understand why you are so frightened and upset. You have wasted many tears on a man you do not love.”
“But ye are still my husband. I do not want to be left alone.”
He kissed her forehead. “It would take more than an angry mob to pull me from your side, my sweet. I have already admitted to not being able to live without you. I shall not go anywhere.”
“Do ye swear?”
“I do.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. “Go be with thy men. I should like to lie down.”
He cupped her face for a moment, brushing another kiss over the tip of her nose. They stared at each other for a few silent, precious moments; he delivered one last kiss and left her to try to figure out her heart on her own.
* * *
It had been decided that the party for Pemberley would have a safer return in a caravan.
Foster had insisted they be taken back to the seat of the North Country in his finest carriage with his most fierce guards.
Darcy would not have accepted, but he was worried for Elizabeth and did not dare put her further into harm's way.
After dinner, which she had foregone by saying she felt ill, he was quietly informed that the two traitorous survivors had been hanged and were both dead. He could not tell Elizabeth.
They retired early, agreeing it was best to start out right after dawn next morning. Foster's wife, who had a similar figure to Elizabeth but was far less beautiful in Darcy's eyes, gave the princess a gown to wear for the journey and Elizabeth was staring at it when Darcy returned from his bath.
“What is it?” He asked.
“I wanted to make ye proud. I thought if I rode and dressed like a man, showed courage like a man, and was stubborn like a man that ye would be proud of me. Instead, I offended thy subjects and made a mockery of the throne. That is hardly behaviour to make note of.”