But she had a baby to protect and dragons to warn, or this Nest would soon meet the fate of the Austrian one, scorched and empty.
Oh, it was like a knife turning in her gut, to let it happen! She could not help him. Darcy’s Talent was so much stronger than hers; if he thought magery would make a difference, he would have already used it.
Or not. He could have made himself invisible, but he had not. He could not, if he wanted to keep the Frenchmen from finding her. He was deliberately sacrificing himself for her, for the child, for the dragons.
And she could do nothing but accept his sacrifice.
Tramping footsteps and the sound of breaking twigs, and then French voices fading away. Darcy must be leading them off. She strained her ears for their direction. Eastward, perhaps. The trail to the Nest lay just to the northwest.
He was giving her the best chance he could.
This was her fault. If she had never left England, Darcy would be safe at Mme. Hartung’s house, not being dragged off by French soldiers.
Perhaps the Nest could help him, if she could reach it quickly enough. As the noise faded away, she began to gather what little she could carry. No point taking anything that would slow her down. The food, yes, and the tin cup for water. She took the compass in Darcy’s haversack and consulted it. Towards the tall, pointy peak first.
She cast a longing look at the blankets she had shared with him, likely for the last time. There was no time for sentimentality, though. She could not afford to think of what might be happening to him at this very minute.
She peeked out of their hiding place behind the boulder. No sign of anyone, but she tiptoed anyway, lest her movements be overheard. When she was farther away, she would move faster. As fast as she could.
It was a painfully slow journey. The deer path she had taken veered off in the wrong direction, leaving her to force her way through roughunderbrush to maintain the correct direction. Thorny branches scraped her hands and cheeks. She nearly sobbed with relief when she came across a dry streambed she could follow.
The sun was high in the sky. She ought to stop and eat, but it would slow her down, and her stomach cramped painfully at the very idea of food. She pushed on, wiping the perspiration from her brow.
On and on, higher and higher. At least there was no sign of the French soldiers.
Nothing mattered except getting to the Nest as quickly as possible. Not the ache in her back, not her sore feet, not the bleeding scratches, not even the worry for Darcy that sent stabs of pain through her stomach. It was nothing to what he must be suffering.
One foot after another. Check the compass. Back into the woods. Finally her breath was coming so fast she had to rest, leaning back against a rough tree trunk. Breathe in and out, and no thinking.
Another cramp assailed her, stronger than the others. She pressed her hands against her swollen abdomen as if that could stop it. Her suddenly very hard abdomen.
Horror filled her. No. It could not be. It was too early. Mrs. Sanford had said it would be another two months at the least. A child born this early would not survive.
But as the pain passed, the tightness under her skin relaxed a little. There was no mistaking it; her womb was causing the cramps.
And she was alone in the wilderness, many hours’ walk from the nearest road that might lead to help. Far from the land she needed for her Talent, to give herself strength. As a last resort, she could send to Cerridwen, but that risked making things worse if the soldiers’ lodestone found her dragon.
And Darcy was lost to her.
A brief sob escaped her. This was a nightmare.
There was no one to help her. If her baby was to have any chance to survive, she had to find safety. She could not lose them both, not Darcy and their child, too.
The Nest. She had to reach the Nest. Someone there would know what to do. And she might not have much time.
She straightened and set forth again, as quickly as her swollen, weary body could go. Her heart ached, even as she dreaded the next pain.
Finally, an eternity later, or perhaps only a few hours, sudden power surged into her from the land beneath her feet. It stopped her, holding her briefly in place as it tested her, and then let her stumble through unharmed.
It must be a ward. She had crossed a line of wards, like the one Rowan had built at Pemberley.
She had made it. She had reached the territory protected by the Nest.
Falling to her knees, she sought out her bond to Cerridwen, the one she had struggled so hard to silence since reaching France. But there it was, strong and pulsing, always there for her.Cerridwen, I need help.
As the two French Kith who had come to Elizabeth’s aid helped her through the illusions and into the Nest, the familiar smell of cinnamon and hot metal brought fresh tears to her eyes. Safety, at least of a sort, but only for her. Not for her beloved husband.
Cerridwen transformed beside her, the first time she had seen her in dragon form since coming to France, her aura full of concern and desire to comfort. But even that could not help.
