My backside ached with a sharp, persistent pain by the time he slowed the horse to a walk. We had galloped hard and fast for more than an hour at least, much faster than I imagined one could guide a horse through woods thick and tangled as a brier patch. There was no definite trail to follow, no easy path; rather, we pushed our way through brambles and thickets, sharp branches scratching at my cheeks and neck. I must admit that he attempted to avoid them, pulling me in the opposite direction if he spied the tree limbs before they hit us, but two people on a horse could lean only so far without falling off and this man had no intention of falling or allowing me to slip from his grasp. No, he had locked his arms around me, one hand secured upon my waist, holding me against his body in the most intimate embrace I had ever known.

I felt the heat of his hands upon me through his black leather gloves. His entire outfit was black, from boots to cape to the jaunty hat on his head with a fluffy dark feather stuck in the band. Blonde curls escaping from beneath his hat provided the only contrast to his dark appearance. He possessed the bluest eyes I had ever seen, a blue I had witnessed in neither man nor woman - almost crystalline - eyes I would have considered striking if encountered in a ballroom or parlour. Staring straight ahead above the black mask covering his face, however, they appeared deadly.

"Make haste," he said, motioning to the four horsemen behind us. "From here on until we know the cottage is vacant, be silent as a corpse." We began to climb a slight hill; I grew even more conscious of my precarious position when he leaned forward with the incline and in doing so, thrust his head against mine. We rode almost cheek to cheek, his breath warm against my face.

How had I come to be in this position, to be in such danger? I was amazed at how quickly one's life can change; how one decision can alter its entire direction; how, unknowingly, one can embark upon a journey that turns out to have such a profound effect upon one's future.

Two hours earlier, Mr. Bingley's carriage had rocked back and forth in a rhythmic, sing-song cadence, monotonous enough to lull a person to sleep. That is, if a person felt at ease with companionable fellow travelers. I placed neither Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, nor Mr. Darcy in that category.

I strove to keep my eyes from the gentleman's person, a daunting task since he sat directly across from me. Miss Bingley had fluttered about him the first hour of the trip, remarking upon the weather, the tedium of travel for which she was so grateful to have his company to brighten the trip, various people of society they both knew, the ladies of which she denigrated in the most casual of terms unless they were titled, married and particularly fond of her, and how she could not wait to reach town and leave the boredom of country society behind. Mrs. Hurst agreed with each of her comments, adding her own encouragement when given opportunity, but I noticed that Mr. Darcy said little, responding only when pressed to do so. Comments were rarely directed at me and thus I was relieved of making but little conversation.

Yet, even though I was not required to enter into the general conversation, escape into slumber was all but impossible under Mr. Darcy's disapproving scrutiny. I did my utmost to avoid meeting his eyes, watching the passing landscape with more than usual interest, or turning to observe Mrs. Hurst, sitting beside me, when she was allowed to speak. I also found amusement watching Miss Bingley edge closer and closer to Mr. Darcy on the seat they shared. Ah, she could not have chosen a more pleasing position for herself, I thought, unless she could rid the carriage of her sister and me. Too bad. We would plague her efforts for the duration of the journey to London.

"I trust your relatives in town are in good health, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said suddenly.

I startled, shocked at his address. "They are, sir, thank you."

"And so I take it this trip is not one of necessity, but pleasure?"

I nodded, but before I could respond orally, Caroline jumped in. "Well, from what I have heard, it is perhaps both, is it not, Miss Eliza? Are you not in need of escape from an uncomfortable situation at home?"

"I...I mistake your meaning, Miss Bingley. I do not escape anything; I join my aunt and uncle at their invitation."

"You speak of your mother's brother who resides at Cheapside, do you not?" Caroline purred.

"Yes. Mr. Edward Gardiner." My first thought had been to correct her by saying that my relatives lived near Cheapside, but I did not think she deserved the compliment of cogent information.

"And pray tell us, Miss Eliza, what is it your uncle does?"

"He is a merchant."

"Ah, in trade." Caroline arched her eyebrows with a knowing look directed at her sister. "I see."

I bit my tongue to refrain from making a sharp retort, but was truly surprised when Mr. Darcy said, "Was not your grandfather also in trade in London, Miss Bingley? Perhaps he knew Mr. Gardiner's father or grandfather."

Her eyes widened as she shot a desperate look at Mrs. Hurst, who answered for her. "That was many, many, many years ago, Mr. Darcy. None of our family has been in trade since then, I can assure you."

"Yes, well, many of us profit from the endeavours of our ancestors."

His remarks put an end to the topic, causing a strained silence in the carriage until Caroline returned to the question of why I was making the trip to town.

"Miss Eliza, I heard that you wished to leave Longbourn because of a proposal of marriage. My sister and I were both shocked to learn that you refused Mr. Collins' generous proposition."

"Yes," Mrs. Hurst joined in. "I would think the gentleman might have made an excellent match for you. Is he not to inherit your father's estate in the future?"

Feeling condescension dripping about me, I wanted to snap at them, but I steeled myself to answer graciously. "I did not deem his inheritance a strong enough inducement to matrimony."

"Well," Miss Bingley said, "for your sake, I hope you do not live to regret it. I sensed a shortage of eligible prospects in Hertfordshire."

"Aye, might I suggest you look elsewhere for a possible husband, Miss Bingley, for although Hertfordshire contains excellent men, I doubt that any one of them would be a suitable match for you."

"Me? I was not speaking of myself, Miss Bennet! I most certainly do not seek a husband from anyone residing in the country. When I marry, it shall be to a man of breeding, a man who possesses a certain air, a definite manner of carrying himself, a cosmopolitan at home in London or Vienna, not someone who buries himself in country society."

" 'Tis a pity," Mr. Darcy said, "for that leaves out the eligible gentlemen from Derbyshire."

Caroline gasped, realizing she had placed her foot squarely in her mouth, and began to stammer and sputter as to what she truly meant, but Mr. Darcy said nothing further. Indeed, the entire conversation ceased and we rode no little way in complete silence. He turned to view the passing landscape and I happened to catch a glimpse of his countenance, detecting a slight smirk about his mouth. Obviously, despite Miss Bingley's enchantment with him, he was not similarly inclined. I took a deep breath and sighed, marveling once again that I was in that carriage, making that trip with the last three people in the world who wished for my company.

Although I had evaded answering Miss Bingley's reasoning behind my excursion, in truth I was making somewhat of an escape to town in order to avoid my mother's wrath. Since I had refused Mr. Collins' proposal, disappointment had rendered her distraught, causing her to direct her livid anger at me for over two weeks now. Even though my father had taken my side in the matter, it did little to change her opinion and life at Longbourn had been excessively unpleasant. When Papá had returned from Meryton earlier in the week and called me into his library, I was surprised and yet relieved to hear his news.

"Lizzy, how would you like to visit the Gardiners for a while, at least until they join us for Christmastide?"

"Very much, sir, but must I go alone? May Jane go with me?"

"No, no, your older sister is needed here for my sanity, if nothing else. I cannot part with both of you when your mother is in such a state. But I have procured a means of travel for you that shall be quite safe; you shall not go unattended. I met with Mr. Bingley at Sir William Lucas' house this morning and he informed me that his entire party is returning to town at the end of the week. When I said that I was thinking of sending you to visit your aunt and uncle, he invited you to make the trip in his carriage with his sisters. Now, what do you think of this fine arrangement?"

"Mr. Bingley is leaving Netherfield Park? For how long?"

"He did not say, my dear, but what is that to you? What is this down at the mouth expression I behold? Are you in love with the young man? I thought your sister was the one so affected."

I blushed. "Of course not, Father. But I should hate to see him leave just now. It will render Jane quite desolate."

"Well, so it may, but they have enjoyed three months in each other's company, as well as dancing together over and over at the ball he recently hosted, have they not? Surely, they can bear to be apart for a few weeks."

"If it is only for a few weeks, sir, I agree, but if he is not to return, then what will become of Jane's chances with Mr. Bingley?"

"Would you have me send Jane to London in your place, then, Lizzy?"

"I would, Father."

"That would defeat the purpose. I proposed this trip to remove you from your mother's sight until she has made peace with your refusal of Mr. Collins. Surely, you can see the wisdom of my plan, can you not?"

I nodded, but sighed. "Very well, Father. Of course, I will enjoy a trip to town, but I dread making the journey in the presence of Mr. Bingley's sisters. I am certain they regard me with little felicitation and would much prefer Jane's companionship."

"It is not all that far to London. Surely they can bear your wretched company that long." He patted my shoulder and I kissed his cheek, hoping his prediction proved correct and that the horses would run freely on the day of our trip.

As it turned out, however, all was altered. At the last minute Mr. Bingley changed his plans, deciding to remain at Netherfield for another week because of estate problems requiring his attention. His sisters were distressed at delaying their journey, because they had previously accepted invitations from friends in town for two days hence. And so, it turned out that Mr. Hurst remained at Netherfield with Mr. Bingley, preferring seven extra days of shooting to the parties awaiting him in London, and Mr. Darcy agreed to accompany the ladies since his sister awaited him in town and he did not want to disappoint her. Thus, this strange mixture of travelers now proceeded down the road.

I felt a recurring sense of uneasiness when in Mr. Darcy's presence and I wondered if he shared such tension. I would have preferred Mr. Bingley's company, for he was all ease and amiability, his face breaking into smiles when in conversation. I had yet to see a smile grace Mr. Darcy's countenance; indeed, I wondered if the man's mouth was capable of turning in an upward direction. It was not just his lack of good humour that caused my unease, however, but a feeling that in his eyes he found me lacking. He appeared to hold me in haughty contempt, along with everyone else he had met during his brief stay in Hertfordshire. With every breath he took, he emanated disapproval of all he surveyed.

I wondered at the cause of his discontent. Was our local society that lacking in social graces? Mr. Bingley seemed to suffer no like disability, but rather joined in our assembly dances, teas and suppers with great cordiality. His sisters, however, obviously did not share his opinion and held themselves apart, making the required conversations and responses when pressed upon in a manner that alerted all in their presence that they esteemed themselves much higher than others. Their feelings were plain. Mr. Darcy, however, was enigmatic. He had flatly refused to dance with me at the first assembly ball at which we had met, and yet upon the very next occasion of our meeting, he had offered to dance with me when Sir William Lucas suggested it. I assumed that he was pressured to offer the invitation, and by that time, of course, I had resolved never to dance with him and thus refused.

Subsequently, Jane fell ill during a visit to Mr. Bingley's sisters and had to stay abed at Netherfield for several days. When I received a note as to her illness, I called upon her and Mr. Bingley prevailed upon me to remain and look after her. Naturally, I was thrown into settings with Mr. Darcy during that visit, and he baffled me with his behaviour. One time he was all concern and politeness, inquiring as to my sister's health; the next he was almost insulting in his obvious disapproval. Truly, when Jane recovered and we left there to return to Longbourn, I hoped never to be thrown into his presence again.

And then came the Netherfield Ball. My four sisters and I, as well as Mamá, eagerly anticipated it, each for our own reasons. Mamá and I hoped it would further Jane and Mr. Bingley's attachment, with my mother almost certain that a proposal would be forthcoming thereafter. The militia was quartered in Meryton for the winter and my younger sisters looked forward to dancing with the soldiers. In truth, I also anticipated dancing with one of the young officers, a Mr. Wickham, whom I had met recently. Tall and handsome, he was most pleasing in appearance and demeanor, and I thought I detected a preference toward me upon his part. Unfortunately, he did not appear at the ball and I surmised the reason why. He had told me a shocking tale of how Mr. Darcy deprived him of his inheritance. Mr. Wickham was the son of old Mr. Darcy's steward and a favourite of the master. He had educated Mr. Wickham and provided a living for him in his will, but after the elder Mr. Darcy's death, his son flatly refused to honour his father's wishes. Thus, one could not fault me for holding Mr. Darcy in poor regard.

When he singled me out to be his partner at the ball, I was so flustered that I could not think of a plausible excuse and so had to suffer his company through a dance that surely lasted twice as long as any other number that night. His behaviour throughout the exercise was clearly uncivil. He barely conversed with me until I shamed him into doing so. Oh, I hoped never to have to be in his company again and now, here I was forced to search about the enclosed carriage for any object upon which to look rather than his face.

