by Maria Grace
Perhaps a hundred yards later a sliver of light appeared in the distance. They had been so close to the end. If only Lydia had not—
“I hope it not problem. I hunted here this morning.”
“We are honored to have you hunt on our lands. I will introduce you to the local Laird. He will offer you hospitality until the Blue Order comes for you. They have been beside themselves that you have been lost.”
“Most gracious, Miss Erizabet. My thanks.” Shin-dee-a bobbed her head.
“We are saved, Lizzy!” Lydia ran ahead into the blinding sun.
“Pray forgive my sister.”
“Is complicated?” Shin-dee-a snickered.
“I am afraid so.”
Elizabeth and Shin-dee-a paused, squinting at one another as their eyes adjusted. In the sunlight, Shin-dee-a was the color of pure red jade, like a carving in Lady Catherine’s favorite drawing room, down to the streaks of cream and black in her hide. “Pray forgive my staring, but you are astonishingly beautiful, Lady.”
“You never seen one of my kind, have you?” She tossed her head back, and the glowing bobble flew up and over her head, becoming lost in the depths of her red-and-cream-streaked mane.
“I have not had the privilege—”
Dragon thunder roared. Dragon’s fire! It was close by!
“Is that a storm coming, Lizzy? Where are the clouds?” Lydia carefully avoided looking at Shin-dee-a.
“No storm. Those angry dragons.” Shin-dee-a’s brow creased.
Heavens, what an introduction to British dragons this was becoming! “Yes, they are. Pray forgive me. I must deal with this!”
“I was told dragons lived peacefully here.”
“Yes, Lady, they do, but this current situation is—”
“Complex?” Shin-dee-a’s bushy eyebrow lifted.
“Quite so.”
“Is nothing here simple?”
“It is a very unusual circumstance right now.” Elizabeth took Lydia’s hand. “Pray, stay right here whilst I deal with this matter.”
Lydia snatched her hand away. “I will do no such thing! I need to return to the house and tell Papa what has been going on.”
“I assure you, he is entirely, abundantly, and clearly aware of all of this and a great deal more.”
“Papa knows about the creatures, too?” Lydia’s incredulous expression would have been laughable at another time—probably any other time. She slumped against the hillside like a melting jelly.
Shin-dee-a snorted.
“I hate to ask this of you, Lady, but my sister cannot be left unchaperoned right now. Pray might you stay here and keep watch over her?” Another crash of dragon thunder left them all cringing. “I really must manage this situation.”
“Is she as ignorant as she seems? I will keep watch on her and wait for you. Go do what you must. Return soon.” Shin-dee-a laid down and rested her chin upon her forepaws, patience carved into her features.
Hopefully, Lydia would be so intimidated by her chaperone that she would not attempt to go off on her own. Now that she knew about dragons, she could not be left alone. Leaving her in the care of anyone not a member of the Order was technically a breach of law, but the two dragons screaming in the distance were an even-greater problem and one capable of inflicting far greater harm than Lydia, for the moment at least.
Elizabeth curtsied and ran toward the dragon thunder.
∞∞∞
Fitzwilliam signaled Darcy to the left whilst he ran up the rise to the right. Darcy broke into the clearing, not far from the two dragons.
“You have gone too far.” Longbourn lunged and snapped at Netherfield. “I have tolerated you and your trespasses, but taking her is too much.”
Netherfield dodged back, arching his lithe body into impossible shapes. “I have tolerated enough from you. Your ceaseless tempers and whining demands. You told me I would not be bothered, that this place was safe. You lied to me! I demand reparation.”
“I promised you nothing. I owe you nothing. I want you gone!” Longbourn flapped his wings and rose just enough so his feet cleared the ground.
“This territory is mine. I will have it!” Netherfield struck like a snake, but Longbourn back-winged just out of range.
A pale blur tore out of the underbrush and stopped between the dragons, waving a shawl over her head like Talia’s hood. “Both of you! Cease this instant!”
