Darcy glanced quickly to Elizabeth, fear for her and rage at the prospect stiffening his body. Elizabeth shook her head, and he blinked his relieved acknowledgment. He grabbed Miguel by the collar and lifted him from his feet, then threw him against the wall again. His head made a satisfying crack against the paneling.
Darcy was reaching to lift him once more, since he still appeared conscious, when his cousin dashed into the room. He looked first to Amália, who was slowly raising herself, trembling and gasping in delayed panic. Elizabeth was already at her side and wrapping her in a blanket, cradling her head against her own chest.
Richard started toward her, but Elizabeth shook her head and gestured toward the other men. The agony of denial flashed in his eyes, but he relented and turned. “Darcy!” Richard bellowed and caught at his cousin’s arm. “Leave him for me.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes.
“I will not kill him,” Richard promised in a low growl, “but he will wish I had. See to Mr Gardiner, for he is in a bad way.”
“Very well.” Darcy dropped Miguel. He returned to the ladies and knelt at the floor before them. “Are you unhurt?” he asked in a trembling, gentle voice.
Amália tried to respond, her head bobbing helpless gasps as she hid her face from him. Elizabeth pulled her closer, her eyes meeting those she loved so well with as much reassurance as she could convey. “We can walk, William, but my aunt!”
He bent immediately to Mrs Gardiner, who was beginning to moan. “Come, Madam,” he coaxed, “let us go below.” He gathered her in his arms and moved toward the door.
Elizabeth tried to urge Amália to follow, but the other woman’s eyes were fixed on Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had her husband by the lapels and was in the process of thrashing him senseless. He was alternately swearing and promising eternal damnation upon the other, but he looked back at them when they did not follow Darcy.
“Amália, go!” he commanded.
She stirred then. Weakly, she pulled her head from Elizabeth’s shoulder and struggled to the floor. Richard had halted his punishment of her attacker to see her safely away, and Miguel summoned his nerve. He cursed and threatened her in Portuguese, and whatever he said must have been truly vile, for it caused her knees to weaken.
“Not my father!” she whispered. “No, Miguel!”
“Even if your lover should kill me,” he warned, “my father will avenge me!”
“Amália,” Richard begged urgently, “do not listen. You must go now!”
“I have already killed once this night,” Miguel smiled through bloody lips. “I would not have hesitated to do so again, and nor would he.”
Elizabeth could not help a devastated shriek.Uncle Gardiner!She clapped a hand over her mouth and tears suddenly blinded her.
“Miss Bennet!” the colonel shouted.
Understanding, she and Amália clung to one another and made two steps toward the door.
“What of Ruy?” Miguel hissed. “My father will have him ordered to charge the canon! How many times must a man be shot with one of those balls before he dies?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam silenced the taunts with a dreadful blow, then threw the limp man on the ground. Amália, already more than sufficiently terrorised by her husband and fearful for her brother’s fate, staggered to her knees. Elizabeth tugged helplessly at her hands, but to no avail. It was the colonel who lifted her, drawing her into tender arms and murmuring words of consolation and encouragement.
Elizabeth gave way, taking a step back. The colonel could do what she could not for the poor woman. She turned to flee for the door, thinking only of her aunt and uncle, when her nightdress snagged on something.
She stumbled and fell, then was dragged back by her ankles. Kicking and clawing, she cried out for help, but was silenced when Miguel’s body crushed her. “If Fitzwilliam takes my wife,” he growled, “I shall have Darcy’s whore!”
Elizabeth wriggled one hand free, long enough to jab for his eye, but he caught her wrists and hoisted her roughly to her feet. He locked her arms up behind her back, wrenching them until she cried out in pain.William!The frantic plea shot through her mind. She could see his face, the fury at any who would do her harm. He was coming… but it was the colonel who now stood before them, pistol drawn and aimed at Miguel’s head.
“I will not miss, Vasconcelos!” he thundered. “There is no way from this room but through me. Release her!”
Elizabeth’s elbows were jerked backward, and she had no option but to comply. He dragged her, but she pushed back into him unexpectedly and tried to throw off his balance, at least enough to relieve his grip on her wrists. Unfortunately, he saw what she was about in time to prevent her. By way of discouraging further attempts, he twisted her and pinned both of her hands between her shoulders, pushing her body forward in a helpless posture.
“One escape, Fitzwilliam?” he taunted. Elizabeth cringed at the sound of shattering glass behind her. “There is always more than one escape. A military man should know as much.”
“Vasconcelos, let her go!”
Elizabeth felt herself jerked back to an upright posture, felt the hated man’s hot breath on her neck as he lowered his head behind hers… and felt herself take three reluctant steps backward.
“Which shall it be, Fitzwilliam? My own woman, or Darcy’s?Shewill never be yours, no matter how nobly you save her! Give me my wife, or watch this one fall.Which shall it be?” Miguel’s voice rose to a shrill, mad pitch.
“Elizabeth!” Amália screamed. “Miguel, não!”