After an hour on the road, I knew the interior of Mr. Bingley's carriage in detail. If asked, I could even tell you how many brass nails outlined the crimson upholstery above the heads of Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley. Repeatedly, I watched the black feathers protruding from her green turban bend to and fro as they flicked against the roof of the carriage. I surmised that if they had been a scant half-inch longer, she could not have worn that hat in the equipage, for she was a tall woman with a long neck and carrying herself as she did with that certain air she prized so much, she appeared even taller. Why, when I thought of her, did the image of a well-dressed stork always appear?

"Tell me, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said, "was your cousin overwrought with disappointment at your refusal?"

I was dismayed that we must return to a discussion of that subject. He looked directly at me without the slightest hint of a smile when he spoke and I could not determine whether he actually wished to know the answer to his question or if he was baiting me. Before I could respond, Miss Bingley did so for me.

"Obviously, the poor man was not too distressed, for I hear that he has now attached himself to Sir William Lucas' oldest daughter. Are they not to be married right away?"

I nodded and Mrs. Hurst asked, "Where exactly does Mr. Collins live?"

"At Kent. He is vicar in Hunsford Village."

"Does not your dear aunt reside near there, Mr. Darcy?" Caroline turned to him and in doing so, took the opportunity to move yet even closer.

"She does."

"Oh, how I would enjoy a visit with dear Lady Catherine. I have heard her speak of Rosings Park when visiting in town, and from her description it sounds like Paradise."

"The park is well maintained."

"And shall you be visiting there any time soon, sir?"

"I generally go during the spring."

Oh dear, I thought, I hope you do not go at Easter, for I have promised Charlotte I will visit her then.

"You and Miss Lucas are good friends, are you not, Miss Bennet?" Mrs. Hurst asked. When I nodded, she went on, "The two of you will regret your parting, I am sure."

"We will."

"It is but 50 miles to Kent," Mr. Darcy said. "I would think you might visit back and forth with great convenience."

"Fifty miles? That is some distance, sir."

"What is 50 miles of good road? An easy journey when a good friend awaits you."

"Perhaps for you, sir, but I am not at liberty to travel as freely, although I do plan to visit Charlotte when Sir William and her sister attend upon her."

"Indeed?" A sudden light seemed to appear in his eyes or perhaps it was but a reflection from the window. "And when might you go?"

"At Easter."

"Ah, a beautiful time to visit Kent. Perchance we shall see each other, as that is the time my visit is also planned."

Miss Bingley began to flutter. "It always rains at Easter. I would not think you would care to travel then, Mr. Darcy. I had hoped we all might remain at Pemberley until after that time. I know that Charles is pleased that you have invited us to spend the winter months in Derbyshire."

He looked out the window, a bored expression descending upon his countenance. "My plans are not yet definite. I prefer to wait and see how things develop." With his last words, he turned and looked directly into my eyes. Once again, I was perturbed, wondering what lay behind this strange man's unreadable demeanor.

"Miss Bennet, your family has made friends with many of the officers quartered at Meryton, have they not?" Mrs. Hurst asked, definitely changing the subject. She seemed particularly cognizant of her sister's wishes in that regard.

"My father has made Colonel Forester's acquaintance, and he and some of the officers have been good enough to call upon us."

Miss Bingley arched one eyebrow and literally looked down her nose at me. "Your younger sisters seem quite fond of the soldiers. And do you not favour one of them, yourself?"

"I...I do not know of whom you speak. As I said, several of the officers are friends of my parents."

"But is not Mr. Wickham a particular favourite of yours, Miss Bennet?"

Mr. Darcy made a sudden movement, sitting up straighter and turning his face to the window. No one could mistake his discomfort with the subject.

"My family considers Mr. Wickham a very amiable and pleasing acquaintance, even though I understand that certain other people do not."

Miss Bingley turned to Mr. Darcy and placed her hand upon his arm, causing him to face her. "I did endeavour most heartily to warn Miss Bennet of Mr. Wickham's unsuitability, but she would not have it."

I bit my tongue to keep a civil tone. "If I did not accept your warning, Miss Bingley, it is because I heard you accuse Mr. Wickham of nothing worse than being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and as I told you previously, he informed me himself of that fact. I have found the gentleman to be all that is pleasant and agreeable in spite of suffering grievous misfortunes at the hands of one he considered a friend."

"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," said Mr. Darcy in a less tranquil tone and with heightened colour.

"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"

"His misfortunes! Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed." He made not the slightest effort to conceal his contempt.

"And of your infliction," I cried, suddenly unable to control myself. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both inhaled audibly, a hissing sound reverberating around the carriage.

Mr. Darcy's face darkened as his frown deepened. "And this is your opinion of me? This is the estimation..."

The carriage suddenly lurched and swayed and our argument was halted by the violent sounds of men's voices yelling from without, followed by a gunshot! Miss Bingley screamed and grabbed Mr. Darcy's arm. Mrs. Hurst grabbed her bosom. Someone yanked open the door to the carriage and both ladies began to scream in earnest at the sight of a masked man brandishing a pistol in their faces. Mr. Darcy immediately tried to move between them and the highwayman, but another man stuck a pistol in his back from the window on our side.

"Get out!" the first man yelled. "Now! Out here, all of you."

Miss Bingley began to whimper as she and her sister climbed out of the carriage, clinging to each other. I followed them down the steps with Mr. Darcy behind me. Besides the two men on the ground, two more masked men remained on horseback, waving their guns around as well.

"Hands up! Stand and deliver!"

The order came from one of the men on horseback. Dressed entirely in black even down to the mask covering his face, he appeared to be the leader. Both footmen had descended from the rear of the carriage and when directed, the driver threw down our luggage from the top.

"Oh!" Caroline squealed. "Those are my clothes! You cannot go through them!"

One of the masked men only laughed as he began to rummage through her valise, throwing gowns and undergarments here and there.

"There's not much here," he said, after doing the same to the other suitcases. "Only a bit of trinkets."

"Take off your jewelry and put it in the bag!" the leader shouted.

Caroline and Mrs. Hurst began to slip off their bracelets and rings. When Mrs. Hurst's hands shook too much to undo her necklace, the highwayman grabbed the chain from around her neck and broke it and then jerked the earrings from her ears. Both she and Caroline cried aloud at such treatment and Mr. Darcy stepped forward to protest.

"Ah, we got us a hero in our midst," one of the men yelled, as he placed his pistol beneath Mr. Darcy's chin. "All right, mate, let's see how brave you be!"

Mr. Darcy, of course, was forced to retreat, and I could see his fury at being rendered helpless. I had dropped my garnet cross in the robber's open bag by that time and he then forced Mr. Darcy to remove his signet ring and pocket watch.

"Let's see what we got," the leader said, motioning to the man with the bag. "Puny pickings from the likes of this bunch. Those two in the feathers and silks are bound to have more than this. Go through their luggage again. And that gent, there - did you search his pockets?"

His orders resulted in more rough treatment of Mrs. Hurst's and Miss Bingley's belongings, and a thorough search of Mr. Darcy's coat pockets. Eventually, one of the men discovered his money clip.

"This be more like it." He handed the prize to the leader who added it to the bag of loot. "Now, what do we do, shoot the lot of them?"

Caroline screamed again until one of the men raised his hand, threatening to hit her.

"We'll not hold the screeching one for ransom, will we?" he asked the man on horseback.

"What's your name?" the man in black asked Caroline.

"Ca...Ca...Caroline Bingley."

He motioned to her sister and she answered, "Mrs. Louisa Hurst," her voice quavering.

"Never heard of them," the leader said.

"Yeah, but what with the fine clothes, they must come from money," the man on the ground said.

"Of course, we have money," Caroline blurted out. "You just wait until..."

"Actually, they do not," Mr. Darcy interrupted.

"What do you know about it? Are you married to the screecher?" asked the man holding the gun on him.

"No, but I know them and their family. They have no money. The little they have is spent on such fripperies you see before you. Their father is deceased and their brother is in trade in a small town up north."

Caroline gasped aloud, but Mrs. Hurst stepped on her foot, causing her to cry out in pain and thus say nothing to refute Mr. Darcy's fabrication.

"He barely makes a living. In fact, I am on my way to London to withdraw funds for a loan he has requested."

Mr. Bingley's sisters gaped at this statement, their eyes huge with wonder at Mr. Darcy's mendacity. The highwayman said nothing. He looked them up and down and then surveyed Mr. Darcy, as though weighing whether he spoke the truth or not.

"Allow the women to go free. If you hold anyone for ransom, let it be me. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley Estates in Derbyshire. My uncle is the Earl of Matlock who will pay you what you will for my release. These women are worthless; they will be nothing but trouble for you."

"He's probably right about this one," said the man on the ground, grunting his displeasure at Caroline.

The man in black rode over to the other horseman and they spoke in low, indistinguishable tones. He then directed the footmen to unharness the two horses from the carriage.

"Now, you women," he said, motioning to Mr. Bingley's sisters, "get in the carriage. And, Merle, tie the rich man's hands together." The man moved to carry out his instructions, while the other man on the ground began to herd Mr. Bingley's sisters toward the carriage. I walked behind them, but just as I reached the bottom step, the man grabbed my arm and pulled me back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Darcy start toward me, only to be jerked back by the other highwayman.

"Hey, Morgan, this one's bonny. She be no fine lady - she's dressed in muslin - but I fancy her eyes. Can't I keep her?"

The other man on horseback began to snicker. "She is a pretty wench."

"Take your hands off her!" Mr. Darcy shouted, taking steps toward me. The man who had tied his hands grabbed him and with one swift upswing, knocked him to the ground.

"If she's not rich, there be no reason to take her. She'll slow us down," Merle said.

"Wait," the leader said, "money ain't the only thing to gain from this little jaunt. I think old Sneyd's right. This one pleasures me just to look at her."

I was suddenly conscious that I had been holding my breath and when my lungs insisted on taking in air, I began to pant. My palms turned icy cold and yet my face burned with shame at the thought of what these horrid men suggested.

"Come on, let's put her on a horse," Sneyd said, his ugly face so close to mine I could smell his foul breath and see his rotten, yellow teeth. "She can ride with me, Morgan. What do you say?"

"If she rides with anyone, it'll be with me," he replied. "Bring her here." Sneyd pushed me toward the man in black and with one swift move, lifted me up onto the horse. The rider pushed my bonnet back and peered closely at me, his rough hands gripping my waist. I could feel the cold steel of the pistol rub against my side. Fear petrified me. I tried to hold myself away from him, but he persisted in pulling me close. "You be right, Sneyd. This lass is worth the trouble."

"I can tell you right now," Mr. Darcy said, his voice strong even though he struggled to stand after having the air punched out of him, "that if you harm her in any way, you will not receive a farthing from my uncle."

Each of the robbers stopped, Sneyd jerking around as he turned to face Mr. Darcy. "And why is that?" the ruffian holding me asked. "What possible difference would it make to his lordship what happens to this little country miss?"

"Because she is not some little country miss. She...she is my wife."

My eyes widened and once again, I forgot to breathe. I heard audible gasps from both of Mr. Bingley's sisters from inside the carriage, but I prayed the highwaymen would pay them no mind.

"Your wife?" the leader said in disbelief. "You would have us believe your wife dresses in muslin and yet you say you're rich?"

I saw Mr. Darcy swallow and wet his lips as if he needed time to think of an answer.

"I...I dress simply when I travel," I said quickly, "precisely because of creatures like you." My voice shook and my hands trembled, but I held my chin up and looked him directly in the eye as I continued. "That is why I do not wear jewels on the road. I...that is, we have been robbed before."

The men looked at each other and it was evident that they doubted what we said. Mr. Darcy spoke once again, "I can assure you that my wife is a favourite of the Earl of Matlock and my entire family. They might conceivably consider foregoing my ransom, but they would pay any amount you ask for my wife's freedom...if...and only if...she is unharmed."

