Elizabeth stood before the alter, barely able to keep from retching all over the minister. The right side of her body, the side closest to the odious Mr. Collins, was numb and icily tingly all at the same time. If his close proximity did this to her, what would she do tonight?! Her only escape was upon the minister's lips, though she took no hope from it. What possible objections could anyone have to her marrying Mr. Collins? Besides the fact that she herself would rather jump in front of an out of control carriage than have him touch her. But her parents had forced her into this marriage. Elizabeth hadn't talked to her father since the argument they had had in his library. She had flown from the room with every intention of running away. But Mr. Bennet knew his daughter too well, and when Elizabeth had looked out her window to throw down the bag she had hastily packed, she found a stable boy standing guard. Opening the door to her room also displayed another impromptu prison guard. She was trapped. And so she had stayed until this very moment, when a church full of observers left her no option but to remain just where she was.

"I object!" roared a deep strong voice from the back of the room. Elizabeth mused that she must be imagining things. But when she heard the rapid fall of footsteps down the church isle, and realized that others had heard the exclamation also, she slowly turned around to face the owner of those fast and heavy footsteps.

Her jaw dropped to the floor. Before the minister could even inquire whom made this objection and why, the objector stated his cause.

"I love this woman, and will not allow her to marry such a toad as Mr. Collins," exclaimed a fiery Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. For the life of him, Darcy could not figure out where he had got the nerve to say such an ungentlemanly thing, but then when he saw the oily groom lay an outstretched arm on his bride, Darcy remembered. He had known her for such a short period of time, and knew he was going against all the propriety and social decorum he had always held dear, but he would not stand by and let his lovely Elizabeth become the property of that… that toady to his aunt! Nothing would stop him from his plan of action. Not even the bride.

Elizabeth looked on in helpless shock as she felt the cold, damp touch of her future husband ripped from her arm, and was dragged down the isle toward the large heavy church doors. Her new captor drew her forth from her prison and the mockingly bright sunlight blinded her. Darcy threw her up onto a rather large and fierce looking horse, mounted the beast himself, then fled with amazing speed from the scene of the kidnapping. He spoke not a word. He thought not of speaking. There would be time enough for that when he knew they were safe from followers and rescue parties; there would be time enough in Scotland.

Elizabeth did not desire to speak at the moment either. She wasn't quite sure that she would find her powers of speech in tact. She was sure they had been thoroughly broken by the shock of Mr. "I've something shoved up my arse" Darcy whisking her away from the most awful day of her life. Mr. Darcy!! And something else was nagging at her. It was something he had said before grabbing her away from Mr. Collins. She had been so entirely shocked at see his dark eyes aglow with anger and determination and… something else, that she had paid attention to nothing else. She knew that if she pushed it, she would never remember, so she let her mind fall to other things. It was too much to absorb at once, so she dismissed the very important fact that she was riding a horse, hanging onto Mr. Darcy for dear life, and concentrated on the thought that she was riding a horse. She had never before been one to ride. She distrusted the beasts after she had been thrown from one as a little girl. But she felt no fear now. It was peculiar, she was enjoying the wind pushing her curls from her tingling face, enjoying the steady rhythm of the horse's movement, enjoying the rolling green country side. She believed that with a little experience, she could learn to love riding.

Love. With a jolt, she remember exactly what it was that Darcy had said while storming toward her down the church isle: "I love this woman." And there had been utter honesty and conviction in his words. She knew, for her eyes had been locked with his the moment she had turned around. Love.

What was she to do?! She hated this man. He was insufferable, prideful, haughty, disdainful. She could go on for hours in such a manner, but with only the fourth negative description of her kidnapper, she found herself remembering the way he had said those words, the way his hand, warm and electric, had been such a relief upon replacing Collins' hand on her arm, the way his eyes had held her own. And, she caught herself thinking, that he is very nice looking. Much more so than Mr. Collins. Very nice feeling also. She blushed at the thought, and the succeeding one in which she postulated that he felt much better than Collins would. Her head was a messy confusion. He was no gentleman. Look at what he had done to poor Wickham.

