Chapter Fourteen #2
“No! You cannot do this! He should be mine! Nobody loves him like I love him, like I have always loved him!”
“You are right. Nobody has loved him as you have loved him.
The High Lady Elizabeth's love has not ended in the death of an innocent soul.
She is pure and has been in all the lifetimes they have spent and will spend together.
They were cut from the same oversoul, they are intertwined eternally, and nothing in this universe is capable of destroying their connection.
“Right Honourable Lady Caroline, former daughter, you are disgraced. Do not call upon us again. If you do, your punishment shall be more severe than the ones the humans shall inflict upon you come the day of your judgment.”
“Wait!”
But naught answered her plea. The silence was so loud, she became afraid her eardrums might burst. She leant against the wall, unaware that her palms bled where her nails had sliced through the thick, meaty flesh.
For the first time in her life, Caroline was without power.
She could not even will a candle to light.
She might as well have suddenly run out of breath, that essential component of life; it was such a loss of what she had thought sustained her.
She inhaled deeply to steady herself. Yes, she was still alive.
She stiffened her spine, gazing at the tall, elegant woman in the mirror before her. “I am the Right Honourable Lady Caroline Bingley. It may not be magic, but I still have power I can manipulate. I am not yet defeated.”
* * *
The wench sidled up to Darcy, running her hand along the broad expanse of his shoulders as she set down the mug of ale. He grabbed her wrist roughly and wrenched her down to level his gaze at her.
“I am a married man, barmaid, so you will get no extra coins for your attentions. Leave me be.”
“My regards to the missus, sir. Had she been a smart girl she would have kept ya at home.”
“Speak no ill against my wife. Bring me another ale then be gone.” He grumbled and stared into the fire just a few feet from the soles of his boots.
He could not feel the heat any more than the touch of the maid’s hand.
Before Elizabeth, he had been numb to so many wonderful, enchanting emotions that he could scarcely believe he had lived without them.
Now he was forced to switch each feeling off manually and work through the regret right after each hurdle.
He could not go back and expect her to stay with him.
Not after what he had done.
His hands were spotless, but they still had the sensation of being wet with blood.
Never before had taking a life bothered him so.
Never before had he had a need for atonement.
He was a damned man, relegated from the light of his Elizabeth's presence because he had killed the one man she loved. He could not take that pain to her.
Bitter bile rose in the back of his throat as he ran his resolution through his mind once again. How could he live and never see his wife again? The decree he had set for himself seemed so impossible.
The door of the tavern opened, and light flooded his table. He had not thought he was at the proper angle or that it was so bright outside. He was right, of course, but the Fates always liked to make an entrance.
“You do not need another ale, son.” The voice was raspy, like broom corns over a rough hardwood floor.
Darcy turned to his right, and an old woman sat in the other chair in front of the fireplace. He gazed around again. Moments ago, this gathering house had been empty. Yes, he was certain it had been. He had paid several gold pieces so he might drink alone.
“What the hell?” Darcy asked, leaning forward.
“I am afraid I have nothing to do with that place, dear,” she said, sniffing in distaste. “Dreadful realm.”
He was more than confused.
“My name is Gloriana, your highness. I have come to tell you to go back home.”
“What do you know of the situation?” Darcy eyed the old lady with suspicion.
She sighed and pressed her lips into a thin line while she gave him a steady gaze. “An old woman appears next to you out of nowhere and you think she does so without a motive? Child, you are smarter than that.”
Magic. This was magic.
“You,” Gloriana began, “must understand that my sisters and I have worked so hard to bring you and Elizabeth together in this lifetime. We grew impatient while you were young. And when she hated you, we knew we had to play dirty to bring you together.”
Gloriana smiled as his awareness came into clarity. The old lady then leaned towards him. “Now quit feeling sorry for yourself and listen to your friend when he arrives.”
* * *
Finn slipped in, guided by the light. Darcy sat alone in the dank, putrid barroom and Finn shook his head. The prince had not shaved in days and, once Finn was closer, he could tell Darcy had neglected to bathe as well.
“My lord! At last, I have found you!”
“I order you to leave me be. Return to Pemberley and care for my wife in my stead. I shall not be going home.”
