Chapter 7
By the time Darcy reached the stable, he was footsore, chilled through, and covered with dirt.
His coat was snagged in several places from encounters with twigs and brambles.
He had done most of a circuit of the estate on foot, followed by Hercules, checking the wards the entire way.
He did not understand them any better now, but he felt safer knowing they were in place.
He handed Hercules’ reins to a groom with the completely unnecessary instructions to give him a good brushing. The men in his stable knew their business. His horse would be in good hands, even if he would have preferred to do it himself.
As he turned to leave, the sound of a melodious man's voice speaking an unknown language caught his ear. It was Roderick, of course, talking to one of the horses in his native tongue as he affectionately stroked his head.
Darcy waited until the horse noticed him before approaching the stall. “I am glad to see you back. Could I have a moment of your time? I have some questions about what happened yesterday.”
“Of course. I have just been to the Nest to ask the Eldest what she might know about it.”
“I would be interested in that, too. Perhaps we could speak on the way back to the house?”
Roderick inclined his head and gave the horse a last pat. “I am at your service.”
As they left the stables, Darcy asked, “What news from the Eldest?”
“She is displeased with all of us, which is hardly surprising, given that Pemberley has drawn the Wicked King's attention. She has spent her entire existence trying to avoid his notice, and now he is invading her territory. And her dragons actually engaged in fighting with the High Fae, when to her mind, they ought to have stayed far away from it.” He sighed.
“Not that she is ever pleased with me these days.”
That was surprising. Everyone liked Roderick, especially dragons. “Why is that?”
“Oh, she found me tolerable enough until I bonded with Rowan against her express instructions. It is understandable. Perhaps I should have asked Lady Frederica to go today in my stead. She might have received better answers.”
Ah, yes, Frederica. Another thing he had to speak to Roderick about, and he was not looking forward to that part. “Did the Eldest have anything useful to offer?”
“Regarding Miss Darcy and Jasper, she said very few fae have healing abilities. Nothing about tears having unusual power, though she told me the story of Ysmeina the Fair, who was marked by the Wicked King's tears.”
He did not care about ancient legends. “Did you happen to ask her about the prophesied one the High Fae mentioned?”
Roderick frowned. “That was my main reason for going. Prophecies are dangerous things, according to all the old tales, and the fact that the High Fae thought someone at Pemberley was the subject of one... well, I wish I knew more of what it meant.”
“My wife thinks it must have referred to either you or me,” Darcy said slowly.
“I came to the same conclusion, and I do not like it, I will tell you that! That the Wicked King might be aware of my existence, much less following my movements, is enough to give the most courageous man pause. But if the Eldest had any insights, she did not share them, apart from pointing out that prophecies do not always come true.”
“Then what makes them a prophecy? I thought that was how they worked, that they always came true, though often in unexpected ways.”
Roderick shrugged. “Apparently people can tell a true one when they hear it.”
That much he knew. When Cerridwen had made her prophecy about baby Jenny, her words had possessed a distinct otherworldly air. He did not doubt it was a genuine prophecy, even if he did not understand it. “But some are false?”
“Hard to say. Fae prophecies are also exceedingly rare. The Eldest may be bitter, since one prophecy said that a mortal would come who would end the need for the Great Concealment, but they have been waiting for many centuries.”
Darcy's skin rose in goosebumps. Could that be part of Jenny's destiny, which had called her a bridge between the great powers? “So that is something that might yet occur.”
“Perhaps. The prophecy about the Wicked King's love for Ysmeina the Fair, that his love for her would plant the seeds of his destruction, never came true. He is still alive and well centuries after her death, so one assumes there was some error, either in the prophecy or the telling of it.”
Ysmeina the Fair again! He had heard the name somewhere, likely in a nursery tale, but remembered nothing about her. “When did she live?"
Roderick raised his brows, apparently surprised at his lack of knowledge. “Just after the Norman conquest. She was a Saxon, the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen. And she caught the eye of the Wicked King himself.”
“In the eleventh century, then,” Darcy said, hoping to cut off the tale. Roderick was a fine storyteller and had entertained them on more than one dull evening, but this was not the time for it. “There is another matter, a somewhat delicate one, I wished to bring to your attention.”
A guarded look came over his face. “Yes?”
“It is about Lady Frederica,” Darcy said.
“It is clear from her behavior that she is fond of you, which in my mind speaks well of both of you. You do not know her family, though. If word reaches her father that you have become her confidant, he will not take it well. Likely that would mean little to you, but he will punish her for it. And it would not be pleasant. He is not a kind man.”
The Welshman paled a little. “Does she know that?”
“Indubitably. She has apparently decided to take the risk, but it occurred to me that you might wish to consider that for yourself.” Darcy had prepared these words carefully, even discussing them with Elizabeth first. He did not want Roderick to feel blamed when he had no doubt Frederica had been the one to encourage him.
Nor did Roderick deserve to have his hopes dashed.
Nor his body. If Lord Matlock discovered a Welshman, of all people, was engaging his daughter's affections, he would be lucky to get out of it with no more than a beating.
But as Elizabeth had pointed out, Roderick was not the sort of man to be discouraged by a physical threat to himself. He would be more likely to wish to protect Frederica.
Roderick squared his shoulders. “I suppose I had best return home, then.”
“I do not wish to chase you away,” Darcy said. “Only yesterday you saved my life, and you have done us all a great service with the wards. Mrs. Darcy and I value your company. It would likely be enough if you treated Lady Frederica in public as an indifferent acquaintance.”
“If she would permit that,” he said softly, more to himself than Darcy.
So he did understand Frederica's nature. That was something. Fortunately, they had just reached the house, where he would be forced to drop this uncomfortable subject.