But those eyes. She could not get over them. She had never truly tried to understand Mr. Darcy before, always jumping to her own conclusions based on nothing but what she saw with her own eyes. And she knew of several clichéd sayings that reprimanded those who judged by outward appearance. And clichés only became clichés because they were so true. She sighed. When he had locked his eyes with her own on that long stomp down the church isle, it was as if he had opened the door of his soul to her. And she had found it blazing. It was not blackened by misdeeds and evil. She could not make sense of the man she saw in him in that instant and the man that Wickham claimed him to be. Oh how she wished she had an instant's mirror into Wickham's soul to see what good or evil laid claim there. But all she had was Wickham's word, and Darcy's astonishing revelations.

Where was he taking her? Should she go with him? Should she make him stop immediately? She knew that if she stayed on this horse she would be forced into marrying him. Was that his plan? But surely not! He hated her! But he had said he loved her! She was too confused to think anymore, and resting her head backward against Darcy's strong chest, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

They were not yet in Scotland, but they had made record time and would be safe enough in the small yet respectable inn he knew of in this small seaside village. Pulling the horse to a stop, he gazed down for the first time at the pilfered prize he carried possessively in his arms. Her head was leaning against his chest, a sensation he appreciated greatly, and she was asleep. How any human could fall asleep after an exciting fiasco such as that was completely beyond his understanding, and vexed him slightly. She should be as stirred and passionate as he. Shouldn't she? Looking at her, the thought that she might not return his affections entered his head for the first time. No, thought he, how could she not love me? I love her. I saved her from having to marry that… that man. He shook his head ruefully, remember what he had called Collins to the audience of assembled wedding guests. Had she such a hold on him that seeing another man touch her made him exclaim things aloud that he could not now bring himself to utter in his own thoughts? The idea almost chilled him, until he looked at the lovely girl nestled between his arms. "Elizabeth," he murmured, "Wake up." And she did. And as her eyelids fluttered open, her fine dark eyes grew wide in amazement.

"I… You… I thought it was a dream." Then her face clouded over and sitting up straight, she clumsily dismounted the horse by herself, falling straight onto her bottom. Darcy, she was loath to see, leaped from the horse with the greatest of grace and pulled her to her feet before she had a chance to even mutter an oath.

"Are you alright Elizabeth," he asked with uncertainty in his eyes. She was alright, but with his eyes upon her like that, she remained as confused as ever before. His soul was reaching out to her from those dark caring orbs and it totally disarmed her. Here she had been all prepared to hate the man who had absconded with her on her wedding day, and now she was not quite so sure how to regard him.

She nodded vaguely that she was well, then, finding her voice confidently spoke. "We must talk Mr. Darcy. Before we, or you, or I, go one step further, we must talk of what has happened."

Nodding his assent to her truthful statement, he took her hand and led her toward the inn. A nearby stable hand took the horse, and Darcy slipped him a few coins. Before they entered the establishment, Darcy turned toward Elizabeth, and leaning down low, whispered in her ear. "I fear the only way to avoid scandal is to procure a room under false names, as husband and wife. I will, of course," he added, remembering that even though he was now a kidnapper, he was first and foremost a gentleman, "sleep on the floor, and give you all the privacy you require my lady." She stared at him. Pretend to be his wife? She couldn't! But then, she was supposed to be married. It could not hurt she told herself, realizing in some part of her that she had shoved down deep, that she had not a clue what she was getting herself into, and that whatever it was, it certainly was not proper. She nodded and took his arm.

They procured the largest and most accommodating room. It was actually a set of rooms that included a drawing room as well as a bedroom. The drawing room was furnished with a small couch and a large chair, as well as a solid yet scratched and worn table which was being prepared for dinner. Both Darcy and Elizabeth remained quite as the servants brought a warm washbasin, clean washcloths, and food enough for five quite hungry people. They sat at the table and ate rather sparingly for two who had undergone such a strange and stressful day. "You do not eat Miss. Bennet," stated Darcy awkwardly. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes," answered Elizabeth truthfully. "Something is the matter. I believe there are a few things which need to be discussed." Darcy's face grew grim and she could sense that he was quite uncomfortable. "Do you mind, Mr. Darcy, explaining to me why you thought it necessary to rip me from my wedding like that?"