“She awaits your arrival, sir.”
“I cannot face her knowing what I have done.”
Finn grabbed the other chair roughly and, knocking Darcy’s feet aside, planted himself squarely in front of his lord and master between him and the fire. He stared Darcy in the eye, unintimidated by his commander, his friend.
“I shall not go back home to our women, your wife and mine, women who love you and need you, and tell them you are not returning because you are wallowing in pity.”
“Then tell them I died.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort! I refuse to break their hearts in such a way. If you force me to return without you, I shall return home and tell them you are hiding.”
“Finn, I am warning you. Defy me, and we will cross blades.”
“And I, sir, am warning you. If you do not come with me, I shall send my wife to fetch you after I have told her you wanted me to tell her you were dead.”
Any other man would have scoffed at the Royal Second sending his wife into a perceived battle, but Finn would bet that Darcy would rather face the edge of Finn's sword than the edge of Jane's tongue any day. Darcy leaned back in his chair and stared at the fire for a long time before he turned to glare at Finn. What was going through the prince’s mind?
“That is cruel, to threaten me with your wife.”
“I am not above harsh punishment, William.”
Darcy sighed. “How is she?”
Finn understood that although Darcy cared for Jane, Elizabeth was the one he needed to hear about. “Scared and confused. Jane has sent messengers to me almost daily with updates. Your wife thinks you persist in your search for George Wickham. She is not aware of his fate.”
“You have not told her?”
“I could not find the words to explain why he was gone.
I could not look at her hopeful face and inform her that our men were uncertain what happened to you.
She has been ill, and my wife will not allow upsetting news to reach her.
Jane has been constantly by her side and even sent for Lady Elizabeth's father in the hope that his presence will make her feel better.”
* * *
Darcy stood, almost knocking over his chair, leaned against the mantle, and kicked up a cloud of ash from the hearth. “She has been ill? Have the best physicians been sent for?”
“Sir, you need to return,” Finn replied, his tone low and his voice grave.
Gloriana had said to listen to his friend. “She has been ill” was lodged in his brain as if the rest of the conversation had not occurred.
Finally, his head flew up, and he was overwrought with panic and worry for his precious wife, but try as he might, he could not get Finn to elaborate any further on Elizabeth's condition. He looked down at his ragged, bloodstained clothes and his filthy hands.
“I cannot go home looking like this.”
“Take the night. We can ride at first light.”
“But—”
“Sir, we can ride at first light.”
* * *
The doors of the Great Hall opened, and William slipped through them as though he had never been gone.
She gasped and stared. His handsome countenance appeared a little older, a little more strained, and more than a little exhausted but remained the face of the realm's beloved prince.
The occupants of the room gaped; footmen and nobles alike all wondered at the survival of their High Lord and his sudden appearance.
Nobody, though, was more shocked than Elizabeth. Seated on her husband’s throne, she clutched the arms until her fingers ached and her knuckles were white. He stood at the open door while he stared at the room as though trying to place it. Then his eyes fell on her and his face changed.
She stood in a heartbeat and was barely aware that her feet had carried her towards William. Never before had the length of the Great Hall seemed so painfully long, but, after what seemed like hours, she was before him and had gathered him to her.
“My William, oh, you have come home!” she cried. When he did not return her embrace, she stepped back to examine him. “Draw the High Lord a bath and fix his favourite meal! We shall welcome him home properly tomorrow, but tonight we must restore him to himself. Call upon the physician.”
“I need no bath nor physician,” he gruffly replied. “I want nothing more than to rest.”
“Then you shall have what you want.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist and led him from the Hall, not caring what their subjects thought about her affection for him or her selfishness in keeping him from them after so long an absence. They went to their chambers, but William hesitated before entering.
“I cannot go in there.”
“Do not be daft. 'Tis our chamber. Of course, you may go in.”
“I can no longer share a chamber with you.”
Her arm dropped and she stared hard at him. With an angry huff, she pushed open the door and shoved him inside. Had she been in a better humour, she might have recalled their wedding night when he had done almost the same thing, but she did not. She blocked the door behind her.
“What do you mean you cannot share a chamber with me? I am your wife!”