Page 14 of The Briar Bargain
Bingley's voice reached him through the trees, followed shortly by the man himself, crashing through the underbrush with Johnson close behind.
"Thank God," Bingley breathed, his face lighting with relief as he took in the sight of them both, but then growing sombre. "Is she . . .?”
"She lives," Darcy said tersely, "but she needs warmth and dry clothing."
"Here, allow me to help—" Bingley began, moving as if to take Miss Elizabeth from Darcy's arms.
"No." The word came out more sharply than Darcy had intended. He moderated his tone with effort. "I do not know where we are. Which is closer, the great house or—”
“The gamekeeper’s lodge."
“Lead me there.”
Bingley nodded, his expression grave. "The lodge is not far." He walked slightly ahead to clear the path of fallen branches and thorny undergrowth.
Miss Elizabeth occasionally stirred, murmuring something too soft to understand, but she did not wake.
"Should I not take her now?" Bingley offered again after they had walked in silence for some minutes. "You must be exhausted."
Darcy shook his head, his gaze never leaving Miss Elizabeth's face. "I am perfectly capable of carrying her." The thought of relinquishing her to anyone, even Bingley, was unthinkable. He had nearly lost her once today; he would not let her go again until he was certain of her safety.
"At least allow me tohelp—"
"I saidno, Bingley." The words were spoken softly, but with a finality that brooked no argument.
Bingley fell silent, though Darcy could feel his friend's concerned glance. He ignored it, focusing instead on placing one foot in front of the other, on the precious weight in his arms, on the slight rise and fall of Miss Elizabeth's chest against his own.
Through the trees, the solid stone structure of the gamekeeper's lodge came into view. Smoke rose from its chimney, a welcome sight that promised warmth within.
“I shall return in a moment,” Bingley said, turning on his heel and dashing back into the woods.
Darcy idly wondered where his friend was going but put it out of his mind. As they approached, the door flew open, and Farrow emerged, his son wrapped in a blanket and clutched tightly to his chest.
"Miss Elizabeth?" the man asked, his voice choked with emotion.
“She requires immediate care."
Relief washed over the farmer's weathered face. "Bring her in, sir. We've a fire going."
Chapter Five
Inside, the lodge was humble but clean, filled with trunks and other belongings from the homes that had been evacuated, and warmed by a hearth in which a robust fire crackled. Several pallets, where the men had been sleeping, were made up on the floor.
Darcy moved to the one nearest the fire, intending to lay Miss Elizabeth down gently. But as he bent, he found that her fingers were still firmly entwined in the remains of his shirt, her grip surprisingly strong.
"She will not let go," he murmured, attempting to disentangle her fingers from the fabric.
But each attempt only caused her to clutch more tightly, small sounds of distress escaping her lips. When he glanced down, her eyes were half-opened but then slid closed.
Eventually, with a decision born of practicality rather than propriety, Darcy lowered Miss Elizabeth onto the pallet, ducking as he did so and allowing the remnants of his shirt to slide over his head, leaving it in her grasp. Then he grabbed two blankets and tucked them around her.
Once he was certain she was covered, he stood.
The door opened, and the other men entered. “Well, this is a relief,” Anson said in a booming voice. “We could not find you at the river.”
Then he fell silent.
Something tickled—Darcy reached up and removed a small twig that was lodged behind one ear. He glanced up to see the other men standing in the doorway, staring at him.