The butler opened the door before they even came up the steps of the portico. Hobbes deserved a raise in pay for that timing alone! Darcy strode inside, handing him his hat and dirty, no doubt ruined, gloves.
Hobbes, to his credit, showed no sign of surprise. “Mrs. Darcy has expressed a wish to speak to you on your return,” he said. “Mr. Roderick, there is a letter for you.”
The Welshman picked up the envelope the butler had indicated, a shadow crossing his face as he inspected it.
Whatever it might be, Darcy had imposed on Roderick's private business quite enough already. “Hobbes, you may inform my wife I will be there as soon as I have remedied my appearance. Roderick, pray excuse me.”
“Of course.” The Welshman gave a small bow, and Darcy finally escaped.
Darcy glared at Cerridwen, who perched beside Elizabeth in her sitting room. Not another new problem! “A dragon nursery? Why does the Eldest want to build one at Pemberley?” As if they did not already have too many dragons here!
Cerridwen said, “It is already here, built many centuries ago, before the Great Concealment, when there were many more dragons who needed space. That is why you have the Dragon Stones here. They are anchors for the nursery.”
He had known there was a cave under the clearing, or at least a hollow space. His land Talent had sensed it, but he had paid little attention. Caves were not uncommon in the hills. “And why, after all this time, does the Eldest wish to use it again?”
“Because the Nest is badly overcrowded. The Nest in France sent us more eggs and hatchlings than we have room for.” Cerridwen hesitated. “It was Quickthorn's idea, actually, but the Eldest is most enthusiastic about it.”
More dragons here, and baby ones at that! It was the last thing he needed. “Why would Quickthorn want that? Would she be in charge of it?”
Cerridwen's chest rippled with what passed for laughter in dragons.
“Quickthorn in charge of hatchlings? They would run from her in terror! She only suggested it as a way to make Pemberley more useful to the Nest.” She dropped her voice.
“The Eldest wants to withdraw us from here and take down the wards, too, lest they anger the Wicked King, may he be strangled with his own innards. She fears drawing his wrath down upon the Nest.”
Darcy stared at her in consternation. He had trusted the Eldest, her warmth, generosity, and knowledge. He had not said a word of complaint about hosting Rana Akshaya and her retinue at the Nest's request, even though it meant giving over half the state rooms for her use for months.
And now she wanted to take down the wards? If she thought their very existence might endanger her Nest, it would be impossible to persuade her.
But it would be a disaster. The wards had only been erected to protect Georgiana from the High King, but now they did more.
They were the first line of defense against the French assassins, too.
And there was still the question of whether he might be the prophesied one, and whether the High Fae wanted him, too.
Without the wards, he would have to go into hiding, and Elizabeth along with him.
Georgiana could return to London, where she would be safe from the fae, but that was not a choice for him.
His mind began to race - perhaps the Scottish Highlands, where few people ventured, or Roderick's mysterious Welsh village, if they were willing to shelter a man wanted by both the English and the French.
It would mean giving up the land he was bonded to, likely forever, and taking it away from Elizabeth and Jenny, too.
The idea wrenched at his very self. Without Pemberley, what was he?
Why had he never realized he was accruing a huge debt to the Nest?
Cerridwen was eyeing him oddly, and he realized she had been speaking for some time.
He said hastily, “I beg your pardon, Cerridwen. I was briefly distracted, but now you have my full attention.”
“I was saying that is why Quickthorn suggested re-opening the nursery. Then the wards would be needed to protect the hatchlings, too. It would make Pemberley valuable to the Nest, since they are desperate for the extra space. The Eldest leapt on the idea; she had forgotten there was an old nursery here.”
Clever Quickthorn! He nodded slowly. “What will it involve, opening this nursery? How will it change things here?”
“We will have to clean it out and prepare it. The Nest can send their mortal Kith to do much of it.”
“I can ask some of my tenants to assist them, since the harvest is over,” he said quickly. Anything to put the Nest in his debt, too.
“There will be magical preparations, too, and strengthening the anchors there. Quickthorn and I will manage most of that.”
“Who will care for the hatchlings?”
The dragon seemed puzzled by the question, then her amusement returned.
“Hatchlings do not require nursemaids, nor do the eggs. We will deliver food, of course, and keep the hearthstones heated. Someone will come to teach the older ones from time to time, but hatchlings are not ready to learn much until their wings grow out.”
Darcy recalled the hatchlings he had helped to shepherd through the Gate in France. They had been easily distracted, more like puppies than young dragons. Could they care for themselves? The dragons must know what was needed. “I suppose I should call on the Eldest, then, to give my permission.”
Cerridwen said hastily, “No need for that. I can tell her.” She exchanged a glance with Elizabeth.
Now he was suspicious. “What are you not telling me?” Dragons might not be able to lie, but they had perfected the art of avoiding speaking the full truth.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers together, as if struggling to contain her amusement.
“Apparently the Nest built their nursery when the Romans were just arriving on these shores. To them, this is their territory, and we are but temporary inhabitants. They would acknowledge you as a local leader who is bonded to this land, but the concept of anyone owning a piece of their land is foreign to them.”
Ridiculous! Pemberley had belonged to his family since Guillaume D'Arcy came over with William the Conqueror.
And yet...creating Jenny's land bond, as his own father had taught him, included acknowledging all those who had come before his family, the Saxons and the Celts and the Romans.
It had been their land, too. Perhaps this was the same thing under a different name.
And it would be interesting indeed to see this dragon building that had been there so long, something no scholar in Britain had ever known about. “Very well,” he said slowly.
Elizabeth looked surprised that he had agreed so easily. But her warm gaze as she held out her hand for his was all the reward he needed.