Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

When the ships were seen coming toward the docks at Connaught, we thought at first they were reinforcements from Glosstyr. But alas, the eejits were sailing from Kingfountain to block our harbor. I’ve had no news of Ransom since he went to the palace, and now it looks like I’ll have none at all. Because of the cliffs, we have the higher ground, and their ships cannot come too near for fear of our catapults. But they shall stop supplies from coming. We are cut off.

Sibyl says the ships are ugly. She told me I should make them go away. Sweet lass, if only I could.

Our scouts continue to watch the road to Atha Kleah. When Dearley returned from his latest journey, he brought news that Lord Faulkes is gathering a force outside the town. It seems many Legaultans have defected to Jon-Landon’s side. Perhaps they were enticed by the coins he’s paying all those mercenaries. I asked Dearley how many he thinks they have in their camp. He didn’t want to tell me, but I demanded an answer. Eight thousand by his reckoning. But the numbers are swelling.

That is a sizable force to bring to a siege. Without reinforcements from Glosstyr, we have about four thousand. We can hold the castle with that many. But eventually we’ll run out of meat, out of grain. Once they surround the hillside, we won’t be able to hunt game from the woods.

Waiting this out doesn’t seem to be our best option.

—Claire de Murrow, Queen of the Fair Isle

(all things must come to an end)





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


The Prisoner of Kingfountain


Ransom asked to see his sons, and they were brought to him in the main corridor of the palace, escorted by a slender man with a hooked nose and shaggy eyebrows who couldn’t hide the disdain he had for them. The boys greeted their father with a hurried embrace after Ransom dropped to one knee. He was stunned by how much they’d grown since he’d brought them to the palace.

“Are you staying with us now, Father?” Willem asked with excitement.

“Of course he is, don’t be an eejit,” said Devon, elbowing his brother in the ribs.

Ransom’s heart nearly overflowed with relief, and he held his sons tightly, breathing them in. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d feared for them. The news about Drew had hit him hard. The boys grinned at him and asked so many questions he couldn’t hope to answer them.

“How is Máthair?” Devon asked, using the Gaultic term for mother.

“I miss Lord Toole. Is he well? Did you bring us a treat?”

“Can you come to the training yard with us tomorrow?”

“That’s enough,” barked the slender man. “Your father is a prisoner of the crown.”

The lads stared at the fellow in wide-eyed amazement, then shared a worried look.

“You’ve seen them, Lord Ransom. That’s enough. Now I must take them for their exercise.”

Willem rolled his eyes and gave the man a resentful look. “Aldous, we haven’t seen our father in months! He can walk us around the grounds.”

“Show us the tree you used to climb with Máthair!” Devon enthused. “I think I know the one!”

“No!” Aldous snapped. “If you behave, which I doubt, you’ll be allowed to see him later. Come with me, boys.”

Ransom rose. He towered over the boys’ keeper, but the man didn’t look intimidated. His expression was scornful.

“These two are incorrigible,” he said. “Always sneaking off and getting into mischief. Come, lads. To the training yard.”

Willem and Devon looked at Ransom imploringly, hoping their father would defy the man, but he nodded for them to do the man’s bidding. He had little choice. They were not his to command.

Willem sulked a bit, and Devon blasted Aldous with a withering look. They waved to their father before leaving. At least they were healthy. He watched them go, feeling both relief and pain. He wondered if he’d be given permission to write to Claire. If so, he had no doubt the Espion would read every word. He still had the letters she’d written to the boys, but he’d hand those over later.

At least he wasn’t being confined to the tower or the dungeon. The king had given him leave to wander the castle and its grounds with absolute freedom. But as he walked around the inner circle of the castle, it felt as if the very walls were pressing on him. He felt the absence of his sword and scabbard keenly, unused to the lack of weight on his hip. It brought back memories of his captivity with DeVaux’s men. And the thought of those cold days, starving and alone, drove him to seek out the warmth of the kitchen.

He paused in the threshold, taking in the hanging pots, the bunches of dried herbs, and the delightful aroma of baking bread. The upper windows were bright and cheerful, and flames licked the inside of the ovens. Thick sausages hung from the walls on hooks. He saw the table and benches where he and Claire had sat and talked after the Elder King finally granted him permission to court her. The image in his mind made his chest ache. He worried about what she might be enduring in Connaught. Not knowing was a cruel torture.

“Lord Ransom? Is that you?”

One of the undercooks approached him with a friendly smile.

He nodded to her. “Could I get something to eat?”

“Of course! Come whenever you like. I’ll put together a plate for you.”

He entered the kitchen, lost in his memories, and sat down at the table, propping his elbows up on it and trying not to let his worries overwhelm him. He didn’t know how long he would be a prisoner at the palace. The king could hold him there for as long as it took to attack Legault. Would any of the Legaultans prove faithful? Or would they abandon Claire and leave her to fend for herself?

“Hello, Lord Ransom.”

He turned his head and found the prince had just entered with one of his tutors. The boy walked right up to his table, a serious look on his face.

“Hello, lad. Hungry?”

“Master Anthon has been tutoring me in languages. I think better when my stomach isn’t empty.”

Ransom smiled. “Languages were a struggle to me.”

“I’ve heard you speak Occitanian very well.”

“Oh?”

“And that you used to live in Chessy when you were in the tournaments.”

The cook brought the prince a scone with a glaze drizzled on the top, her expression fond, and the boy smiled and thanked her.

“After languages, what do you study next?” Ransom asked.

The prince took a small bite from the pastry, his eyes brightening either from the treat or the question. “My favorite subject. Strategy. Perhaps we could talk about it, you and I. I would like that.”

“So would I,” Ransom said. The ache in his heart had eased just a little. The youngster made him think of earlier days, back when his cares weren’t so heavy.

The prince and his tutor left, and Ransom sat alone, deep in thought. He didn’t smell the crisped bread and bubbling qinnamon until the undercook slid a plate in front of his nose.

He looked at her in surprise, since the qinnamon spice was a rarity.

She grinned at him. “I remembered, my lord. You and Lady Claire . . . we haven’t forgotten you.”

The kind action made his throat thick with gratitude. It was a delicacy he and Claire had enjoyed together just after their betrothal—her way of sharing something sweet with him, just as he’d shared the penuche with her.

“Thank you,” he said. “I was a child here at the palace.”

“I think Siena was the cook back then,” said the woman kindly. “She was Gaultic.”

Ransom nodded, inhaling the delicious scent of the qinnamon torrere. His mouth watered.

“Those boys of yours are a pleasure,” said the undercook. “They sneak in here all the time with the princess.”

“Do they now?” Ransom couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride in his boys.

“Oh, they drive the Espion to distraction. They’re good lads, Lord Ransom. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Now eat it before it gets too cold.”

Ransom enjoyed the toasted bread with qinnamon, feeling less alone than when he’d entered the kitchen. He had Claire. He had his family. And though they’d been thrust apart for a season, he felt hopeful that they would be reunited.

His wish was granted sooner than he would have thought, for Willem and Devon and a blond-haired little girl came running up from behind him. Their arrival surprised him, for he was sitting facing the entrance to the kitchen.