Elizabeth pressed the back of her shaking hand to her mouth as she walked an aimless path to and fro in the downy grass.

What was happening?

Her father and Mr. Collins were some twenty yards away deeply engrossed in an argument, their backs to her. It was some divine travesty that had brought her here, pacing in teh field while two men bartered over her fate, while another stood in silence, observing her misery. Had she truly just begged Mr. Darcy to kiss her. To marry her.

A hallucination?

She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she winced,her hand reflexively covering the pain.

Damn.

As she turned and paced back towards Darcy, she lifted her eyes to him, and saw that he was watching her, dark eyes shadowed by his frown.

'My future wife' he had called her. What could he mean by speaking so, then glaring at her now with such disdain writ all over his face.

She lifted her chin and met his firm gaze before turning to retrace her steps in the other direction. She was about halfway when his voice halted her progress.

"Miss Elizabeth."

"Yes?" she said, turning her head just enough to see him over her shoulder.

He closed the distance, and, taking her elbow began pacing with her.

"Your father intends you to marry Mr. Collins, I take it?"

"His son, yes–"

"He has a son?" Darcy asked, looking back at the man who was perhaps a decade older than Bennet.

Elizabeth nodded, "oh, but it is not only that."

He looked at her, "how so?"

"I–I cannot–"Elizabeth attempted, but stopped as bile burned in her throat. She averted her eyes.

"Miss Bennet, might I remind you that I have pledged rather more to you than just my help. I would appreciate your frankness, if you will. I believe we have already established that I am your ally in this— and I would rather like to know what it is I have just agreed to do– aside from marry you, obviously."

"Mr. Darcy, I spoke in haste, I–"

"We can discuss the finer points of that later, but for now Miss Bennet, please tell me why I just kissed you in front of your family?"

She nodded, and touched her hair absently, "I shall tell you as much as I know."

She did not speak at once, suddenly aware that she had taken his arm and grateful for the support it provided.

"I overheard a conversation between my father and our cousin last night," she began, her voice steady. "After the ball. It seems that Mr. Collins is in urgent need of an heir."

"You said he has a son, did you not?"

Elizabeth nodded grimly. "Yes—though he remains in Staffordshire. Mr. Edward Collins is, according to his father, a sickly creature. He has never been well—" She lifted a hand to forestall the obvious question. "I do not know what ails him. But recently, his condition has worsened. He is now bedridden and quite insensible."

She hesitated, gathering her courage before speaking the worst of it. "Lately, his physicians have informed the elder Mr. Collins that his son will not improve and is not expected to survive the year."

Darcy said nothing, watching her intently as they walked.

"The elder Collins is master of a great estate, which came to him through his marriage. His wife, who was not young when they wed, is now too old and too ill herself to bear children. The terms of the estate will preclude Mr. Collins from inheriting it after his wife and son's deaths, leaving him all but destitute—at least until my father dies, when he will inherit Longbourn."

She took a slow breath. "He wishes to secure the estate in Staffordshire by ensuring his son produces an heir before he meets his end."

Darcy stiffened. "Surely not." His voice was sharp with revulsion. "How can an insensible man—"

Elizabeth gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, his father is quite certain that he cannot produce an heir—though no one else is to know it."

Darcy turned to her, his expression darkening. "Then how…" His words trailed off as he looked down at her, realization dawning in his eyes.

"He intends that I should marry Edward," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And that he should… that I should… that we should—"

She broke off with a shudder.

Darcy halted abruptly, his grip on her arm tightening.

"And your father knows of this?"

Elizabeth looked away as she nodded. "My cousin agreed to end the entail on Longbourn if Papa would allow him to take one of his daughters."

Darcy rubbed a hand over his jaw.

"In his words," Elizabeth spat, "I need only remain until I give him a strong son, then I might return to Longbourn—my home secured for future generations."

Darcy resumed pacing, his footfalls faster than hers had been, though she had no trouble matching his stride.

"Why you? It could have been any of your sisters, could it not?"

