He had a name. "My cousin, Jane." Now he had to find Jane.
He got his guard up extra early, so they could get training done early. So he could take part of the day to search for Jane and his lady.
He wandered in the stoney city, hoping to hear the name, asking commoners questions, listening for her laugh, looking for any part of her. If he were part dog, he would try to sniff her out.
Three days went by before one of his men, Francesco, came to him just after a long bout of training. Darcy had just spent a hour with a new recruit on the grounds.
"Sir, you must come with me, there's a fight just outside," Francesco said.
Darcy stormed out of the training grounds. Who dared start a brawl in his city? In front of his training ground no less! He felt thunderous as he marched over.
But instead of a riot, he found only a fight. He found none other than his lady! His lady getting slapped! He sucked in air to shout at the woman who slapped her, but his lady pulled back and punched up into her opponent's jaw. Darcy was stunned speechless as the assailant fell to the ground. He did not break stride, though, and grabbed his Lady's wrist to keep her with him.
She turned her gaze to him, anger simmering in her beautiful features. Her lips were pulled down in a frown as a pink handprint started to glow along her face. She didn't seem to notice, but it must have stung. He felt outraged on her behalf and it must have shown in his face.
"Oh sir! Please stop, she was only defending my name," a pale, fair haired lady said, grabbing onto his arm and pulling on it. As though he could do anything to his Lady.
"Stay here," he commanded both of them as he released his Lady. The pale one kept hold of his arm. This must be Jane.
"Sir, she was just defending my honor. Lady Marguerite has been spreading rumors that I was… was seen with Lord D'Amato."
"Were you?" Darcy asked, a little bewildered. He was made for battles, not gossip, and so felt out of his depth and uncomfortable.
"No!" Both ladies shouted, righteous anger flooding from his lady. Darcy turned his attention to Lady Marguerite, who had sat up crying. He crouched before her, asking her who he could send for. He knew the shading on her chin would no doubt turn purple. A marvelous hit. Darcy felt a swell of pride for his Lady. She obviously loved her cousin deeply and didn't hesitate to defend.
He stood back up to talk to the two of them, only to see them vanish around a corner. Her cinnamon hair waved as they ran. He still hadn't gotten a name! Darcy directed Francesco to take care of Lady Marguerite as he took off to catch the two women.
Alas, he might be faster than them in a proper race, but in this labyrinth of a city, with such a bad start, it was impossible. He lost them almost as quickly as he followed them.
He trudged back to his room up in the tower above the training grounds in a black mood.
OOXXOOXoXXx
It was five days before he saw her again. This time in the castle library. She was so still and noiseless in a dark corner that he would have missed her if he hadn't been thinking of her daily. Hourly, really.
She flipped a page as quietly as a ghost as he walked up to her, just as silently. She glanced over the top of her book and nearly jumped from her skin, her hand clamped over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. He did not like the wide eyed look of fear on her.
"Oh," she breathed out in relief, "it's just you Captain." She shifted her entire demeanor from one of fright to that carefree creature he had first met. She was a mystery. "Have you come to glare again?" she teased him as he let the silence continue for too long.
"No! No, I was just wondering what held your attention so well," he said, holding a hand out for the book.
"It's horrible," she smiled, "and quite addictive. Beware Captain, you won't be able to put it down until you've finished it." Darcy smirked at her review and looked at the title.
Tristan and Isodel.
He made a mental note, before handing it back to her.
"You seem the type to love a terrible romance novel," she said evenly, accepting her book back with a little grin. He suppressed a laugh.
"And you, my Lady, seem the type to willfully misuse potions," he said. She threw her head back in a sparkling laugh.
"So, you have read the book," she said in delight, "my point stands."
"I think your point only stands if I loved it," he said. She rewarded him with a genuine smile.
"How much did you love it?" she whispered conspiratorially, as if trying to get him to confess a secret. Her amber eyes sparkled with mischief and excitement.
"I–," Darcy began, before those eyes went wide with fear and she slipped behind the bookshelf to hide between the shelf and the wall. What strange behavior, and he turned around to find the cause of it.
The Bishop, tall and gangly beneath his white robes, was walking and searching with purpose. He seemed absolutely set on finding something. He was like a hound with a scent. His dark eyes scanned the rows of books relentlessly.
The Bishop gaze held onto Darcy, who bowed in response. He did not like the feeling he got around the Bishop. The man walked on, and Darcy released a quiet sigh of relief.
Darcy turned back to his Lady, and was surprised to see she'd vanished with the book!
