Page 65 of Ashes and Understanding
Smithson.
Elizabeth screamed.
She stumbled away, her hands raised instinctively in defense—but he did not lunge. He did not speak. He just stood there for a moment, swaying where he stood… then collapsed forward onto the ground.
His hands, slick with blood, pressed weakly against his stomach. He tried to speak, but it came out as a choked, rattling gasp. “H-help me…”
Elizabeth stood frozen, breath ragged and chest heaving, every instinct screaming at her to run.
But if I leave him, he will die. And what sort of person would that make me?
Still trembling, she forced herself forward. “Do not move,” she whispered, falling to her knees beside him. “Do not try to move, just—just let me see.”
Blood oozed between his fingers. His shirt was torn open at the waist, and beneath it, the wound was deep—too deep.
“Oh Lord,” she whispered. “Oh Lord, oh Lord…”
She tore frantically at the buttons of her pelisse, scarcely noticing the blood that had transferred from Smithson to herselfwhen they ran into one another. She yanked up her skirt and reached for the layers beneath. Her fingers found the hem of her petticoat, and she ripped it free with a violence that surprised her.
She pressed the wadded fabric hard against the wound, her fingers becoming slick as the blood oozed around the makeshift bandage. Smithson groaned, his whole-body shuddering.
“Stay with me,” she begged. “Please, stay with me!”
His hand grasped weakly at hers. “Tell… raven…” he gasped. “Tell… the raven… it was the crow…”
“What?” she said, leaning in. “What are you talking about? What does that mean?”
But his eyes rolled back in his head.
“NO!” Elizabeth shouted, pressing harder against the wound. “You mustn’t—do you hear me? You must stay awake!”
His body sagged.
She looked around wildly. There was no one. Not a soul in sight. Her own breathing was ragged, almost loud enough to drown out the growing chorus of birdsong in the trees.
Then she did the only thing she could.
She screamed.
“HELP!” her voice cracked. “HELP! PLEASE—SOMEONE, HELP!”
She screamed again, and again, until her throat ached with the effort, until her voice echoed through the bare woods like a cry in a nightmare.
And then she listened, breath heaving, heart racing, hands soaked in blood.
Waiting for an answer.
Waiting for help.
∞∞∞
Darcy had not realized how much he needed the ride until they were well into it.
The brisk air stung his cheeks, the late autumn sun casting long shadows over the gently sloping fields. He let his horse stretch into a steady canter, the rhythmic pounding of hooves under him stirring something long dormant in his chest. His lungs burned—but not with pain. It was a clean ache, one of exertion, not desperation.
Remarkable,he thought.The herbs trulyarehelping. Since his own supply had arrived from London, he had been taking them more regularly—though not as religiously as Elizabeth would likely have prescribed.
Elizabeth.
