Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

The King’s Summons

After spending the morning training the young knights of the castle, Ransom returned to his room to wipe away the sweat and change into a new tunic. Then he strapped the Raven scabbard around his waist again, seeing it glow blue as its magic radiated through him, healing the small cut he’d earned during the training. His reflexes were not as quick as they’d once been, and he needed a bit more rest before catching his breath. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a towel, and then left the room to find Claire and the girls.

They were in the solar, where little Sibyl was studying a Wizr board, examining each piece carefully before setting it down in its proper place. It was a game that Ransom didn’t fancy playing, given all the trouble another Wizr set had caused them, but the set had been brought out during the long winter nights, and he’d played a few rounds with her. She was a smart one, her eyes so serious for one so young.

Claire was writing in her book, which she closed when he arrived. The nurse was changing Keeva from a nightdress to her day attire and speaking to her slowly with a tender Gaultic lilt.

“How was the training yard?” Claire asked, rising from the window seat and leaving her book on the cushion. She came and embraced him, tipping her head up to kiss him.

“They’re good lads,” Ransom said. “The five eldest are ready to be done with their training, I think. That will give us five more openings this year.”

“Is Dawson as strict a sword master as you?” Claire asked in a teasing voice.

“Captain Baldwin is the strict one,” Ransom said. “He may be getting on in years, but he’s just as surly as I remember him. Dawson trains with the older boys. They love hearing his stories.”

“You have stories to tell as well.”

Ransom shrugged and settled down in a chair, feeling his lower back ache. The glow of the scabbard dimmed as the magic finished its work.

Claire went to the window seat. She opened a little box that sat there and returned to him with something in her hand. It took him a moment to realize what it was—a piece of penuche, one of the morsels that Dearley had bought in Chessy. The smell of it was tantalizing.

“This is the last one,” Claire said, sitting down on his lap. “I thought you should have it.”

“I got them for you,” he reminded her.

“But I’ve shared. Here, let me break it in half, and we can both enjoy the last bite. I don’t know that either of us will ever venture into Occitania again, so we may as well enjoy it. We prolonged the treat as best we could.”

She pinched the morsel in half and then fed one piece to him. The sugary flavor melted on his tongue as he watched her bite into the other piece. The sight of her enjoyment was as delicious as the taste, and the memories of that day with her in Chessy. He’d already loved her then, but there’d been no prospect of marrying her.

“Thank you for the gift, Husband,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned in and kissed him again.

He gripped her waist, enjoying the sweetness of the moment, but his thoughts were still muddled at the lack of tidings from court. He was a duke of the realm, and he had no idea what had happened during the winter months or what the king was planning for the future. Or, for that matter, what was happening with his sons. The lack of information troubled him more than he wished to communicate to Claire.

“Have you given any thought to Lord Tenthor’s niece?” Claire asked him, remaining on his lap.

He smiled and chuckled. “We’ve had . . . five requests for her hand already? Who wouldn’t want such a wealthy heiress as a wife?” He squeezed her hips.

“So mercenary,” she said. “I’ve an idea.”

“I’d welcome it.”

“Why don’t we introduce her to Sir Dawson?”

Her suggestion came as a shock. “Truly? You don’t wish to suggest a husband from Legault?”

“Dawson has been so loyal to you, and it’s your duty to reward him for his faithful service. Besides, Dearley already has a wife and so does Simon. Dawson is the obvious choice.”

“You don’t need to convince me,” Ransom said. “It would give him a title. Allow him to inherit lands of his own. Start his own mesnie.”

“Then we should invite her to Connaught. Perhaps we could send him to fetch her? It’ll be her choice, of course. And his.”

“Thank you, Claire. With all the other requests, I’d assumed you’d want to match her with a Legaultan noble.”

Claire kissed the tip of his nose and stood again. “I have those letters I’d like to send to the boys.”

“Can I write them one, Mama?” Sibyl asked sweetly from her place by the Wizr table.

“Of course, darling. Who should we send to deliver them, Ransom?”

“I should go myself,” Ransom said, his heart tugging with longing to see his boys.

“You haven’t been summoned to court.”

“Do I need a summons to check on my children?” Ransom said.

“One will come,” Claire said. “I’m certain of it. It would be best to send someone else, but who?”

“Dearley, of course.”

She shook her head. “Elodie is pregnant. He shouldn’t leave her now.”

“The babe isn’t due for a long time still, surely. By boat it wouldn’t be a long journey.”

Claire wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“Dawson won’t do because you want to send him to fetch Tenthor’s niece.”

“I like Dawson,” Sibyl said, admiring one of the pieces shaped as a knight. “You should let me marry him.”

Claire grinned at her innocent words. “He’s a bit too old for you, darling.”

“I’ll grow up faster,” she said.

Ransom chuckled. “Simon, then. We’ll send someone to Glosstyr with the letters. Simon can deliver them to the boys and then come to us in Legault to tell us how he found them.”

Claire nodded. “A good choice.”

The sound of a horse riding up the cliff road caught their attention. Claire went to the window, and Ransom rose from the comfortable chair, his back groaning again. Sometimes he wished the scabbard healed the aches and pains of his age and rough life. Claire leaned out a little and then pulled back, giving him a worried look. When Ransom poked his head out, he saw their sheriff, Lord Toole, hastening to the gate, which was already open. The horse’s hooves clattered on the stones in the courtyard, and then Toole leaped from the saddle and began to hurry toward the castle.

Toole had served Claire faithfully since her return as queen—or “duchess” as Jon-Landon now called her—but why was he here now?

“Did you summon him?” Ransom asked her.

“No,” she responded.

“Here’s the lass,” said the maid, bringing Keeva to her.

“Take her and Sibyl to the nursery,” Claire ordered.

“I want to stay here. I like Lord Toole,” said Sibyl.

“Mind your mother,” said the maid in a scolding tone. Sibyl sighed and obeyed, leaving Ransom and Claire alone.

Her face was drawn.

Ransom had an uneasy feeling too, and it only swelled at the sound of boots thundering down the hall. The door opened, admitting Dearley and Lord Toole, who looked winded and agitated.

“News from Atha Kleah,” Dearley said, gesturing to the emissary.

“You’ve come in a great hurry,” Claire told Lord Toole.

“My lady,” he gasped.

Ransom fetched him a drink of cider, and he gratefully accepted it and gulped some down. “Thank you, Lord Ransom.” He looked at both of them in turn and then sighed. “I hardly know how to begin.”

“Tell us,” Claire pleaded.

Lord Toole set the cup down and started to pace. “A ship bearing the three lions arrived in Atha Kleah two days ago. It was Lord Faulkes from Kingfountain.”

Claire’s brow pinched in worry, and she looked quickly to Ransom.

“What did he want?” Ransom asked.

“The castle. He took control of it immediately. Had fifty knights with him, and before we knew what was going on, he’d taken the gatehouse in the name of the king.”