Working for breath, each pooling in the air as her chest heaved, her steps ceased and his with her.
“Take a moment,” Richard urged as his eyes cut behind them, fully mindful their advantage would lessen by doing so. Lifting water to her lips, he frowned at the pale tinge her skin began to take, the cold and exertion shown plain.
Laying a hand on his, her gaze filled with a resolve he did not like, “Please… go on.”
With a shake of his head his eyes blazed, arms lifting her even as protestations formed. “If you cannot walk, then this is how we go on. Together, or not at all.”
On this, he would brook no argument.
∞∞∞
The tall pines thinned until a vast expanse spread before them, a loch to their right and to the other peaks which sought to vanish into the cloudy mist which hovered above; the scape bleak and beautiful in its fierceness.
“Nowhere to hide,” Mary remarked softly as she shifted in his arms, her shivering at last abated, though the wind blew cold and fast. “Here, let me down. I can manage, though we cannot expect to last out here long if we do not find shelter and some means of hiding.”
Doing as she bid, the warmth of her against his chest quickly faded as he listened once again for any sign of their being followed; the cry of the wind mingled with that of a red kite soaring overhead the only sounds.
“There,” he pointed across the grasses and rocks toward the base of a vast hill. “If we can cross over, that curves around enough it might hide us from view. Try to use the stones where possible,” he suggested, a frown forming as he examined the landscape. “We will be exposed for half an hour or more. If they make their way here before we have crossed, they will be hot on our heels.”
“Then we must hurry,” Mary determined as she wrapped the blanket close and strode onward, her steps unsteady but pace quick.
Smiling, he hastened to join her, the return of her determination heartening.
Taking her hand in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze, the light upturn of her lips his answer as they made their way across the rocky ground.
All they had to do was evade the men behind them and survive the early days of November in Scotland. How difficult could that prove?Ignoring every doubting answer in his mind, he considered the brave young woman beside him.For her, he would fight in whatever way he could, until his last breath.
Chapter 11
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy in Hertfordshire
Having seen Elizabeth safely home, Darcy hastened to Netherfield, the swirl of vibrant leaves dancing across the front lawn ignored as he considered all they had learned.
The new information they had thanks to Mrs. Phillips had proved… disquieting. No face or name to Wickham’s co-conspirator. No real clues as to how they might find him. And no proof strong enough to see Wickham arrested.
Hopefully, the others will have better news, and Bingley will be away,he prayed as he entered the library, the hunched postures of the men as they considered a map lending little encouragement, save for the absence of Bingley.At least the awkwardness of seeing him might be delayed.
“Ah, Darcy,” Lord Lightcliffe greeted, the cracking of the man’s back as he stood declaring just how long they had been studying the map. “I trust you have had more success than us; for all we have narrowed down the area of Scotland to within a hundred or so miles of England, there are still too many places they might hide.” Rubbing his brow, he frowned, “It pains me staring long hours at a map with no way of knowing if we have passed over the location a hundred times or not.”
“Our success may give rise to more questions,” Darcy remarked as he joined them by the map. “Though, if this is the result of yours, I suspect even questions would be welcome.”
“Your cousin never told us you were a wit,” Mr. Aldry said dryly, the slight dancing of his eyes betraying his good humour.
Moving to a seat near the fire as the others slowly joined them, Darcy cast his eye to the closed door.Better that no one else hear.
“Now then,” Lord Lightcliffe said as he stretched his neck, “what is it you and Miss Elizabeth discovered?”
Steepling his fingers, he again reassured himself that no one might hear before recounting all Mrs. Phillips had heard and seen.
“...though there was nothing to learn in the alley, Elizabeth and I did consider who amongst the area's residents could afford to rent a house in London. Her father was home at the time, as were a Mr. Jeram and a Mr. Owens. Aside from these, only two names remained. Sir Lucas, whom Elizabeth does not suspect, however, the timing may put him in London, and Bingley.”
“Bingley?” Mr. Peters questioned, his voice rising as he sat back.
“She suspects him, does she?” Lord Lightcliffe quizzed as he tapped his lips, all signs of tiredness flown.
Darcy shook his head, “Truly, I think she suspects no one; leastwise, no one she knows. It is hard to envisage neighbours, many old friends, being as cruel as this.”
“I sympathize,” Mr. Peters remarked, “but any one of them might be involved.”
