Derbyshire, 1813

Elizabeth Bennet suppressed a groan of pain as she stepped on a sharp rock.

The thin, worn soles of the tattered slippers she wore were doing nothing to alleviate the pain in her feet, which radiated up her legs as far as her knees. In truth, she felt some degree of discomfort all over, for her back ached, her arms were tired, and her head was hurting. Not all of her aches and pains were earned from physical toil, though the trek from…wherever they had been…had been long and arduous.

She was also tired, hungry, and thirsty. She'd had little water or food for the last several days, giving what little she could scrounge together to Maria. The younger woman always protested, but still took the meager fare of berries or nuts gratefully. She needed the nourishment more, Elizabeth always reminded her.

There was a baby coming. He or she needed every chance they could give for survival.

Elizabeth and Maria had been traveling together through a vast wood for what seemed like ages, but had likely been only a matter of days. It had been little more than a week since their escape from Hell—that's what she had long ago termed their abduction and captivity. How long ago was it that they'd been taken? she wondered. A year, at least—or very near to it. Maybe longer, for all she knew, as it had been difficult to keep count of the days. They weren't allowed access to paper, let alone a pen and ink with which to write. They were given minimal water with which to bathe and only fed enough to keep them alive.

What had their families thought? Had they been given up for dead? Would Maria and her child be accepted by Sir William and Lady Lucas, or would she be cast out? Would Mr. and Mrs. Bennet accept Elizabeth back into their home? These questions had been running rampant through her mind almost from the moment she woke each day until she fell into a fitful sleep each night.

"Lizzy," said Maria.

Elizabeth turned to her and lifted an eyebrow. "I'm tired, Lizzy. My back hurts so much," Maria cried softly.

Elizabeth looked around. Nothing and no one in these endless woods. With a sigh and a nod, she indicated they could stop to rest. Walking Maria over to the nearest large tree, she helped her friend to the ground then moved to sit beside her. With their backs to the trunk, they sat in the quiet and breathed deeply.

"Lizzy… Will we ever find someone who can help us?"

Elizabeth shrugged.

"I hope so Lizzy. I can't do this alone."

Reaching for the other girl's hand, Elizabeth tugged softly until she looked at her. Maria was crying, as she had done often since their capture when despair overwhelmed her. With her other hand, she pointed at Maria, then to herself.

A weak smile appeared. "I know I have you, Lizzy. I'll never be able to tell you how much having you near has meant to me all this time. Never!"

Elizabeth twitched her swollen lips and nodded. She would have spoken her assurances to Maria if she could, but she'd not been able to talk ever since the last attack by their abuser. The man was not one of the three who had abducted them from Bromley when they got out of the carriage to catch the post-chaise. No, he had purchased them from the "chattel auction" in a rickety, dilapidated barn, transported them only God knew how far from their homes and families, had locked them in a cellar for the hours he wasn't using them for the pleasures of himself and his perverted friends, and had demanded they call him "Master." But in her mind, Elizabeth had refused to refer to that monster by the title which a respected, well-treated servant might address her employer.

The light peeking through the thick overhead tree branches began to dim before Maria had heaved a sigh and said it was probably time they were moving on. Elizabeth nodded and stood, then reached to help Maria to her feet. Slipping their arms around each other's waist, they plodded on.

That night was spent huddled together under the widespread branches of a Holm oak. Though the days were warm enough—Elizabeth believed it was mid- to late spring—the nights were still chilly. They'd not taken much from the house when they'd escaped save for the ragged gowns they wore and a single basket of food, which they'd finished off—discarding the basket—on the third day. The monster's house had not been near water, but they'd encountered a creek on the second day of their flight and had tried to keep to it, though they unfortunately lost their way and wandered from it in a heavy rain while trying to find a tree with branches and leaves enough to provide at least some shelter.

Elizabeth was awake before dawn. The year in that dank, dusty cellar had taught her to always be on alert—there was no telling when he would come, or when he would have one or the other, or both, sent for. She sat quietly beside Maria, looking around and trying to figure out where they might be—it was her daily routine now, to try and recognize her surroundings. She was sure of only one thing: they were still in England. She thought they had traveled north after being bought at the auction, but could not be certain how far. Hell—the house itself—had been near to a forest, and Elizabeth had thought the woods safer than the dirt road that led away from the place. A few times over the last several days, she had herself despaired of ever finding help, but she reasoned that there surely had to be someone. Eventually.

