Lizzy continued to pummel Victor, the man seriously hurting from two broken ribs, a split lip, broken nose, and numerous bruises. Darcy glanced at his raging wife with a mixture of awe and fright, striding briskly to retrieve Victor's gun off the ground and rushing toward the leader who was already rising.

So far the entire spectacle had consumed barely a minute.

Once again, Darcy leveled his newly acquired pistol at the leader, who was on his knees with blood soaking the left side of his body but right arm rising with his other pistol steady as a rock. Darcy hesitated nary a millisecond, cleanly dispatching the man with a perfect blast to the heart. Bending to ensure the man was no longer a threat, Darcy claimed the last functioning gun and swung about to assist his wife, the blood rage still coursing through his body.

Mr. Anders, in the meantime, was torn between aiding Phillips or helping Mrs. Darcy, who was clearly at risk of harming herself in her frenzy. As he had no time to reload, his pistol was useless except—enlightenment dawned on him—as a blunt object. Deciding that Mrs. Darcy was well enough for the moment, he turned toward Phillips just as Lou's gun discharged.

The shot was random and entered Phillips's left thigh. He screamed, hands instinctively clutching at the area that was promptly slick with gushing blood as he fell to the ground. Mr. Anders swiftly raised the pistol and bashed the wooden grip forcefully onto the top of Lou's head, the man slowly sagging like a sack of grain.

Darcy rushed toward his wife, the next moments eerily dragging as if time slowed. Every second was as a minute and the clarity of the scene between Lizzy and Victor was bizarrely crisp and all-inclusive.

A frantic and agonized Victor finally managed to capture one of her flashing ankles. He wrenched harshly with a grunt of satisfaction. Lizzy was unbalanced, legs flying up as she landed on her bottom with a sharp exhale and crunch of her teeth. The impact onto the rocky ground was hard on her tailbone and felt through the stretched muscles of her lower abdomen, Lizzy clutching her belly with a groan. Victor, blood streaming from nose and lip, was no longer smirking but grimacing in pain and anger. He twisted her ankle, hauling his injured body partially onto hers. His free hand encircled her throat and with a snarl he began to squeeze, Lizzy's screams of terror and pain abruptly cut off. His other hand roughly groped under her skirts, pinching and kneading up her inner thigh.

Darcy saw it all and his thus far controlled rage boiled over into a blinding, destructive fury bordering on madness. He roared a vile expletive and latched onto the robber's hair, tossing him off Lizzy with astounding force, clumps of hair and scalp ripping painfully. “I warned you not to touch her,” he bleakly intoned to a suddenly white-faced Victor. Without blinking, Darcy fired, Victor not feeling a twinge of pain as the ball penetrated his brain.

Abrupt calm fell. Clyde and Lou were unconscious; Victor and the nameless leader were dead. Phillips moaned in torment, Mr. Anders at his side attempting to halt the bleeding.

Darcy was breathing heavily but dropped the pistol and knelt next to his sobbing wife, gathering her into his arms. Neither spoke, words simply unthinkable at this juncture. They only wanted to hold each other. Darcy's hands began roaming all over her body, testing for injury and assuring her existence. He began to tremble, clutching her face and possessively kissing with a soft sob. Both sensed their control slipping, Lizzy's hysteria rising again and Darcy's chest constricting as he was overcome with weakness.

A cry from the injured Phillips penetrated their fogged minds, Lizzy's head snapping his direction. “Phillips!” she exclaimed, struggling from Darcy's embrace. He helped her up, moving together to the fallen footman. Action was necessary for both of them to regain mastery over their shattered emotions.

Lizzy dropped to her knees beside Mr. Anders by Phillips's left leg. “William, give me your cravat. Hurry!” The wound was gaping, blackened about the edges from the gunpowder. She examined it quickly, discerning no exit wound, which meant the ball was lodged in his leg, probably in the bone. She grabbed the hole in his breeches and ripped, exposing the entire thigh. Phillips's screams were turning to weak moans and his hands were now loose by his side and face dreadfully pale. The wound continually spurt blood through Mr. Anders's pressing hands. Darcy handed the cravat to Lizzy who immediately and with surprising efficiency tied it tightly around Phillips's upper thigh above the seeping hole.

Darcy was observing her with deep curiosity and amazement. “How do you know what to do, Elizabeth?”

