Disclaimer: Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights do not belong to me. Pride and Prejudice belongs to the late and great Jane Austen and Wuthering Heights belongs to Emily Brontë.

Author's Note: This is another cross-over with a what-if scenario. What if Elizabeth had actually met Heathcliff while lost in the moors? Would she find him fascinating, romantic, attractive...or simply deranged? Read and see.

"An Unexpected Encounter"

Chapter One: It's Me, Lizzy

The wind howled as it streaked across the moor. A lone figure, tightly clutching her cloak around her, stood huddled against the harsh landscape. As the wind raced past her, she shivered and clutched her cloak even more tightly. She looked up at the sky, as if hoping that its multitude of stars could direct her home. But unlike other nights, the swirls of constellations here provided no comfort or direction. This place was truly one of nightmares.

Elizabeth Darcy was not pleased. An hour ago, she had been traveling with her husband by horse across what had first seemed to be green pastures and hillsides. A quick change in the weather had occurred, which resulted in the sky turning dark and the wind picking up speed. Her horse, which had only been recently broken, had immediately started and then bolted. Ignoring her shouts and those of her husband, the horse had galloped across the hillside as if possessed by a demon, with Elizabeth hanging onto the reins for dear life. Her husband had followed in pursuit, but the horse's shattered nerves had lent it considerably more speed than his stallion, reducing Fitzwilliam to nothing more than a pinprick in the distance. By the time Elizabeth's steed had finally halted, she could no longer see her husband or recognize her surroundings.

As if to add insult to injury, the horse's stop proved to be temporary. It had pawed at the ground and bucked at the air, this time with Elizabeth holding onto its neck. She had tried to soothe the horse with quieting words in order to give herself enough time to safely dismount. Once she had accomplished this arduous task, the horse had restlessly tossed its head and bolted again, leaving her behind in the dust.

It was her fault, really, Elizabeth reflected ruefully. Fitzwilliam had warned her about the horse's inexperience, but she had been determined to ride it all the same. The very moment she had first seen the horse, it had seemed to challenge her with its bold, rebellious gaze. Besides, it had been a fine animal: well-muscled with a glossy black coat and bright, intelligent eyes. She had insisted on riding it and had paid the price for her stubbornness.

Now she was all alone in the middle of nowhere and it was cold. Elizabeth clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. It was cold and dark and there was no sign of people or civilization anywhere. She supposed that this wilderness might seem attractive to some, with its rugged, untamed beauty. She would have gladly roamed the moors when she was younger, but not when the sky was black and the wind was howling. Right now, all Elizabeth wanted to do was to find her husband and travel back to Pemberley, back to a warm house and a warm bed.

But how could she find him? She was utterly lost. She had never ventured into these parts before and very likely never would have, had it not been for that confounded horse. Her teeth clenched even more. That monstrous brute, where the devil was he?

"Cathy!" she heard someone shout. She turned around, at once perplexed and relieved. At least she now had company.

A gentleman was running up to her. "Cathy!" he shouted again. Once he was a few feet away from her and had gotten a better look at her face, however, he stopped short.

Elizabeth hurriedly approached him. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken, sir," she said through teeth gritted from the cold. "My name is Elizabeth Darcy. Pray, have you seen my husband?"

He drew back from her. He was a wild-looking young man, with fierce eyes and a rather dark complexion. His clothes were as unkempt as his hair. For a fleeting moment, he reminded Elizabeth of her wild stallion.

"No, madam," said the gentleman coolly, looking rather angry at being caught in a mistake. "I have seen no one yet. You are the first person I have come across tonight in these parts."

Unsettled by his disheveled appearance, Elizabeth nonetheless put her apprehension aside and implored, "If you would be so kind, sir, would you please help me find him? We had been riding together for a while, but then my horse got quite a scare and bolted. I lost my husband in the chase and then my horse. I am afraid that I do not know this area well, and I would dearly love some companionship, especially on a night like this."

He merely gave her a hostile stare. Elizabeth felt a new sudden wave of apprehension, but also of annoyance. Out of all the people she could have come across and it had to be this ill-mannered, unyielding ruffian? She pressed on, "I heard you call me Cathy, sir. Are you looking for her?"

His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed together. "Yes,"

"Then," Elizabeth suggested, watching him steadily, "would it not make sense for us to go together, to assist each other in finding the person we seek?"

"I do not require your assistance, Mrs. Darcy," said the man coldly. "I have traveled these moors since I was a boy. As you said before, you do not know these parts."