"Did you wish to marry Mr. Collins?"

"No…" she faltered, "but that is not the point. Answer my question."

"Did not my objection this morning answer enough?" Darcy felt severely uncomfortable.

"Mr. Darcy, I am not at all sure that I heard you correctly this morning. I think I heard you say that you love me. But that is impossible!"

"Impossible! Impossible! Why should it be impossible that a good man fall in love with a good woman?! Impossible? Just yesterday I thought it impossible that I should ever break any of society's rigid standards and orders and here I am! A kidnapper and eloper. Nothing is impossible my dear Elizabeth. Least of all my love for you."

"Elopement?" Elizabeth gulped the word down. It was impossible that this man should wish to marry her! (There was that word again.) She had escaped from one marriage directly into another. She had traded one hated bridegroom for one despised one.

Oh but those eyes. Why did they make her question her own judgments so? She was determined to find out the answers for once. She would confront him about Wickham. She did not yet know if she believed him to be innocent of his appointed crimes, but she did believe that he was an honest person. And if he were guilty, would rightly confess. And with this conviction, she started her questioning.

"You speak of elopement. Marriage. But sir, I have serious doubts about your character, and while even with these doubts you are a hundred times better than Mr. Collins, I refuse to marry a man I am unsure of."

Unsure of him?! Unsure of what?! Darcy was startled by these confessions and could do naught but listen as she spoke of Wickham and all his accusations, his twisted versions of the truth, and heard in Elizabeth's voice a condemnation of himself. Could he have acted too hastily?

"So Mr. Darcy, I await your side of the tale. And while I doubt your innocence in the matter… for some reason… I trust that you are a truthful man." She blushed at this, knowing that she had come to this knowledge through perusing his soul as she saw it from his eyes. She felt almost as if she had somehow trespassed. But another voice told her that he had given her the exclusive privilege of this private viewing and that she had only seen what he wanted her to see. "I trust that you will tell me the truth. And…" she added as an afterthought, with a hint of pleading in her voice, "please, do not lie to me."

He wouldn't lie to her, he couldn't! For he feared that she would see right through him and that she would walk from this room and into oblivion. He told her about his sister's childish infatuation with his father's steward's son. He told her of Wickham's nefarious plot to gain the Darcy fortune and the innocent hand of Darcy's naïve sister. And the whole time he looked at her with those eyes. And sighing, she knew he spoke the truth. "I am sorry for having doubted you Mr. Darcy. But I still cannot marry you."

Why the hell not! Yelled Mr. Darcy in his mind as his eyebrows knitted together and his lips pursed in distaste. He would not yell at her. But wait, he had not yet formally proposed! Saving the woman one loves from a wedding to an odious man is quite a chivalrous thing to do, but it does not entitle the kidnapper to an assumed acceptance of a proposal never proffered. Darcy's fierce gaze unknit and a softer one assumed it's place. "I am sorry Elizabeth, to be so unmindful. I have not yet proposed."

But before he could do so, she interrupted, shaking her head. "No, no Mr. Darcy, you do not understand. I do not wish you to propose because I would not accept." she did not wait for the shocked reply that was already rushing forth from his lips. "You have given me no hint of your affection. I suffered the greatest shock of my life today from your exclamation of love. I truly had no idea! If it is your manner to court a woman by insulting her and glaring fiercely at her all the time in disapproval, then I do not wish such a courtship!" There was an awkward silence. Elizabeth searched for her next words and Darcy began to think back over the weeks he had been in Hertfordshire. Insulted her? When? Oh… the first ball. He could barely remember that, was it possible that she had overheard him? Such a stinging insult would not soon leave the memory of any maid. He pushed back an embarrassed blush and tried to remember exactly what had prompted him to say such a thing. Hadn't he always thought of Elizabeth as the loveliest of creatures? Yes, he had, but in the beginning it had vexed him that she affected him so. He had been vexed at her for pulling some invisible and heretofore unknown strings of his heart. Now he did blush. He was truly an imbecile. "Elizabeth," he murmured, " I am deeply sorry… you can not know. I… I am a complete dunce. I cannot hope that you might forgive me for saying such stupid things. But you must believe at I did not for one moment mean them."