What? No! Darcy pelted toward the dragons, skidding to a stop just beside her. “Merciful heavens! You are safe!” He grabbed Elizabeth’s shoulders and pulled her toward him.
She bore no outward sign of injury though her pallor suggested cold and hunger. She pressed her cheek to his. “There is so much to tell you—”
“Elizabeth!” Longbourn snorted and landed beside her in a ground-shaking thud. “What has he done to you?” He lowered his head to peer at her eye-to-eye.
Netherfield dropped to Elizabeth’s height, belly on the ground. “Nothing! I did not harm her! Tell him!”
Elizabeth touched Longbourn’s snout. “I am well.”
Longbourn stomped. Several rocks shook loose and rolled down the slope toward them. “You stole her away—you stole what is mine!”
She paused as if considering how to respond. “I am here now, returned—so nothing was stolen.”
“He took you unwillingly. That is insult enough.”
“I have a right to protect myself! If you had not come—” Netherfield nosed Darcy, driving him back several steps. “All would have been well. Everything was right until you came, and the egg and all its troubles followed.”
Longbourn lunged at Netherfield, knocking him away from Darcy. Netherfield lashed his tail and swept Longbourn’s feet out from under him. He landed on his back, wings spread. Netherfield rose up on his tail and loomed over Longbourn, fangs bared.
Just how long were that creature’s fangs?
Darcy grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her aside. “We must get away from them. They are beyond listening.”
She hesitated a moment but allowed him to pull her partway up the hill behind the shelter of several large rocks.
Longbourn lashed his tail across Netherfield’s chest. He fell back just long enough for Longbourn to regain his feet. The two circled, growling and hissing, spittle and venom flying. Longbourn leapt at Netherfield, driving him toward the outcropping where Fitzwilliam hid beneath the blue greatcoat. Was it a coincidence, or did Longbourn know Fitzwilliam was there? Just a little closer and Fitzwilliam would be able—
“Ki—yah!”
Darcy covered his ears against the piercing scream as a red blur plummeted from the hillside above, gliding down to land neatly between Longbourn and Netherfield.
They both scrabbled back, gaping at the intruder.
Long and sleek, like a wyrm, but it was not a wyrm. It landed on four legs, then rose up on the hind two, taller than the other dragons. Webbing extended between the front and back legs—that must have allowed her to glide down with such precise control—extending her body enough to shield the two combatants’ views from one another. Her head was like nothing he had ever seen before—except in Aunt Catherine’s collections. Dragon’s blood!
Darcy clutched Elizabeth’s arm. “The envoy? You brought her here?”
He probably did not ask that well, considering the look in her eye. “I did not bring her. She found us in the tunnels. I asked her to keep watch over Lydia whilst I dealt with this matter.”
“Lydia is here, too? And Wickham?”
“Dead.”
The words clumped together and settled as a cold, hard knot in Darcy’s stomach. Of all the ways he thought Wickham might have met his demise, dragons had never been one.
The envoy dropped her forelegs, and the webbing folded. She puffed her body half again as large as she had been, towering over Netherfield and Longbourn. “Both stand down. I command.” Her voice boomed, echoing off the rocky hillsides, piercing his skull, penetrating as few voices ever had.
Longbourn bared his teeth and snarled, unfurling his wings. He expanded his chest and hovered several feet above the ground. “You are in my territory!”
The envoy bared her own formidable fangs and snapped a little too near Longbourn’s throat for comfort. “You challenge?” She spoke slowly, confident and deadly.
Netherfield dropped flat on the ground, paws on top of his head.
Longbourn retreated gradually, folding his wings as he went. Three steps back, he lowered his head partway—above Netherfield’s, but below hers.
“You—” the envoy pointed directly at Fitzwilliam. Her tone changed, not quite as threatening, but without a doubt in charge of the situation. “Come out. Speak for yourself.”