Elizabeth swallowed, her face flushing red. They walked another circuit of the path before she answered, "It would be a terrible fate for any woman, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy continued to search her face until she said, "He wanted me, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy let out a long, slow breath, the implication of her words hanging in the air. When she chanced a glance at him, she saw something in his expression—something more powerful than disdain or disgust. She could almost think it was fear, perhaps, though she could not imagine why he should feel so.

"Do you trust me?" Darcy asked quietly.

Elizabeth was surprised at the change of topic, but thought for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Come," he said simply, and taking her by the hand led her beyond their little path and towards the edge of the trees. His strides were long, and she nearly had to jog to keep up.

"Where are we going?" She asked hurriedly, looking over her shoulder at the argument that was growing more heated by the moment.

"Away. With you," he said firmly.

"And how do you intend to accomplish that, sir?"

Darcy did not answer, but as they approached a little clustered grove, a pair of chestnut ears appeared above the sheltering bramble near its edge.

"They will give chase," she said, comprehension dawning.

"I know," he said, without looking back.

Soon they were at the horse's side, and a shout rang out from behind them. Darcy untethered the beast and pressed her toward the animal.

"Get on," he said.

"I—I can't ride!" she cried in dismay.

Darcy cursed. After a brief glance back at the two figures moving swiftly on foot in their direction, he picked her up bodily and set her in a heap on the pommel of the saddle, ignoring her shriek of surprise. She desperately grasped at the mane before her, looking for some handhold, but a moment later, he swung up behind her, wrapping an arm about her waist to secure her. With a shout, he dug his heels into the beast's sides, sending it lurching forward, Elizabeth pitching backward, twisting her body so that she clung to Darcy.

Soon they were at a gallop, running pell-mell from the men who had not yet realized they would need horses to catch up. Elizabeth's eyes were pressed firmly closed as she gripped the wool of his; only Darcy's urgent words to the horse were louder than the wind now roaring in her ears. When she finally allowed her eyes to open, she saw they were skirting the edge of the trees, which were flying past her. Distantly, she could see that her father and Collins were running back to their horses, clearly intent on giving chase.

The horse's weight shifted beneath her as he angled to follow the treeline, which arced away to the right. She continued to watch until their pursuers vanished from sight. They continued on for some ten minutes until Darcy shouted.

"Hold fast, Elizabeth."

His voice came from somewhere above her, though with her ear pressed firmly to his chest, his words also rumbled against her cheek. She complied readily, clinging to him with a fierceness borne of her fear. Then, with some urging from Darcy, the horse's shoulders dropped, her own seat briefly hovering above the pommel as the beast leapt down an embankment.

With an almighty splash, the horse landed with a forceful grunt, submerging Elizabeth's feet in shockingly cold water.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth cried out in alarm. "Why are we in the water?"

Darcy did not answer immediately, directing the horse to follow the current back in the direction they had come, now sheltered by the trees and some six feet below the path above them.

"Why are we in the water?" Elizabeth asked again, trying to make it sound like a reasonable question rather than an anxious demand.

Darcy made a hushing sound and whispered, "We will leave no tracks here in the water."

"Surely, they will hear the splashing!" she said in a rapid whisper.

"Not if the water is deep and we do not move quickly," he replied, as though he did this often.

The water was deep. It lapped at her knees now, and she saw behind her the tails of Darcy's coat floating lazily along. Darcy kept his reins tight, murmuring to soothe his horse. Elizabeth glanced briefly at the horse's head, observing his flared nostrils and the whites of his eyes, and felt a surge of sympathy and gratitude for the animal.

The water was cold—deceptively so. Her feet and ankles quickly grew numb, and she tried to suppress the shiver that threatened to reveal her discomfort. Glancing upward, she noted the gray clouds through the branches above them; they seemed to carry the promise of rain, though not so dark as to suggest a downpour—or so she hoped.

The horse glided silently through the water, though Elizabeth could feel each deliberate step beneath her as they went. The quiet snorting of his breath was the only sound for a moment, save for the trickling water and the birds flitting above them.

Then, distantly, they both heard the pounding of approaching hoofbeats. Elizabeth felt Darcy stiffen and hold his breath, stilling the horse in the water. She watched as the chestnut's tail floated forward to lay gently across her ankle.

