A/N: This chapter takes us back in time. I've read some amazing fanfiction for Brandon/Marianne but as of yet, I haven't found yet found a written scene of when Brandon goes to find Marianne on the hill overlooking Combe Magna.
Enjoy ;)
Marianne couldn't remember a time when she had hurt more. Not when she was little and her yellow dog had gotten trampled by horses, not when she was a young teen and Charlie from the village had kissed her and then never spoken to her again, not even when her father had died.
All of those times had hurt, so very much.
But this one. This one was far beyond all of them.
She was in the carriage, not feeling anything, just staring out into space, her eyes blank, her heart sore. And she was thinking about Willoughby.
His eyes, so laughing and merry, yet so broken when she'd found him at the ball, and then so cold. Colder than she'd ever imagined such a man's could be. His smile, his teasing lips that had never touched hers. He'd taken a curl of her hair, and he'd tried to kiss her but she'd ducked away; they were alone and it was already scandalous and there was still enough of Elinor in her that she didn't let him.
His dancing feet, so light and quick. His muscular legs, his arms, how he'd looked when he'd come through the rain for her, running down the hill.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, repressing a sob, not wanting to distress Elinor even more. Oh god. She'd been so cruel to Elinor. She'd had the privilege of being able to show her heartbreak.
This made Marianne hurt even more. Outside, the sky was a dismal gray, but it was clearing up. She registered Colonel Brandon riding past; darting in front of the carriage. Soon he'd fall behind again. It was all a carefully orchestrated dance. He'd ride ahead, scout out the route, and come back to tell the driver if there was anything in the road that would block their way. And then he'd fall behind again, keeping a careful watch.
She lost herself again, fantasizing about Willoughby. He'd made such fun of the Colonel, at every possible opportunity. And she would wager that Colonel Brandon had dueled with him, after the news about Eliza.
It surprised her to realize that she was thinking of the Colonel as being someone so proactive. This man she was now envisioning was completely unlike the man she'd thought the Colonel to be barely a week hence.
The carriage was rolling to a stop; Marianne dully registered that they had arrived. It was time to alight.
Elinor went first, and Marianne had to fight herself to get her legs to work. She didn't want to leave the darkness of the carriage, but she fought forward, forcing herself to appear normal. She remembered the careless words—she could barely remember who'd even said them—about how you could see Combe Magna from the top of the hill.
And she was barely registering Colonel Brandon helping her from the carriage, she wasn't paying attention, she was saying something to Elinor about going for a walk.
Her sister replied that it was going to rain.
Marianne tossed something back and didn't stop walking. She knew that Elinor was weary, and it was doubtful that she would follow.
And she didn't.
Marianne was alone, for the first time in what seemed like days. She felt the air on her face, and the breezes which had before delighted her heart, now stung her soul. They mocked her, telling her that she'd forever be walking alone, that Willoughby hadn't loved her, had never loved her, would never love her...not enough. Not really.
The hills were hard to climb, and she felt the weakness in her legs. Her legs didn't want to keep on going but her heart forced her onward, one foot in front of the other, til she found herself on the hill overlooking Willoughby's estate.
Combe Magna. What was to be his. What now wouldn't, and with good reason.
She felt her heart pinch, wondering if she still could have married him, if he'd asked her knowing that he'd been disinherited; if he'd told her the sordid, terrible reasons why.
And she knew she would have. She wished that it weren't true, that she could convince herself to say no, knowing what a past he had…
But all it meant was that he was human. Just like her.
If he'd asked her that Sunday, instead of going to town to find Miss Gray...she would have said yes. She likely would never have learned the circumstances of why he'd been disinherited, but she would have accepted any ludicrous story that Willoughby told her.
She sank to the ground, feeling her legs give way, his name slipping from her lips. "Willoughby."
Her eyes lost focus. She felt the wind whipping around her, she felt the first drops of rain that almost instantly became a hard shower.
She felt the water soak through her clothes almost immediately; she was chilled to the bone but her body soaked it in eagerly, taking the wild energy from the strikes of the rain and giving her one last jolt of movement.
