Page 70 of Triumph at Pemberley

He pointed to the high mountain they had so recently descended from, down a steep trail that left her legs and back aching. “He had three brothers who are also saints, each with their own story. One could carry fire in his robe without burning it.”

It sounded more like mythology than Christianity, but so did some of the other tales of early saints. “Do you know the story of every tiny church in Gwynedd?”

He shrugged. “It comes from knowing the land. The oldest buildings have made themselves part of it. Those yews there are over a thousand years old.”

Sometimes his King’s Bond seemed rather mythic, too. Would Jack someday know every church in England? “The history is rather palpable here.”

“Yes.” He turned his head away, like a hunting dog suddenly scenting a hare. “My father is almost here.”

“He is coming himself, then? Should we return to the guesthouse?” After all, Roderick had sent his message to his father from there, well before he began to show her around the village.

“He will find us here.” Roderick sounded certain.

Definitely mythical. What would it be like to grow up knowing that you could never hide from your father?

Frederica rubbed her arms to chase away the goosebumps. She was not looking forward to this meeting. Roderick had told her long ago of his father’s displeasure over his attachment to an English aristocrat, even when marriage had still seemed an impossibility. Her truth-casting would make it even worse. A few pleasant falsehoods could be helpful in smoothing the waters, but instead, Roderick’s father would blurt out whatever he thought of her.

It was not likely to be pretty.

A few minutes later, hoofbeats and the clattering of harnesses preceded the appearance of three men. The one in the lead, a handsome older man with a grizzled beard and familiar features, was clearly the leader. Roderick would look just like him in another few decades, although hopefully without the beard.

He was dressed simply, in plain brown leather and a black cloak that owed nothing to modern fashion, as if he might have come from another time. He dismounted, strode to Roderick and clasped his arm. “Well met. Wise of you to keep your distance from the shore. We should not both be within the enemy’s reach.”

Roderick nodded, then turned to her. “Lady Frederica, may I present my father, Rhodri ap Llewelyn? Father, this is my wife, Lady Frederica Fitzwilliam, who has come sooner than I expected.”

She dropped a small curtsey and spoke her carefully practiced phrase, the one she had saved for this important occasion. “Fy enw i yw Frederica ferch Gwilym.” My name is Frederica, daughter of William. That was the other reason she had hired a Welsh maid.

Roderick’s shocked look made it all worthwhile. His father responded with a nod and a torrent of Welsh which included her name.

Time for her other sentences. Hoping she did not mangle them completely, she said, “Maddeuwch i mi. Dim ond ychydig o Gymraeg dw i'n ei siarad. Dw i'n dysgu.” Forgive me. I speak only a little Welsh. I am learning.

At least that was what she hoped she had said.

“Fair enough.” Rhodri ap Llewelyn’s tone was mild as he switched to English, his musical accent stronger than Roderick’s. “It is good you are learning. I hope your journey was not difficult.”

“Not until I reached your formidable defenses,” she said. “I must congratulate you on them.”

“Our dragons deserve the credit, but I am glad to hear they worked, even against a mage.” His voice carried the same calmness Roderick’s did. Could he, like his son, not afford to become angry? It made it hard to discern what he was thinking.

She might as well seize the bull by the horns. “I am aware that you did not approve of my connection with Roderick, but I hope we can make a new beginning. I bring some strengths with me, despite my English blood.”

He gave a low laugh. “I am not your enemy, Frederica ferch Gwilym. I was displeased when Roderick told me he had attached himself to a woman he could not marry. But you have accomplished what I had begun to think impossible: you managed to get my stubborn son to the altar. For that, I thank you.”

It had to be the truth, at least as far as it went. With some amusement, she said, “Well done. You have experience dealing with truth-casters, I can see.”

“With Granny Morgan living nearby? Of course.” He stretched his arms, as if he had been still too long, and then leaned forward. “If you want the truth, listen to me carefully, Frederica ferch Gwilym. My younger sons are fine mages, but lack land sense, so Roderick must produce an heir, a child who can carry the King’s Bond into the next generation. He has already waited too long. Would I rather he had married a girl from our valley? Of course, but the important thing is that he married someone. For that, I can work with any differences.”

“I am glad you are taking a pragmatic approach. I like that.” Not that he had any choice. They were married, no matter what he thought, but it was a relief not to be met with resentment. And how interesting that Roderick had refused to marry in line with his father’s wishes!

“Then here is a pragmatic question for you, Frederica ferch Gwilym. You have married a Welshman and given me your name in Welsh, but where do your loyalties lie?”

He could not lie to her, and fair was fair. She would tell him the truth, too – as far as she was willing to. “I am loyal to my husband, to my dragon, and to her Nest. My children will be Welsh. I have had no time to develop a connection to Gwynedd, but I will protect my family here.”

He nodded slowly. “Suppose you come across information here the government in London would like to know. What will you do with it?”

She ignored Roderick’s shuffle of discomfort. “That would depend on the information, of course. If it was something that could give them power over you, no. If it could help them defeat Napoleon without harming Gwynedd or the dragons, then yes.”

“There are many possibilities between those two extremes,” he said. “It will be difficult if we must keep secrets from you.”