She leapt over a muddy inlet and flew into bramble, where the trees grew thicker. She ran faster, nimbly weaving between them, clambering over the uneven ground without faltering—she knew every undulation.
There was a path that went the long way around—if her other pursuer had taken it, she would have to hurry. He would not be able to ride his horse the entire way, but he could ride far enough and then intercept her on foot. She was heading for the stream—it was a large, deep one, a tributary to the river—and planned to throw herself in, hoping that swimming with the current would carry her away faster than they could follow along the untamed blackberry bushes along the bank. It emptied into a large but shallow pool behind Longbourn. She could climb out there. It was not a good plan, but she had no time to devise another. Her dress would be ruined, and the water would be very cold, but better to suffer an illness than acquiesce to anything these men intended to inflict upon her.
Loud footsteps sounded behind her and she ran faster, holding one end of her skirt in a clenched fist to prevent it from catching on anything. She ducked under a fallen tree and reached an opening. From here she would need to traverse twenty feet of clearing to the bank, where the brush would again offer some safety. There was no other way.
She plunged ahead.
That brief vacillation was her undoing. The blue-eyed man burst through the trees and into the clearing from her right side, not five feet in front of her. “Come now, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, panting, though he wore a chilling little smirk. “Let us not waste any more time.”
Elizabeth darted to his left, hoping it was his weaker side, but he simply spun and caught her around the waist as she passed. She kicked and arched her back and tried to swing her arms, but he quickly pinned them to her sides. She screamed with everything she had, only to find herself flat on her back with the man sitting on her stomach and the end of a flask shoved in her mouth.
“There now, Miss Elizabeth,” said the cool, quiet voice of the man with the brown eyes who had joined his friend. She spluttered, but he pinched her nose and shoved her jaw up—she had no choice but to swallow if she wanted to breathe. “Take your medicine, my girl.”
Elizabeth tasted something bitter in the wine and wrenched her face to the side. Some of the drink spilled down her face and neck. She gasped, trying to pull in more air while also trying to wriggle free. She drew a deep breath to scream again.
One gloved hand struck her, hard, across the cheek. She struggled more desperately and received another, harder blow. She lay still, dazed, looking up into a pair of watery blue eyes. He had a small brown freckle exactly at the outside corner of his right eye. More of the wine was forced down her throat, and she was unable to protest.
“Just a little something to help you sleep,” the man said comfortingly, and she was made to drink again. She blinked up at him, not in the least tired. The left side of her head felt as though a hot poker was being held against her scalp, and she fought not to cry out.
The brown-eyed man stepped out of her vision and reappeared with a rope. “This meeting truly could not have been more fortunate,” he told the man with the blue eyes who was holding her down. “The house will be late rising, but the Darcy carriage was being prepared to depart. If we hurry, we should be able to place her in the boot.”
“They will discover her,” said the man straddling her. She squirmed, and he leaned one hand on her shoulder, pinning her to the ground.
The brown-eyed man shook his head. “Not until they arrive in London, which is exactly what we want.” He kneeled, taking Elizabeth’s hands and binding them before moving to her ankles. He paused, pulled his hands away. “Easier if she can walk. Get up.” He yanked her up by the rope binding her hands. She broke away to run but was easily caught.
The blue-eyed man tossed her over his shoulder, one arm tight around the back of her knees. Elizabeth bent her arms and swung at his head with her elbow. He grunted and bent over as she flung herself away from him, but he pushed her a little as she fell, and she hit the ground hard. She tried to catch her breath as the man swore. Two brown eyes stared down at her impassively.
“Are you finished?” he asked. His voice was very deep. “You will only hurt yourself more, and I would be happy to bind your feet as well.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She was beginning to feel a little dizzy. She could not say whether that was from the repeated blows or what they had forced her to drink.
Desperate now, she willed herself to make one more attempt to fight—she had seen her father force a servant to purge himself when he had taken too much . . . something. Her hands were bound before her and despite the pain and the filth on her hands, she jammed her fingers to the back of her throat. She gagged, and some of the wine came back out. Her head swam.
“None of that, now,” the darker man admonished her. There was a third blow and Elizabeth’s body no longer obeyed her.
Cold morning air brushed her cheek before she was on her stomach again. She smelled leather and horse, felt the agony of hanging upside down, the blood pulsing in her injured face. A hand on her back held her steady as they moved, but she felt the cadence of the horse lifting her up a little and then dropping her back down, making it difficult to breathe.
In no time, the leather smell disappeared, and she was looking up at a blue, cloudless sky.
“He has left already,” one man said.
“It is all right,” said the other. “We can follow his path and leave her along it. It will serve the same purpose.”
“But they will not be together,” his partner replied.
“We have a way around that,” was the response.
Elizabeth tried to say something, to call for help, but a rag was stuffed in her mouth. “Not a word,” she was warned. She could not be certain which of the men had said it before she was roughly tossed into a carriage and the man with brown eyes climbed in after. The wooden floor was rough beneath her cheek. Elizabeth turned her back to him so that she was facing the bench. She pulled out the gag and began working the ropes that bound her hands. A moment later, they were out on the road and picking up speed.
They were tossed up and down as the carriage hit holes and swung from one side of the road to the other. Somewhere in the fog of her thoughts, Elizabeth knew they were traveling too fast. Even her traveling companion had taken hold of the leather strap above him and was hanging on for dear life. She could not tell how long they had been driving, but soon thought she heard the rush of the river. She was being tossed about, but she focused on her bonds. At last, the rope around her wrists loosened.
There was laughter from above her. “You will never untie those before you sleep,” the man informed her. “But by all means, carry on.”
Why was he so unconcerned about her working her way free? Where were they taking her?
Taking me.
A bolt of fear briefly cleared her mind.