Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

When the king returned to Beestone, he was greeted by tumultuous cheers from the village below. He rode into the castle bailey with the hollow crown on his head and a royal cape splayed over his armor, his posture emanating arrogance. He gazed at the huddled mass of hungry, miserable men who had been captured in the battle, and the sight of their suffering brought a smile to his lips. There was a fading bruise on his cheekbone from the battle, and from what Ransom had heard, he’d fought in the thickest parts of it with a strength and courage that had startled his own men.

The king was reborn. At least in some eyes.

Jon-Landon’s gaze fell on the nobles gathered at the door to the castle, singling out Ransom. There was a look of quiet satisfaction in his eyes. He was drunk on the glory of his victory. Which, to Ransom’s way of thinking, had been more a matter of luck than skill. Estian had misjudged his foe—having lured Ransom away, he’d thought it safe to invade the Vexin. He would have been right had Claire not sent her warning. Estian’s miscalculation had proven costly for him, but any military leader could have won a battle against a startled foe.

The nobles all gathered together in the great hall, where Jon-Landon resumed his seat on the main chair. Faulkes came to stand at his side, hand on his sword hilt, in an imperious manner. The nobles bowed before their king and were seated on the benches assembled for that purpose.

Jon-Landon spoke with an air of mocking in his voice. “So good of you all to have gathered so quickly. My lady mother is safely ensconced back in Auxaunce . . . if you’ll pardon the rhyme. The Vexin is ours still. I’ve had an embassy from Estian seeking terms of peace. And of course he desires it, after his shameful defeat!”

“Your Grace’s courage and fortitude has been proven to exceed his own,” Faulkes said lavishly.

Jon-Landon smiled at the praise. “I will make him beg for it. I will make him grovel. As with all kings, it is now time for me to reward those who were faithful and to punish . . . the disobedient.” His eyes immediately went to Ransom. “Lord Ransom. Stand.”

A sickening bloomed inside Ransom’s heart. He felt the strain of loyalty to this man. A man who, because of him, wore the crown. Surely Jon-Landon knew that. And he was about to get his revenge.

Ransom stood and approached the dais. “Yes, my king?”

“I’m doubtful of your loyalty, Lord Ransom,” said the king in a taunting way. “It was you who tried to convince me that Estian wanted peace. It was you who stood the most to gain from that peace, was it not?”

How long had Jon-Landon been practicing his little speech?

Instead of answering the question, Ransom looked him in the eye. “I have always been loyal to the kings of Ceredigion. No man can prove otherwise.”

“I have it from my trusted Espion that you did not accept the terms offered by Estian at Chessy? Even though I ordered you to accept the terms.”

“That is not true,” Ransom said. “Estian changed the terms of the deal at the last moment. If I’d accepted, it would have undermined your power and my ability to help protect your holdings.”

“Are you calling my Espion liars? Or me?” said the king. He felt the trap creaking, ready to snap.

“I challenge any man who proclaims me disloyal to trial by combat,” Ransom answered. As a knight, that was his prerogative. According to the code of Virtus, the Fountain would not let an innocent man lose.

Jon-Landon’s eyes narrowed. As the king, he couldn’t challenge Ransom directly—nor would he have won. A champion could serve as substitute, but from the silence that hung over the audience hall, no one else was willing to fight Ransom in his place.

The silence weighed heavier. Ransom waited, eyes fixed on the king’s.

Jon-Landon’s moment was being ruined, and he knew it. With a petulant look at the nobles assembled, he turned back to Ransom.

“You are no longer part of my council, Ransom Barton. I dismiss you. To prove your loyalty to me, you must return to Legault and fetch your sons. And you will bring them to Kingfountain as hostages for your good faith.”

Ransom’s ears rang as outrage pooled within him, filling every corner of his being. The insult had been deliberately chosen, for Ransom himself had been held as a hostage at Kingfountain. King Gervase had proven to be a kind man, almost a father, but Jon-Landon was not Gervase.

Some in the audience gasped. Murmurs thickened in the room. James’s warning echoed in the corridors of his mind. Yes, Jon-Landon was trying to provoke him into rebellion.

Although his heart was torn by consternation, by worry about the boys, about Claire and how she’d react, Ransom bowed before the king. “Of course, my liege. I am obedient to your commands. I have nothing to fear in submitting to your will.”

The king looked surprised. He hadn’t expected such a mild reaction.

“Good. I will be back at the palace soon. You have a fortnight.”

“May I depart, then?” Ransom asked.

“I have no further need of you,” said Jon-Landon with a dismissive flick of his hand.

Ransom turned and strode out of the audience hall, his cheeks burning. He had never been treated this poorly by any of the other men he’d served, and it galled him. Some of the lords he passed smirked at his fall from grace, but Lord Kiskaddon looked horrified. James gave him a sympathetic glance before subtly shaking his head and averting his gaze. Sir Dawson, who fell in beside Ransom, looked angry enough to rush to the front of the hall and stab the king through with his bastard sword.

When they reached the bailey, Ransom sent Dawson down to the meadow to fetch Dappled. He stood fuming in the courtyard, looking at the distressed prisoners, some of whom had collapsed with hunger. Flies buzzed around them.

What would Claire say when he reached her?

She’d refuse; he knew she would. But what choice did they really have? If the king mustered all Ceredigion’s might against them, before the mercenaries were released for winter, then Legault and her dominion over it would be destroyed. They would lose literally everything.

So distraught was he that he didn’t hear the approaching boots. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to find Hal Kiskaddon there, a look of outrage on his face.

“That should never have happened,” Kiskaddon muttered angrily. “By the Lady, I can’t believe my own ears! It makes me sick.”

Ransom felt it was only fair to share the warning he’d gotten from James. He said, “Be on your alert with the king from now on. What he did to me, he will do to each and every one of you.”

“I pray you’re wrong,” Kiskaddon said darkly.

“We shall see.”





My heart is cold with fear. When we returned to Connaught, a message from Ransom awaited us. It was brief—too brief. He said he is out of favor with the king and has been dismissed from the council. He had to send a rider to Glosstyr and from thence a ship to Connaught to give me news of his coming arrival because he cannot use the king’s messengers anymore.

There is more bad news coming. But what it is, he would not say.

What will become of us? I clutch my children close, fearing the day when Ransom’s loyalty will be tested to the breaking point. That sniveling, jealous, feckless brat of a king. Ransom is worth ten of him. Maybe it is time to defy him. In a clash of wills, I would think we would prevail.

I am fearful. But I am also full of wrath.

—Claire de Murrow, Queen of the Fair Isle

Connaught Castle





CHAPTER EIGHT


No Good Choices