Page 41 of Triumph at Pemberley

If he left now, with the invasion in progress, there was a good chance she would never see him again. But she could not ask him to stay. His duty was in Gwynedd, and his deep loyalty was part of what she loved about him.

Would these be their last moments together? Was this pain in her chest heartbreak?

“I must go,” he repeated.

“I know.”

He looked at her pleadingly. “It will take me days to get there. I will write when I can.”

“I would appreciate that.” It was the right thing to say, even if every word was tearing her apart. She would not cry, not in front of all these soldiers. She fished for her reticule and pulled out a handful of silver. “Take this, so you can travel by post. Gwynedd needs you as soon as possible.” She did not normally carry large sums, but she had grabbed it from her desk when the gabbling War Office messenger collected them, just in case.

She could see his pride battling with his urgency. He had never taken a penny from her, unless one counted her dowry, which was still theoretical. Finally he took the silver. “Thank you.” He leaned forward and spoke in her ear. “Take care of my heart, for it is in your keeping.”

Blinking hard to fight back tears, she nodded dumbly. And then he was striding back into the building, off on his journey. The one that was taking him from her, perhaps forever.

Leaving her here alone to make his explanations - and to care for Jack.

Had she made a terrible mistake?

It was a good thing she had plenty of practice at maintaining her composure when she wanted nothing more than to run away. She turned back to Richard and lifted her chin in her best autocratic manner. “I will go with Jack.”

The Secretary of War said, “Into a battle? I think not, Lady Frederica.”

“I am sorry if you think my ladylike sensibilities are more important than England's freedom,” she retorted sharply. “There is no other choice. I know more about the King's Bond than any of you. Would you send him out alone, unable to care for himself, without a single mage or dragon companion to assist him?”

“She is right,” Richard said heavily. “Even though I do not like it, not one little bit.”

Frederica’s stomach churned unpleasantly as the carriage rocked over the rutted road. She swallowed hard to control the nausea. At least it was a distraction from fighting off tears at the thought of Roderick. Would she ever see him again, or would she be widowed within weeks of her marriage?

“Where are we?” Jack's hoarse voice from the opposite bench roused Frederica from her unpleasant reverie.

“We are racing along terrible roads to somewhere near Sandwich where the French have landed. Roderick said to tell you never to use your King's Bond at a distance again. You were lucky he could bring you back this time.”

Jack rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Roderick? Where is he? I have questions for him.”

“Don't we all,” she snapped back. “He is on his way to Wales, where there are more French troops.” She was being unfair. It was not Jack’s fault she was miserable. That fell solidly on her own shoulders, for having let herself care about Roderick in the first place.

No, Jack's only sin was needing her help in a way she could not refuse, and he had not even been conscious at the time to demand it.

He stared at her, his brow wrinkling as if thinking hard. “I remember...something about that. God above, I do not like having other people poking around inside my head!”

“No, I imagine not. Roderick does not seem to care for it, either.” Especially with an Englishman. Bad enough that he was married to an Englishwoman who refused to come with him in his country's time of need. Would he ever forgive her for that? “And eat the damned food!” She pushed the tray of bite-sized chunks towards him and turned to stare blindly out the window.

Jack said nothing more, obeying her orders. Not that it would be easy trying to eat when the coach was barreling and bumping along, but that was his problem.

Her problem was halfway to Gwynedd. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Finally Jack asked, “Have you heard anything of Gentiane?”

She turned back to him, blinking hard. “Can you not reach him yourself?”

“I dare not try,” he said in a low voice. “Whatever I did, back there in London...I killed people. Drowned them, I think. Pushed them back into the sea and overturned their ships.” He swallowed. “I did not mean to, but I broke my word to Gentiane. Did he sever his bond to me in time, or did the Wicked King claim him?” Pain reverberated in his voice.

A surge of appalled sympathy filled her. Poor Jack - losing his dragon bond! Of course Gentiane could not stay bonded to a killer, not when it would put him in thrall to the Wicked King. But oh, let his dragon be spared that fate! “I have not heard anything.” Which was odd in itself. “Let me ask Quickthorn.”

She made a quick sending, but Quickthorn seemed puzzled by her question. Finally she made a response, and Frederica turned back to Jack. “Quickthorn says Gentiane is perfectly well and has not broken the bond,” she said slowly. “He is still scouting, and she wonders why you do not ask him yourself.”

Jack paled. “Would that not endanger him?”