“That medical book in your library has a section on emergency treatments. I thought it interesting, although I never imagined having to utilize the knowledge! This is called a tourniquet and halts the bleeding by restricting the circulation. See?”

She was correct, as the bleeding had fallen to a slow trickle. “Think, Lizzy, think!” she murmured to herself. Phillips was bordering on unconsciousness, a faint bluish tint circling his lips. “Mr. Anders,” Lizzy said, “there are napkins in the picnic basket, as well as water and wine. Bring them to me and give me your cravat as well.” The coachman jumped to the task, Lizzy turning to her husband and whispering, “William, I only know to halt the bleeding and a little about shock. He must get to a physician immediately!”

Darcy nodded, standing and surveying the mess around them as the mantle of command and decision making fell over his shoulders as a warm, familiar covering. Mr. Anders returned with the entire basket and his cravat. Lizzy formed a wad with the napkins and used it as a bandage over the wound, tying snuggly with the neckcloth.

“Mr. Anders, find something to place under his feet. The legs should be elevated, I think.” She frowned, mind frantically trying to remember what she had read. She moved to Phillips's head, his glazed eyes open and blurrily focusing on his Mistress.

“Mrs. Darcy?” he murmured, “Are you… unharmed?”

“I am fine. Now hush, Phillips. Save your strength.” She lifted his head onto her lap, placing the wineskin at his lips. “Drink slowly, as much as you can. That's it, very good…”

While Lizzy continued in her gentle ministrations to the stricken man, Darcy pulled Mr. Anders aside. “We need to leave this place as soon as possible, Mr. Anders. Phillips requires a physician. Are we closer to Clowne or Whitwell?”

“Clowne is nearest and not as remote, sir. If they do not have a doctor there, Staveley and Eckington are both within a few miles.”

Darcy nodded, thinking. “It is likely unwise to move him, but I do not wish to stay here.” He scanned the area with piercing eyes. “Obviously they were alone, as no others have come to the scene, but I would rather not risk it. Mrs. Darcy must be away from this place.” He paused. “Do you have any rope?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Restrain these two firmly, hog tied and secured to the wagon.” he gestured toward the still unconscious Lou and Clyde. “I will gather the firearms and reload just to be prepared. I will require your assistance placing Phillips into the carriage. Then I want you to take one of the robber's horses and run fast into Clowne. Summon a physician and alert the local constable. We will follow slowly so as not to enhance his injuries.” Mr. Anders jumped to obey his Master.

He glanced at his wife, softly crooning to the servant while daubing his forehead with a water-soaked napkin. He frowned. As thankful as he was at her calm focus, it seemed odd under the circumstances. His heart was yet racing with the frayed edges of panic barely mastered due to years of dealing with tragedy and stressful situations. A large part of him wanted to collapse with her in his arms, and the effort not to do so was enormous. How could she maintain her composure? He paused to observe her, realizing that nursing Phillips was as much a result of primordial instinct and concern as it was a diversion necessary to forestall crushing shock. He would need to carefully watch her. No stranger to the effects of shock, having seen it dozens of times in wives and families of men killed or injured, as well as experiencing it himself, he knew that it would consume her eventually.

Mentally adding it to his list, he turned to the urgent demands. Retrieving and loading the weapons was speedily done, Darcy tossing all but one of them onto the driver's bench alongside the sack containing their stolen property. The extra pistol was given to Mr. Anders so that he now carried two. Darcy glanced to the gruesome sight of Victor's body lying near the coach, but there was no time to shield the scene from his wife. A barely controlled sense of panic and fear impelled him to step quickly and vacate this locale as rapidly as possible.

Moving Phillips was not an easy task. Bodily, he was only two or three inches shorter than Darcy and nearly as broad in the shoulders. Darcy and Mr. Anders together struggled carrying his bulk, not to mention getting him into the carriage. Phillips screamed once when lifted and then abruptly fainted.

Lizzy discovered that her legs had lost all feeling, moving them a quandary. Couple that with the aching bruise to her backside and the intermittent, sharp pains to her lower abdomen which she continued to ignore, and Lizzy was in misery. With tears of pain stinging her eyes, she sluggishly battled to rise. Darcy, fortunately considering the current crisis, did not see her striving to move. By the time she joined him at the carriage, her legs were functioning and the other numerous aches and pains were tightly controlled and hidden.