The three masked men looked to the man called Morgan, who turned his eyes first upon me and then at Mr. Darcy. "Put him on one of the carriage horses, but you keep the reins in your hands, Sneyd. And you, Mister Darcy, don't even think of trying anything or I'll cut her throat, ransom or no ransom."

I had wondered how the highwaymen would abscond with us in daylight, knowing

that the road to London was well traveled. I never dreamed they would lead us through thickets and hedgerows, woods and forests deep enough that no one could find us. As we fled, my mind had darted frantically from thought to thought, wondering how Mr. Darcy and I might ever escape this predicament. Surely, when our carriage did not reach town, someone would come looking for us. My aunt and uncle were expecting me; Mr. Darcy's sister awaited his arrival. We had ridden for some time by now and I wondered if Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had been rescued yet. The robbers had pushed the carriage minus its horses into a wooded area. They gagged and bound the hands and feet of the ladies, the driver and footmen, forced all of them into the carriage and tied the doors shut. I could not imagine the horror Mr. Bingley's sisters felt, trapped in such close quarters with common servants, but that thought shamed me. I should not sneer at them now, for were we not all in desperate straits and Mr. Darcy and I in the worst of them?

Just then I felt the leader remove his hand from my waist. He signalled for all the horsemen to stop while he motioned to the man called Merle to go on ahead. No one said a word. Shifting slightly, I attempted to adjust my seating, as pain from the prolonged ride now radiated down my back and to nether regions below. I took the opportunity to glance back at Mr. Darcy and saw his eyes upon me, a fierce scowl across his face. He had been forced to ride bareback on one of the carriage horses, his hands tied behind him the entire journey. I thought him an excellent horseman to keep his balance in such a position. I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, anything to him, but winced, instead, when the highwayman grabbed my face with one hand, jerking my head back to face forward. "Not one word," he hissed in my ear, his lips against my hair.

A few moments later, Merle returned, crashing through the underbrush on his great horse. "Come on. Didn't spy nobody at the cottage but Gert. We can go 'round back."

Within minutes we had rounded the knoll and come upon a clearing in the woods. A small rough-looking cottage sat a few hundred yards back from a stream of swiftly running water. My mouth was hot and dry and I longed to taste the coolness of that brook. Two of the men dismounted and entered the cottage through a rear door, their pistols drawn.

Not long thereafter, the man called Merle appeared in the doorway. "Bring them in."

Inside, a slattern of a woman lounged against a long, rough table. She looked to be middle-aged and well used by life, her hair in need of a good wash, her skirt soiled and patched.

"Nate," she called, as the leader pulled me through the door and into the room. "What's this? Ain't I told you not to bring your fancy pieces back here?"

"Shut up," he growled, pushing past her down a dingy hall. He kicked a door open and shoved me into the room. "Bring the gentleman back here," he called to the others. Immediately, Mr. Darcy was thrust into the room. Sneyd, Merle, and the leader closed the door behind them.

"Now," he said, "listen up 'cause I ain't saying this but once. There be no way out of this room. The window be nailed shut with iron bars on the outside and this door stays locked, so don't even think about escape 'cause it ain't going to happen. You got that, Mister Darcy? And you, Miss or Missus if you really be that, do you understand? Because if you don't, I got a real nasty way of teaching you." He stood very close to me, not even an inch between his face and mine. I swallowed visibly and nodded.

"Mrs. Darcy will not go anywhere," Mr. Darcy said, moving to stand between us. "You have my word. Cannot you untie my hands? If escape is impossible, why should I remain bound?"

The man let out a short laugh. "Your word? Hah! I never thought much of no gentleman's word. Leave him tied!" With a sneer, he turned and walked out the door, the others following close behind. My heart sank when I heard the key click the lock shut.

Mr. Darcy strode to the door and leaning against it, placed his ear next to the rough wood. "I cannot distinguish their conversation. The door and walls are too thick, which may be in our favour."

"How?"

"They, in turn, cannot hear us if we speak softly." He walked around the room, searching every corner, examining the single window, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. The only other possible exit was through a narrow door at the back of the room.

"Try to open it, but step back in case there is someone there."

I did as he instructed, hoping it led to the outside, but was dismayed to find nothing more than a tiny room containing assorted rubbish: old rags, broken, discoloured crockery, portions of a saddle and bridle, a chamber pot, and a cracked ewer and basin. Mr. Darcy searched the tiny room with me, motioning with his head when he wanted me to pull things back or move trash around, but it was all to no avail. There was no window, no trap door, no hole in the old stone wall, no provision for our escape.

"It is useless," I said, returning to the larger room. The late afternoon sun streamed through the high window; disturbed dust particles danced in its illumination. A small wooden table sat on a threadbare rug, one of its legs broken and propped up with a brick; two small, hard chairs were the only other furnishings in the room. Against the far wall lay what appeared to be an assortment of more rubbish partially covered with a tarp. The room contained neither bed nor quilt. I suddenly shivered, cold and fearful of the night to come. How would we manage? What would we do to stay warm? The room did not have a fireplace and it was now early December. I turned and faced Mr. Darcy, apprehension evident upon my countenance.

"Miss Bennet, I know our circumstances appear formidable, but we can survive this." He walked across the room and stood before me. "Do you think you can untie these knots?"

"Of course. I should have done so immediately."

He turned his back and I struggled with the rope tied in multiple knots around his wrists. When I could not loosen it, I reached for a hairpin. My bonnet had been lost long ago and I became conscious that most of my curls streamed down my back, but I did find two or three pins still remaining and with one, pried open the tight binding.

"Resourceful." Mr. Darcy rubbed his wrists. "Now, we must make something of a plan."

"A plan? What kind of plan? We can both see there is but one way out of this room and it is locked. We are at the mercy of desperate men, sir! There is nothing we can do."

"We can stay alive, Miss Bennet. And that is of the utmost importance. The first thing we must do is consider how to represent ourselves as a married couple."

"How...how do we accomplish that?"

"For one thing, we must address each other by our Christian names. Would not husband and wife speak thus?"

I barely nodded. I had been astounded at how imaginative he had been in this entire situation. For a man who abhorred deceit, he had conjured up one tale after another at lightning speed and all in order to prevent harm to me. I could not imagine portraying myself as his wife and yet, within a heartbeat he had declared me to be just that. Now, he proposed that we enact that scenario.

"And perhaps you should stand closer to me when the highwaymen are present, as though you wished to cling to me."

"I am not the clinging type, Mr. Darcy, and I have observed few married people engage in such manner while in public."

"Of course not in the society we are accustomed to, but these are extreme circumstances and they call for unusual measures. Would not a frightened wife cling to her husband in the company of ruffians such as those in the other room?"

Again I nodded slightly, somewhat put off that he had placed himself in control of both of us and yet grateful for his earlier intervention. Still, I felt uncomfortable at the thought of his suggestion. I sank down on one of the chairs, immediately regretting it, for a slight moan slipped out, unbidden.

"Are you unwell?"

"No, no, it is nothing," I felt my countenance grow warm.

"What is it, Miss Ben...Elizabeth?"

"Truly, it is of no significance. I...I am not used to riding a horse for such a lengthy time."

He smiled slightly and turned his head aside; I rolled my eyes, wondering how I had come to this point in my life where I must confess to the last man in all of England I wished to converse with that I had a bruised derriere! I decided to speak of another matter.

"Will the Earl truly provide the ransom funds?"

"My uncle would not hesitate to secure my freedom with whatever monies are requested. The only problem may be whether he believes this gang actually has me in their possession."

"Why should he doubt that?"

"It depends upon how the ransom is requested. If they demand it for the release of myself and my wife, he may suspect it is counterfeit."

"Oh." Dismay filled my heart.

"Do not be disheartened," he said, pulling out the remaining chair and sitting across from me. "My signature on any written note may be enough to win my uncle's approval and surely the remainder of our party will soon be found and they can testify to our situation."

"If you had not named me as your wife, your chances would be much greater."

"Perhaps, but you would have had no chance at all." The tone of his voice was oddly tender and I turned aside, unwilling to meet his gaze. Could it be that this man, whom I had considered devoid of kindness or obligation toward Mr. Wickham, had another facet to his character? He rose and once more crossed the room to the window. "From the position of the sun, it appears we have traveled east, although I cannot be certain, for with all those twists and turns in the woods it was impossible to ascertain our direction."

"We did not travel towards London, then?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it; however, we may not be that far away. Surely, a rider can reach the Earl's estate in less than a day. We must insist that they contact him immediately."

Just then the door opened; Sneyd stood upon the threshold. "You ain't one what insists on nothing, Mr. Darcy. We do the insisting around here."

Mr. Darcy whirled around and strode to my side.

"Ah, I see you got the ropes untied. No matter. It don't mean you be going anywheres." He entered the room and stood before me. "You, Missus, are to come with me."

"Where are you taking her?" Mr. Darcy demanded.

"Morgan wants her."

"I insist on accompanying my wife."

Sneyd pulled his gun from his waistband. "I done told you once. You ain't the one what does the insisting. Now, get out of my way."

"If you harm her..."

Sneyd just snickered and pushed Mr. Darcy back with the tip of his pistol. Taking hold of my arm, he pushed me through the doorway, slammed the door, and turned the key in the lock. His hold on my arm was rough and bruising as he propelled me down the hallway and into the main room of the cottage. There I saw one of the outlaws cleaning his pistol, while Gert stirred a foul smelling mixture cooking in a great black pot that hung in the fireplace.

Morgan sat at one end of the table. He raised his head when I appeared, raking his glittering blue eyes up and down the length of me. For the first time in my life, I felt undressed by a man's look, as though he could see right through my gown and undergarments. He no longer wore a mask; none of the men did; and I was shocked to see a long jagged scar slashed across his cheek. I was also astonished at how handsome he was, how little the scar diminished his appearance. In another setting, another time, his fair looks would have attracted every woman in attendance. Dressed in black, however, a rough, blonde stubble covering his chin, and the chilling expression about his eyes, I could deem him handsome but not in any manner attractive.

"Mrs. Darcy," he said, motioning with his hand. "Do come and sit down."

Sneyd prodded me slightly and I took a few steps, pulled out the chair farthest from the leader of the highwaymen, and started to sit down.

"Not way down there," Morgan commanded. "Come and place yourself beside me where I can behold your comely face."

"I prefer to sit here."

"And I prefer that you sit beside me!" He slammed his fist upon the table. "You would do well to remember that my preference be in command here." Sneyd pulled me from the chair and pushed me toward him, forcing me to sit at the table next to the man in black.

"Bring that slop you're cooking, Gert, a plate for me and one for our guest."

The woman shot Morgan a dark look, but did as he said. She placed bowls before us containing a type of soup with a few chunks of unidentifiable meat swimming in greasy broth.

"Where's the bread?" he demanded.

"Keep a civil tongue. I'm getting it!" she spat at him. Setting a board of bread before us, she sliced it while the other men filled their bowls from the pot over the fire. They all soon sat at the table and noisily slurped the distasteful food into their mouths. When I turned away from the bowl, Morgan stopped eating and leaned back in his chair.

"Not good enough for the likes of you, right, Missus?"

"I have little appetite." I reached for the glass of water set before me.

"I don't blame you. Gert ain't much of a cook."

"Gert ain't much of anything," Merle said, causing Sneyd to break out in raucous laughter.

"Shut your filthy mouths," the woman said, raising an iron skillet she held in her hand.

"Whether you like the food or not, Mrs. Darcy," Morgan said, "eat it. Since your husband says you be the prize filly, I won't have you wasting away before your uptown relatives pays up."

I reached for a slice of bread and, slowly tearing off small bites, I forced myself to eat, washing it down with a swallow of water. Suddenly I realized the depth of my thirst and drained the glass.

"Pour her some ale," he directed the woman.

"I have had enough, but may I take it to Mr. Darcy?"

"Mr. Darcy? I thought the man be your husband."

"He is, but I...I refer to him in that manner when...in company."

"And what do you call him when you be all alone?" Sneyd asked, inclining his dirty face near mine and laughing.

