The doctor agreed. “In my professional opinion, he should be taken into custody, held for examination in London.”
“Please,” Izzy said. “Please wait a moment. Let’s discuss this further. Surely an asylum isn’t necessary.”
But her pleas were lost in the din. Other objections drowned them out.
All around the great hall, the knights and handmaidens were rousing themselves to Ransom’s defense.
One of the knights drew his saber—a saber that didn’t look sharp enough to cut sponge cake—and thrust it into the air. “You can’t take him!”
“This is a brotherhood,” another cried out.
“I knew all this training would be for something.”
“We stand as one. We will fight to the death.”
Even Magnus began to growl and bark.
A shout lifted over all: “Release the ermine!”
“Stop!” Izzy ran to the end of the hall, clambered up on the table, and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Stop!” she cried, putting the force of her full body into it. “Stop, all of you! Stop!”
They stopped. And turned to her.
When she had the room’s attention, she took a deep breath. She made her hands flat in front of her, as if she could use them to physically smooth the tension in the room.
“No battles will be necessary. No examinations, either. This is all a misunderstanding. The duke is perfectly sane. Mr. Blaylock, Mr. Riggett, Mr. Havers, Dr. Mills. You must believe me. I have been sharing this castle with the Duke of Rothbury for weeks now, and I know him to be perfectly sound of mind. The knights, the handmaidens, the romantic stories . . . he doesn’t believe in all this. He shouldn’t believe in this.”
“You see . . .” Her eyes flitted over the knights and handmaidens. “The Goodnight Tales were . . . Well, they were a lie. I was never that innocent little girl with sleek amber hair. Sir Henry wasn’t a doting father though he tried his best. I didn’t want a weasel for a pet, and I didn’t ask for this.” She indicated the castle. “Cressida might be brave, but I’m terrified of the dark. Ulric can say, ‘Doubt not,’ but I have doubts all the time. I’ve doubted the truth of happy endings. I’ve doubted the existence of lasting love. Most of all, I’ve doubted myself.”
To the solicitors, she said, “The duke is humoring me. But he knows this is just pretense. Shite and bollocks, I believe he called it yesterday.” She looked around the room. “Didn’t he? You all were there.”
A murmur of reluctant confirmation swept the room.
She turned to Ransom. “So tell them. It’s all right. I don’t need to pretend any longer, and you don’t need to protect me. Just tell them everything you’ve been saying to me for weeks. You’re perfectly sane. Romance is the delusion.” She pressed her hand to her belly. “It’s all right. Truly.”
Ransom considered. She watched his chest expand with a deep breath. He scratched his neck as he stared at the floor.
Blaylock moved forward. “Well, Your Grace?”
Do it, she silently willed him, trying to send the message all the way across the hall to where he stood. Disclaim all of this. Save yourself.
Just tell the truth.
“I will say only this.” When Ransom lifted his head, a sly smile played about his lips. “Doubt not.”
Her heart flipped over in her chest. “No. No, Ransom, don’t.”
“Doubt not, my lady. I shall return.”
“Not this,” she pleaded. “Not now.”
He began to walk in her direction, continuing the recitation. “Doubt not my steel. Chains, arrows, blades, stones. I shall never know their sting.”
Not Ulric’s speech. Anything but this.
“Doubt not my strength.” His voice was getting stronger, too. “No storm . . . No storm . . .”
He paused.
Good. Izzy knew what came next, but she wasn’t about to help him.
He looked to the knights for a cue.
One of them whispered, “No storm-churned seas.”