OOXXOOXoXXx
He felt like the Bishop hunting in the library. Though not as intensely. He looked for her in his routine, he never broke his to find her. But now, hearing his men speak of the angel, or the beauty, he felt his lack of knowledge keenly.
He didn't know her name (though it seemed nobody in his circle did either) and he didn't know where to find her. Jane was a locked door. She was a beauty herself, all serenity and grace. But, that meant she knew how to handle the line of men who had tried for an introduction.
Darcy had some pride, and only asked her once about her cousin. He could not put himself in the same category as the other limp wristed nobles floating around and pestering her.
But his lady wasn't at the library when he was, though the workers there spoke of her as though she were frequently there. He would admit that his visits to the library had gone up from twice a week to every other day.
Soon. He felt like she would show up soon.
OOXXOOXoXXx
It was nearly a week later that Darcy saw her. He had given up hope of ever finding her again. But what she was doing drove him up a wall!
She was hanging on a rope, dangling on a wall!
He saw her from the ramparts, and he did what he had never done before. He abandoned his post!
He flew down the steps into the city, sprinting to the building where he had seen her hanging. He was breathless from his dash when he skidded to a stop.
There was nothing! Not even the rope she was using. How was this possible? He started to pace back and forth in mild aggravation. His city was being used as a playground by this minx, and he couldn't even speak to her!
In the middle of his pacing he saw a movement from the alley next to the building. It was his golden one, packing things into a bag. Finally! Another chance to speak to her. But he must be calm and collected. He took a steadying breath and walked over to her.
Calm and collected.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice low and even, trying not to startle her as he had last time. He crossed his arms and leaned on the building. She swiveled in her crouch, with wide eyes that immediately recognized him.
"Yes, Captain?" she said, looking at him. The corners of her lips turned up, and she looked relieved to see it was him. That made his heart gallop.
"Why were you hanging from the window?" he asked evenly, pointing a finger casually at said window. She then looked wildly confused as she stood up and delicately dusted her dress.
"Hanging out a window?" she questioned seriously. To this statement he nodded.
"What a perfectly ridiculous thing to do. Perhaps wearing all that black in the sun is making you too hot, and you are seeing things," she said simply, curving her lips into a delightfully crooked, impish smile.
He doubted himself for a second. Maybe he was hot. Maybe he was becoming obsessive. He was in too deep now though, and he was fairly certain he would not run like a maniac through the city on imagination.
"Perhaps," he said, keeping his voice even, "but perfectly ridiculous as it is, you haven't denied it. And if you purposefully misuse potions, then hanging out of windows is a small thing."
"Even if I denied or confessed, how can you trust anybody's word?" she asked, a cheshire grin on her face, "no one is above lying. I could lie and say I was flying on a broomstick. Or that I made a potion to make me lighter than air." She was a delight! Nothing was too ridiculous and she was game for any silliness. He was enjoying the conversation. When was the last time that had happened?
"But you wouldn't," he said, "because the truth is just as shocking. You were hanging from a window. Come, let me see the bag, I'm sure the rope is in there," he said with a slight smile, reaching to examine the bag. But she snatched the bag away from his hands.
"Accusing ladies of flying on broomsticks, then demanding to see their private things. Why, Captain, I'm surprised at you. What if you find something you don't wish to see? What if it's a frightful potion?" she said, clutching the bag close to her, but an adorable, mock threatening expression on her face. Her cinnamon curl glowed in the afternoon sunlight.
The only thing he would not wish to see would be love letters to another man!
"Don't be ridiculous, you are the one who said you flew on a broomstick. I'm quite certain it is just a rope in there. You, my lady, would have thrown the potion long ago," he said, feeling the grin grow on his face, trying to snatch the bag from her hands.
She let out a delicious, freeing laugh and moved quickly down the narrow alley. It was so narrow that he had to turn sideways to fit his shoulders, and she skirted through as swiftly as a bird. She vanished as soon as he got to the other side.
He rushed up and down streets, looking for his golden lady, but could not find neither hair nor skirt of her. Though he did find a new collection of swings and hammocks on one street where children laughed and played.
He grabbed a white haired girl in trousers. She must have been twelve or thirteen, and Darcy asked where this all came from.
"This sir?" the girl asked, pointing at the swings and ropes, "we've all been sworn to secrecy. You could say it was an angel though!"
Darcy stared in confusion at the girl. She looked familiar. But she did not keep her word to the angel. Darcy knew it was his golden angel.
Next time he saw her, he would not let her leave without a promise of a return.