Maria woke with a start and a soft screech, telling Elizabeth that she'd had another nightmare. Those were a nightly occurrence, and it tore at the elder woman's heart that her friend could find no peace even in sleep. Soothing her as best she could, Elizabeth handed her the large flask that they had filled with rain water a couple of days before.

Maria took a sip, then held it out to her. Elizabeth shook her head.

"Lizzy, you have to have something to drink," Maria protested.

She shook her head again, and pointed at Maria's rounded belly. Maria sighed. "Lizzy, I know I must keep hydrated for the baby, but you need water too. We've no idea when we might find a creek or a river, or even when it may rain again. I dread to think what a state we'll be in if we should lose you to thirst. I can't do this alone!"

Seeing the desperation and fear in Maria's countenance led Elizabeth to relent. She took the flask, tipped in a mouthful of stale rainwater, then put the cap back on before standing and helping Maria to her feet. Both girls sighed before starting their daily walk.

About midday—Elizabeth was sure of that as the sun was directly overhead—Providence at last smiled on them. They came upon their salvation in a clearing, in the middle of which stood an old log cabin. It seemed in good repair but did not appear to be inhabited at present, for which Elizabeth was grateful. A glance around soon found a broken branch in her hand, and after gesturing to Maria to stay behind a tree, Elizabeth crept forward. She made a slow, wide circuit of the smallish cabin, which looked about the size of one she had stayed the night in with her father once as a girl. That one had had two bedrooms and a large, combined sitting room and dining parlor; this one really did look much the same. There were two windows at the back but no door, and two on the front with a single door in between.

Greatest of mercies! she thought when her eyes fell upon a hand-pump jutting out of the ground about twenty feet from the front door. Still keeping the door of the cabin within her line of sight, Elizabeth walked to it and lifted the handle, producing a rust-colored trickle after the first few pumps, then at last a clearer stream. She took some into her cupped hand and sipped it, then looked to the sky and thought Thank you, Lord.

In the next moment she hurried back to where she had left Maria, then guided her to the well and pumped some water for her. Maria drank eagerly, then stood straight and glanced toward the cabin.

"Do you think anyone is here, Lizzy?" she asked.

Elizabeth shook her head, then pointed to the cabin, her eyes, and then back and forth between them.

"You think we'd have been seen by now if there was?"

A nod was her reply, but still she kept the makeshift club in hand as she drew a breath and started toward the cabin door. She was not surprised to find it locked when she tried the handle. How could they get in? she wondered. They had to—needed to—make use of this place for at least a few days, so that they could rest and restore some strength to their wearied bodies…and perhaps even their souls.

Behind her, Maria said, "We'll have to break a window."

With a small huff of breath, Elizabeth nodded her assent. Moving from the door to one of the windows, she used the stick in her hand to smash through a lower pane, then stretched to reach up and flip the latch. When she had, she used the stick to help in pushing the sash upward. It fell down almost immediately, so when she lifted it again, the stick was quickly wedged under to keep it open.

She just had to figure out how she was going to get through it. The window sill was about level with her chin, and she hadn't the strength to haul herself up and over it—but she had to find a way.

"Here," said Maria, who came to stand beside her. Elizabeth looked as her companion bent and laced her fingers together. Knowing she had no other choice but to depend of her for getting into the cabin, she placed a foot into the makeshift cup then grabbed hold of the window sill. With a bit of struggle and grunting on behalf of Maria, Elizabeth got her torso through, and was ever so thankful to find a chest situated just under the window on the other side. Bracing her hands on its top, she maneuvered her lower half through the window, losing her balance and falling to the floor as she pulled her left leg in.

At least it wasn't too hard a drop, she mused sourly as she sat up, and felt another wave of relief on seeing how close she'd come to cutting her hands on the broken glass about the floor.

