Page 159 of A Debt Inherited

Wickham entered, an old grain sack in hand. He hauled Darcy upright by the front of his coat and forced him onto a stool.

Darcy’s knees failed before pride could forbid it. Pain tore across his side; he locked his teeth until it passed.

The rough cloth came down over Darcy’s head; dust and stale grain caught in his throat.

“That should remind you who holds the upper hand, your Highness.”

Something heavy scraped across the floorboards. “You understand the value of time, Mr Darcy,” Kerr said. “And yet you squander it.”

“You will write the letter again,” Wickham said. “Proper authority. Whatever damned words the bank requires.”

Darcy turned his face towards him beneath the sack but gave no answer.

“Perhaps he finds silence noble,” Wickham said. “He always did mistake arrogance for dignity.”

Darcy kept his counsel—not from pride, but from calculation. Speech cost breath. Breath stirred his ribs. His silence had become the only economy left to him.

“Very well,” Kerr said. “If pain cannot persuade him, perhaps another inducement will.”

The sound of boots passed behind him. A door opened.

“Miss Bennet,” Kerr said, his tone suddenly bright. “Your champion grows less talkative by the hour. Perhaps you will draw from him what we cannot.”

Darcy strained once more against the bindings, but they held. Pain leapt from wrist to shoulder.

“Look at him, Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham said. “Your gallant reduced to silence.”

Darcy turned towards the voice. “Do not—”

“Miss Bennet,” Kerr said, interrupting. “Do you see? Even now, he would command you.”

“Release him.” Her voice came through the cloth, clear and unwavering.

“In time,” Wickham said lightly. “When he has said what must be said.”

Darcy drew one long breath. His ribs resisted it. He took the pain, held it, and made his voice steady.

“Enough. I yield. Release Miss Bennet, and I will tell you what the bank requires.”

“There, Wickham. Every man bends, if one knows the hinge.”

“Another letter will not suffice,” Darcy said. “There is an instruction the banker must receive.”

Kerr’s boots crossed the boards. Wickham came with him; Darcy heard the leather creak at his right shoulder.

“Closer,” Darcy said.

Cloth brushed his thigh.

Darcy set his feet beneath him and drove upward.

“Run!” he shouted, hurling his bound weight into the two men.

* * *

Elizabeth gathered her skirts and ran.

She flew through the open door, rounded the rear of the cottage, and plunged among the trees. The ground was uneven and slick. Branches tore at her sleeves. The low mist blurred the path. Behind her, a man shouted.