"Willoughby!" She nearly screamed and then sank to her knees, feeling her mind leave this plane, leave her body behind, completely unconscious to her surroundings.
The rain only became harder. Marianne lay on the grass of the hill, eyes unseeing, body unmoving.
He didn't like this weather, Brandon reflected, glancing out the window. Rain was sure to come, and soon. If Marianne wasn't back in two minutes…
He glanced at the clock, and then at Elinor, who was watching the window as anxiously as he was. All it took was a look. They made brief eye contact and Elinor's lips parted to speak but Brandon was shaking his head, already moving to the door. He could almost feel Elinor's relief.
Once outside, Brandon liked the weather even less. The wind was wicked, endeavoring to whip him every way, but he was determined, and his stride didn't break for one instant.
A dark voice inside him urged him that he shouldn't bother, that Marianne had chosen a different, lesser man, and she deserved any heartbreak.
But the part of him that Brandon listened to only ached for Marianne. She should have had happiness. She should have had a long and merry life with Willoughby, the man she loved, despite Brandon's own opinions of the man. She should have been given that, and life shouldn't have robbed another innocent young woman of her dreams and happiness.
Like Eliza.
Brandon only hurt for Marianne, almost more than he hurt for himself.
The rain started and Brandon quickened his steps, nearly jogging now; lightning struck and Brandon broke into a cold run. He was terrified. He had no idea what he'd find around the next corner, around the next tree branch, he was so close, almost at the top of the hill.
"Marianne," he muttered, the word almost a curse, but it turned to a cry. "Marianne!"
She had to be alright, if he found her and she wasn't...if she didn't pull through...Brandon didn't know what he'd do. Probably wrinkle up and die himself. He had had his heart broken too many times before. He'd likely not survive another one.
He wasn't as old as she'd sometimes acted like he was, but in terms of heartbreak, he was older than most. He'd been through too much.
There was no response to his call, and he forced himself faster, cursing the bullet that had once hit his shoulder in India, which was now screaming at him. He pushed it aside, ignoring it, and now here he was, Combe Magna in sight and Marianne…
His eyes darted around, checking the trees, maybe she'd gone for shelter; he moved forward, trying to see through the ever hardening rainfall.
He almost tripped over her. In the darkness and gloom, he hadn't seen her on the ground; hadn't thought to look for her there.
A flash of white and Brandon glanced down and there Marianne was, laying on the ground like she was dead, her eyes unseeing.
"Marianne!" He bellowed, falling to his knees, pressing his hands to her white throat. She had a pulse. Her heart still beat.
He gathered her into his arms, wondering if he ought to do more, or if he should just get her back to the house as soon as possible. He adjusted his hold on her, her head swinging back limp over his arm, her limbs all akimbo, refusing to hold their own weight. He didn't trust the pulse and he leaned down to press his forehead to hers, trying to see if he could feel her breath. There it was. Faint but there.
Her lips were so close to his.
Brandon pressed a kiss to her cold forehead, to her cheeks, wanting to kiss everywhere, warm her body with the heat of his love. But that wasn't his place.
He struggled to standing, coming to a decision. He was no doctor, he reflected grimly, starting for the house. He wouldn't chance it.
Marianne felt motion, and her eyes opened. There were arms around her. Dear god. This was just like…
Her eyes flew open, one word on her lips, which quickly fell away. It wasn't Willoughby who carried her.
It was Colonel Brandon, with a determined face, lips set.
"Colonel," she whispered, and he looked down at her.
"Miss Marianne," he said, shock in his voice.
She tried to shift in his arms, and he tightened his grip. "I won't drop you," he promised.
"I know," she said, finally finding her arms, forcing them up. She was so cold, she felt so far away from the world, and here was her rescuer, warm and real, tethering her to this earthly realm.
She managed to get her hands up, placed them firmly on his shoulders, forced her head higher. "Thank you, Colonel," she said, her mouth close to his ear.
"No thanks are needed," he told her, but his face softened, she could see it.
She felt herself slipping away again, she could feel her hands sliding from his shoulders; she wanted to return them, hold on to him, but she couldn't hold on, not to anything. It was..too hard…
The world was again black.