Elizabeth's temper was beginning to rise. "Then if you have such an intimate knowledge of the land, help me find my husband!" She softened her voice. "Please, sir."

The man looked at her steadily. After a few minutes, he sighed irritably and tossed his head as restlessly as her stallion had. "Very well. Follow me."

Eager to find her husband, Elizabeth hastily obeyed. The wind had eased somewhat, and as a result, the cold did not feel as bothersome. She looked up at her companion. His gaze was focused ahead of them and his face was grim. "Pardon me, sir," she said suddenly. "But I do not believe that you introduced yourself."

"It does not matter," was the brusque reply.

Elizabeth felt another stab of annoyance. Had her husband ever been this uncivil? Eyes narrowing in anger, she retorted, "I was at least courteous enough to introduce myself, even if it was to clear up a case of mistaken identity. I believe that you should return the favor, sir."

He scowled at her. "My name is Heathcliff," he conceded gruffly.

Was that so difficult? Elizabeth thought archly. Aloud, she inquired, "If you will not mind me asking, Mr. Heathcliff, who is this Cathy of whom you search?"

Evidently he does mind, she thought as she saw his hands clench and unclench.

His eyes shifted to the ground as he said, "Her real name is Catherine Earnshaw. She and I grew up together in Wuthering Heights."

Wuthering Heights? Elizabeth wondered, bewildered. She had never heard of such a place. Heathcliff looked over at her and caught her confused expression.

"It's an estate over yonder," he explained, jabbing his thumb in the direction of which they had come. "I had just departed from there to search for her."

"Oh," Elizabeth said thoughtfully as they walked on. "Is she your sister?"

He shook his head. "No. Her father brought me to the house when I was a child. He found me starving on the streets with barely a roof over my head and brought me home with him. He treated me as a son."

Elizabeth looked up at him, startled. Her opinion of her companion was now beginning to change. "That was very kind of him," she said hesitatingly. "But you did grow up together as brother and sister, did you not?"

"In the beginning, yes," admitted Heathcliff. "But not now," his eyes smoldered. "No, we are far more than that."

Elizabeth did not fail to notice the intense expression that flitted across his face. "Well, it just so happens that I have a sister named Catherine," she said conversationally, "but we all call her Kitty, not Cathy…" she trailed off, a little disconcerted by the look in Heathcliff's eyes. "So, Catherine is your wife now?" she began uncertainly.

An exceedingly bitter smile soon formed on Heathcliff's features. "No,"

Elizabeth bit her lip in embarrassment. "So, the two of you are…lovers?"

"We were," returned Heathcliff harshly. "Until…" his fists clenched. "Until she…" It was then that his entire countenance darkened to such a frightening degree that Elizabeth felt compelled to recoil from him. "God damn him! God damn her! Damn both of them!"

Elizabeth was quite alarmed by this abrupt transformation. "Mr. Heathcliff?"

"She is mine!" he thundered, stopping in his tracks. "She is my life, my soul! She is the only woman I have ever loved and the only woman I shall love!"

Elizabeth stood by the side, speechless. She was so unused to such naked, passionate declarations of any kind, let alone those of love. While she and her husband had indeed traded passionate jabs and endearments to each other, it had never reached this degree. Not even Fitzwilliam's shocking first proposal had been as disturbing as this.

"And yet she betrayed me!" Heathcliff continued to rant, as if unaware of Elizabeth's presence. "She knows of my love for her, yet she left me! Abandoned me for that simpering, spineless coward! For that weak shell of a man! How dare she?!"

Elizabeth did not know if she should stand there and let him fully release his raging fury or interfere. She spoke very softly, "I am very sorry to hear that, Mr. Heathcliff. I truly am."

He ignored her, eyes blazing. "And that useless milksop has the gall to steal my Catherine," he growled. "If it were not for her, I would beat him to a bloody pulp."

Dear Lord, Elizabeth thought in alarm. If this is his usual behavior, I am not surprised that she left him. She said quickly, "You mentioned that her father took you in, Mr. Heathcliff. What are his views on this matter?"

"He has no views," Heathcliff said harshly, resuming his pace. She hurried to keep up with him. "He is dead."

Was it because you beat him to a bloody pulp? Elizabeth thought sarcastically. Aloud, she said consolingly, "That is very unfortunate. I am sorry for your loss."

Heathcliff shook his head. "You would be sorrier, still, Mrs. Darcy, if you knew the true extent of the impact his death had on me."

"What was it?" she inquired.