Elizabeth had not been prepared for a statement such as that from the almighty Darcy. He was looking down at the cuff of his jacket upon the table, refusing to meet her gaze. "Look at me. Please." He did. He could deny her nothing after realizing how much of a cad he had actually been, and without even knowing it! She saw pain there, and truth, and that ever-present annoyance to Elizabeth: love. He was making it awfully hard to hate him! She sighed. "I believe you. Yet I still cannot marry you."

"Why?" Darcy's question was forceful, his eyes stern and steely.

"I…I do not think I can hate you Mr. Darcy. Especially after saving me from a horrible marriage. You have helped me to attain what has been my sole desire for the past week after my father told me of my fate! You have helped me to escape! No, I do not hate you any longer. I believe you, and I trust you. And I have been wrong about you. And I know I should not so readily trust in you. But somehow, this faith in you seems all the more right since I have disliked and fought with you for so long. And who can hate anyone who loves them? But… Mr. Darcy… I do not fully know you. I do not love you. I've just escaped from a loveless marriage, I will not willingly go into another."

"I understand." And he did. He understood perfectly. But just because she did not love him now, did not mean that she would not in the future. If he had so changed her attitude toward him in one day, surely he could gain her heart quickly too! He had thrown rules and restrictions out the window with those fateful words: "I object!" Propriety seemed no longer an issue. If escape was her desire, he would help her in any way he could. But escape from him she would not. He had kidnapped her after all. She was his stolen treasure to keep. He was no longer Darcy the proper gentleman. No, he had withered under the fine gaze of a certain lady, and in his stead another had surfaced. Fitzwilliam the Dread Pirate Darcy smiled cunningly at the lady across from him, and took a sip of his soup.

Elizabeth lay in bed that night thinking of what a beautiful smile a certain gentleman possessed. Not only was it aesthetically pleasing with soft lips and straight white teeth, but there was something more to it. Something she had never seen in it before. But then again, she had never seen him smile before tonight. There was deviltry in it, a challenging smirk and a teasing gleam that appealed to her. She decided, as she fell into dreams, that she would try to provoke that smile as much as possible. It suited the usually austere gentleman, and she grinned in anticipation of the next day.

Darcy lay awake making plans. He had spoken with Elizabeth of Scotland. It was where he had planned on going anyway, not that he had had any plan to begin with, except for some vague outline of a plot. She had agreed. She could not, would not, go back to her parents now. Let them think she had eloped with another man, she had told him. They deserved it. Darcy had winced at her words. He knew that Elizabeth loved her father, and hated that she should be now so separated from him, physically and emotionally. It was why he would not force her to marry him. Elizabeth obviously did not take very well to being forced into anything she did not like. If she felt pressured by him, she would only run. And he could not have this. So he had requested to accompany her. They could travel as man and wife, deterring all nosy inquiries, and keeping Elizabeth safe from the dangers that would accompany a woman traveling alone. Elizabeth had accepted his proposals only after considering the sea traveling. She had never traveled by sea before, and was clearly anxious about it, though she bravely smiled and claimed it to be an adventure.

Once in Scotland, she would find some governess position. This was where Darcy's plans changed. She would not be finding such a position. Rather, he hoped that by the time she came to this point, he would have won her affections and her hand in marriage. Darcy owned a small but quaint cottage on the Scottish moors. It was isolated and without servants of any kind. It was where he went to escape the responsibilities that had plagued him since young adulthood with the advent of his parent's deaths. He could not wait for his return to it, with Elizabeth as his wife.

In her best Darcy manner, Elizabeth glared fiercely at the ship she was about to board. The sky above it was steely and gray and the ocean it swayed on was a perfect match to the ominous sky. Mr. Darcy was striding ahead with their bags in hand, as if the boat weren't about to sink underneath him. He handed their luggage off to one of the crewmen and just as purposely, strode back to Elizabeth's side.