A hand slipped through the curtains, pushing one aside to reveal Maria's face. "Are you all right, Lizzy?" she asked.

Elizabeth nodded, then took a look around the dimly lit great room, which was almost exactly like the cabin she had recalled earlier. To her left was a large stone fireplace, before which sat two cloth covered objects she suspected were armchairs. To the other side of the room, there was another cloth covered object which she surmised was a table and chairs. There were two closed doors on the wall opposite the entry door, and a tall cupboard by the table that she suspected was used for a pantry.

Standing to her feet at last, she moved directly to the front door and turned the lock, pulling it open to let Maria in. "Must be a hunting cabin," said she.

Again Elizabeth agreed with a dip of her head, before moving to the cupboard, where she found not only a few dishes and handful of tins that she desperately hoped held food, but also a broom, two rifles, a box of ammunition, and a gun cleaning kit.

"Definitely a hunting cabin," Maria mused.

Elizabeth turned to her and took her by the arm; after drawing the cloth off the table and chairs, she silently urged the other girl to sit; Maria did not protest. Next, Elizabeth pulled the tins from the shelf and set them before her. Indicating she was going back outside, she received a nod from Maria before hurrying out to the well, where she re-filled their drinking flask. She returned to find that Maria had managed to open the tins, which proved to hold dried meat as well as dried fruits and vegetables.

"Oh, Lizzy, look! We've a small feast here!" Maria said, her cheeks now wet with happy tears.

They would have to try and make it last, but Elizabeth knew not how to tell her friend. She soon realized that she did not need to, as Maria began to portion the food.

"I think if we eat only a little once a day, this could last us two or three days," Maria said then. "At least we'll not have to go thirsty now. At least while we stay here."

Elizabeth nodded her head again. Sitting in another of the chairs, she took a piece of dried meat and worked to tear it into small bits she could slip between her lips. She couldn't chew it, but she had only to set it on her tongue; if she salivated long enough, it would be easy to swallow. That was how she'd gotten by in the days since their escape, as she could not chew because of her dislocated jaw.

After each had eaten and drank a little, Elizabeth shut and locked the front door, then lowered the sash of the window she'd slipped through and locked it before settling the curtain over it again; the broken glass she swept up against the trunk under the window. The lighting in the room dipped significantly lower, but they had enough by which to see. She next went to the two doors and opened each, finding them to be bedrooms, each with two small beds inside. Elizabeth closed the second door, knowing that Maria would not be comfortable sleeping in another room away from her.

Truth be told, she did not think she could sleep alone, either.

After putting their meager fare away again, Elizabeth guided Maria into the bedroom they would share and urged her to lie down. Maria sighed deeply, and began to cry again as she laid down on the thin mattress.

"I began to think I'd never lay in a real bed again, Lizzy," she sobbed softly.

So did I, Elizabeth thought.

She moved and sat on the edge of the other bed, and only after Maria had asked if she intended to lie down as well did she change her position. But she did not go to sleep right away. Maria, surely exhausted and yet more comfortable than she had been in months, began to snore softly soon after closing her eyes. As soon as she was certain that the other girl was truly asleep, Elizabeth rose and, as quietly as she could, went back into the great room to retrieve one of the rifles. The model was familiar—her father had once shown her his own hunting rifle, and this one was similar. After looking it over thoroughly, she loaded it and carried it back to the bedroom with her. Only with the rifle at her side, her hand laying atop of it, did she feel safe enough to sleep.

-…-

Fitzwilliam Darcy dismounted from his horse before the south entrance of Pemberley and handed the reins off to the groom waiting there. His mind was no clearer than when he had set off two hours before—in truth, it had not been clear since the day he'd received word that Elizabeth Bennet and Maria Lucas had disappeared.

Of course, if he were truly honest with himself, his mind had not been clear since that night in Meryton eighteen months ago, when Bingley had all but dragged him from Netherfield to join their party at the market town's monthly assembly. It was there that he had first encountered the bewitching Elizabeth Bennet, second-born daughter of the local squire. When Bingley had offered to have his partner—Elizabeth's elder sister Jane—introduce them so that they could dance, he'd initially denied to his friend that she was even worth looking at; had actually said the words "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me."

