It was not a day for riding. Dark clouds had hung low over the valley all morning and the air was heavy with unshed rain. Everything signalled an oncoming storm. Ripples of water whipped across the ornamental lake, softly at first but with a gathering speed. Shivering leaves trembled in the blustering wind; treetops swayed dangerously; the long grasses bending like sabres: the landscape quivered with anticipation.
A crack of lighting snapped through the air. Only a fool would ride in this. Lightning crackled again and the sky tore in two. Droplets of icy water began as a patter, swelling to a downpour and ended as a torrent: every pathway dangerously water-logged. A fresh wave of rain pelted down. Above, thunder ripped the heavens asunder. And somewhere, in the darkness, a riderless horse screamed.
Pain. Panic. Every sense dead to all but the echo of thundering hooves. Darcy moaned softly. His leg throbbed. He reached down to touch it and a searing pain shot down his left side. What had happened? Overwhelming fear flooded him. The lightening and the horse. He couldn't move. He tried his leg again. Stretching trembling fingers over his body, he was horrified by the dark red stain oozing from them. Were his fingers bleeding? Or was it his leg? It could be both, a little voice inside him croaked. You are alone, bleeding to death.
No. Was he speaking now? His voice sounded so faint. Who was this man, lost at the bottom of a steep, ice-cold valley? Was it him? Sharp, blinding pain shot through his forehead. 'You are dying.' That voice again. 'You are alone and you are dying.'
'No.' Darcy heard his voice aloud. ' I am not alone and I am not dying. I have Elizabeth.' The throbbing worsened. He could feel blood escaping from his leg. 'I have Elizabeth and I will not die.' He repeated his vow. 'I have Elizabeth and I will not die.' Exhausted, he heard his voice, weakened by the loss of blood: 'I have Elizabeth and...' A stabbing sensation shot through him and he clutched at the ground in agony. His last thought and last full breath was of her. He could only whisper her name: 'Please' he begged. 'I cannot leave her. I cannot leave Elizabeth.' Another wave of pain tore through him and he knew no more.
Shadowy hands pulled Darcy. His body no longer hurt him, he was beyond that now.
'You there, Simmonds. Watch his leg. If you still want to be employed this evening, then you damned well stem that bleeding.' It was Richard. Blessed, obstinate Richard. Darcy tried to move his head towards Richard's voice. 'Have a care how you move him, Maguire. He has lost a lot of blood and he will lose a damned sight more if you do not take more bloody care.' Darcy heard his cousin's voice break with anger. Or perhaps it was fear?
'Richard,' Darcy's voice was no more than a whisper.
'It's alright old man. Save your energy for your lovely wife. Heaven knows how you will explain this away.' Forced calm with an edge of suppressed panic: Darcy recognised the tone all too well. It had been the same when Father died. A vision of himself, as younger man, clutching his beloved parent's cold hand appeared before him: he had masked his fear with empty assurances as his father writhed about, his ashen face struggling to breath. Darcy relived the anguish twisted on his sister's face as he told her of their father's death. She cannot suffer another loss. I cannot not die. Suffocating fear filled his lungs and ragged breath caught in his throat. 'Help me Richard, I beg you. Do not let me go. Protect my family. Spare them... this agony.' The gasping plea faded to nothing. His voice was lost in the disordered clamouring of male voices swarming around him. Richard barked an order somewhere in the space above Darcy: his cousin's pretensions of calm were rapidly vanishing. An urgent call for a doctor and Darcy heard no more.
The room was filled with a sweet, sickly scent. 'Blood,' thought Darcy dully, ' I can smell blood.' He could not open his eyes but he could hear a woman sobbing. Something warm and soft squeezed his hand tightly and he knew he was not going to die alone. Hardly knowing what he was about, his hand tightened over whatever was in it, the warm, little object that anchored him to this world.
'Stay with me, my love, stay with me. Be strong for me. You must not leave us.' Such a tender tone! Such loving strength! Who could resist such a plea? With every resource left, Darcy opened his eyes. 'I have Elizabeth and I will not die.'
'You most certainly will not.' The soft hand resting in his tightened. A pair of beautiful eyes, so fine in their brilliance gazed into his face. One eye was bottle-green, the other a dappled brown; their effect was of a silent lake nestled in a sun-lit forest. Identical circles of amber encased pupils alive with determination. The eyes blinked. A veil of unshed tears rippled across their surface. 'You are forbidden to die. I will not allow it.' Darcy nodded and his throat burned: 'I have Elizabeth and I am not allowed to die.' Closing his eyes, he dreamt of a forest, with shafts of light breaking through green-brown shadows and a beautiful voice calling him to safety. Could this be Heaven? Darcy could resist no longer and surrendered himself to the enveloping darkness.