by Jann Rowland
Though Elizabeth wanted to protest—she wanted to escape this place just as much as he did—she saw the sense in his suggestion and gave a nod. “I will do so.”
The man seemed almost relieved. “I shall return quickly.”
He went to the door and slowly opened it. After standing there for a moment and glancing around, he cautiously stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
While Elizabeth waited for the prince’s return, she reflected on how relieved she was that he had a sword now instead of a chair leg to protect him. As a prince, he was likely an accomplished swordsman. At least, she hoped that was the case.
The minutes ticked by. Elizabeth stood near the door, attempting to listen to what was happening outside. She dared not look out the window for fear of inadvertently revealing to any passing bandits her unbound state. Yet as more time passed, Elizabeth grew more and more fearful. Should she have gone outside with the prince to provide him with support? What if something had happened to him?
As panic set in, she began to look around frantically for a weapon, wishing she had grabbed her chair leg and nearly returning to that confined room to retrieve it. But then the door started to open, and with a gasp, she flattened herself against the wall of the hunting lodge.
“Lady Elizabeth?” called a low voice.
When she heard the prince’s familiar tones, she exhaled in relief. “Your Royal Highness, you are well!”
“I might have fared worse had one of the men not been somewhat intoxicated,” said he as he stepped forward, his sword in hand but not extended. “As it is, I am only slightly worse for the wear, madam. I have now . . . disposed . . . of all three guards patrolling outside.”
“Perhaps we have taken care of the bulk of the band, then,” said Elizabeth hopefully.
The prince gave a grim nod and then suddenly stooped, reaching out with his free hand. Moments later, he came back up holding a second sword. He held the new sword by the blade, extending it so she could take the handle. “Do you know how to use one of these?”
“It is the dull end that I point at my enemies, is it not?” asked Elizabeth facetiously. At his expression, she laughed and said, “It does not truly signify, does it? Having a weapon I am ill-equipped to wield is far better than not having one at all.”
“Only if you are certain you shall not take one of your own limbs off with it,” said the prince darkly.
“I shall be fine, Mr. Lucas. Now, let us leave before our dear companions awaken.”
He glanced down at the three men and frowned. “Please step outside and keep watch, Lady Elizabeth. I shall be out in a minute.”
Elizabeth, who suspected he meant to further incapacitate the men in some fashion, grimaced and hurried outside, the sword in hand. She glanced around at the trees pressing in on the hunting lodge, and for once, she did not feel heartened by the sight of nature.
Grimacing to herself, she turned her attention instead to her sword, reflecting on how her disguise would be utterly useless if she were seen carrying such a weapon. However, she might be able to hide it in the folds of her dress . . . .
The door to the hunting lodge opened, and His Royal Highness stepped out. “I have tied the men up,” said he at her questioning look. “There was not enough rope to secure them completely, but I think it should delay them. Are you ready to flee now, Mrs. Lucas?”
Elizabeth gave him a tentative smile. “I am indeed.”
“There are a few horses tied up in the back. I suspect they hid some of the horses elsewhere to attract less attention.”
“How fitting that our journey should end and begin with such wretched beasts.”
“Indeed,” said the prince as he led her around to the back. There were three unfamiliar horses and a cart, and Elizabeth wondered whether she had actually been brought to the lodge in such an undignified transport. The thought merely focused more of her ire on the bandits.
The prince looked from her to one of the horses and said: “I shall assist you onto your horse, madam, if you will permit me.” He hesitated for a moment. “You shall . . . have to ride astride. I do not believe there will be a sidesaddle nearby for your use.”
“Perhaps it will shock you to hear it, sir, but this would not be the first time I have been astride a horse.”
There was indeed a look of surprise on his face, but he made no comment, instead moving forward to stand beside her and the horse. He looked at her somewhat awkwardly and then said: “I shall put my hands on your hips to raise you onto your mount. Is that acceptable, Lady Elizabeth?”
“It is indeed,” said Elizabeth, who hoped the warmth of her cheeks did not reveal itself through a visible redness.
He slowly reached toward her, and she held back a gasp when his hands finally rested upon her hips, curling slightly around her waist as if they had been meant to fit there. With agonizing slowness, he lifted her and set her sideways on the saddle. His hands soon left her, and she marveled at herself for regretting the fact that his touch was so fleeting.
As he turned away, she quickly moved her right leg to the horse’s opposite side, lifting her skirts up her legs as a result. Elizabeth could not help but grimace. Her mother would no doubt have required her smelling salts immediately had she seen her daughter in such a scandalous position. Of course, it was also entirely possible that Mrs. Bennet might have thought of it as a perfect opportunity to capture a prince.
Elizabeth placed her sword, which she had been holding onto gingerly as he lifted her, in her lap, and she arranged her skirts. The sword was far from hidden, but perhaps it would fool someone from a distance. She had no intention of leaving the weapon behind.
The prince mounted his own horse and looked at her. “I apologize for your forced involvement in this, madam.”
“It has been some time since I have had an adventure, sir,” said she lightly. “I should be thanking you.”
He shook his head, but she thought there was a slight smile on his face. “There is certainly no need for that. I fear we are filling both of our annual quotas for adventure today.”
