Chapter 10

The Scots had finished eliminating the remaining undead and began a sweep of the house at the request of their leader. Darcy turned and saw a group of three highlanders still standing before him. They all donned the kilts of their clans and the same stern looks- the grimmest of which belonging to a tall, brown-headed man standing in the middle. He was older than the others, with creases around his eyes and the slightest hint of gray in his beard. As the Scot took one booted step forward, he felt his sisters-in-law, Charles, Ashton and the others stiffen, raising their blades instantly, unsure if the new intruders could be entirely trustworthy.

At the beginning of the outbreak the Scots had raised a barrier similar to the Great Wall that used to surround London. It divided English soil from the highlands occupied by the Scottish, the tips of which ended in the ocean further than the eye could see. Marksmen walked the top, shooting any undead that got through the wooden spoke wall that served as their first line of defense against the undead. To ensure zombies would not plague Scottish soil and its inhabitants, English were not permitted to cross, even if they had no bite marks or symptoms of the undead plague. Two thick metal checkpoint doors were carved into the wall in the event highlanders wished to escape to the south, however most were turned away upon their return, which was why Darcy was surprised to see this man and his men standing before him.

He continued staring at the intruder as the man proceeded towards him. The Scot's eyes soon danced with humor and he extended his hand towards Darcy. He took it eagerly and drew the man into a hug.

"It's been donkies since a last saw ye," the Scot said with his gruff accent, patting Darcy on the back.

"Indeed," said Darcy as he pulled away. "And you could not have come at a better time. How did you know?"

"We ran into one of yer riders and he said ye were in need of help. We heard aboot Hingham Bridge and Wickham's efforts and came a runnin'. Didna think we'd find ya in such a state though, laddie," he answered as he eyes the dead bodies on the ground before turning to face the others in the room. "Ye mind telling 'em to lower dem blades?"

Darcy rounded and nodded towards the others, who skeptically obeyed. Since the Northern Wall was erected, English did not look kindly on the highlanders for abandoning them in their time of need. In their eyes, they were weak for fleeing behind the safety of their barricade, and greedy for using the situation as a means of seizing their own land.

"Pleased tae meet ye," he said with a short bow of his head. "Ma name is Alastair William James Ferguson. Met Fitzwilliam here when he was jist up to ma knee."

"He was a close friend of my father's," Darcy explained, "before the Northern Wall was built."

"I was sorry to hear of his passin'," said Alastair sincerely. "He was a braw of a man."

Darcy nodded and smiled fondly.

"Word in the north is Wickham is back and takin' vengeance," continued Alastair. "And we want to join ye. Took about 'e quarter of ma men wi' me here. The rest await ma orders in the North."

"Your assistance could not have come at a more opportune time," responded Darcy. He informed Alastair of Wickham's new status as the undead antichrist and the events hat had taken place since his wedding, ending with their recent loss of the Black Guard. Alastair whistled slowly through his teeth.

"But the question remains," concluded Darcy, glancing at his aunt, "of how undead was able to infiltrate Rosings and, more specifically, the Black Guard."

Charles was the first to respond, which surprised Darcy, as he normally was an observer, whereas his aunt demanded her thoughts be known even when they shouldn't be. "They must have followed the surviving members back the day of the wedding. It would have been easy for them to seize the clothing off a fallen guard and take their place without anyone noticing. Especially since we were all focused on other things in the chaos."

"A stray undead or two could have dragged bodies into the surrounding woods, changed into the uniforms and none of us would have noticed," added Jane quietly. "I know I was only focused on Lizzy after I heard her screams for help."

"As was I," agreed Darcy. He glanced around at those within the room. What a sight it was. Clansmen stood as still as stone, their kilts blowing slightly from the breeze that made its way into the house via the open stairwell. The Bennet sisters clung together around their father, all faces downcast and absentmindedly seeking comfort in close proximity. Their warrior constitutions demanding their attention at present and Darcy knew all mourning for their mother to be set-aside until the moment presented itself at a later time. How strong they were- just like his Elizabeth.

Bringing himself back to the present, he thought for many more moments on the Black Guard. Had there been a change in the last few days? Some warning that could have alerted him? Darcy recalled his interactions, but couldn't pinpoint any caveat until he recalled the guards by the stairs swaying and twitching in anticipation that same night. And then the growl he assumed was just the wind or a figment of his imagination. The Black Guard were ordered to be fixated at all times, with not the slightest movement or sound. All warnings he had ignored. All opportunities he had been gifted but not taken. How could he have been so blind? Now his mother-in-law and sweet Charlotte lay dead in the supposedly safe confines of Rosings. Even Parson Collins. He had never cared for the man, but he did officiate their wedding and was Elizabeth's cousin. He knew Lizzy would be devastated upon hearing the news of the deaths of her mother and best friend. Her mother was a constant presence in their lives and, despite his initial prejudices towards her, Darcy had come to loved the woman just as his wife did. Likewise Charlotte was her confidant and devoted companion. And he wanted to be the one to tell his wife about both her mother and Charlotte. But first, he had to get to her.

He broke out of his reverie when Alastair spoke. "Takin' yer lass. That's a mistake if I e'er seen yin. But dinnae worry laddie, weel get yer lady back."

With that, Alastair removed a flask from his satchel, raised it up in salute, and took a long pull. "Tis a shame about the mess," Alastair continued, as he watched his men carrying undead bodies down from the upper floors and tossing them out the window to be burned later that night.

"At least one good thing came of this," Darcy said distractedly, glancing around at the bodies that still lay upon the floor. "We now know who Wickham can and cannot control."

At his statement all chatter ceased and every pair of English and Scottish eyes fell upon him.

"I fought a zombie tonight who said all of them were under specific instructions not to harm me," began Darcy. "At one point an undead had me cornered, his blade in hand, ready to pierce my chest. But as it was coming downward towards my body, the zombie had no choice but to deviate its path and drive it into a wall behind me, leaving me unharmed. The second was newly turned and most likely had not had an opportunity to feed upon human brains. He was able to pierce my skin with his blade." He held up his arm, indicating the wound. "I believe that once they ingest human brains they must follow Wickham's every order, but not before. It explains why those undead at St. Lazarus acted the way they did. They were merely bitten, but he could not control them until after I fed them the brains of the dead soldiers."

"Well, it sounds as if we came to the right place," Alastair said. "Dae ye hae a plan?"

"Yes," responded Darcy straightforwardly. "We ride for Pemberley and save my wife."