Instinctively, she tightened her hold on Darcy and buried her head in his chest as the sounds drew nearer. Darcy's arm tightened around her waist, his cheek now resting against her temple, his warm breath stirring the hair by her ear.

They sounded impossibly close now, and Elizabeth too held her breath for ten long seconds until, miraculously, they were beyond them, moving away without slowing. The fear that had intensified at their approach now dissipated as they moved away. They remained there for a time, neither daring to move.

When some minutes had passed, Darcy exhaled heavily, lifting his head and gently urging his horse toward the opposite bank. They emerged from the water, Elizabeth's wet skirts plastered to her legs, the breeze cutting through and chilling her skin.

She shivered.

"Where are we going?" Elizabeth asked eventually.

"Someplace dry, I should imagine," Darcy replied, and she felt his shiver beneath her cheek.

After proceeding some distance further, Darcy brought the horse to a stop, looking down at her.

"There is no easy place for him to jump back out here," he said. "I might ask it of him were I alone, but if he were to slip, I fear we might both be crushed in the fall. We shall each have to do our best to climb out on our own."

Elizabeth nodded, and Darcy helped her slide to the water's edge below the steeply eroded bank. Her boots sank to the laces in the mud, and soon Darcy was splashing down beside her, pulling the reins over the horse's ears and taking her hand as he led them to a spot some half dozen yards away, where the tangled roots of some trees breached the steep wall of soil before them.

"Here, I think," he said, indicating the spot.

A laugh escaped her as she stood there, taking in the ridiculousness of the scene. In that moment—with his head inclined, back tilted, and arm spread in invitation—she might have assumed he was offering to take her through to dinner. He was calm and dignified, even as he stood wet to the waist, boots sloshing water from their tops, and mud spattering his face and the tails of his fine coat.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

Elizabeth's only response was a deep, affected curtsy, accompanied by a mischievous smile from beneath her lashes. Taking his proffered hand with a delicate touch, Darcy chuckled quietly. Following her lead, he draped the reins over his elbow and placed his other hand on his waistcoat as he guided her to face the knotted vegetation, the picture of genteel manners and grace.

When they stood before it, Elizabeth frowned slightly at the dubious situation ahead.

"Can you manage it?" Darcy asked.

Turning back, Elizabeth gave him a rueful grin. "Though I may not speak French, paint tables, or play the pianoforte with any noteworthy skill, Mr. Darcy, but I am certain you shall find me the most accomplished tree climber of any lady you have ever met."

Without another word, she lifted her skirts and began to scale the embankment, only pausing near the top when she found her arms not quite long enough to grasp the edge.

"Might I be of assistance?" Darcy offered.

She sighed and looked down at him. "'Tis my reward for overconfidence, I suppose."

"You are impressively nimble, but I fear a trice too short."

Elizabeth made a sound, and Darcy stepped forward, giving her a lingering look.

"Well, do not let me remain stuck here for heaven's sake. It is hardly dignified."

Darcy gave her a brief smile, she thought looked ever so slightly touched by mischief.

"Might I have your leave to put my hands on you for a moment, madam?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "As of this morning, we are apparently engaged, Mr. Darcy. My honor is now quite fully under your protection. Please do as you must to unstick me from this tree."

Despite expecting it, Elizabeth gasped when she felt his hands beneath her bottom. She did not have much time to contemplate the sensation, however, as a moment later she was pitched forward, sprawling onto the damp grass of the bank.

She scrambled to her feet, dusting her skirts with as much dignity as she could muster, turning back to see Darcy walking to another section where the embankment was lower but lacked obvious footholds. Deftly, Darcy flipped the reins over the chestnut's neck and tied a knot in them to prevent them from dangling.

Looking up at Elizabeth, he said, "Catch him, will you?"

She nodded, uncertain of his intentions. With a series of clucks and insistent pats to the horse's rump, the great red beast leapt upward, his front feet landing on the bank while his hind legs scrambled wildly to find purchase on the muddy ground. Elizabeth instinctively rushed forward, grasping his bridle and giving an almighty tug. A moment later, he was up, scrambling to his feet and shaking himself, sending a spray of mud all over Elizabeth's face and gown.