“Let us hope that our next adventure does not involve horses, for I have seen quite enough of the dreadful creatures today to last me an entire lifetime.”
They rode away at a walk down the nearby forest path, which was overgrown in a way that seemed to indicate it had not been used much for some time. As they had been unconscious for the journey to the decrepit hunting lodge, they were unfamiliar with the territory in which they found themselves, so they chose to follow the path to the north in hopes that it would bring them to an estate or a town. The path appeared to be slightly more worn in this direction, which Elizabeth hoped served as an indication that it was the path the bandits preferred to use.
But they had not made it far at all before, to their great surprise, they turned at a bend in the path and came across Sir Wickham himself!
The man was trotting toward them, a slight grin on his mouth as he stared down at his horse, but when he looked up and saw them, his expression turned to one of surprise. “Your Royal Highness!” cried he. “Lady Elizabeth!”
So much for attempting to disguise the prince, thought Elizabeth to herself wryly, though she was aware that Sir Wickham knew His Royal Highness better than most. Of course, even in worn clothes, there was no mistaking the nobility of the prince’s mien. It seemed the man was incapable of looking anything but royal.
“Why are you here, Wickham?” asked the prince tightly as Sir Wickham brought his horse closer.
“Everyone is out looking for you,” said the knight, tilting his head as he examined them. “It is very fortunate that I found you first.”
Sir Wickham brought his horse up so close to Elizabeth that it made her uncomfortable, and she twisted her body to look at him beside her while saying stiffly: “I am surprised to find you alone. It does not appear to me as if you were searching for us very diligently.”
The man gave a brittle smile. “That is because I was not.”
And then he leaped onto Elizabeth’s horse behind her and put a knife up to her throat.
All Elizabeth could do was freeze in utter shock at this unexpected turn of events. The prince was staring at her and her captor with a look akin to horror on his face.
“Sir W-Wickham?” stammered Elizabeth at last. “What are you doing?”
He dug the knife into her neck beneath her chin slightly, but she refused to make even a whimper. To her relief, the knife was somewhat dulled, as if it had not been cared for. She wondered with sudden venom whether Sir Wickham was so careless with everything in his life.
“I had thought to finally come here to witness the culmination of my plans and ensure my men were not lying to me. Imagine my surprise to find my prey attempting to sneak out from under my very nose.”
“What do you want with us?” gritted Elizabeth, resisting the urge to squirm. The man had placed one arm around her waist and was pressing her tightly against his chest. She slowly reached out and put her fingers on the sword still resting in her lap. Her heart pounded in her throat as she attempted to come up with a strategy that did not end with her death.
“A fortune and a bride,” said Sir Wickham. Though Elizabeth could not see his face, she could practically hear the smug smile in his voice. “A prince will fetch a fine ransom if the details involving his capture are executed in the proper fashion.” He leaned his head down behind her and whispered in her ear. “And once I am a wealthy man, I would love a fetching bride. Of course, it will be necessary to leave England, but with a chest full of gold, the possibilities will be endless!”
“Unhand her at once, Wickham!” barked the prince, finding his voice at last. “She does not deserve to be sullied by the likes of you!”
Sir Wickham paused for a moment, and Elizabeth received the impression that he was studying His Royal Highness—for it was what she was doing herself! The man’s look of concern and fear was mixed with something else that Elizabeth could not understand, and if it were not for the dire nature of her present situation, she might have been attempting to determine what it meant. As it was, she brought her mind once more back to her current situation and considered the fact that the knight would not be able to do any damage to her with his sword at its current angle.
“Are you offended that I mean to take your bride, Darcy?” asked Sir Wickham, his voice dripping with amusement.
“Do not call me that,” growled the prince. “Only my friends call me that, and it has been a long time since I have considered you to be anything approaching the term!”
“Stop your blustering, Your Royal Highness,” said the knight dismissively. “It does not impress me.
“Now, unless you want me to slice this pretty young maiden’s neck open, I suggest you return with me to your prison. I should have known better than to trust someone else to keep you locked in your cage.”
That was when Elizabeth struck. She brought her left hand up under her chin and slipped her fingers beneath the knife at her neck. She grabbed the blade in her palms, and as it bit into her flesh, she pushed it away. Then she rammed her head backwards into Sir Wickham’s face.
There was a satisfying crunch and a yelp from behind her. Sir Wickham’s grip on her loosened, and she flung herself to the ground, favoring her injured hand. She prayed the horse would not trample her.
The prince brought his mount around as Sir Wickham let loose a string of oaths. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet.
The prince sprung off his horse and knocked the scoundrel to the ground. They rolled around in the dirt and leaves, pummeling each other.
Elizabeth bit her lip and clung to her sword. She wanted to assist, but she feared she might harm the prince.
And then, suddenly, Sir Wickham was on top, his hands surrounding the prince’s neck as he attempted to choke him. Elizabeth gasped and began to move closer, her hand trembling as she held out the sword.
“Perhaps I may not get a prince’s ransom out of you after all,” sneered Sir Wickham, “but at least I shall get some use out of the girl once or twice.”