On first observing her at the ball, he had looked on her without admiration, and the next time they met he'd looked only to find fault. Darcy had scarcely allowed her to be pretty—she had not perfect symmetry of form or features—and so was rather astonished when he began to find that her face was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. Her figure he came to see as light and pleasing, and though her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness.

It was not long before he'd found himself in very real danger of becoming attached, which would not do at all. While Elizabeth was a gentleman's daughter and therefore his equal in rank, her mother and younger sisters were vulgar and insipid, her father indolent and indifferent, and she had neither fortune nor connections worth mentioning. At least, he had thought so at the time. Since her disappearance, he'd come to know very well the uncle and aunt who lived in Cheapside, as he and Edward Gardiner had worked closely in their tireless efforts to locate the gentleman's niece and her friend's sister. He'd also come to know Elizabeth better through observing the grief of her family in not knowing what had happened to her—seeing the deep impact she had had on their lives and the lives of her friends; how Maria Lucas's disappearance had affected that family—how the disappearance of both had rocked the small market town of Meryton and the village of Longbourn.

He'd been an utter fool to think Elizabeth beneath him. Her scathing rejection of his proposal at Hunsford had stung, but had made him think, to reflect on how his own behavior had influenced how he was perceived by those who did not know him. How his arrogance and conceit had led him to presume she would jump at the chance to marry him—how he had thought her as much in love with him as he was with her, until she had clearly informed him how utterly wrong he was.

Losing her to an unknown fate before having a chance to make peace with Elizabeth had torn at his soul every day of the last year. Darcy had written her a lengthy letter before departing Kent, explaining the depth of his relationship with Wickham and his reasons for interfering in Bingley's courtship of her sister, but he had no idea what impact it had made on her perception of him. Did she think him still arrogant and presumptuous? Insufferable? Had she at least acquitted him of any wrongdoing in regard to Wickham?

Until he lost her, he had never known himself. He felt incomplete without her.

Inside the house, Darcy trudged up the stairs to the first floor and to his rooms in the north wing. His valet, Vincent, silently aided the removal of his dusty riding clothes; he'd completed the usual ablutions by the time his man returned with fresh attire.

He was on the ground floor again and heading toward the breakfast room—Georgiana would be waiting—when he noticed the approach of Percival Reynolds, his butler. With him was one of his tenants, Mr. Kline. Darcy paused and waited for the two men to reach him.

Reynolds bowed his head. "Sir, Mr. Kline asked to speak with you personally."

Darcy looked to Kline. "What can I do for you, Mr. Kline?"

Kline bobbed his head. "Begging your pardon for interrupting your day, Mr. Darcy sir, but I thought you might want to know there's been a break-in at your hunting cabin in the northeast forty. Well, leastaways there's a window needs fixed, as one of the lower panes in a front sash was smashed out. Me and my boys was up that way hunting yesterday and passed by the place, like we reg'lar do to check on it for you. Didn't see nobody about, and the door was still locked tight, but I thought you should know—and since I had to come down this way to fetch a parcel from the post, I didn't see no harm in coming to tell you in person rather than sending a note."

Darcy offered the farmer a genial smile. "Thank you, Mr. Kline, I appreciate your telling me of the broken window, and that you were good enough to come in person. Reynolds, see to it that Mr. Kline is compensated for going out of his way."

"Of course, sir," Reynolds replied.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy sir, I didn't come for no sort of compensation, sir! I just thought you should know," Kline protested.

"Regardless, sir, you have done me a service, and I should like to reward you for your efforts," Darcy replied.

Kline's surprise was evident. "Then I thank you, sir. 'Tis very kind of you, Mr. Darcy, sir."

With a slight incline of his head toward Reynolds, his butler took the hint and kindly suggested to Kline that they should go. The farmer bowed deeply before following in the butler's wake.

It was unnecessary, certainly, to reward the man with a modest compensation—Reynolds would perhaps give him a few shillings for his trouble from the petty cash box—but he'd always liked to be generous to his tenants, and Kline had come in person when a note would have sufficed. He then recalled as he started for the breakfast room again that Kline couldn't read, which meant he couldn't write—so in truth, he'd had to come in person. The loss of a few shillings from the household budget was worth it for helping the man to retain his dignity with a white lie.