He mentally congratulated himself on a job well done. Elizabeth looked stunning inthe fine dark green dress he had procured for her today. They had realized upon awakening that the only clothes they had were the ones on their backs. And hers just happened to be, quite obviously, a wedding gown. He had insisted on her staying put while he shopped, convincing her that a woman buying clothes in a wedding gown might cause a stir. And, she realized, it might give her a little more time to sleep. She had had an exhausting day and night and her sleep had not been sound. So though she was rather doubtful that Mr. Darcy would be able to find the right fit for her, she let him have his way, and crawled once again into her bed.

She was awakened an hour later when she heard Mr. Darcy directing a servant to place his packages on the table, and was out of bed, and straightening her appearance by the time he lightly tapped on her door. "Miss. Bennet, may I come in?" She bade him enter and gasped at the lovely purchases he held in his arms. There were three dresses in all. All of them colors she had never before been bold enough to wear. One was a rich red, embroidered with silken threads of cream. Another pure white with a pretty blue pattern, and the last was absolutely wonderful. It was a rich green silk that parted slightly at the empire waist to display a graceful fall of light cream of the same material. The sleeves were fitted and trimmed in the same cream material.

"Mr. Darcy," she had objected, "I can not accept such finery. I am after all to be a governess! Who will believe I am such in any of the dresses you have bought!" Darcy was not to be so shaken from his purpose.

"Do you not like the gowns? I thought they would look lovely on you. And besides, you are not yet a governess. Until we reach Scotland, you travel as my wife, and subsequently, must, by all appearances, be so. You must realize that any wife of mine would be finely dressed."

Elizabeth did realize this, and was actually quite happy with her kidnapper and now accomplice's logic. For she did sorely want to feel the softness of at least one of the gowns against her skin. Particuarly the green one.

And so they came to be standing before the ship that would sail Elizabeth to her freedom, and Darcy to his impending happiness.

Together they climbed the plank that led to the deck of the ship. The captain was there to greet them. "Has everything been arranged as pertaining my orders?" asked Darcy.

"Yes sir," answered the captain, "the cabin is all ready. Though, it's never been used for upscale travelers such as yourselves."

"We'll make do."

"Would you like to inspect them before we sail off?"

"That won't be necessary. I'm sure you've taken care of everything." Darcy's words had been formal, noticed Elizabeth, but his attitude, his mannerisms, were not at all. There was warmth in his voice, and a smile on his face that had just not been there in Hertfordshire. This puzzled her. These people on this ship were surely lower socially than her family and neighbors, but Darcy treated them better; he afforded them more respect. She frowned with her thoughts and, absentmindedly, let Darcy lead her to the front railing of the small ship. She mused over these thoughts as the ship pulled anchor and left the port, as the sea winds rose and the choppy waves began to throw the ship gently and slightly.

I know my mother is overly silly. And so are most of my sisters. But not everyone in the country deserves to be treated with the disdain that Mr. Darcy so clearly treated them with! He is high handed and offensive with some, then respectful and outright friendly to others! Elizabeth frowned out over the ocean as the pit of her stomach began to flip over and over with each new wave the ship crashed over. She had never been on the sea before, and was beginning to think she would not like it.

"Miss. Bennet," spoke Darcy, noticing the frown on her face. And… surely her face should not be coming close to the same green shade as her gown! "Elizabeth! Are you ill?" Darcy mentally congratulated himself on such a spectacular question. Of course she was ill!

"I'm afraid I don't feel so well sir." She grimaced up at him and without a word he took her below deck to the sleeping quarters. As he was about to usher Elizabeth into the small dark room, a voice from above urgently cried his name.

"Go in and lie down," he ordered her. "I shall see why I am needed and return to you with all haste."

Elizabeth spoke sparingly through her sickness. "Don't bother yourself sir. I shall just lie down. I'll be well soon." And entering the room, she shut the door in his face. Darcy faced the shut metal door for no less than ten shocked and befuddled seconds until his name once again ripped through the air. Sharply, he turned on his well polished heal, and stomped gracefully up the stairs.

A disaster had happened up on deck. One of the masts (?) had come loose and punched a nasty hole right through one of the sails. Darcy had spent hours above board helping the crew to fix the disaster. By the time the problem had been fixed, the sun had set and he was too exhausted to think of food.