Heathcliff looked at the ground again, his fast pace losing some of its speed. His anger seemed to have died down, only to be replaced by brooding regret. "Mr. Earnshaw was the best man I have ever known," he said quietly. "He truly did treat me as a son. As a matter of fact, he even preferred me over his real son, Hindley. Due to this, I would forever earn Hindley's unceasing hatred and envy."

Despite becoming absorbed with his story, Elizabeth was struck with a sudden note of skepticism. Hmm, have I not heard this story before? she thought wryly, but kept silent.

"When Mr. Earnshaw died, which was many years ago, Hindley became master of the house." His face hardened as he remembered. "But he also became master over me. He reduced me to a servant and treated me abominably."

"And Miss Earnshaw?" questioned Elizabeth, trying not to become too enamored with his story, for fear of losing her prized sound judgment.

"She was not made into a servant like I was, but Hindley still maintained power over her. The two of them never liked each other. To this day, I have never understood why. The only explanation I can offer is that Hindley was simply a spoiled, spiteful little man-child who cared for nobody but himself." His shoulders slumped. "Yet despite this, or perhaps, because of this, Catherine and I only became closer. We joined forces, if you will, against Hindley. We were always together." He wistfully looked upward. "I cannot really recall the moment where we realized we loved each other. But we did." He looked directly at Elizabeth, as if challenging her to say otherwise. "And we still do. Regardless of what that insolent Linton whelp says."

"Linton?"

"Edgar Linton," Heathcliff sneered his name. "Catherine's fiancé. The –"

"Yes, yes, you have made your opinion of him quite clear," said Elizabeth impatiently before he could launch into another tirade. "What I am wondering is why Miss Earnshaw has consented to marry him if she loves you. Does she love him, as well?"

"She loves his money," spat Heathcliff. "She says that once she is his bride, she will become the grandest lady in all the land. She will have all the luxury and comfort to feast upon. She loves his fancy manners and his fancy way of living."

Elizabeth frowned. "Tell me, is her brother in debt?"

Heathcliff seemed taken aback by the question. "What?"

"Is her brother in debt?" repeated Elizabeth. "Are they suffering financially?"

"No, she is not," Heathcliff said bluntly. "Her brother is a drunk and a gambler, but they still maintain possession of Wuthering Heights." A queer look entered his eyes.

"So, they are not poor? They are wealthy?"

"Reasonably so, although not as much as Edgar Linton,"

"Has Mr. Earnshaw pressured his sister to marry Edgar?"

"No. Linton proposed to her and she accepted," Heathcliff glared at her suspiciously and demanded, "Why do you ask?"

Elizabeth calmly met his gaze. "Then, Mr. Heathcliff, I fear that you are deluding yourself. She does not love you."

"Of course she does!"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Mr. Heathcliff, you have just told me that the Earnshaws are not poor in any sense. You yourself declared that the only reason that she has agreed to marry Mr. Linton is to gain his wealth. Now, why would she marry him of her own free will and not you if she were already wealthy and not in need of financial assurance? If she truly loved you, she would not willingly agree to marry him."

"No!" Heathcliff burst out, his eyes piercing her like daggers. "She loves me! She is part of me and I am part of her." He angrily gnashed his teeth. "She is my soul!"

Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Mr. Heathcliff," she said patiently. "Tell me, has Miss Earnshaw given you a reason as to why she will marry Mr. Linton and not you? Has she?"

"Not to me, she hasn't," he muttered angrily. "She told Nelly –"

"Nelly?"

"The housekeeper," he snapped. "I overheard her tell Nelly that it would be a disgrace for her to marry me. That it would be beneath her because I am not lounging about in luxury like Linton is."

"Then she does not love you," replied Elizabeth in exasperation.

"Yes, she does!"

Elizabeth sighed. Arguing with Heathcliff was about as productive and successful as arguing with a brick wall. "She does not respect you, Mr. Heathcliff. If she did, she would not consider it beneath her to marry you, even if you do have the same status as a servant. Since she does not respect you, she does not love you. You cannot love someone if you do not respect them."

Heathcliff was not listening to her. He was still clinging onto his delusion that Catherine Earnshaw loved him as resolutely as he was striding across the moor, plowing through the field like a figurehead of a ship plowing through water. Elizabeth could only try to keep up with him and sigh. Where on earth was Fitzwilliam?

So, the spunky heroine of Pride and Prejudice has finally met the brooding beast – I mean, brooding Byronic hero of Wuthering Heights. Next chapter – Mr. Darcy meets "Heathcliff's soul."

P.S. It's been a long time since I've read Wuthering Heights, so if there are any mistakes I've made regarding the storyline, please let me know.