Page 32 of Triumph at Pemberley

She tried the doorway again, but nothing had changed. She still could not get through, even without the cuff.

Then she seemed to lose control over her body again. Something made her turn back to the stairs, and her hand placed the cuff on again. A strange sense of satisfaction permeated the room as it tightened itself on her wrist – and once again vanished from sight.

Oh, she had no time for this! How could the Artifact be controlling her? Not that it mattered, if she could not find a way to escape this tower! Once again she tried to reach Cerridwen, but there was only silence in response.

She was on her own, with nothing but the clothes on her back.

There had to be some other way to escape. She tried reaching for the foundations, no matter how dangerous it might be.

The foundations were not there.

Her heart pounded. The foundations ran beneath the entire world! Something was very, very wrong.

Should she try climbing out through the broken roof? How she would safely reach the ground was a difficult question. Perhaps she could tear up her skirts and make them into a rope, but it would still be dangerous. First, she would examine the room she was in.

She approached the doorway carefully and began to feel around the edges of it, running her fingers along the frame where it met the wall, searching for any weakness or irregularity that could be an anchoring point for the apparent spell on the door. Nothing. Then she placed her palms flat against the wall and started to circle the room in case there might be another door hidden by illusion. It was only a tiny chance, but she was still disappointed to reach the doorway on the other side. Frustrated, she kicked at the invisible barrier. Not that it made the slightest bit of difference.

“Tut, tut, such violence! Are you so eager to leave my hospitality?” A strange, resonant male voice, one that seemed to echo and re-echo, sounded behind her.

Startled, she whirled to face the new arrival. How had he found his way into this place? But as her eyes focused on the figure in the darkness, she knew that was the least of her problems.

Chapter 13

Elizabeth froze in horror. The tall, slender High Fae in a silver crown standing before her could be none other than the Wicked King himself. Two ruby-collared lynxes stood beside him, but unlike Darcy’s familiar Fire Eyes, these growled at her and showed their razor-pointed teeth. They were clearly guarding the Wicked King – and they terrified Elizabeth.

So did the Wicked King.

He looked down his nose at her. “You. How did you manage to get inside this tower? You are not one of her descendants, merely married to one of them.”

A shiver went up Elizabeth’s spine. How had he recognized her? And yet not known her truly, since she was indeed descended from Ysmeina. He must still believe that Granny, once Lady Amelia Fitzwilliam, had died young.

If he ever suspected otherwise, Elizabeth’s sisters and her Welsh cousins, Granny’s other descendants, would be in danger, subject to his surveillance and interference. She could not let that happen. “I do not know,” she said humbly. “Perhaps it is my husband’s blood in me, for I am carrying his child.” It was a lie, but the best she could manage.

His eyes narrowed. “I suppose that might be possible. It is convenient, as it will bring your husband into my hands. All I need is to wait for him to come after you.”

No! She could not allow him to trap her William, nor would she show him how frightened she was. Raising her chin, she said, “If he can find me. I did not tell him where I was going.”

“You had better hope he does, or you will be my guest much longer than you like.” His resonant voice was silky with threat. He snapped his fingers. “My Sparrow, watch over her. Do not let her escape. I will know when her husband arrives.”

Then he and his lynx guards disappeared, leaving Elizabeth trapped, with only a silent and invisible fae to guard her.

“What do you mean, she disappeared?” Darcy demanded. He had joined Elizabeth on her trip to the Nest, since the dragon healers had been asking to see him, something about understanding the effects of Coquelicot’s potion to create his bond. They had examined his magic for hours, before leaving him waiting for Elizabeth. Now he had been called back to the Eldest’s chamber, where distress was pouring off Cerridwen.

Darcy did not care how upset Cerridwen was; he needed answers. This minute.

“I do not know,” Cerridwen said miserably. “She walked into the moor and then, between one step and the next, she vanished. I could not sense her at all, and then a few minutes later, I felt the evil of the Wicked King. So I hid behind a hill.”

“You should have fled immediately,” the Eldest said sternly.

“I could not bear to leave her! When the evil was gone, I returned to our meeting point, but there was no sign of her.” She sank down until her entire chest rested on the ground, as if she could no longer bear her own weight.

Darcy sucked in a breath as horror spread through his chest. “Did he take her to Faerie, then?” How many years would it be before he could see his beloved Elizabeth again – or would she never return?

Cerridwen raised her head. “I think not. Our bond is intact, even if I cannot reach her. If she were in Faerie, or if she had died, the bond would be gone.”

The relief was so sudden that his knees weakened. Alive, and not in Faerie; that was something. But was she hurt? Why had she not returned from that cursed tower? Why had she gone there without him? Fury raged in his stomach. Had she told him where she was going, he could have accompanied her and protected her….

No. This would not help her now. He had to reach her. “Will you show me the way to the tower, or as close as you can go?”