Page 48

The chill of the morning air whipped across Fitzwilliam’s face as he galloped Hen through the field towards Oakham Forest. He had awakened restless and in need of a good ride, but even allowing Hen his head to race across Netherfield lands had not calmed his insides.

He should not have left Elizabeth to walk on her own. That realisation had come to him while riding, and he had turned Hen in the direction of the forest in the hopes of catching her before she made her way to Longbourn. He had to find her.

Upon reaching the forest, a sight he never would have imagined greeted him. Herne stood facing Longbourn. He threw his head once or twice, and he pranced in place. Why was the beast so agitated?

Fitzwilliam turned his head, and his entire body stiffened. Flashes of light were easily discernible above the trees at Longbourn. Oh, God! He had come. Whoever they had seen in the altar was here!

He urged Hen forward, once again giving the stallion enough rein to gallop without restraint. He had to join the fight. Was Mr. Bennet with them? Had they managed any spells successfully against this unknown enemy?

At the edge of the hedgerow, he pulled Hen to a stop and jumped down to enter the gardens.

He followed the gravel path of the kitchen garden to the side of the house where he almost fainted.

Anne? How was Anne the powerful individual they had been anticipating?

She had been a common enough child but at some point, had become weaker and sickly.

How could someone without a strong constitution wield so much power?

“No! ”

Anne gave him a glance, her smile widening, yet the oddest thing was happening. The more the webbing from Elizabeth pulsed, the paler Anne became. She seemed to be thinner than she was a moment ago, and the dark circles under her eyes had become more pronounced.

He threw several spells at her, but they all seemed to be absorbed into her. What was this magic?

After one last binding spell, he threw out his arms due to a strange vibration from the earth.

What was that? An odd rumbling began, and his head darted up to Elizabeth.

No. No, no, no! She was not surging her power, was she?

Anne would absorb it and lick her lips like a satisfied cat after drinking the richest of cream.

He raced towards his wife, but before he could reach her, a blast threw him back against the ground.

His ears rang and his body smarted with the force of the blow, yet when he rolled to his side to get to his feet, Anne had been disoriented for no more than a few seconds.

She lifted her arms again, the white web resuming its deathly task.

Something had to be done, but what? He had thrown some of the most common spells to subdue someone at Anne, but none had been successful.

As he lifted his arms to try anything, Herne came racing into the garden.

He did not slow or stop but ran straight at Anne.

About five feet from Anne, the great stag lowered his head and accelerated so his impressive antlers speared Anne across the chest.

Her mouth gaped open and her eyes bulged in a horrifying skeletal sight he would never unsee.

The white web that surrounded Elizabeth released its hold, and Anne screamed before she seemed to turn in on herself, and an explosion of silvery white filled the garden, raining what almost looked like cotton fluff down upon them.

When the explosion cleared, Anne and Herne were gone .

He scrambled over to Elizabeth and dropped to his knees. “Wake up, Elizabeth.”

Mr. Bennet stumbled to her side. “Lizzy!”

With a careful touch, Fitzwilliam brushed her hair back from her face. She was pale, and her lips held a bluish tinge.

He pressed his palm to her cheek. “She is cold.”

“Between the surge and your cousin’s ability, she is depleted. Too much of her power is gone to help her heal. I do not know how she can recover from this.”

An unbearable pain ripped through his chest. Elizabeth had to survive.

She had to make it through! He could not live his life without her.

In the short time they had been married, she had become essential.

Her wit was one of the few things that could make him laugh, and how was he to sleep without her light snoring?

He had awakened this morning in the most idyllic manner: Elizabeth curled into his side without a stitch of clothing and pressed against him as though she required every bit of his warmth.

He needed her bubbling laughter to ease his less than agreeable moods.

She found humour in what most people detested.

Yes, he could be a taciturn and a disagreeable sort, but she had changed that aspect of his character.

He could not remain in such a dark mood when he had her lightness to lift him from the doldrums.

“No, she is not dying.”

