Page 31 of The Magic of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #2)

Chapter 31

D arcy let out a slow breath, one that had been trapped in his lungs for five endless days of separation, of long hours in the carriage with Mme. Hartung and the children, of worry about what might be befalling Elizabeth as she journeyed on her own half-way across France through unknown county. Even when Cerridwen had come to him that morning and told him how to find Elizabeth, he had not fully believed she was alive and unharmed. But there she was, exactly where the dragon had said, sitting beside a vineyard at the edge of the bustling town of Vieux-Thann on the eastern flank of the Vosges mountains.

Elizabeth’s face lit up when she spotted him, and she hurried to his side. There were others on the road, though, so she greeted him as a stranger. “Good sir, are you walking this way? I am headed for my uncle’s house in Wildenstein and would be glad to have company along the way.”

He inclined his head. “Madame, I have only one strong arm, but I would be happy to offer you its defense.” He had dropped his Prussian accent along with his uniform; too many people in this region spoke German and could catch him out easily.

“I thank you, and I will do my best not to slow you down.” Her eyes moved from the sling he wore to past his shoulder, where a boy was leading a goat to market .

He nodded, forcing down all the words he wished to say, and they began to walk towards the cloud-shrouded mountains. Green foothills already rose on each side of the road which wound along the riverbank.

He had seen her briefly on the morning of their departure from Mme. Hartung’s home, when she had clambered to sit beside the coachman, but he had not dared even to nod to her. It seemed like months since their night in the carriage shed. It was hard to hold back the many things he wished to tell her, all the questions he wanted to ask, but there was still the possibility of being overheard. Silence was the safest option. What would the highborn Prussian he claimed to be have to say to a common woman from Marseille, after all? No, they had to play their roles of chance-met strangers.

At least she was beside him, and she would stay there. It was enough to make him want to shout for joy.

He had to say something, if only to hear her voice. “Have you been traveling long, madame?”

Her smile was teasing. “Several days on a diligence . It was uneventful. Everyone has been very kind.” She must know how much he worried.

It was true. He had fretted for her safety every inch of the way, trying not to watch for her every time his carriage stopped. Not to mention his concern about the many miles they would have to walk to reach the Nest. At least this time he was better prepared than when he had been on the run before, with a map and compass, a haversack of food, and a blanket roll large enough to share.

Finally they reached an empty stretch of road, “I am sorry we must travel so far on foot. Even the diligence must have been easier for you.”

“Oh, I do not mind in the least! I can see so much more that way, and who knows if I will ever have a chance to visit here again?” She smiled, her dark eyes sparkling. “And traveling by stage was interesting. I had the most fascinating conversations. I will be happy never to do a scullery maid’s work again, but I am glad to have tasted that slice of life. ”

“You are in remarkably good spirits this morning.” Especially for someone facing several days of hard exertion, though he intended to protect her as much as he could.

“Have I not reason to be? You are alive, we are together, and for once, all I need to do is something I am actually good at, which is walking.” She laid her hand on her stomach. “Though I am not quite as fast as I used to be.”

“For the best possible reason,” he said warmly. If only he could take her in his arms, or at least hold her hand! But while there was any possibility of being seen, he could not risk it. “And you have many talents, of which walking is the very least.”

“Ha!” She glanced around, as if making sure they were still alone, and then continued in a low voice. “I thought my land bond to Longbourn was good, but it is nowhere near as deep as yours. I am only just learning household management. Frederica is no doubt doing a much better job of it in my absence. And she knows far more about fashion than I do; the modiste agreed with all her recommendations and almost none of mine. As for my magery, despite Frederica’s lessons, my illusions are second-rate at best, and I can do almost nothing with weather magic. Sending is my only real ability. Apparently that trick where I made you almost appear in the library is something special, but I have been lectured by every dragon in the Nest that I must never, ever do it again, because it is terribly dangerous to both me and to Cerridwen. So, yes, let me be proud of my ability as a great walker, for at least it is truly mine.”

He stared at her. “That was real? That day when I suddenly thought I was sitting in my chair in the library, and you were looking at me? I thought I had imagined that.” Or rather, that he had been losing his mind, but better to keep to himself those moments when he had doubted his sanity.

“I could see you clearly, and it was real enough that all the dragons in the house felt it and had me dragged before the Eldest for a scolding!”

Astonishing, that she could create such a strange power! “Was this something you read about in your Arabic books? ”

She shook her head. “I was just missing you so badly, and wishing you were there in your chair.” She gave him a flirtatious glance. “Apparently I am not allowed to miss you quite that much!”

“Wait. You said all the dragons in the house? Not just Cerridwen, then?”

“Oh, I have so much to catch you up on! Do you remember Rana Akshaya? She is staying at Pemberley now, and she is a dragon, not a mage at all. Then there is Quickthorn, who has bonded to Frederica. Rana Akshaya keeps very much to herself when she is at the house, so I usually only see Quickthorn and Cerridwen.”

Frederica was a dragon companion now, too? Good Lord. He stepped on an uneven rock, sending a sharp stab through his shoulder. He pressed his hand against it, waiting for the throbbing pain to fade to the usual dull ache.

Elizabeth asked in a quiet voice, “Is your arm troubling you?”

“Just a little jolted. It is nothing,” he said stiffly.

“You were not wearing a sling before.” Of course she would not allow him to pretend it was nothing. “Is it worse than it was?”

“No,” he said irritably. “Jessica thought I would be less likely to re-injure it if I wore the sling. And it keeps people from wondering why I am not at the front.”

“Jessica?” There was a bit of an edge to her voice.

“Mme. Hartung,” he corrected. “Since I was supposedly her cousin, raised with her, it only made sense that I would use her Christian name.”

“She risked a great deal for you.”

Was she jealous? Surely she must know that no other woman could possibly catch his interest. “For the sake of her late husband. She loved him very much. He tried to escape a battlefield, but no one would help him, and he was executed. Since she could not save him, she decided to save me instead.”

“Poor lady. I —” She broke off as the sound of cartwheels and hoofbeats came from behind them.

Hoofbeats that were slowing. The hair on the nape of Darcy’s neck rose, and he had to force himself not to look back .

Elizabeth did, with a smile.

“Care for a ride?” It was a man’s voice, gruff and strongly accented. “’Tis quite a weight you are carrying, madame.” A humble mule-drawn cart pulled up beside them.

“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 after that 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 his passeport out 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 the passeport . “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.”

The lieutenant shook his head. “You cannot trust the stories. Well, good luck to you. But take my advice – do not linger in the mountains.” He slapped Darcy’s good arm .

“My thanks for the tip.” Darcy pocketed his papers and headed up the street, feeling eyes on his back as he went. Up the hill, between the small houses, trying not to think of Elizabeth. He would find her eventually; Cerridwen would take care of that, with her uncanny ability to find them both. But he wanted to see her this minute, to reassure her that he was safe, to feel the comfort and delight of her presence.

He was hard pressed not to grin like a fool when he spotted her lingering in the doorway of the small church, as if she had gone in to say a prayer. She had not seen him yet. Her shoulders were slumped and her head down, no doubt terrified of what was happening to him.

He began to whistle a country tune, as if he were a farm laborer and not the well-bred gentleman he was, but it was enough to catch her attention.

She looked up, light blossoming on her face. And all was well in his world again, despite French soldiers and the menace of Napoleon’s war.