Page 49 of Fitzwilliam Darcy Undone
He moved to the outer edge of the circle and both of them paused when Wickham called out, “Oh, Darcy. Elizabeth needs you.”
Wickham trailed the tip of his knife down the inside of her arm, piercing the skin. A thin line appeared and blood began flowing down her arm into the material of her nightgown. Rage burned in his gut and he turned to run at Wickham, but Grigston managed to grapple him from behind and squeezed. His ribs cracked and his lungs couldn’t catch breath. Inky blackness crept around the edges of his vision and all he could do was look to Elizabeth. When he felt as though all breath had left his body and he was no more for this earth, he whispered, “Elizabeth.”
She raised her head and looked at him.
~~oo0oo~~
Burning pain sliced through the torture filled dark. She felt as though she was being torn asunder. Her arms and legs screamed from being pulled in opposite directions and all her weight rested on taut thighs and stretched out shoulders. Head bowed, she saw the tip of a foot-long blade, blooding dripping off the end. She followed the length of blade to a man’s hand and further, dully noting it was none other than Wickham. He’d bound and cut her. Why?
It was then she heard him.
Elizabeth
Weak. Pain. Dying.
Head pounding, shoulders protesting at even the slightest of movement, she managed to raise her eyes enough to look forward and, with mounting horror, witnessed an enormous man with his arms wrapped around Fitzwilliam. He was killing him and Wickham watched, laughing maniacally. Blinding hot rage engulfed her whole soul. Nothing and nobody would take Fitzwilliam from her. Not after what they’d shared. Wickham must be removed from this earth. She lifted her head to the sky and cried out one word.
“NO!”
Chapter Fourteen
He knew not how long he’d lain on the cold ground, every breath a painful reminder of his broken ribs and quite possibly crushed lungs. Nothing but silence surrounded him. No Wickham, no giants, and more specifically, no Elizabeth. If he couldn’t get out of the warded circle of stones and perform a healing spell, he’d die and never find her. He fought against the agonizing pain and struggled to his feet, took one step toward the outer ring and collapsed. An overwhelming scent of citrus covered his body like a comforting blanket and the last thing he saw was Richard emerging from the forest at a dead run.
When next he awoke, honeysuckle and lavender, carried by a soft breeze washed over him in the dark. Had he died and gone to Heaven?
Elizabeth!
He struggled to sit and a soft hand pressed against his shoulder, staying his movement.
‘Shhh....my love. You are safe.”
He closed his eyes and then jolted awake again.
“Wickham!”
“Nothing but a bad memory,” she soothed, caressing his brow.
“He cut you.”
“I am well.”
“Do not leave me, Elizabeth.”
“Never. Now rest. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
“What if morning never comes again.”
He heard her soft chuckle.
“Believe me, Fitzwilliam, we have all the time in the world right now.”
“I cannot bear for us to be apart.”
The bed dipped softly as she joined him and curled into his side on top of the counterpane. When he would have protested and begged her to crawl beneath the covers, she laid a hand on his chest and murmured, “Sleep.” When he awakened, the sound of crashing waves and the salty tang of the ocean teased his senses.
He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. The room in which he lay was unlike anything he’d seen before. Floor to ceiling terrace doors opened wide, allowing fresh sea air to flow through the room. Wisps of almost translucent material for curtains fluttered in the breeze and beyond the window, a stone terrace. From there, he noted a strip of white sand sloping down to azure blue water which stretched as far as his eye could see. But what caused his heart to almost stutter to a stop was the sight of a slight woman standing on the pristine sand, her hair and skirts billowing out behind her like a glorious sail.
Elizabeth.
