Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“It’s Lord Ransom, you dolt!” Dawson barked back. “Lower the drawbridge.”

Ransom wore his hauberk beneath his tunic, along with some arm bracers and leg bracers. It was the first time he’d donned his armor since winter. Although he didn’t anticipate a battle, he also didn’t want to be caught unprepared in case of trouble. He’d brought a dozen knights with him. Not enough to start trouble but enough to protect him if things turned ugly.

The knight on the bulwark gave a shout, and the winches for the drawbridge began to squeal. The fishy smell of the moat filled Ransom’s nostrils as he gazed at the lowering drawbridge. A few gulls made noisy cries as they sailed around the mastheads of the ships in the dock.

With a loud thunk, the drawbridge settled into place, and Ransom and his knights crossed it on their mounts, the hooves thudding against the splintered wood of the bridge. When they reached the bailey, the drawbridge was lifted once again.

The knight from the wall had come down to greet them. “I’m Sir Cole,” he said. “Part of Lord Faulkes’s mesnie. I recognize you, Lord Ransom.”

“Where is he?” Ransom asked, still astride Dappled, looking down at the younger man.

“He’s meeting with the nobles of Legault,” said Cole.

Dawson grimaced in anger. It was not Faulkes’s right to summon the nobles for a meeting. This was another affront. A deliberate provocation.

Ransom dismounted and motioned for his knights to follow him. Cole led them into the great hall of the castle. The knights on patrol all wore the badge of the Triple Lion. One of them gave Ransom a nasty smirk, and he had to quell the temptation to punch the man’s teeth in.

When they reached the hall, there was a great deal of murmuring. Faulkes sat in Claire’s seat, a goblet in hand and a petulant look on his face. Ransom recognized each and every one of the nobles assembled around him—men and ladies whom he had heard grievances from for years. Many of them appeared upset.

“Ah, Lord Ransom—at last!” shouted Faulkes, raising his cup in salute.

The murmurs grew louder, and all eyes went to Ransom and his knights. Some looked eager, as if anticipating a fight right then and there. He noticed a few of them whispering to each other behind their hands.

“Your visit is a surprise, Lord Faulkes,” Ransom said. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

Faulkes took the greeting with a smug smile. “I must say I’m rather fond of the Fair Isle. The lasses here are quite pretty. I see why you chose to plunge your roots into this soil.”

Ransom saw Lord Tenthor’s niece, Orla, sitting amongst the nobles. Seeing her brought on another spurt of anger. She would be forced into a marriage she didn’t want.

“This is my castle,” Ransom said firmly. “By what right do the king’s men guard it?”

“By the king’s right, of course,” Faulkes said, leaning forward. He seemed to relish the opportunity to argue. “Funds to fortify this castle were given to Lord Archer by Jon-Landon’s father, the Elder King. That makes it a royal castle, and I have every right to lay claim to it now that the king has bid me do so. I have the writ if you’d like to see it.”

“I don’t need to see it,” Ransom said tightly.

“Good. Now be a good dog, Ransom, and respond to your master’s whistle. The king expects to see you at the palace. You’d best hurry.”

His manner was provoking enough that Ransom itched to put his hand on his sword. When he was made a knight, he’d been given the last strike he was required to take without fighting back. Faulkes was goading him deliberately. Which made it all the more important for him to resist the provocation. Ransom’s sons were hostages still, and their fate hinged on his behavior. Moreover, the Fountain wanted him to support the Argentines.

“I will go,” Ransom said, turning to face the assembled nobles. “But I demand oaths of fealty, as is my right, before I leave.” He strode to the dais and climbed the steps, standing above Faulkes, who sat in the chair. Whispers began to grow louder as the tension in the room increased. It was Ransom’s right to demand their oaths. And any man who lifted arms against Ransom or his kin after taking such an oath would face their due punishment once he returned. Some of the nobles exchanged glances.

“If you wish to waste your time,” Faulkes said with a snort. “So be it.”

Dawson was the first to drop to his knee and swear loyalty to Ransom and his house. So did his other knights, one by one in quick succession. Lord Dupree came next, without hesitation. But some of those who knelt before him had guilty looks in their eyes. They made their promises—words—but he knew in his heart they wouldn’t honor them. None, however, refused.

When the ceremony ended, Ransom turned to Faulkes.

“Satisfied?” asked the lackey.

“I will come back, Faulkes,” Ransom said in a low voice. “Remember that.”

“Oh, I am sure you will. You may not like the changes instituted during your absence.”

“What changes?” Ransom demanded.

Faulkes shrugged, his eyes glittering with animosity. “Ask the king when you see him. Farewell, my lord duke.”

Ransom strode out of the hall, accompanied by his knights. When they reached their mounts in the courtyard, Dawson came closer and addressed him in an undertone.

“Let me come with you, my lord,” he pleaded. “You will not be treated justly.”

Ransom turned and looked at the other man’s sincere expression. He sighed. “I need you here to defend my interests. Are you loyal to me?”

“You know I am,” Dawson vowed.

“Then defend my family. I have no choice but to go. The vows I’ve made require it. But your loyalty requires that you stay.”

Dawson screwed up his face. “I’ll defend your castle. No matter what happens.”

“I’m counting on it. I’m counting on you and Dearley and the others.”

Dawson nodded resolutely and gave him the knight’s salute. Ransom returned it, feeling grateful that he could count on his men.

For he knew that not many in the great hall were as trustworthy.



Ransom stayed in Glosstyr for a few days, reviewing his finances with Simon and handling matters that required his attention. Trade had recommenced after the pause in hostilities with Occitania, and the city was thriving. Ransom arranged for his personal fortune to be sent to Legault, in preparation for the possibility the duchy would be ripped away from him.

“I might not be able to communicate with you after I go to the palace,” he warned Simon. “You must act as you believe I would. I gave Dawson and Dearley the same instructions before leaving Connaught.”

Simon was quick to agree.

On his third day, Ransom awoke before dawn to a familiar feeling in his chest. Another Fountain-blessed was in the castle. Ransom threw off his covers, moving fast as he pulled on his hauberk and strapped his sword to his waist. He went outside his room and barked for the night sentry to sound the alarm. Fear churned inside his stomach, but it struck him that Alix wasn’t moving—she was staying put.

As soon as the night watch had assembled, along with a bleary-eyed Simon, he told them to fall in behind him as he followed the rippling sensation of Alix’s magic. She still hadn’t moved.

As he walked down the corridor, he realized that the presence emanated from one of the decorative fountains near the castle’s chapel. The sun was rising now, providing ample light. His throat tight with thirst and worry, he passed the row of arches that overlooked the sea and the harbor farther away from the cliffs.

“Where are we going?” Simon asked him.

“Lady Alix is here,” he said. “Estian’s poisoner.”

Simon’s eyes widened. “In the castle?”

“Yes.”