Mr. Bennet opened his mouth to speak, but Fitzwilliam lifted Elizabeth into his arms and strode from the garden.

“Darcy! Wait! You cannot just take her!”

He ignored the calls as he hastened through the gap in the hedgerow. “Hen!”

The horse nickered and stepped forward.

“We are going to the forest.” Whether his horse understood a word of it was unknown, but Hen held his place while Fitzwilliam situated Elizabeth onto his shoulder, mounted, then shifted her to a more comfortable position for them both.

“We must hurry.”

With Elizabeth held tightly to him, he cued Hen to a gallop. Holding Elizabeth to him was a trial, but he maintained a firm grip on the saddle with his thighs so he could remain atop his horse’s back. As he approached the forest, he slowed his mount but pressed him forward.

The path split just to the other side of the brook, and he steered Hen to the right. The left would take him to the altar, and he had no need to go there at the moment. Elizabeth needed something entirely different.

Soon, he reached a familiar place. Was this it?

“Help! Pray, help me!”

Birds chirped and the branches of the trees swayed in the breeze, but nothing. This had to be it.

He shoved his hand up towards the sky. “Aithris!”

A shower of colourful sparks shot high into the air and rained down upon them. “Your Grace, I need your help!”

He dismounted and pulled Elizabeth to him. “Your Grace!”

His legs collapsed, and he rocked Elizabeth in his arms. “Help!”

He pressed his head to Elizabeth’s. She was so cold. How much longer could she survive without aid? He could not lose her now.

He ground his teeth and sat up. No, he would not lose her. They had just barely begun their life together. She would not die!

“Oscailt súl!” The words were guttural when they pierced the still air of the forest. As he watched the empty place in the clearing, a fog-like whiteness appeared in the air then dissipated to reveal a small cottage .

He left Elizabeth on the forest floor. As much as he despised abandoning her on the cold snow, he could not know if Mr. Bennet had other spells on the cottage. He would not have his beloved harmed further in the hopes of helping her.

As he took each stride forward, he braced himself for another shield or barrier of some sort.

When he reached the door, he lifted his fist and struck the door with every bit of force he had in him.

At the touch of his flesh to the wood, he flew back and landed upon the snowy ground not far from Elizabeth.

A repulsion charm. He should have known. He dragged himself up to a seated position then pulled himself over to Elizabeth. It was all he could do to keep from sobbing while he drew her back into his embrace.

A sudden creaking had him glance over his shoulder where the duchess was now standing in the doorway of the cottage.

“What has happened?”

“The person who stole your husband’s life came to Longbourn. Elizabeth tried, but she was too strong.”

“She?” Her Grace hastened over to them.

“The magical thief was my cousin, Anne de Bourgh.”

The duchess shook her head. “Lay your wife on the ground. Let me look at her.”

As much as every part of him protested Elizabeth leaving his arms again, he did as Her Grace requested. If Elizabeth was to be well again, the duchess was his only hope.

The lady ran her hands over Elizabeth and tutted. “She has used too much of her power. At the moment, she is hovering in that place between life and death.”

“Can you not heal her?”

Her Grace bit her lip. “I can, but not here. We need to hurry to the altar before it is too late. We shall require the energy coming from the stones for my ability to be of any help. You must go ahead. After I fetch my son, I shall follow.”

He scooped Elizabeth back into his arms but had to temper his pace, so he did not leave the duchess behind.

When he neared the clearing, the duchess appeared at his side, a babe tied to her chest with what appeared to be a long piece of fabric while she held him securely as she moved with haste. “Place her atop the altar.”

He rushed forward and brushed off the snow before placing Elizbeth gently on the frigid surface. His wife appeared so small spread out on the large stone.

His hands brushed the surface, and he recoiled. What was happening with the altar? The stone was more than vibrating or giving a slight hum. A shake rumbled through it that was so fierce, it shook the ground.

Her Grace nodded as she approached. “Just as I suspected. The altar is pulling magic from the vein in the earth.

She placed her hands on Elizabeth’s chest and closed her eyes. “Her heartbeat is weak and quite slow.”