Chapter 6

Elizabeth was a marvel.

Darcy had no idea how she had started the fire using the little pin she used to put up her hair. He grew more and more curious about where she had come from, and as spring flowed into summer, and her knowledge of their language increased, he found himself asking her more and more questions about herself.

"England," was the word she used to reply when he asked where she had come from.

"I don't understand that word."

She pursed her lips for a moment, crinkling her brow. "Across great water," she answered at last.

He was puzzled. "Great water? What great water? The lake?"

"No, not lake," she replied. "Not know word. Great water," she held out her arms far apart. "From here, to here."

He simply shrugged, not knowing where such a large lake could possibly be.

"Where here?" she asked him.

"You mean, where are you now?" he said, and she nodded. He must have been right – she had wandered away from her tribe and gotten lost. "This is the Stone Valley Tribe."

"Stone Valley Tribe," she repeated, furrowing her brow. "In New Holland?"

"I don't know the last words."

She just shook her head in frustration. "I not know the words."

"You came from across a great lake?" he asked.

"No, not lake. Great water."

"How did you get across?" he wondered.

She shrugged. "I not know how. One moment, at home. Next moment, in pit trap."

He was puzzled. "You don't know how you got here?"

She shook her head. "No."

At another time he asked her about her tribe.

"Four sisters," she told him. "I second. Jane, then Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. We live at Longbourn in Hertfordshire. Parents Mr. and Mrs. Bennet."

There were some words there that Darcy did not know, but he understood her meaning. "Did you have a mate?"

She flushed. "No, no mate. We use word husband."

He was surprised that at her age she had never had a mate, but also relieved to hear this. He did not want to think of her pining for another man. It had been very hard for him to restrain himself during the nights, when her soft and warm body was pressed up against his, because as his regard for her grew, so did his affection. He could not imagine a more perfect mate for him.

They were down at the lake, picking cattail roots to add to the winter stores, as summer was coming to an end. Elizabeth had become used to the hard work in the months that she had been with the tribe. She did miss her family and Longbourn, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, but she had seen no sign that her father knew where she was. If he did, she was sure he would have come for her. Darcy obviously had not heard of England, so she must be in some remote and isolated place.

Elizabeth flushed at the thought of Darcy. Her affection for the man had grown as the months passed. He was so gentle with her, and so considerate. He had never tried to take any liberties with her, and was so solicitous of her comfort and safety. He was highly intelligent, too. She would wager that, had he been born in England, he would have loved literature as much as she. She thought of Darcy as she bathed with soaproot, he sitting turned away from her on a stone, sharpening his weapons. Her hair had become especially difficult to wash in this way. It had grown so long. She wished she had a brush or comb.

She had just gotten out of the water and put on her shift when she felt rough hands push her to the ground. Surprised, since Darcy had never been rough with her, she turned her annoyed gaze around to find that it was not Darcy standing behind her, but another man. He was tall and strong, but dirty, with leaves and debris in his blond hair and beard, and his animal hides were tattered and grimy. She screamed as he pushed up her shift and tried to get between her legs.

A moment later, she heard a roar, and Darcy ran toward them, rage on his face. The man looked up in surprise; he obviously had not known Darcy was there. Perhaps he thought she was a defenseless woman on her own.

The man threw her down onto the ground and straightened up to fight.

"Wickham, how dare you?" Darcy cried.

The two men collided, and Elizabeth watched the fight with horrified eyes, wanting to look away, but not daring to. Fists and knives grappled and flashed, the two men rolling about on the ground, Darcy on top, then Wickham. Elizabeth saw Wickham punch Darcy in the face, stunning him momentarily, leaving him lying in the dirt as Wickham approached Elizabeth.

She screamed as he sprinted to her and, snatching her in his arms, tried to run off. But then there was another shout. Elizabeth looked and saw that Darcy was on his feet again. Wickham apparently saw it, too. With a snarl, he threw Elizabeth down onto the stones and turned to face Darcy. That was the last thing she saw before her head struck the rock, and everything went black.

Darcy finished slitting Wickham's throat, and then threw his twitching body down onto the dirt. He couldn't believe the nerve the man had, to come back here after he had been exiled. Two summers past, Wickham had tried to force himself on a young girl, and the elders had expelled him from the tribe. Darcy gazed down at the dead body with disgust.

He looked around him for Elizabeth, and saw her lying on the stones beside the lake. He had never seen her with so little clothing on, but he could not focus on that. She was lying so still that he was at once filled with fear.

"Elizabeth?" he cried, running toward her.

She did not answer or move.

"Elizabeth!" He was at her side a moment later. There was blood on her head and soaking the rocks beneath her. "Elizabeth!" he cried again.

He picked her up carefully, examining her head. For one fearful moment, he thought that she was dead. A second later he checked her pulse and was relieved to feel it beating. Gently he picked her up into his arms and carried her back to the cave as quickly as he could without jostling her.

"Reynolds!" he cried the instant he got back to the cave, calling for the healer of the tribe. The elderly woman peered out to see who was calling her name, then her eyes widened at the sight of him and Elizabeth.

"Bring her in here," she said, and he followed Reynolds into the cave, laying Elizabeth gently down on his furs. "What happened?" the old woman asked.

"Wickham attacked her. He must have thrown her down on the stones. Is she going to die?"

The old woman examined her carefully. "I cannot say. Head wounds always bleed heavily, so it is often hard to tell."

"Please, can you save her?" Darcy asked frantically.

"I will do my best," she said. She hobbled over to the shelves at the cave's back, then came back a moment later with some salve, which she made into a poultice for Elizabeth's wound. His mate's hair was matted and bloody. The thought crossed Darcy's mind that he wanted to brush it out for her, until it was tidy and clean again. He knew she liked to always have it that way. Maybe he should carve a comb for her, he thought fleetingly.

As Reynolds worked on Elizabeth, Georgiana, holding her new daughter, came over to ask what was wrong, then the rest of the tribe followed. Darcy did not notice that Caroline did not approach, but instead hung back, looking gleeful at Elizabeth's state.

Everyone else, though, was very concerned about her. Elizabeth had become much loved through the tribe in the past months. After Reynolds had put the poultice on the wound, she wrapped it with a bit of animal skin. "Now she just needs to rest," she said.

"When will she wake up?" Darcy asked.

Reynolds shrugged. "I'm not sure that she will. We just have to wait now."

Darcy looked down at his mate in his arms, wondering how he could bear to lose her. And he knew, in that moment, that he loved her.

Elizabeth's eyelids fluttered, and she groaned at the pounding pain in her skull.

"Elizabeth, are you all right? Elizabeth, can you hear me?"

She heard Darcy's frantic voice, and, wanting to comfort him, she tried to answer, but could only moan.

"Elizabeth!"

Finally, she was able to open her eyes all the way, and was staring at the roof of the cave, Darcy leaning over her. "Thank the stars!" he said. "You're awake."

"I –" her tongue felt thick in her mouth. "What happened?"

"It was Wickham, a man who had been cast out of our tribe. He attacked you. I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. Please forgive me for not protecting you better."

"Not your fault," she said with difficulty, finding it hard to keep her eyes open.

"You will be all right now. Just rest until you feel better. Do you want some water?"

"Yes," she croaked, realizing how dry her throat was.

Darcy helped her sit up, then put one of her clay cups to her lips. She drank thirstily, but he pulled it away after a few seconds.

"Not too much at once," he said. "I don't want you to become sick."

With a sigh, she lay back down and then drifted into sleep once more. Her last thought before oblivion claimed her was that the first face she wanted to see when she woke again was Darcy's.