The prince let out an unholy bellow and heaved forward, knocking Sir Wickham to the ground. Several blows to the temple, and then it was all over.
There was a great moment of silence as everything that had happened seemed to hang in the air. At last, Elizabeth began creeping forward. “Is he . . . ?”
“He is still alive,” said the prince in disgust, “though that shall not be for long due to his actions today. But I refuse to dirty my own hands by being the one to kill him.”
Elizabeth studied the man standing before her for a moment. His chest was heaving with his exertions, and he appeared more discomposed than she had ever seen him. Yet she could not deny that there was something appealing about the wildness to his features, the brief withdrawal from cold propriety. His “borrowed” hat had tumbled off his head in his fight with the fallen knight, and his dark hair was in slight disarray. His gaze moved to rest on her face, and as she locked eyes with him, she felt her breath catch in her throat.
She glanced down at the hand she had injured and grimaced when she saw the crimson lines drawn by Sir Wickham’s knife.
“Lady Elizabeth,” said the prince softly, “you are injured.”
She began to protest, but he stepped forward and took her injured hand in his. She gasped and flinched slightly, and he caressed her palm around her wounds as he studied the marks left by the knife blade. Despite the pain radiating from her palm, there was something almost soothing about his movements.
“May I?”
Confused, she looked up at him, hoping her cheeks were not as red as they felt, and then she realized he was tugging slightly at the tip of her glove and requesting permission to remove it. Flushing even more, Elizabeth gave a nod, not trusting herself to speak.
He removed her glove with great care, attempting not to exacerbate her wounds. Then he dabbed gently with the ruined glove, apologizing when he heard her hiss. “I do not wish to hurt you,” said he, sounding almost embarrassed.
“It is quite all right,” said she, clearing her throat.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. She could tell immediately it had not belonged to the ruffian whose clothes he had borrowed, as it was far too fine for that—and clean, besides. She made to protest as he began to wrap it around her hand in an attempt to stanch the bleeding.
“It is only a handkerchief, Lady Elizabeth,” said he, sounding amused. “You need not worry about it becoming dirty.”
“It is a royal handkerchief,” said Elizabeth lightly, “and my hand shall not know what to do when it is covered by such a thing.”
Ignoring her protests, he completed his makeshift bandage. “I do not like to see you hurt, Lady Elizabeth,” murmured he when he was done. For some reason, he was not letting go of her hand. “I wish you had not been so reckless.”
Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow, uncertain why she was not removing her hand from his grip. “My recklessness saved us.”
He laughed, and she could not help laughing with him. “That it did,” agreed he. “But nevertheless, my heart was in my throat when you grabbed that knife.”
“Your heart?” said Elizabeth archly. “I suggest it was actually a different organ which so rudely leaped into your throat. Perhaps your lung, sir.”
“No,” said he, releasing her hand to bring his fingers to her face, “I spoke quite aptly when I said it was my heart.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but his dark eyes were staring at her so intently she could not remember what she had meant to say.
“Lady Elizabeth,” breathed he as he trailed his fingers along the curve of her jaw.
“Your Highness . . .”
He leaned forward slightly and then stopped, hesitant, unsure.
Earlier that day, she would have withdrawn from him hastily and heatedly. But now, she felt almost as if she were acquainted with the man inside and out. And she wanted desperately to live for the moment
.
So she raised her chin and lifted her face up to him. As she began to close her eyes, she saw the merest hint of a smile on his face before he pressed his lips to hers.
Terms like “butterfly’s wings” and “baby’s breath” had no place to describe what they shared. They were not two meek and unsure individuals stealing a desperate kiss out of sight behind a column at a crowded assembly. Rather, they were two strong and passionate young people whose hearts had collided in an utterly unexpected way, whose souls—though initially at odds with one another—had somehow intertwined around each other without any conscious permission being given. When the prince brought his arms around Elizabeth and pressed her to him, she knotted her fingers in his shirt and kissed him more fiercely. They had faced the grim countenance of Death this day and triumphed over him. This was their moment of strength, where they stood against all obstacles before them. This was their moment of weakness, where they gave into the carnal temptations of the world with utter abandon.
When at last they tore away from each other, breathing heavily and gazing upon each other in unadulterated wonder, the prince spoke in what was almost a gasp: “I wish to court you, Lady Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wish to ask your father for permission to court you. And then one day, if you are willing, I wish to ask him to give you to me in marriage.”
“Your—Your R-Royal Highness,” sputtered Elizabeth, “you cannot be thinking clearly. My father may be a duke, but he is the laughingstock of the peerage. Your parents would never—”
“My parents only wish me to be happy,” interrupted the prince. “And I know you could make me happy, Lady Elizabeth.”
“The events of today—”
“—have only strengthened what I feel for you. I fell in love with you in London, Lady Elizabeth, and it has been torture these past months to wonder whether you even knew I existed.”
“Sir, I fear you are not thinking clearly.”
“On the contrary, for the first time in months, I feel as if the path ahead of me is clear. I want you in my life, and I cannot bear the thought of being without you. There is no else whom I would rather be with more. Please say you will let me court you.”