"Leave her alone," Morgan commanded, slamming his fist on the table once more. I jumped at the noise and sat up straighter in the chair. "All of you, get out. You, too, Gert. Either outside or to bed. Merle, you relieve Rufus and take first watch tonight. Fetch him a plate and tell him to sleep out back in the stable."

"But Nate, I want some more of this soup," Sneyd whined.

"I said, get out! Now!" Each of them obeyed his command and the room soon emptied. I sat alone with the man in black, trembling as gooseflesh crawled up my spine. What did he intend to do with me? Rising, he strode to the fireplace and while doing so, I took the opportunity to snatch another piece of bread, which I hid in my skirt for Mr. Darcy. It appeared the highwaymen had no intention of feeding him that night. I barely had time to fold a portion of my skirt over it before he whirled around and narrowed his crystal eyes upon me.

"I want the truth," he said, his voice deadly. "Are you that gent's wife?"

I took a deep breath, but did not turn or break his gaze. I looked him dead on and lied. "I am."

He waited a few moments, his gaze boring through mine as though he would stare the truth out of me. "And just why would your husband's family be more concerned for your well-being than they are for his?"

I bit my lip, took a bite of bread, and chewed slowly before answering, my mind frantic to concoct a reason. "Because...because I am with child."

"With child?"

"Yes...I carry the heir to Pemberley and the babe's welfare is of utmost importance to my husband's family."

Dear God, what had I done now? In less than a day I had gone from an unmarried maiden to not only a wife, but an expectant mother.

"Your figure be not that of a woman with child."

"It is very early in my confinement."

"And do you have other brats?"

I shook my head. "That is why this one is of such importance. We...we have waited a long time."

"You do not bear the looks of a woman old enough to have waited long."

"I...I have always possessed an unusually youthful complexion. And I...I married quite young."

"Indeed? How young?"

"I...I was but sixteen." At present I had not yet seen my twenty-first birthday, but I desperately hoped he would think me older.

The man continued to stare at me, striding around the room while doing so. I sensed that he was mulling whether anything I had said was plausible and I prayed that he would believe me. At length, he stopped; retrieving a wrinkled sheet of paper from his pocket, he fetched a quill and pot of ink from the mantel above the fireplace and placed them before me.

"Write what I say: To the Earl of Matlock - My husband and I are held by Nathanael Morgan, leader of the most notorious band of highwaymen in all England. He wants...no, he demands 5,000 pounds in gold by..."

I wrote nothing and when he ceased pacing to look over my shoulder, a scowl knit his brows together. "Why do you not write?"

"It would be better for my husband to write to his uncle."

"Why? Why should he write and not you? I thought you be the favourite."

"I am...but I am not in the habit of corresponding with the Earl. In truth, I have never written to him before. He would not recognize my script, where he would be well acquainted with that of his nephew. If it came from me, he might consider the note false, written by any fortune hunter seeking extortion."

Once again he began pacing, rubbing his beard as he walked and obviously thinking over what I had just proposed. Then, striding to the hallway, he hollered for Sneyd. "Go get the other one! Bring him here."

How could I alert Mr. Darcy to the new fabrications I had invented so that he would not appear surprised or make some slip when they were mentioned? My pulse raced as I worried. Surely there must be some way I could signal him. Before I could think of any solution, however, Sneyd shoved him into the room. He immediately strode to my side, looking at me intently.

"Are you unharmed?"

I had barely answered with a nod, when Morgan interrupted. "Your wife be fine. Only she refuses to write to your uncle. Says he won't know her hand. So here." He moved the paper in front of Mr. Darcy, who sat down beside me. "You write what I say and not one word more"

"Why do you not write the note yourself?" Mr. Darcy asked. Sneyd snorted with laughter until Morgan silenced him with a glare.

"Because I give the orders!" He slammed his fist on the table once again. "And because it will mean more coming from you. But don't go fancying I can't read nor write. You write my message only. Understand?"

A cryptic "Yes," was the only reply he made before taking up the pen and dipping it in the inkpot.

Once again, Morgan began to dictate the same message he had done earlier. He named a time and place for deposit of the ransom and added, "It be essential that you do exactly as this note says, or never again will you see either me or my wife or the heir to Pemberley."

Mr. Darcy had written quickly, but with this last sentence he startled so that he caused a large ink blob on the page. Glancing at me with a look of utter astonishment, he raised his brows in question.

"Do not be alarmed, sir," I said with haste, "that I have shared news of our expectant child with Mr. Morgan."

"Of course not," Mr. Darcy mumbled. He recovered, completed the ransom note and handed it to Morgan, who peered at it closely. At last, he appeared satisfied.

"All right. Take them back to their room, Sneyd."

As we rose from our chairs, Mr. Darcy asked, "May we have bedding for the night - there is neither mattress nor fireplace in the room - and a candle as well?"

"And some water, I pray you, sir," I added.

Morgan ordered Sneyd to fetch his blanket, which provoked another round of sniveling and complaining from the man, but he did as he was told. He indicated that I could carry the pitcher of water from the table, but he refused our request for a candle. Soon we found ourselves once again alone behind a locked door, this time in total darkness except for the moon's faint light glimmering through the window.

"I brought you some bread," I said, offering Mr. Darcy the hidden slice.

"Thank you." He began to tear off small pieces. "I am more thirsty than anything else."

"Aye," I agreed. He handed the pitcher to me and I drank from it before giving it back so that he could do the same. Suddenly the intimacy of that simple gesture, drinking from the same vessel, unnerved me. How could it be that there I was sharing the necessities of life with that man, the last man I would have ever dreamed of. Unbidden, my eyes turned toward the lone quilt. Who would have thought Mr. Darcy and I would ever spend the night alone in the same room? Once again gooseflesh began to crawl up my spine and I trembled, grateful for the cover of darkness.

"You can imagine my surprise to discover we are having a child, Miss Bennet. Do you care to enlighten me as to why?"

I felt my face flame and once again, I was thankful there was little revealing moonlight. "The highwayman doubted that I was your wife, much less that your uncle would care more for me than for his own nephew. An heir was the only reason I could think of at the moment. I had little time to make up an answer."

"Very good. And is this our only child?"

"Yes. That is the reason this child is so important. We have attempted to have a babe for years, but to no avail."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Although I could not see his face clearly, I could hear the amusement in his voice. "I do not know, sir. Perhaps because we married when I was quite young."

"Indeed? How young?"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen! Am I a robber of cradles?"

"Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but I was desperate to convince Morgan. Surely, you care little for your reputation in the eyes of this gang."

"You are correct, Miss Bennet. I care nothing for their regard other than they believe who I am and contact the earl. Forgive me for the strength of my reaction. I have a sister who is that very age and I cannot abide the thought of any man preying upon her youth."

"I have known several girls who married that young."

"Perhaps in your sphere, but rarely in mine."

Oh, here we are, back to your unbridled superiority!

"Indeed? I understand that in years past members of the royal family have entered marriage even younger, but then perhaps they, too, do not reside in your sphere."

"I meant no disparagement, madam, but I have observed that your younger sisters frequent society at a much earlier age than most of my acquaintances."

I blanched at the remembrance of Lydia and Kitty's forward behaviour at the Netherfield Ball and how Mary had embarrassed us all by putting herself in the forefront at the pianoforte. Nevertheless, I bristled at his condescension and shot him a look that would have withered any other young man in my society. The moonlight provided just enough radiance for me to see his eyes narrow and he opened his mouth to speak, but I rose quickly, signifying that I did not wish to discuss the matter further. In truth, I had not the energy or strength for any further altercation that night.

Picking up the blanket, I looked around the room, wondering which corner would prove warmest. I knew that the stone floor would not only be hard but cold; however, if I lay down against the far wall away from the window, perhaps with my coat and the cover, the night would afford me some rest. Then the thought struck me that I might be in a somewhat vulnerable situation. Only one blanket existed! I certainly did not want Mr. Darcy to think I offered him an invitation by opening it as though I were making up a bed. He was a gentleman and I a gentleman's daughter, but I knew nothing of his private life or his morals, for that matter. Quickly, I sat back down and placed the quilt upon the table, not bothering to fold it.

He picked it up and held it out to me. "Take the wrap. My coat is much heavier than yours." When I did not move, he rose and carried it to the far wall. " 'Twill be a hard bed, but this should be the most sheltered spot in which you might sleep."

"Where shall you...?" I could not bring myself to finish the question.

"A chair will do for me; I can rest my head on the table. Besides, I shall probably sleep but little."

"I should think you exhausted, sir, after that dreadful ride. I know that I am."

"Then let us say good-night, Miss Bennet."

I spread the quilt on the floor and lying down, wrapped myself up in it. Since I had nothing for a pillow, I doubled up my arm and reclined my head upon it. I did not sleep for some time, though. The events of the day tormented my thoughts and no matter how tired, I could not quell my fear. Over and over I relived the nightmare of our abduction. What would we do and how should we escape? My uncle would most likely contact my father by tomorrow, possibly by express even tonight, and my entire family would be worried for my welfare. I worried for my welfare. I began to turn back and forth, unable to find a comfortable position. At last I gave up and rising, I tiptoed across the room to look out the window.

"Are you unwell, Elizabeth?" Mr. Darcy's voice startled me.

"No. Forgive me, I did not mean to awaken you."

"I was not asleep. Are you having difficulty resting on that hard floor?"

"Very much so." I heard him rise and soon felt his presence at the window. "A greater hindrance is that I cannot remove the events of this day from my head."

"Nor can I," he replied, "but have faith. I shall do everything possible to get us out of this predicament. We are both intelligent people. In truth, I have been attracted to that part of your character. Together we will survive this."

Attracted? I felt a slight catch in my chest. That was the closest thing to a compliment Mr. Darcy had ever bestowed upon me. Suddenly I was aware of how closely we stood. "Thank you, sir," I murmured. "I shall attempt to dwell on that thought."

"Shall we try to sleep once more?"

I agreed and returned to my pallet while he made his way back to the table and chairs. I found that I could breathe easier when he was safely across the room, but I still had difficulty sleeping, for I could feel his eyes upon me and I wondered if it was but an invention of my fanciful imagination.

His rough hands encircled my waist once more, but this time I faced him. I could feel the harsh stubble on his chin as he pulled my cheek to his and when I strained backward I saw the coldness in his glittering blue eyes.

"Do not resist me," he commanded, and with one hand he pulled my face toward his. His eyes devoured my lips as I soon imagined his mouth doing the same. "I will have you, my pretty, no matter the consequence."

Nearer and nearer his mouth approached mine and I knew that I was helpless, caught in his snare, unable to break free. Just as his lips brushed mine, I turned my head with every ounce of effort I had left and began to scream. Over and over I screamed and screamed and screamed!

"Elizabeth!"

I heard a man crying out my name and thinking it to be him, I screamed anew. I felt myself gathered into his arms, as he shook me slightly. At the same time, I heard other voices and the violent thrust of a door thrown open. Slowly, I opened my eyes to see that it was Mr. Darcy who held me while Morgan stood in the doorway. Sneyd followed behind, lifting a candle up high.

"Elizabeth, wake up!"

"What's going on in here?" Morgan demanded. "Why all the screeching?"

Mr. Darcy released me and stood up to face the highwaymen. "Obviously, she suffered a nightmare. Hardly unusual, under the circumstances."

"Is that true?" Morgan took the candle and thrust it close to my face. "Are you unharmed?"

"Yes," I murmured, "I am well."

"Look at this, Nate." Sneyd motioned towards the table. The chair in which Mr. Darcy had slept lay on its side. "He what kicked over this chair be in a mighty hurry."

Morgan turned his sight from the chair to Mr. Darcy to me, once again holding the candle aloft for closer inspection. "Why do you not sleep with your pretty wife, sir, if she is your wife?"

Mr. Darcy made no reply

"Hmm? What's wrong? Your brain be too foggy to conjure an excuse?"

"I have no idea of what you are speaking," Mr. Darcy said.

"The game's over, sir. We heard you kick over the chair when the girl here started screaming. She slept alone, did she not? I don't think you two be married at all. I think you be playing us for fools."

My heart turned over. What had I done?