"Good afternoon, brother," Georgiana greeted him as he entered the breakfast room.

Darcy walked to her and bent to plant a kiss to the top of her head. "Good afternoon, sister," he said, before making his way to the sidebar to serve himself. He was so glad to have begun having a regular luncheon each day with Georgiana, as he was rather famished.

"How was your ride? I'm sorry I missed you going out—I would have ridden with you," said his sister as he returned to the table with a plate of food and a cup of coffee.

"It was lonely, with only my thoughts for company. I wish you had gone as well," Darcy replied. "Though I do not know that you'd have much enjoyed the employment of checking the fences."

"Later, perhaps, we can ride together? If you are not too busy."

"I should like that, but I've just met with one of the tenants, who told me that a window was broken at the cabin in the northeast forty," Darcy said then. "After I've finished some scheduled business with the steward and a few tenants, I shall go and have a look at it."

"And it'll be past dark by the time you return," Georgiana lamented softly.

He did not often allow her to be out at night, even if she was with him. He'd lost all trust in the common decency of people he didn't know, and while Darcy felt sure he could trust each and every one of his tenants, he was full aware that all sorts passed through his lands, especially in the north forty—which was almost entirely wild woodland.

Darcy sighed. "Please do not be cross with me, dearest. It's just that—"

"I understand, Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana. "You are just being careful."

He'd been "just being careful" since Elizabeth's disappearance. Georgiana knew that, as he'd been forced to confess his reasons for keeping her all but locked away at Pemberley for the last twelvemonth. The two girls had been abducted in broad daylight, and if the light couldn't be trusted to keep a person safe, how could anyone expect him to trust the dark? The northeast forty—a general reference to the northernmost eastern 40 acres of his land—was nearly ninety minutes' ride from Pemberley. Though spring was at last arriving in this part of the country and the days growing longer, it tended to get dark there rather early due to the nearness of the Peaks and the thickness of the forest.

After luncheon, Darcy spent nearly two hours meeting with his steward and a number of tenants about various troubles caused by the early spring rains, and planning measures to repair the damages caused. When those matters were at last dealt with, he saw to it that Georgiana had everything she would need for the long hours he would be gone. Mrs. Annesley, her companion, gave him her word that she'd not allow his sister to be melancholy. He thanked the lady, then checked to make sure the security arrangements were as tight as usual before mounting his horse once more for a long ride.

It was half past four in the afternoon when he emerged into the clearing in which the cabin was nestled. The angle of the sun allowed him to see right away which of the windows was broken; a tall enough person, or a person with help, could have reached through the hole and unlocked the window, then climbed inside to open the door. It vexed him that the place—which he had not visited since before going into Hertfordshire—had been broken into, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that the only things of value in the cabin were two old hunting rifles, which would not fetch all that much in resale value.

After dismounting, Darcy walked around the cabin, checking that all the other windows were locked, before he cautiously approached the door. With one hand he drew the pistol he'd brought along at Reynolds' insistence, with the other he pulled out the key. When he had the door unlocked, he nudged it open slowly. The great room was empty, though there was sure evidence of someone having been there. The table cover had been removed, and the door of the cupboard where the food and guns were kept was slightly ajar. Moving over to it, he opened it further and noted that it looked like some of the stored food had been eaten… and one of the guns was missing.

Only one? he thought. How very odd the thief should take only one.

Behind him, he heard a distinctive click. "P-put your h-hands where we c-can see them. M-my friend has a gun and she w-won't hesitate to shoot."

That voice… that was a familiar voice!

Slowly, the first spark of true hope he'd had in a year bursting to life beneath his breast, Darcy raised his hands and turned toward the back of the cabin. In the doorway of the bedroom furthest from him stood a dirty, bedraggled, and very much alive Elizabeth Bennet and Maria Lucas. Both of the women gasped sharply in recognition; Elizabeth stood to the fore, the rifle in her hands beginning to shake, her eyes as wide as Maria's.

Without warning, the gun dropped from her hands and she fell to her knees.