Elizabeth. Had she awoken hungry? He doubted that she had. And if anything had appealed to her, it probably wouldn't have stayed with her. He let a half smile hint at the corners of his laugh and lightly chuckled as he opened the door to their room. The light was on, and Elizabeth was curled up sweetly, asleep, between the covers of the only bed in the room.

He could not have booked two rooms. They were supposed to be married. Yet he had specifically made sure that the single room would contain two beds. Bunk beds the first mate had told him. There were no bunk beds in this room. Possibly they were in the wrong room. But he knew ships like this only kept one room available to passengers. This was the only room. It looked like he would be sleeping on the floor. Without pillows or blankets of any sort. He eyed the hard corner of the stark and cold room wearily before resigning himself to his fate.

"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth had awoken. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and yawned in a way that made Darcy melt. "What time is it?"

"Sometime after sunset Miss. Bennet. Do you feel better?" He could tell she didn't. Her face still resembled a lighter, ugly shade of her dress.

"Truthfully No. But I will prevail," said Elizabeth as she swallowed deeply and closed her eyes. If Darcy had not suffered from seasickness himself as a child, he might have been fearful for her well being. But he knew she was in no danger. And rather, her predicament almost brought laughter to his lips. But he could not be that insensitive to his Elizabeth. Indeed, that was no way to woo her. Not that now was the time. Sitting down on the cold floor of the corner, her eyed Elizabeth.

"Sleep is the only remedy I'm afraid. And I'm exhausted." And with that, he closed his eyes.

Elizabeth stared at him in confusion. His long legs stretched out in front of him, his shoulders backed against the wall, and his head leaned over to his right shoulder. His hair was now a mess of damp curls that hung limply and handsomely about his forehead and neck, and his face was red from the ocean wind. Only now did she grow curious as to what had kept him occupied while she lay agonizing in this room. She remembered that he had ran off at the call of his name. "Mr. Darcy…" she enquired, to which he opened his eyes.

"Hm?"

"What was so urgent above deck? You look worn ragged! Have you been fighting Ahab's elusive white whale? And…" for the first time, she noticed the shortage of beds. "You're sleeping on the floor!"

He gave her a small tired smile. "Quite perceptive of you. No, Ahab's obsession could never move me, there were problems with the masts and sails. All hands were needed."

"So, you helped fix the boat?" This did not fit in with her idea of Darcy at all!

"Yes. I did. And I think I deserve some sleep now." He gave her another smile. "Goodnight Elizabeth."

"But why didn't you ask for two beds?"

"I did," he spoke with closed eyes. "But they obviously misunderstood me."

"But you can't sleep on the floor! Especially not after all your hard work."

He opened his eyes and gave her a full-fledged soul melting smile. "There is one bed my lady. And you must have it." Darcy knew a pirate would never be this gentlemanly, but he had to draw a line somewhere.

Elizabeth did not protest. As Darcy closed his eyes once more, so did she. She laid down, and would have fell into a comfortable stupor had the man in such close proximity not been so utterly uncomfortable. "Mr. Darcy."

"Yes Miss. Bennet?"

"Um… it is not right for you to sleep on the floor. The bed is big enough for both of us. I do not see why two sensible adults cannot be realistic! There are two blankets on the bed. I will get under the second one and you can get under the top one. And… and we'll have a separation between us, but you will not suffer so." She was embarrassed at proposing such a plan, but knew that it was the fairest, most sensible course of action. Yet her suggestion met with complete silence.

Darcy was ruminating. He knew he shouldn't. He knew he wanted to. The gentleman and pirate seemed to be locked in some bloody duel to the death. Only one of them would win. There could be no drawl.

Darcy did not join Elizabeth in her bed. But still every hopeful in Darcy's greater common sense, Elizabeth scooted back against the wall, knowing that she had done all she could. He was stubborn, that man, and strange. And different. She couldn't quite make him out though, ever since he had kidnapped her from her wedding, he had been constantly in her thoughts. She welcomed the distraction from her queasy stomach. She barely noticed it as she slowly began to drift off to sleep. But what she did notice was the creak of the mattress just before she fell into her dreams; the heavy weight and warmth of a hard body just inches from her. Separated by a cover! Ha!