"You, sir, are mistaken." Mr. Darcy drew himself up straighter than usual. He was a tall man; with an erect and imposing stature, he appeared to be one few would dare question. "There is a simple explanation for this scene. Of course, she is my wife. She has been for several years and she now carries my child. Because of her condition, which if you doubt, you may fetch a doctor to confirm, and because of the torturous journey which you forced upon her, I allowed her the scant comfort of this poor excuse of a quilt. By any gentlewoman's standards, it can hardly be deemed large enough for one, much less two people. I assure you it was only for her ease that I elected to spend the night in a chair, and the fact, of course, that I wished to keep watch."

"Keep watch!" Sneyd sneered. "We be the ones what keeps watch!"

"Shut up!" Morgan demanded. Once again he stared hard at me and then moved the candle toward Mr. Darcy's face, as though its dim light might illuminate the veracity of his words. He paced up and down the length of the room several times, but at last he stood still. I held my breath, wondering what he would do next.

"Lie down with her."

"What?"

"I said, lie beside your wife!"

Mr. Darcy looked at me and opened his mouth to protest. "We...we are hardly in the habit of displaying such intimacy in front of others."

Morgan drew his pistol and, stepping even closer, he placed it beneath Mr. Darcy's chin. "This be the last time I say it. Sleep with the girl!"

Immediately, Mr. Darcy dropped to the floor and sat beside me.

"Now, keep your wife quiet. One more peep out of her and she sleeps with me. Do you understand, Mister Darcy?"

He nodded. Without another word, as though we had practiced it, we both reclined at the same time, lying side by side under the blanket. Sneyd began to snicker until Morgan silenced him with a curt nod of his head. They departed the room without further sound, except for the slam of the door and click of the lock.

We lay there motionless; in truth, I found that I still held my breath. I strained to hear departing footsteps, but it was impossible through the thick slab of a door. After silence endured for some moments, I began to breathe easier.

"Shall you not get up now, Mr. Darcy?" I whispered.

"No."

No! What did he mean by that? I had never in all my life lain beside a man, and I found it unsettling. Certainly I was grateful that it was Mr. Darcy beside me and not Morgan, but I could not sleep beside a man, even if he was a gentleman! "Why ever not, sir?"

"For two reasons: they may return at any moment to see that we obey their commands, and because I do not intend to have your outcries summon them again."

"I did not do it on purpose. One can hardly be blamed for one's dreams."

"I do not blame you, Miss Bennet. I simply state the facts. You are in a position to suffer a recurrence and I shall not hazard Morgan making good on his threat. If I remain here beside you, I can awaken you before you resort to the earth-shattering noise you uttered before."

Earth shattering! "Mr. Darcy, I protest. I shall not spend the night under the same quilt with you." I sat up, intending to rise. Immediately I felt his hands upon my shoulders.

"Lie down!" With one movement, he pulled me down beside him. This time he kept one arm under my neck so that I lay on his shoulder with his right arm across my waist.

"Mr. Darcy!" I cried with force and volume.

"S-h-h! Miss Bennet, have no fear that I am attempting to take advantage of you or the situation we find ourselves in. I do this for your safekeeping, certainly not for any nefarious reason you may imagine. Believe me, I wish to be free of this scenario as well."

Now, the man not only held me against my will, but insulted me!

"Let me go, Mr. Darcy," I said evenly.

"Will you remain beside me if I do?"

"Yes," I spat out, "but only because of necessity."

"What other reason could there be?"

He removed his arm from behind my neck. I attempted to move over slightly, but when I did, he followed me. "Thank you, Elizabeth. I appreciate your cooperation."

"Could we please not converse any further this night?"

"As you wish. Good-night."

I turned on my side away from him, scooting as far away as I could, which was not far given the scant dimensions of that quilt. Still extremely conscious of his presence, I could smell the scent of his skin, hear the gentle in and out of his breathing, and feel the warmth of his body next to mine. I knew with certainty that I would never go back to sleep.

How had I ever come to be in such a dilemma? And if we did survive, as Mr. Darcy put it, what would happen to my reputation? When it became known that I had shared not only a room with this man, but slept beside him, how could I ever again hold up my head? Would anyone believe it was innocently done? I could imagine the gossip, how tarnished my good name would be, and what it would do to my family. How could Jane or any of my sisters ever hope to obtain marriage to honourable men after this? My entire family would partake of my shame. Repeatedly I wrestled with my worries and when they began to diminish, instead of succumbing to sleep, my poor brain returned to the danger Mr. Darcy and I were in. It did little good to worry about my name when my very life was in jeopardy.

By morning light, I had slept less than two hours. I had remained in the same position the entire night, fearful that I might turn over and unknowingly touch Mr. Darcy. Thus, I was stiff and sore when I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I intended to move quietly in order to not awaken him, but when I turned, I was shocked to see him sitting at the table, watching me.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet."

For some reason, my hand immediately flew to my hair. My curls streamed down my back and I was acutely conscious of how wrinkled my gown appeared. I pulled my pelisse closer, feeling exposed.

"Good morning," I mumbled, as I walked across the room to the small storeroom that served as a poor excuse for a water closet. I doubt that I had ever been as embarrassed in my life at having to share such a necessity. Behind the closed door I took my time, using the advantage to smooth my skirt by hand as much as possible. Oh, how I longed for the simple pleasure of soap and water with which to wash. Water, alone, would have been welcomed, but we had drunk all that was given to us the night before. I raked my fingers through my hair, discovered a few hairpins therein, and attempted to pin up as much as possible. I had little need of a mirror to know that my entire appearance remained unkempt. Well, surely Mr. Darcy did not look perfectly put together, either, I mused.

Sure enough, when I returned, I observed that the crease in his trousers no longer appeared crisp. A razor and comb would have benefited him as well, but I had to admit, he probably looked much better than I. In truth, the dark shadow on his face and tangle of curls falling across his forehead did little to disparage his good looks. If only he had a pleasing manner, he would be a most attractive man. But then I remembered his haughty manner and how horridly he had treated Mr. Wickham and I knew that no matter how fine his visage, I could never be attracted to Mr. Darcy.

As I advanced into the room, he rose and strode to the window without acknowledging my return, for which I was grateful. If he were only half as bothered by this forced intimacy as I was, he would wish to afford me some semblance of privacy. I sat down at the table and peered into the empty water pitcher, hoping it had somehow been magically refilled. We remained in silence for no little time and I wondered what scene outside provoked his interest. As he did not remark upon it, apparently, there was nothing there; he simply avoided my presence. At last he turned and walked back to the table.

"Were you able to sleep, Miss Bennet?"

I shook my head. "Very little."

"So I surmised."

"I apologize if I kept you awake."

"You did not. My own thoughts were impetus enough."

I glanced at him then, meeting his eyes for the first time that morning. "Do you wish to share them, Mr. Darcy?" I doubted that he had entertained the same fears of the future that I did.

"I thought of ways we might escape our captors and if we do, in what direction we should strike out."

"Escape? Can you entertain the very thought? How?"

"We must be on our guard, Miss Bennet, and take advantage of whatever opportunity arises."

"What do you mean?"

Before he could answer we heard the key turn in the lock. Sneyd and the woman called Gert entered. She carried a tray containing bowls of gruel, two cups of strongly brewed tea, glasses and another small pitcher of water. Sneyd remained at the door, while Gert slammed the tray down on the table, sloshing some of the precious tea out of the cups. She then proceeded to the storeroom and returned with the embarrassing chamber pot. I turned away, unable to face Mr. Darcy, while Sneyd began to snicker. Mr. Darcy, however, acted as though it were the most natural action in the world. Of course, he was accustomed to servants carrying and fetching for him at his beck and call. For that matter, I lived in a house containing servants, although I assumed not anywhere near the vast number he employed. Still, I could not help but feel uneasy. This was a deed carried out in the privacy of one's bedchamber, not in front of a snickering highwayman nor in the presence of the most arrogant man I had ever encountered.

I suddenly remembered that I was to act as though I was married to that arrogant man and so I raised my head and gave Sneyd the coldest of stares. "I require water and towels with which to wash. Will you see to it?"

"Oh, you require, do you, Missus?" He ran his eyes up and down my body, lingering about my bosom. "Well, we'll see about that."

"See that you do it immediately!" Mr. Darcy barked.

"I'll do it when and if Morgan says so, and not because the likes of you orders me to!" Sneyd drew his pistol and waved it in our direction.

I saw Mr. Darcy straighten his spine and the angry expression about his eyes. Before there could be any further altercation, I spoke in a much more placating voice. "Tell Mr. Morgan that I would be grateful."

With an answering scowl, he departed the room and Mr. Darcy and I sat down to break our fast. Without sugar or milk, the tea was only tolerable, but we both were thirsty and I, at least, relished it. The gruel was another matter; however, our natural hunger prevailed and we both ate the distasteful dish. I had just finished the last spoonful when the door opened again. Gert returned with the emptied utensil for the water closet. She then literally gathered the dishes out from under our noses, placing them on the tray with a harsh clatter. It was obvious that she resented having to serve us. I attempted to soften her attitude by thanking her, but a sullen glare was all I received in return.

My request for bathing materials was never acknowledged and eventually, the day grew long with such enforced imprisonment. In time, Mr. Darcy and I tired of straining to hear footsteps or voices. He still crossed the room to the window at the faintest sound from without, but after no attention from our captors other than a noon meal of the previous evening's left-over greasy broth, we soon grew less anxious and settled into the monotony of existing in a room without diversion. Devoid of books, newspapers, callers, even the interruption of servants, and lacking the freedom to come and go as we pleased, we were forced to rely upon each other for company.

Once more, we discussed the possibilities of escape. I was not clever enough to think of any, but Mr. Darcy envisioned several scenarios. He reassured me again and again that his uncle and his son, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, would move heaven and earth to rescue us once they learned of our whereabouts.

"My cousin possesses the resources of his regiment, so you see there is little to fear. If we do not escape, we shall be found."

When, at last, we had exhausted that subject, there remained only the topics of polite conversation. And since Mr. Darcy and I had never done well with each other in that realm, I doubted we could discover a theme on which we both agreed enough to converse. I was, however, mistaken.

He surprised me by asking my opinion on several current events and I think I surprised him by competently rendering my voice on the matters. He, at least, appeared pleasantly diverted by the fact that I knew of what I spoke.

"Miss Bennet, you obviously are an extensive reader, no matter your demurring remarks upon the matter when teased by Miss Bingley at Netherfield."

"I would not employ the term 'extensive,' sir, but if the subject holds my interest, I do my best to explore it."

"And what, besides the events we have just discussed, 'holds your interest?'"

"Oh, I would say a diversity of things - I enjoy certain novels, many of the current poets, and lately, I have been much taken with a book on botany."

"Botany? So you are a student of nature?"

"Hardly, but I do love trees and flowers, the wild shrubs and herbs. I find the discovery of various uses for these old plants I have known all my life fascinating."

"My sister, Georgiana, enjoys her stillroom and whiles away many afternoons drying flowers and concocting aromatic mixtures. You will have more than music to discuss with her when once you meet."

Once we meet? Of what was he talking?

Unsure of how to respond, I fumbled about for another subject. "And do you have other siblings, sir?"

He shook his head. "No, I am not as blessed as you are with...all of your...sisters."

That caused me to smile slightly, for we were both well aware of his disdain for certain of my sisters. "At times I feel my blessings are somewhat excessive. My home often overflows with them."

"Indeed? And so you would not want always to live near Longbourn?"

Had I spoke of leaving Longbourn?

"Well, I...have always wished to travel. I have seen little of the world and yes, I long to visit new places. Tell me about your part of England."

"Ah, yes, Derbyshire. You will find that I am somewhat prejudiced, as I consider it the ideal place in all of England."

"It is in the north country, is it not?"

He nodded. "Yes, full of wild, untamed peaks where nature and artifice join together to make one perfect union. You must see it for yourself. I cannot do justice to its beauty with words."

"Perchance I shall. My aunt and uncle have invited me to tour the lakes with them this summer."

"Your aunt and uncle?"

"The Gardiners from Gracechurch Street...near Cheapside."

He frowned and looked away.