With considerably less effort than his steed, Darcy scaled the same roots as Elizabeth, his long frame making the final portion easily.

Once they stood firmly on the opposite bank, Darcy glanced around and inquired, "Perhaps you might be able to tell me where we are?"

Glancing about, Elizabeth considered for a moment. "I think it is just beyond Netherfield's land—a far corner of one of Goulding's holdings, I believe."

"Is there anywhere hereabouts where we might seek shelter?" Darcy glanced up at the sky with a frown. "I think it is best if we do not encounter anyone until we can speak privately."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "I believe I know of a place."

Lifting her damp and muddy skirts, she struck out on a path that took them away from the stream.

A quarter of an hour later, they emerged from the trees, standing before a sagging gate, rotten with age. Opening it carefully, Elizabeth led them into a hill-sheltered pasture, where a small herd of red cows grazed in the distance. Several hundred yards ahead of them was something that appeared to Darcy to be a pile of tumbled stones, but as they approached, he saw the remains of a door and some moss-covered thatch on one side.

"A shepherd's hut?"

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder and smiled faintly. "It looks far worse from the outside."

Darcy nodded and trailed along behind her, his heels now chafing from wet boots. To distract himself, he fixed his attention on a wet curl that clung to the curve of Elizabeth's neck.

She was lovely, Darcy mused to himself. Even in her abject terror and distress, she possessed a sort of wild beauty that called to some deeper sensibility within him. Like a sunset or a crashing wave, it was timeless and untouched by ever-changing fashions or ideals.

Just then, she looked back at him and smiled. She had said something he realized a moment later, but he had not heard it, so captured was he by her pink cheeks, now spattered with mud. It did not seem important, however, for she turned back, evidently not waiting for a reply.

Despite everything that had happened, Darcy could not help but be content with his present circumstance. Filthy, wet, and cold as he was, his heart selfishly reveled in the memory of her pressed to him as they galloped away from those who would harm her. It seemed like something from a dream—a youthful desire to play at knights and damsels. And though he knew not where the truth of their present circumstance might take them, in that moment, he could not care—not while she beckoned him to follow.

Darcy cared not to examine why he had agreed to it, nor why not one ounce of him regretted it. But distantly, he wondered if he would have come so far if it were Caroline who had begged him to kiss her.

Darcy could not help the expression of distaste that curled his lip as that lady sashayed into his mind's eye.

Never.

Very unfortunately, Elizabeth turned back at that moment, catching his expression; her own souring instantly.

"Do you have a better idea, sir?" she snapped, stopping to face him.

"Er… no," was all he managed, as his tongue seemed suddenly heavy. She continued to glare at him, so he added, "Er… it is only that my feet are rather wet, and my boots have begun to rub."

"Oh…" she said, anger abating as quickly as it had come. "There is a bench inside. Come."

She turned and led them the rest of the way to the hut.

It was a small structure built of piled stones, likely some centuries beforehand. The pitiful thatch drooped over the old timbers, and indeed, its entire roof tilted towards the tumbled stones on the other side. Darcy inspected the perimeter for some place to tether his horse, and, seeing nothing suitable, he quickly untied his cravat, tied the ends together, and taking an end in each hand, twisted it until it was nearly tight, one hand through a loop on either end. He slipped the makeshift hobble around each of his horse's front pasterns, removed the bridle, but left the saddle.

The animal immediately put his head down to graze, and Darcy turned to see Elizabeth watching him from the doorway, a pensive look on her face.

"Yes?" he asked as he slipped the bridle onto his shoulder.

Elizabeth chewed her lip thoughtfully before saying, "You are surprisingly adept at this, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy made a small noise in his throat before ducking his head and stepping past her into the dark, damp hut.

"Do you often find yourself in such scrapes?" he heard her ask from behind him.

He gave her a rueful half-smile. "Never with a lady, and never as a man fully grown."

She then stepped the rest of the way inside, a curious smile on her face. "Am I to take it that you were a troublesome youth?"

"No, not I," he said, not turning from the rudimentary fireplace he was now inspecting. "But I grew up with someone who was in constant need of rescuing."

"Your sister?" Elizabeth asked.

Darcy tensed.

