Page 160 of A Debt Inherited

She stumbled on a root, caught herself on her palms, and ran on. She flinched as a stone bit her foot. Ahead, she caught the faint line of a path and veered towards it.

A branch snapped behind her—then another. A voice rose from the edge of the wood, light and lilting.

“E-liz-a-beth.”

Wickham.

“You cannot have gone far.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth and flattened herself behind an oak.

The mist had begun to pale.

Boots pounded nearer, crushing bracken and breaking twigs.

She darted from the tree and plunged into a hollow where water ran shallow over stone. Her feet slipped and splashed; she caught at a bramble to steady herself. Thorns scored her palm.

“No!”

She stopped.

“No, damn you—!”

Mr Darcy?

Silence followed. She turned back.

He had given her this chance. She could not forsake him.

A shadow broke from the mist ahead. She slowed, straining to see. Another shape moved to her right.

She turned—and struck hard against a man’s chest.

“Steady now.”

She hit out at him—arm, chest, face—but he caught her wrists and turned her hard, pinning her back against his chest. “Unhand me!”

She stamped on his boot.

“Let me go—”

“Miss Bennet. I come with the colonel.”

Mr Darcy’s cousin? Thank God. She ceased struggling. “Where is he?”

“At the cottage.” He released her wrists but kept one hand beneath her arm.

She caught at his sleeve.

“Wait,” she whispered urgently. “Mr Darcy is—”

“The colonel knows,” the soldier said. “Can you stand?”

She tried. Her legs gave beneath her.

He caught her before she fell, then lifted her clean from the ground, one arm beneath her knees and the other about her shoulders. The wool of his coat brushed her cheek; she caught the scent of horse and sweat.

“Sergeant Villiers, miss,” he said quietly. “I’ll take you to your father.”