Our conversation lagged then and I knew the reason why. Mr. Darcy did not care to be reminded of my unfortunate connections, that my uncle was in trade, even though I thought him one of the finest men in our family. I rose from the table and took a turn about the small room. How I longed to go outside if only for a moment. I now understood how caged animals must fret at their captivity. I had just made the length of the room and turned back to retrace my steps when he joined me.

"Shall I walk with you? I fear this prolonged sitting provides little advantage to our dispositions."

"As you like." I continued on my way. At length, I decided to change the subject and once again return to Mr. Darcy's relatives. He had made it plain that he disapproved of mine; now I would question him of his. "And does your mother reside at Pemberley?"

"No, my mother died when Georgiana was quite young and I lost my own excellent father five years ago."

That shamed me. There I was seeking to cast dispersion upon his relatives and he had few of which to speak. "I am sorry, sir. And so your uncle is your closest relative?"

"I also have an aunt in Kent, my mother's sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

I recalled Mr. Wickham's information. "Yes, my cousin, Mr. Collins, has great admiration for her. Does she not have a daughter and have I not heard that you are engaged to marry?"

Mr. Darcy stopped abruptly. "Who told you that?"

"I am not sure...it seemed to be much talked of in Hertfordshire society."

"Did Mr. Collins spread that story?"

"No, sir...I do not believe it was Mr. Collins."

"Then who?"

He would ask, so what could I do but answer? "It was...Mr. Wickham. He said you had been engaged to your cousin since childhood."

A darkness descended upon his countenance. "Do not believe everything Mr. Wickham says, Miss Bennet."

"But why should he say such a thing if it is untrue?"

"I cannot account for Mr. Wickham's motives, I can only warn you to take care with any information he imparts."

"That is a dastardly accusation, sir. Do you call the man a liar?"

"I could call him much worse."

He turned on his heel and strode to the storeroom, slamming the door behind him. I know not whether he had true need of its facilities or whether it was the only place he could escape my presence. Frankly, I did not care. I hoped he stayed there!

That evening, I was once again summoned to dine with Morgan, while Mr. Darcy was left to eat alone from the meagre dish Gert had served him. It may have been just as well, for we had little to say to each other since our disagreement over Mr. Wickham. He was surely a sore point between us, for no matter what Mr. Darcy said, I preferred to believe Mr. Wickham until he was proven wrong. What possible reason would he have to lie? Mr. Darcy had injured him severely and Mr. Wickham, in my opinion, had borne it exceedingly well. He was making the most of his life with his new position in the militia. He had a pleasant and amiable manner and although he had the greatest possible reason to hate Mr. Darcy, he had displayed no such emotion in my presence. In fact, he had gone out of his way to speak somewhat favourably of the man, saying that he was well thought of in the society in which he moved, while, on the other hand, Mr. Darcy could not mention Mr. Wickham's name without anger. No, it would take some doing before I believed evil of the handsome young soldier.

At the table with Morgan, however, I soon forgot about Mr. Wickham, for that night all the men except for the one called Rufus joined us. They were rough and crude in their manners, slurping from their greasy bowls, insulting in their remarks directed at Gert. And the way they looked me up and down made my stomach turn. I almost desired that Morgan send them away as he had done the night before, but it did not happen. His only response was to call them down when they became abusive toward the serving woman. I wondered what his connection with her could be.

After that they talked little until the man called Merle asked him when they were to make their move. I listened closely, hoping they might give away some clue as to what had happened with the ransom note sent to the Earl of Matlock. Nothing was said that alerted me to any further knowledge, however, and they soon began to talk among themselves, raucous laughter erupting from time to time. As Morgan did not enter into their levity, I quietly broached the subject of bathing supplies with him.

"Mr. Morgan, did your man relate to you my request for towels and water with which to bathe?"

The highwayman looked up from his plate, but continued to chew. Unfortunately, at that very moment, a lull occurred in the conversation between the others and the ugly man called Sneyd overheard me. He spoke up, laughing openly, his mouth full of food.

"Oh yeah, Nate, the fine missus here wants a bath."

"I be glad to wash her back," Merle said, which resulted in even more coarse, guttural laughter. I felt the blood rush to my face, flushing scarlet.

"Shut up," Morgan snarled and then addressed me. "We be not much on bathing here and 'specially not in December."

I leaned back in my chair and kept my eyes on my lap. Why had I even asked? It was pointless and only provided fuel for these animals' crudeness.

Suddenly, I felt a finger lift up my chin; Morgan stared directly into my eyes. "Don't mind the boys. They be scamps, all of them, and they ain't used to the presence of a lady. I'll see what I can do about your request tomorrow."

I said nothing, hoping that he would let me return to my room without delay. His hand lingered upon my chin, however, and I felt his fingers caress my jaw line.

Oh, dear Lord, I prayed silently, rescue me from this place!

At last, he motioned Sneyd to escort me down the hall. I was never so glad to reach the sanctity found behind that locked door. Perhaps cages had their merits after all. I shuddered slightly as I advanced into the room, and holding my arms, I ran my hands briskly up and down as though I might restore heat to my blood, for it had turned icy cold.

Mr. Darcy hurriedly rose and crossed the room to my side. "Elizabeth? Are you unharmed?"

I nodded.

"What happened?"

I shook my head. "Please, Mr. Darcy, do not ask me any more questions. I am not hurt. I learned nothing that will help us tonight. There, I have said all I care to say. Please let me be."

I sank down on the pallet and drew the quilt over me, turning my face to the wall. Would we ever be delivered?

Not long after that, Mr. Darcy picked up the blanket and lay down; it startled me, but I moved slightly so that he might share the quilt. This was to be the second night we were to lie beside each other and it still unnerved me. What must he think of me, allowing such intimacy? Should I protest again? Surely, he must know that I would never enter into this arrangement except for necessity.

Up and down the wall I faced, shadows of tree branches from outside the window jerked back and forth in a macabre sort of dance. The skittering sounds of a mouse could be heard from within the storeroom and I shuddered again, hoping it would not find its way along the floor on which we lay. We were in a situation fraught with danger and at the hands of cruel, heartless men. All of my earlier bravery had evaporated with nightfall and now fear took hold of my heart and pulled me down into its clutches.

"Elizabeth?"

I inhaled sharply at the sound of Mr. Darcy's voice, but I made no audible response. I held my breath and hoped he would think me asleep. Could he not honour my request and leave me alone? I was very near to tears and I did not wish to break down before him.

He said my name again softly, but when I said nothing, I heard him sigh and then turn his face away.

On the morning of the third day after Gert served Mr. Darcy and I our usual fare for breakfast, Sneyd stood in the doorway while she cleared the table. I shuddered as his eyes swept over me; he grinned and bared his yellow teeth.

"Come with me, Missus."

I turned to Mr. Darcy, who immediately rose and stood by my side. "Where are you taking my wife?" he demanded.

"Wherever Morgan says to." Sneyd advanced into the room.

"She will not leave this room without me!"

"Still the big man, are we?" Sneyd pulled his pistol from his waistband. "Be you big enough to match this?"

Once again, Mr. Darcy was forced to allow me to depart. I glanced back at him over my shoulder and saw the alarm in his eyes and the frustration of his helplessness. There was nothing he could do short of taking a bullet for me. Sneyd locked the door with one hand, while holding the pistol leveled at me.

"There is no need to point that thing at me. I have little recourse but to follow you."

He snickered (I had long since learned to hate the sound), placed the gun back in his waistband, and grabbed my arm roughly. Instead of ushering me into the main room I had eaten in last night, he took me down a hallway and out a side door. The brightness of the morning sun almost blinded me, but I welcomed its warmth and the smell of fresh air. At the same time I began to fear my destination. Although short and stocky in stature, Sneyd took long steps and I had to tread quickly to match his gait. We walked around to the front of the cottage where I saw the highwayman named Merle stationed as guard. Across the creek I could see the man called Rufus up on a slight hill, walking back and forth like a sentry. Morgan was nowhere to be seen.

"Where are we going?"

"You wanted to wash, Missus. Here's your bathtub." He spread his arm wide, pointing toward the creek.

"Surely you do not expect me to bathe without privacy!"

"Your privacy ain't my concern. Morgan says let you wash, so wash." He snickered even more than before and I could hear the man just outside the cottage join him with his own ugly chuckle. I drew myself up, livid with anger and indignation, and narrowed my eyes, staring at him with all the vehemence I could muster.

"I require a bucket!"

He actually seemed taken aback somewhat by my tone, but not enough to release me. Merle, however, must have taken pity on me, for he picked up an old wooden bucket sitting beside the door and handed it to me.

"Thank you!" I said and directed my next remark at Sneyd. "I can hardly wash unless you release me."

"All right, but don't try nothing. Remember, I hold the pistol."

I glared at him. "How could I forget?"

I marched down the slightest of inclines to the water's edge and observed with dismay that it had evidently rained sometime during the night, for there was a good three feet of mud lining the bank. I glanced around, searching for a drier spot, but the only recourse I could see was either wade through the mud or attempt to hop over it onto an exceedingly huge flat rock that protruded out into the stream. I elected to try my luck with the rock and was pleased when my efforts succeeded. I walked out to the edge and knelt down on one foot, but the water was too far below to easily reach. I surveyed the entire compass of the stone, but all the way around the depth remained the same. At last, I dropped to both knees, reached way over and scooped up a handful of water. It was icy cold, but how delightful to wash my hands. As I lifted it to my face, I was thrilled to see it was clear, nigh to pristine. I could hear the sound of falls somewhere up ahead and realized that we must be right below a small dam of some sort. I must remember to relate that piece of news to Mr. Darcy. Perhaps it might aid him in discovering our whereabouts.

"Is that all what you wash?" Sneyd's voice was an irritating reminder of his presence. I glanced over my shoulder to see that he had followed me onto the rock and stood directly behind me.

"I prefer to finish inside." I bent over once again to fill the bucket. I rinsed it a couple of times and had just dipped it into the stream the third time, when I felt his hand cup my bottom. Instinctively, I straightened and hurled the bucket of water at him!

"Hey!" He staggered backward, shaking the water from his doused stringy hair. "Why, you little..."

Knocking the bucket aside, he grabbed both my wrists and angrily began to force his face close to mine. I squirmed and screamed, trying desperately to push him away. He was far the victor in strength, however, and before I knew it, he had twisted both my arms behind me and held me against him in a tight grip, his ugly mouth about to bear down upon mine.

From out of nowhere, suddenly two arms wrenched Sneyd away and threw him down on the rock, perilously close to the water! To my amazement, I saw Morgan tower over him, both fists clenched, a furious scowl upon his face.

"I told you she would not be trifled with!" he yelled. Sneyd cowered before the leader of the gang. "Get in the water!"

"What? Nate..." Sneyd muttered incredulously.

"You heard me. Dive in and snatch that pail. It's the only one we have."

"But, Nate, I'll catch me death. It's freezing cold."

"I'll not say it again, Sneyd. Get that bucket!" Morgan's tone was deadly and I watched the shorter man discard his jacket and gun, and then pull off his boots before he gingerly stepped down into the creek. He shook uncontrollably when the water reached his waist. Morgan picked up Sneyd's gun and tucked it into his waistband, along with his own weapon. He then turned to me.

"Come on. I'll help you off this rock."

"I can manage on my own."

"Oh, can you now? And here I be thinking you needed my help. If you can manage so well, why did I disturb my reverie to rush down here and rescue you from the likes of Sneyd?"

I said nothing, for he had me there. I knew full well that if he had not appeared, I would now be fighting a battle I could not have won.

"Very well, Mr. Morgan, I accept your offer." I held out my hand, thinking he would take it and assist me across the mud. Instead, I inhaled sharply when in less than an instant, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me from the rock to the dry part of the riverbank. Once there, I expected him to release me, but he simply turned and observed Sneyd's progress in the creek while I remained in his arms.

"Will you put me down, sir?" I spoke with as much dignity as I could find in the situation.

He turned his eyes from the stream to me and I watched them begin to glint in amusement. "In good time, Mrs. Darcy, in good time."

