“You are very kind,” said Elizabeth with a degree of relief that belied her earlier assertion that walking was still easy for her.
“My wife would pour salt in my beer if she knew I let a pregnant woman walk. Oh, the complaints I heard from her when she was carrying! The aching back, the swollen ankles, needing to be up five times a night.” He chuckled.
How dare he speak so casually about Elizabeth’s condition? In fine society, it would be the height of ill manners to even acknowledge it, but perhaps it was different among commoners. At least the French ones.
Elizabeth seemed to take it in stride. Had she grown accustomed to such things? “How well I know it!”
The driver slid across the simple plank seat to make room for her. Darcy carefully helped her up onto it with his good hand. The man eyed his more expensive clothes. “You are welcome to sit on the tail if you wish, though once the road gets steep, you will have to walk.”
His first instinct was to refuse, to insist on walking alongside, but he should preserve his energy while he could. His stamina was not yet what it once was, but this was not the time for pride. When he was back at Pemberley, he would regain his strength.
“I thank you.” He hopped on the back of the cart, grateful it was low enough to manage with one hand.
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy as the farmer drove his cart down a grassy track. He had taken them a good several miles, through a small town and beyond it. According to him, there was a village a short distance ahead, and afterthat the road would climb high into the mountains. It already seemed steep to her.
She did not want Darcy to know how tired she was, though. He would insist on slowing down, and she desperately wanted to reach the Nest as soon as possible. They might be safe enough at the moment, here on this country road, but she had noticed the sidelong glances Darcy had received. He was a young man in a land where any male his age was in the army.
So she hid her fatigue and stoutly set forth as quickly as she could manage. “How far until we leave the road?” she asked. They would be protected from suspicious eyes then, even if the walking would be much harder.
Darcy matched her pace. “Another two miles, at a guess. This should be the last village we will pass, though.”
The first house came into sight as they rounded a curve. It could not be much of a village, tucked between a sharp incline and the river, but the small houses and gardens looked well-tended and welcoming.
At least until they reached the center, where a dozen French soldiers loitered outside the largest house.
Cold sweat trickled down Darcy’s neck. What were soldiers doing in this tiny remote mountain village, on a road that led nowhere? They had seen him, too, and one of them, a young lieutenant with a scraggly mustache, gestured him over.
His heart pounding, Darcy muttered to Elizabeth, “Keep going. I will catch up.”
Her face had gone ashen, but she said in a steady, clear voice, “Thank you for bearing me company, good sir. I will remember you in my prayers.”
“Good fortune to you,” he said. Would those be the last words he ever spoke to her?
No. He would not allow that to happen. He strode towards the lieutenant as if he had nothing to hide, forcing himself not to look back at Elizabeth.
The lieutenant held out his hand. “Papers,” he drawled.
Darcy dug hispasseportout and handed it over, trying to look bored by the routine.
The soldier glanced down at it. “Not in the Grand Armée?” he asked sharply.
Darcy indicated his wounded shoulder with his thumb. “Not anymore. Damned Austrians.” He spat on the ground. These were lines he had rehearsed in his head over and over.
“Bastards,” agreed the Frenchman. “We taught them a lesson, though.”
“About time, too.”
He handed back thepasseport. “What brings you to this godforsaken place?”
Darcy glanced from side to side, trying to look crafty. “I have heard there is a healer in the mountains. The damned surgeons say there is nothing to be done for my arm, but I am not giving up. I want to get back to the front.”
“Huh.” The lieutenant stepped forward and said in a low voice, “A word to the wise,mon ami. If you are looking for dragon healing, you have chosen a bad time. We are hunting them for the emperor.”
An icy chill ran up Darcy’s spine. If Napoleon was seeking dragons, there was likely another massacre in the offing. Not only that, but his own route to England was at risk. “Dragons? Killers, like in Austria?” He let his voice tremble.
“Not so far, but who is to tell?”
“I heard about that battle. I never want to see a dragon. But I want to find that witch woman I was told about.”
