Table of ContentsTitle Page
Epigraph
Glossary of Welsh Words
Also by Rhys Bowen
Copyright Page
—Rhiannon,
“Llanfair.” The driver read out the battered sign beside the road. “I thought this might be a good place to start.” He changed down a gear and the Jag slowed with a discontented growl. A village appeared ahead—a mere cluster of cottages, nestled under the steep, green walls of the mountain pass.
The woman in the passenger seat leaned forward to peer through the windscreen. It was hard to tell her exact age—the long straight hair and lack of makeup, coupled with the jeans and T-shirt, made her look, at first glance, like a teenager, but a closer inspection put her in her thirties. She studied the gray stone cottages, the sheep on the high hillsides, the mountain stream dancing over rocks as it passed under the old stone bridge. “It’s worth a try,” she said. “Certainly remote enough. No supermarket, no video store, and no satellite dishes on the roofs. And it’s got the proverbial pub where jolly locals meet.”
The Jag slowed to a crawl as they approached the square black-and-white-timbered building. A swinging pub sign outside announced it to be the Red Dragon. “I don’t see too many jolly locals around right now,” he said. “The place looks deserted. Where is everybody?”
“Perhaps it’s the Welsh version of
A large, florid man in a blood-spattered apron had come out of the butcher’s shop, and was now shouting and waving a cleaver. The two occupants of the car looked at each other uncertainly as the cleaver-waving and shouting continued.
“Jolly locals?” He gave a nervous chuckle.
The young girl appeared to be unfazed by the tirade. She tossed her mane of blond hair and yelled something back and the butcher burst out laughing. He waved the cleaver good-naturedly and went back into his shop. The young girl glanced at the Jag, then gave the last table a half-hearted wipe before going back into the pub.
“What the hell was that all about?” The woman in the car asked. “Was that Welsh they were speaking?”
“I don’t suppose it was Russian, honey. We are in the middle of Wales.”
“But I didn’t realize people actually spoke Welsh! I thought it was one of those ancient languages you study at Berkeley. You might have warned me. I could have taken a crash language course. It’s going to make things more difficult.”
He put out his hand and patted her knee. “It will be fine. They all speak English too, you know. Now why don’t you hop out and test the waters, huh?”
“You want me to get hacked to death by a cleaver? Do you suppose they’re all violent up here in the mountains? I’d imagine there’s a lot of inbreeding.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” He grinned as he gave her a gentle nudge. “And this was your idea, remember.”
“Our idea. We planned it together.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “I have missed you, Emmy.”