This infuriated me; thus I refused to blanch, but stared back at him, a difficult task since our faces were so close in proximity. At last and just before I feared my eyes would cross from the strain, he laughed softly and deposited me on the ground. I straightened my clothes and did my utmost to show my disdain, but in reality I was grateful for his rescue.

"Keep going, Sneyd," he yelled to the swimmer. "You've almost got it."

We watched as the man managed to snare the bobbing bucket and turned around for the shore. He had almost crossed the entire stream, which was no small feat, as it appeared quite deep in the middle. When he crawled up on the rock, Morgan added, "Now, fill it up and fetch it to the cottage for Mrs. Darcy."

Sneyd gave us both a dirty look, but once he shook the water from his long hair, he did as he had been told, all the while muttering something about that being a fit task for Gert. Morgan took my arm and led me up the incline and back toward the cottage. He did not apologize for Sneyd's actions, but his grasp was gentle and I could not be anything other than grateful for his presence. I decided to use his goodwill to my advantage.

"This is a lovely setting, Mr. Morgan. Does the land belong to your family?"

He looked at me with a curious eye. "And why would you be wanting to know that, Missus?"

"Because it appears to be rich in timber. I wonder that you do not make your fortune by such harvest."

He stopped and cast his eyes upon the woods, densely tangled with all kinds of trees and bushes. "It is a good forest and one my grandfathers lived by...but not I."

"And why is that?" I prodded gently.

He turned and stared at me and when he spoke his voice came out harsh and angry. "Because my grandfather was robbed of the land by the likes of you and your husband!"

"I...I do not know what you mean, sir. Neither my husband nor I have ever robbed anyone."

"Aye, perhaps not you, but those like you. Land grabbers, all of them. And when my poor grandfather could not pay the taxes, they be all too glad to jump in and take what belonged to my family for centuries!"

"Then you no longer own this land?"

"Not with money, Missus." He chuckled slightly. "With what I've got resting in my waistband, though, I owns it. My name be known up and down this part of the country, and that rich bugger who stole this land ain't shown his face at this cottage in many a year now."

"And does that makes you the better man, sir? Or just the better thief?"

He scowled; an angry mask once again descended upon his face. "Come on, get back in the house."

His touch was no longer gentle as he pushed me toward the door. It seemed I had hit a nerve. Before we reached our destination I surveyed as much of our surroundings as possible. A small outbuilding on the side of the cottage evidently served as stables for the horses, for I could hear their soft whinnying sounds coming from that direction. Also in that course I observed the beginnings of a well-worn path or narrow roadway lining the woods. Perhaps it led toward some type of village or town. I thought of asking more questions as to our whereabouts, but decided against it. I had learned enough for now.

Inside Morgan grabbed a towel from the table, thrust it into my hands, and prodded me toward the back room. Sneyd had arrived at the door by that time, whereupon Morgan grabbed the bucket of water and followed me. Mr. Darcy stood just inside the doorway and immediately took my hands when I walked into the room.

"Elizabeth! Are you unharmed?"

I nodded, but he pulled me close nevertheless. To say that I was surprised by his embrace would be an understatement, but I recovered quickly and clung to him to continue the artifice he so obviously initiated. Surely, Morgan would now believe he saw a loving couple displaying affection. He said nothing, however. Dropping the bucket on the floor with little concern for spilling its precious contents, he slammed the door behind him.

Somewhat clumsily, Mr. Darcy and I disentangled ourselves, both of us avoiding each other's eyes. Did he find this charade as uncomfortable as did I? Hurriedly, I gathered up the towel and started toward the bucket of water, but he picked it up before me and carried it to the storeroom.

"I waited at the window and I heard you scream. You must tell me what happened."

"It...it was nothing, really."

"That cannot be for you do not frighten easily, Elizabeth. Tell me the truth. I insist upon it."

I placed the towel beside the bucket of water and then closed the storeroom door, hesitating as long as possible before answering. I looked everywhere other than face him, but finally meeting his gaze, I knew I must give an answer. "I shall tell you on one condition, sir."

"And what is that?"

"That you promise to remain rational, that what I say will not harrow up your wrath."

"Rational? When have I ever engaged in irrational behaviour?"

"Whenever you fear that I am in danger."

"Oh? Indeed. And would you have me not react, Miss Bennet? Shall I leave you to the reprehensible desires of these criminals?"

"No, of course not. That is not what I meant, Mr. Darcy. I am grateful for your interference... that is...for your protection. It is just that I did not come to any actual harm and I would not have you injured by proposing to defend my honour. Besides, Mr. Morgan came to my rescue before any genuine damage occurred."

Mr. Darcy's eyes narrowed at the mention of the highwayman's name and I saw the line appear between his brows. "Mister Morgan? What has he done to elevate himself in your esteem? Tell me the incident in its entirety, Miss Bennet. Now!"

I bristled at his demanding tone, speaking as though he were my master. I considered with distaste that whoever eventually consented to be his wife would most probably have to endure such overbearing dominance on a daily basis. Well, I was not his wife and I had no intention of being treated in such a manner.

"Do not order me about, sir. It is not your right."

A few moments earlier he had begun to pace back and forth; he now stood directly in front of me and I could see the fire in his eyes. "If you do not tell me what happened, Elizabeth, I shall call out Morgan posthaste."

"Would that not be foolhardy, sir? You do not even possess a gun."

"And is not your refusal to cooperate just as foolish, madam?"

My colour was high and I knew it, for I could feel the heat burn my cheeks. Surely, this man was the most infuriating individual I had ever known! We stared at each other no small amount of time, each of us refusing to budge, but finally I relented. I would not have him killed simply because I refused to obey his commands.

"Very well, Mr. Darcy. You shall hear this silly tale and then you shall wonder why you insisted upon bullying me into relating it. I was allowed to fill the bucket from the stream. That dreadful Sneyd accompanied me to the water's edge and there...he...well, he attempted to put his hand upon my person."

I could see Mr. Darcy's chest visibly move, his breath coming short and hard. "Sneyd put his hand upon you? Where?"

I could not believe he asked me that! "In a place he should not have! And do not ask any further details, for that is all I shall say about the matter."

"I will kill him," he fumed. "I shall call him out immediately!"

"Are you mad, sir? My dignity is all that was injured. Is that sufficient reason to kill the man or risk losing your own life? Besides, I defended myself; I am capable of doing so, whether you realize it or not."

"You? How? What could you do?"

"I emptied the bucket of water over his head!"

For the first time I caught a glimpse of a smile on Mr. Darcy's face and admiration in his eyes, as well. "Excellent, well done, Miss Bennet. But there is more, is there not? I heard you scream more than once. What happened after that?"

"Naturally, my actions made him furious. He then grabbed my hands and tried to force himself upon me until Morgan threw him down and then ordered him into the creek."

"Into the creek?"

"Yes, to retrieve the bucket. It had fallen in the stream after I tossed it at him. And that is all there was to it," I said with finality.

For some reason I omitted how the highwayman had carried me to the cabin and held me longer than needed; why I do not know. An intuitive feeling warned me against it and I was relieved that he did not question me further.

At that very moment we were interrupted by Morgan's presence. Thrusting the door open, he entered the room and hands on hips, surveyed the area as though he were king and our quarters a part of his domain.

"Mrs. Darcy," he said, his tone imperious, "I shall require your presence at my table tonight once again. And Mr. Darcy, may I add that serious doubts have arisen in my mind that your wife actually be with child, for she was light as eiderdown when I carried her from the water's edge. Just exactly how far along is she in her confinement?"

Mr. Darcy's mouth gaped open and I quickly answered. "I...I am not yet three months, sir, and if you question my condition, my husband has already suggested that you fetch a physician to confirm it."

His only response was a narrowing of those cold, azure eyes before he whirled around and departed the room as quickly as he had appeared.

I suddenly had a new fear and as soon as the door closed, I voiced it. "What if he does send for a doctor?"

Mr. Darcy's answer was brusque and dismissive. "There is little chance of that; he is bluffing. He would not suffer an outsider knowing our whereabouts." Then he caught my hand and turned me around to face him. "Why did you not tell me that Morgan carried you to the cabin? Did he also attempt liberties with you?"

I avoided his eyes and tried to loosen my hand, but he persisted. "Miss Bennet? What have you refrained from telling me? What did he do?"

"There is nothing to tell. As I said before, Morgan rescued me; I am much obliged to him."

"Obliged! To that criminal? I fear that your admiration of the highwayman's appearance may have robbed you of your good sense, madam! Or perhaps you relished the close embrace necessary for such transport."

How dare he even suggest such a thing! "Mr. Darcy, your suspicions are beyond annoyance. I pray you remember that you play the role of my husband, but that in truth I am not your wife. There is a difference and you would do well to remember it."

He blanched at my words as though I had struck him and releasing my hand, he strode to the window. I took advantage of the respite and vanished into the water closet, slamming the door behind me.

That third night of our imprisonment found me seated once again at the highwayman's table. I was relieved that it was Merle instead of Sneyd who accompanied Gert when she brought Mr. Darcy's plate, and he, in turn escorted me to the main room. Evidently Sneyd had been banished to the sentry's post without, for I saw no sign of him. For that matter, once the woman had placed the meal on the table, she and the others quickly quitted the room; Morgan and I were to dine alone. Our intimate dinner scene unnerved me somewhat, but I put on a brave face and refused to allow him witness to my trepidation. The contents upon my plate appeared somewhat finer tonight, for I detected the aroma of venison among the chunks of potatoes and I could not believe my eyes when I saw him pour me a glass of wine. Where had that come from?

He had said not a word since I entered the room. We ate the meal in eerie silence and it endured until he emptied both his glass and plate. Leaning back in his chair, he struck a match with which to light his pipe and turned his gaze upon me. I lay my spoon upon the table and sat back, waiting. He still said nothing, but sat there watching me. I began to wonder if he had taken instruction from Mr. Darcy, for both men had the gift of provoking my unease with their prolonged stares. With Morgan, however, I would not give in. Why should I speak first? I was there at his pleasure. If he wished for nothing more than my presence while he dined, then fine, that was all he would receive.

I kept my eyes upon the fire, longing for such a blaze in the room I shared with Mr. Darcy, when at last my dinner companion spoke. "Would you care for more wine?"

"I thank you, no...but I would welcome the opportunity to fetch a glass for my husband."

"Ah, that blasted Darcy. Must his name intrude upon our meal?"

"I cannot see how his name will make much intrusion when his person is confined to that small room. I do not understand why he is not allowed to join us."

"Because I have no desire to look upon his face...while I am much entertained by yours."

I hated myself for blushing, but I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I turned away and surveyed the room. It was rudely furnished and in great need of a thorough cleaning, the prominent adornment other than dust being that of rifles and various other weapons stacked against the walls. It seemed that these men possessed a veritable arsenal.

He rose and stood before me. "And is it such displeasure for you to gaze upon my countenance? Perchance my scar offends your delicate sensibilities. Is that it?" He leaned against the table and inclined his face so close that I could have reached up and touched his cheek.

"Who did that to you?"

"The first man I ever killed." He chuckled lightly.

I drew back and turned my face away, unable to keep from recoiling at the thought. Reaching out, he took my chin in his hand, forcing me to face him. " 'Tis an ugly sight, I'm sure, but could be worse. He could have cut off me pretty curls! What would you say to that, Mrs. Darcy? Would I not have lost my true beauty then? Is that not what drives the ladies wild? I've had many a gal wish to twirl her fingers through such richness. Would you not be one of them?"

Again I made no answer, for I refused to even acknowledge his taking such liberties. "Mrs. Darcy? Shall you not respond to my question?"

"I possess no appreciation for your impertinence. If you wish to speak of more suitable topics, I shall do so but I refuse to engage in flirtatious banter."

He puffed on his pipe for several minutes and steadily surveyed my person. Oh, how I hated being regarded in such a manner, as though I were nothing more than entertainment.

"So you will not flirt." His tone was mocking. "Then what shall you do to amuse me? Do you sing perchance?"

What?

"Mrs. Darcy, I asked you a question. Do you sing?"

"A little...a very little."

"Then let us have a song."

"You have no instrument, sir. How can I sing?"