Fitzwilliam stepped forward and threw off the coat, sun glinting from the hilt of the Dragon Slayer.
Elizabeth sucked in a ragged breath, fist to her lips, and edged back.
Fitzwilliam was a fearsome, handsome man, resembling nothing so much as a fairy tale prince confronting a dread beast … beasts. Definitely not the image to present to the envoy on her first encounter with the Blue Order.
Netherfield gasped and reared up to face Fitzwilliam eye-to-eye. “Here to finish the job now?”
“What are you talking about?” Fitzwilliam drew the weighty sword. Sunlight glinted from the polished blade, the reflective qualities part of the weapon’s intended properties. Forged from a unique blue steel, it could be honed to an edge far sharper than any other metal known and held its edge even against dragon hide and bone. Only a handful of men knew of its existence, much less how to forge such a weapon.
“You have already marked me in Calais,” Netherfield turned his scarred neck into the sun. “Or have you already forgotten?”
A jagged line, puckered and covered in drawn white flesh, ran from the bottom edge of Netherfield’s jaw down to his shoulder.
“That was not me.” Fitzwilliam planted his feet and raised the sword.
“Was it not enough I left that place, that I have been no greater threat to man here than I was in France? Are you so bent upon my destruction nothing will satisfy you but my blood?” Netherfield swung a taloned forepaw.
To the dragon-deaf, it would have seemed a fearsome attack. But in truth, it was more a half-hearted show.
Fitzwilliam parried the blow, cleanly slicing off a talon. He could have taken the entire paw. The talon bounced along the rocky ground with a vaguely metallic clank. “I dealt with no dragons in Calais.”
Netherfield wove and struck the air to either side of Fitzwilliam. “You did not slay my mate there in the caverns of our ancestral home? I would know that sword anywhere.”
Fitzwilliam held his ground. “Many have carried this sword. This is the first time it has been placed in my hands.”
Netherfield snapped, far closer this time. Fitzwilliam repelled his attack, sword to fang. He feinted to the left, but the dragon anticipated and drove him back. Fitzwilliam swung and sliced off the tips of Netherfield’s mustache-whiskers. Netherfield skittered back, nearly tangling in his own coils.
“And now it has been sent after me again. What has your Order against me?”
“You have killed—”
“Only in self-defense—or has your precious Order stripped that right from us, too?” Netherfield hissed and dove toward Fitzwilliam.
He dodged behind a rock. Netherfield’s fang took a fearsome gash out of the soft limestone.
“A school of women and little girls attacked you? You call digging under the foundations of the building and causing it to collapse on the children self-defense?”
“Smugglers did that and blamed it upon dragonkind!” Netherfield shook his tooth free of the stone.
“An inquiry—”
“A French inquiry! Men there do not recognize dragons. We were declared guilty and hunted down as soon as the claim was given voice.”
“What of the captives you have taken here?” Fitzwilliam lowered the sword but only slightly.
“He killed Wickham!” Lydia shouted from the hilltop. “He is a murderer!”
“Do not speak what you do not know, Lydia,” Elizabeth shouted through cupped hands. “Wickham threatened him in his lair so Netherfield detained them there to keep Wickham from bringing the regiment upon him. Wickham tried to escape and fell to his death through a thin cave floor. I saw the place myself.”
“What does it matter? I have done everything that could have been expected of me, everything a dragon might do to escape the war, came to territory expressly given me to so that I might live in peace. But I am done.” He lurched forward and dropped his head in front of Fitzwilliam’s feet. “Be done with it. Just make it a quick work.”
Fitzwilliam stepped back, lowering the sword further. “You said this territory was given to you? By whom?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters a very great deal. There are provisions in the Pendragon treaty by which a dragon may surrender his territory to another without bloodshed. Tell me precisely who it was who gave you this territory and how it was accomplished. It is possible you may have a rightful claim on these lands. If you do, the Order is bound to honor it.”
“You are playing with me. Do you find honor in prolonging my death?” Was it possible for a dragon to sound melodramatic?