She could not know, surely? Yet George was camped only a few miles from Longbourn, even now.

"Why do you assume it is she?" Darcy asked, rather more coldly than perhaps he should have.

"I—" Elizabeth began, her voice sounding perturbed. Darcy turned to look up at her from his position before the hearth.

"I know no ill of her," she said hastily. "I should not have assumed—"

She broke off and tried again. "My own sisters are perhaps not the best example of how young ladies ought to behave."

Darcy sighed and looked away. He regretted her discomfort, so he said, "I was referring to George Wickham."

"I see," Elizabeth said in a small voice. "Not one of us is immune to the folly of youth, I fear."

"Yet not all seem to grow out of it," he said, aware of his own bitterness as he spoke. "Some indeed only grow more bold and reckless with age."

Elizabeth was silent, turning back to peer out the doorway.

"Why did you leave his saddle on?"

He studied her, framed neatly in the light of the doorframe. "We may need to leave in haste."

She wrapped her arms around herself, her shivering visible even from across the hut. Rising, Darcy shrugged off his coat and carefully draped it around her shoulders. Despite his gentle attempt, a sharp intake of breath told him that he had startled her. He stepped back, seating himself on the bench beside the cold hearth.

With a grateful smile, she wrapped herself in his coat.

"Were I kinder, Mr. Darcy, I should insist I do not need it."

"And if you did, I should insist you wear it, else I would toss it directly on the floor."

She chuckled quietly. "And do you always get your way, sir?"

He shrugged. "Most often."

She smiled a little brighter at this, but a moment later, her smile faded, and her face fell into a frown.

"What am I to do?" Her voice sounded thin and fragile.

Darcy rose and came to stand before her. "What more can you tell me of this arrangement your father has apparently agreed to?"

Her head fell into her hands. "Sir, I do not know! I do not know anything! I cannot under—"

She broke off, a solitary sob escaping her. Darcy's hand rose instinctively as if to place it on her arm, but he stilled it, letting it fall back to his side. For a moment, he simply watched as she attempted to compose herself. Uncertain of how to comfort her, he remained silent.

"Why would Papa agree to such a thing?" She said, her eyes now closed, face contorted in distress.

Darcy did not reply, for he had no ready answer to her question. When she opened her eyes, her expression was hard and cold. "He would sell us like cattle, Mr. Darcy. I would never have believed it of him. It is medieval."

Darcy agreed. Though knowing what he did of human depravity, he did find it plausible. In his experience, every disposition has a propensity toward some particular evil, and this, it seemed was Mr. Bennet's.

She turned her pale, frightened face to him, and something stirred within him.

"Thank you, sir—for all your help." She said weakly.

Darcy swallowed, and she went on.

"If you could help me to the post so that I might reach my aunt and uncle in Cheapside, I would not trouble you any further."

Darcy was bewildered for a moment but said quickly, "I will do no such thing."

Elizabeth recoiled. "You would leave me here? Leave me to them?"

"Good God, no!" Darcy said vehemently.

She relaxed, wrapping his coat a little tighter around herself before saying, "Then what am I to do? I must go to the Gardiners, for no one hereabouts can be trusted. I would be sent back to Longbourn before nightfall."

Darcy knew what he was about to say, and distantly, some rational part of him begged him not to say it. "We shall go to Scotland, Miss Bennet."

"S-Scotland?"

"Yes." He said, his heartbeat accelerating. "To Gretna Green."

Elizabeth was silent.

"Are you suggesting that I—that we—" She could not finish the thought.

"I beg you to recall that it was your suggestion, not mine." He said, trying to suppress the small smile that threatened.

"Mr. Darcy, do be serious." She said, "You cannot think I would hold you to a promise you made under such circumstances."

"If there is one thing you must know of me, Miss Bennet, it is that I am most assuredly a man of my word."

She swallowed, looking at him with an expression he did not recognize.

He attempted to reassure her with a smile. "Are you not fond of adventure?"

"I am, sir." She said mildly. "But I did not think that you were."

"Not often," He said. "But there are some that can convince me. At present, I that an adventure sounds the most appealing thing in the world—but only if you will agree to accompany me."