"Without one!" he announced. "And sing something lively, for I feel like dancing."

Dancing!

"You jest, sir, at my expense."

"Indeed, I do not. You shall sing and we shall dance."

To my amazement, he tossed his pipe aside and taking my hand, he bade me rise and follow him to the middle of the room. "Now sing!" he commanded.

I could not believe he would humiliate me in this manner, but when he bowed before me as though we were beginning the dance, I knew that he was serious. Frantically, I cast about in my memory for any melody I might recall that one could dance to.

Hesitantly, I began to sing:

* "Did...did you not hear my lady
Go down the garden singing
Blackbird and thrush were silent
To hear the alleys ringing."

Back and forth we moved to the music, touching hands at times, turning, swaying, and skipping to the notes. Suddenly, while continuing to dance, he joined me in song, his voice a rich, deep baritone.

"Though I am nothing to her
Though she must rarely look at me
And though I could never woo her
I'll love her 'til I die.

"Surely you heard my lady
Go down the garden singing
Silencing all the songbirds
And setting the alleys ringing."

All of a sudden he stopped the dance, although he continued to sing. I stood there silent, while he finished the song still holding my hands in his.

"But surely you see my lady
Out in the garden there
Rivalling the wondrous moonlight
With the glory of raven hair."

What? Why had he changed the last lines from "glittering sunshine" to wondrous moonlight, and "golden hair" to raven? Perhaps it was done unconsciously; perchance he had forgotten the words. Yes, it comforted me to consider that as the sole reason.

With the final notes he bowed before me and laughed aloud. "Well done, Mrs. Darcy. You be quite the songbird."

"And you as well," I admitted, grudgingly.

Retaining my hand in his, he escorted me back to the table, but before I could sit down he pressed my fingers to his lips, and peered up at me with a knowing look in his eyes, an expression that unsettled me even further. I attempted to withdraw my hand, but he held onto it. At last I could bear it no longer.

"Mr. Morgan, I acknowledge that I am your prisoner, but I appeal to your higher nature to treat me as a lady...a married lady."

"My higher nature? As opposed to what? The base criminal you and your kind consider me?"

"You are a criminal. You have robbed my husband and myself. You have abducted us and now demand extortion from our kinsman. How can you deny the charge of criminal?"

"I have no wish to deny it. I am what I am. You, Madam, accuse me of possessing a higher nature."

"It is not an accusation, but rather a hope based on my observations."

"Indeed? And just what observation might give rise to such hope? Is it my fine dancing or perhaps you fancy my lovely baritone." He dropped my hand and walked to the fireplace.

"You have come to my defence more than once and you...have shown kindness in providing necessities for my husband and me."

He turned and walked back to the table, placed both hands thereon and leaned toward me. "Any kindness I have shown was for you alone, Elizabeth. I'd just as soon shoot your husband."

I drew in my breath at his cruelty, the hair rising on the back of my neck. I clasped my hands together below the table to keep them from trembling and prayed that he could not see the fear reflected in my eyes.

"If you have any regard for me, I pray you will not harm Mr. Darcy. And...and...besides, would that not defeat your plan? My lord, the earl will surely refuse any ransom if we are not both returned to him in good health."

When he made no reply other than to hold my gaze with an unblinking stare, I continued, hoping that I made sense, fearful that my conversation came forth as senseless babble.

"Will you not tell me? How will you cause the transaction to come about? Has my husband's note been yet delivered to his uncle?"

"Ah, you'd like to have your questions answered, wouldn't you?" He quickly rounded the table to stand before me. Before I knew what had happened, he took my hands in his once again and caused me to rise, placing both of us much too close to each other.

"And what shall you give me in return if I tell you what you wish to know? A kiss, perhaps?" He leaned his face close to mine and I was conscious of his golden curls falling over his forehead.

"Mr. Morgan, you forget yourself. I am married!"

"But are you happily married? I think not."

"Why ever would you say such a thing?"

"Your marriage is no love match, Elizabeth. Anyone can see that."

I wrenched my hands loose and turned away, afraid to face him, fearful that my expression might confirm his statement. He would not have it, though, and, grabbing my shoulders, he turned me around and clasped me tightly. Tangling his fingers in my long hair, he pulled my head back and stared directly into my eyes. "I speak the truth, do I not? The gentleman may love you ...but you do not return his affection."

"Release me!" I hissed, my mouth so close to his that I could feel his warm breath. I willed myself not to tremble and, in truth, I was angry enough at his manhandling my person that I became emboldened with unusual courage. He hesitated before releasing me long enough that I could feel his heart beat furiously against my breast. I realized then that the man was truly attracted to me, perhaps even enamoured.

When he spoke again, his voice emerged deep and hoarse. "What I would not give to have met you before Darcy did. If I had wooed you, not even his riches would have proved tempting, for you would have known what it is to be truly loved."

I could make no answer. It took all of my effort to quell my gasping for breath. I had never seen such intensity in a man's eyes, such passion, and never had I been the object of such ardent declaration. Oh, when Mr. Collins had proposed, he had used some silly, meaningless phrases, but I was convinced he knew as much of love as he did of laying eggs. The man was incapable of such depth of feeling, but Morgan...I believed what he said. He gave every appearance of a man in love, but how could he? We barely knew each other and what we did know of each other hardly lent itself to love. Well, certainly not on my part. I could never care for a highwayman, a thief and kidnapper. And surely it was only desire that stirred his heart, no matter the strength of his avowal.

Slowly I began to back away from him until I had reached the end of the table. When he advanced toward me and reached my side, I put up my hands as though to shield myself. "I pray you sir, return me to Mr. Darcy."

"Come on," he growled, "I won't hurt you." Taking my arm, he pulled me down the hallway, unlocked the door, and thrust me into the room into the arms of my supposed husband.

"I hope you know, Darcy, what a lucky bugger you be...and Elizabeth, just so you understand, the man who gave me this scar was the last man I killed."

With one lingering, final look into my eyes, Morgan slammed the door and locked it.

END NOTES:

*Silent Worship from Ptolemy by G. F. Handel, arrangement and words by Arthur Somervell

Completely unbidden, I began to weep uncontrollably, my face buried in my hands and my shoulders shaking with relief. It was some moments before I ceased long enough to realize that I now stood within Mr. Darcy's arms and it was his voice I heard whispering comforting words in my ear. I realized that his hand was upon my head and I did not struggle when he gently pressed my cheek against his chest. There he stroked my hair over and over and once my sobbing lessened slightly, I was surprised to hear the ferocity with which his heart now beat in my ear.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, slipping his handkerchief into my hand, "Elizabeth, do not cry so. I cannot bear it."

I became aware of what felt like kisses upon my hair and then his lips touched my forehead in the softest of caresses. Was it my imagination? Slowly, oh so slowly, I raised my face to his and watched his darkened eyes travel down to my mouth and then back to meet my gaze. Our lips were so close that the slightest involuntary movement would have caused them to meet. We stood frozen thus no little time, our breath quickening in unison, until...I stepped back.

What had just happened?

I could not take it all in and began to turn away, but Mr. Darcy would not release my hand. Instead he led me to the table and pulled out a chair, indicating that I should sit. He nudged his chair close to mine and sat before me, continuing to hold my hand while he poured a glass of water.

"Here," he said, entreating me to take it. I took a sip, and at last allowed my eyes to rise from my lap and meet his. We gazed at each other as though there was nowhere else to look. Was he as conscious as I of the gravity of what had just occurred? Surely I did not imagine the tenderness with which he had held me, the touch of his lips upon my head, and the unspoken strength of emotion manifest between us.

Whatever it was remained unsaid, however, for Mr. Darcy's next words had nothing to do with our feelings for each other.

"What did he do, Elizabeth? What did that scoundrel do to cause you such distress? Tell me so that I may make it right."

I shook my head. "There is nothing for you to do, sir. I pray you will not escalate my foolish display of emotion into more than it is."

"I cannot believe that, for you do not give into emotion easily. Morgan did something to you and you must tell me."

Once again I shook my head. "Truly, sir, it is as I said. I fear that the culmination of this entire ordeal has simply overtaken me and I gave into the relief of tears."

He narrowed his eyes and I could see that he did not believe me. "What did he mean when he said I was lucky?"

I knew very well to what he referred, but I could not...would not tell him of the highwayman's words of love or how he had held me.

"I...I suppose he referred to your status and wealth. The man has been dispossessed of his inheritance and he resents those who have taken it from him."

"It was not I who dispossessed him."

"No, but he conjoins those who have with your class, sir. He is truly an angry man who feels that he has been robbed."

Mr. Darcy released my hand then and stood up, pushing away from the table with what appeared to be an air of impatience. "Surely I do not detect a note of sympathy in your voice for the rogue."

"Not for his actions, of course, but one cannot help but feel some concern that his family has lost their land due to inequities in society. Morgan said his grandfather owned the land on which this cabin is built and that it was stolen from him."

"Stolen! I doubt that and if so, it takes a thief to know one."

"Mr. Darcy, have you no compassion for those less fortunate than yourself? Those who were not born to wealth and inheritance?"

"You know nothing of my compassion, Miss Bennet."

"I beg to differ with you, for I have received your compassion and I can testify that you possess the ability to bestow such on a woman in need. Why can you not acknowledge that there are men who are in like need of your forbearance?"

"Whether man or woman, I judge fairly those who deserve compassion and Nathanael Morgan does not."

Now, my dander arose once again and I could not keep from adding to the flame. "I see. In much the same manner you deemed Mr. Wickham undeserving of your father's bequest?"

"Miss Bennet, I fail to see how with incivility you can accuse me of such misrepresentation. I am baffled as to why you persist with this irrational degree of interest in the concerns of men who are blatantly beneath you."

"Who that knows the sufferings of both Wickham and Morgan can help feeling an interest in them?"

"Their sufferings! I neither know nor care to know of any supposed sufferings of the highwayman who holds us prisoners, but I am well acquainted with Mr. Wickham and with his so-called misfortunes."

"And at your hand," I cried with great energy. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule."

He began to walk with quick steps across the room. "Ah! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps these bitter accusations might have been suppressed had I lied and flattered you into the belief that I, too, had been ill-used and cheated as these men have obviously done. If I had begged your confidence with sad tales of how others had reduced me to a helpless victim, and how I had no other resort but to steal and cheat my way through life, perhaps then I, too, might enjoy the pleasure of your ignorant sympathy. But I abhor such disguise and I refuse to play upon your emotions to warrant your good opinion."

"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that you might employ any such action to affect me in any other way, for from the very beginning - from the first moment, I may almost say - of my acquaintance with you, your manners, the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike."

I had also risen by that time and we faced each other, declaring our righteously fervent viewpoints like two puffed up peacocks

"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been earlier this evening. I propose that we say as little as possible to each other from this moment forward." If it were possible for fire to actually proceed from one's eyes, a conflagration would have erupted from Mr. Darcy's at that moment.

"On that we are at last in perfect agreement," I said, turned my back on him and made a great show of dragging my chair to the opposite side of the room. I sat down facing the wall, which proved to be a futile gesture on my part, for there is nothing quite so boring as staring at a dark, blank wall.

Now, how in blazes had this evening progressed in such a downward spiral? And what had caused me to turn on Mr. Darcy and engage in an argument? What was it about the man that could set me off like a harridan at the slightest provocation?

An hour later I broke my self-imposed exile, picked up the blanket and lay down upon the floor. I had sat in the corner and fumed excessively, making a great show of my exasperation with frequent sighs and clearings of my throat. They had no effect upon Mr. Darcy as far as I could determine.

At length, my fit of pique lessened and I began to study the reasoning behind our altercation. For his part, I had little idea, but as for myself, I suspected it pertained to the feelings Mr. Darcy's embrace had evoked within me. It would not do for me to experience any sort of attraction for the man. I had just voiced a litany of reasons - perfectly valid reasons - why he would be the last man I could ever care for, and yet my heart seemed determined to strike out in a direction all its own, oblivious to my own good sense. I feared that our imposed constant companionship had deluded me into thinking I might care for him and that would not do. It would not do at all. It was far better to maintain our mutual dislike of eac