“I find honor in obeying the letter and the spirit of the law as it has been given us. You have not shed blood—” Fitzwilliam sheathed his sword and hunkered down beside Netherfield, voice turning very soft.
“Forgive, Erizabet.” The envoy bowed her head and shoulders toward them. “Sometime a larger dragon must settle matters.”
“Dragon diplomacy at its finest.” Darcy bowed to the envoy.
Elizabeth turned to him, her expression very difficult to read. “May I introduce … my betrothed and partner in Keeping Pemberley. This is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Shin-dee-a of Eastern Dragon Federation.” She bobbed her head.
“The honor is mine … Lady.” He glanced at Elizabeth, and she half-shrugged, half-nodded, obviously as unsure of the title as he. “I fear this might not be the best introduction to the Blue Order and who we are.”
“Not at all.” She waved a forepaw. “All most interesting. How better to understand you than in conflict time?” Shin-dee-a twitched her tufted ears, mostly hidden by her mane. Her lips rose at the corners as though enjoying some secret joke.
“Gracious!” Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth. “Look.”
Fitzwilliam sat, tailor-style, beside Netherfield’s head, one hand on his shaggy mane. Netherfield spoke softly while Fitzwilliam listened, nodding. He looked up and beckoned Darcy over.
Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand—she accepted his hand and held it! His throat tightened till he almost could not breathe—and they rushed to Fitzwilliam.
“I have heard his story and am convinced he has a legitimate case to bring to the Order. Apparently after the last Keeper died, the old Netherfield emigrated to France in hopes of fostering a dragon enlightenment of sorts. He relinquished his Keep to this lindwurm who took the name in keeping with British tradition. Of course, the old dragon never informed him of the proper manner to claim the territory, leading to the current misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding? Did I hear you correctly?” Darcy blinked hard and stared at Fitzwilliam. Was this the same man who had just days ago refused to entertain the idea of a diplomatic solution?
“Yes, you did. Darcy, and I do realize I am never going to hear the end of it. But I am a big enough man to admit, Miss Elizabeth, you were correct—”
She dragged her sleeve over her eyes. “I am relieved, for all of us, but I am hardly inclined to declare this a personal victory. Pray allow me a few moments to speak with Longbourn. Then, I think it is time for all of us to return home and send a great deal of news to the Order.” She squeezed Darcy’s hand and waved Longbourn closer.
One eye on Shin-dee-a, Longbourn approached, head held low.
Longbourn’s face wrinkled as though he were thinking hard. “You may stay with me. Come.”
That was probably as friendly as major dragons were ever going to be about sharing their territory with another. Shin-dee-a followed him off into the woods.
“Pray Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth called over her shoulder. “My sister requires a chaperone—at all times now. Would you take her to the house with you?”
“I shall care for her as though she were my own.” Fitzwilliam saluted, but his eyes were entirely serious. “Miss Lydia, you will come to the house with us.”
“With that creature? I will not—”
“I said you will come.”
Lydia jumped back several steps. Most people did the first time they heard Fitzwilliam’s command tone. She shrank and ducked her head. “Yes, sir.”
“Very nice,” Netherfield murmured, doubtless meant to be heard by Fitzwilliam alone. “I should like you to teach me that.”
“I will consider it.” He escorted Lydia and Netherfield away.
Darcy reached for his watch fob. Walker should be alerted. He could not be far off.
Elizabeth stayed his hand. “We should talk without an audience.” She nodded toward the woods.
Chapter 11
The rocky hillside echoed too much, not to mention Netherfield had taken her from there. Neither was conducive to the words that needed to be spoken. Elizabeth needed someplace quiet and secure.
Darcy took her hand, his grip warm and strong. Hopefully, that was a good sign, but maybe he was being a gentleman, assisting a lady in need. They walked several minutes into the woods where the hardwoods cast deep shadows and grew too close together for large dragons to pass.