Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

I’d wished for Ransom to be home, but now that he is here, I believe it would have been better for all if he’d stayed. The king does not deserve to be saved, but save him we must. Ransom believes Jon-Landon’s son is important, and although I still have difficulty accepting that everything I’ve been raised to believe is a lie, I can do no other than believe in him.

Who will prevail in this contest? There’s a saying in Legault—if you plan to injure your neighbor, better not do it by halves. Lord Kiskaddon does not seem to be a man of half measures. But having a plan doesn’t mean one will execute it well.

I only pray we will not be forced to take up arms against our friends. Peace is our plan. Let us hope we need not spill blood for it.

—Claire de Murrow, Queen of Legault

Connaught Castle





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


To Murder a King


It was nearing midnight when Ransom went to his room. Claire was still awake, wearing a pale nightdress and shawl, nestled into the window seat, her little book in her lap. She turned her head at the sound of the door. Ransom leaned back against it, listening to the snap of embers in the sinking fire within the hearth.

“I thought you might already be abed,” he told her, throwing the lock on the door.

Claire set the book down and rose, her bare feet soundless as she approached and buried her face in his chest. “Why do troubles continue to torment our family?” she whispered, shaking her head.

He held her, stroking her dark hair, admiring the glints of crimson in the dim light.

“I don’t know,” he answered sadly. “We can never have a moment’s peace.”

She pulled back, then wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged his face down to kiss him. It was a possessive kiss, one that stirred his blood and made him wish all the world would just leave them alone. He pulled her closer, enjoying the sensation, yet his heart grieved at so much bad news.

Claire stopped and withdrew, clenching her fists. “I want to throw something against the wall and break it.”

“A pillow?” he suggested with a wry smile.

She gave Ransom a stern look that quickly softened. “How did James and Maeg take your refusal?”

“With disappointment but not surprise,” he answered, running his fingers through his hair.

Claire unfastened his scabbard belt and then propped his weapon against the nightstand. “Sit down. You’re exhausted.”

He sat on the edge of their bed and started pulling off his boots.

“James asked if Maeg and Percy could stay with us,” he said.

“It would still be treason,” Claire said. She tossed the first boot down and helped drag off the other. “If we help them in any way. I hope you told them no.”

“I did, but I made another suggestion. I thought they might seek shelter in Ploemeur.”

Claire tossed the other boot down and gave him a quizzical look. “Do you think Constance would accept them?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I believe so. Especially given their connection to Drew. Still, it would be better if Jon-Landon didn’t know where they were staying. I don’t think Constance would want to take up arms against Ceredigion. But I suspect she’ll never forgive us after what happened.”

“I feel sorry for her. Truly, such news would have broken my heart. I’m probably not as kind as her. I’d have ripped Jon-Landon’s heart out with my own dagger.”

Ransom sighed as he leaned back against the pillows, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling timbers. Claire snuggled next to him, one hand resting on his chest, the other propping up her head. She gazed down at his face.

“I missed you,” he whispered tenderly.

“Tell me about our sons. I’m sure you left out much in your letters. They truly stole an Espion key and threw it down a well?”

Ransom chuckled. “That’s true. They’re both fearless. And so is the king’s daughter. The three of them were always slipping away from their caretakers. But not the king’s son. He seemed more . . . timid. But he has a keen mind. I’ve heard his tutors praise his understanding of law and languages. I’ve talked strategy with him several times, and he’s eager to learn how to prevent a war. In the training yard, he’s more uneasy. He doesn’t relish violence.”

“What do you make of the queen?”

He reached out and stroked the edge of her cheek. “It’s difficult to guess her thoughts,” he answered. “Does she know her husband is unfaithful to her? Does she turn a blind eye? She enjoys the power of her rank. That much is clear. I don’t think she knows everything.”

“I’m sorry for her, then,” Claire said, stroking his chest. “I would be devastated if you were ever unfaithful to me.”

He looked into her eyes. “And I would be the world’s biggest eejit.” Taking her fingers, he kissed them one by one.

“Are you saying you are not an eejit, Ransom?”

“I’m not as clever as you are,” he said. “But I’m faithful to you. I always will be.”

“I like hearing you say it,” she said, then kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m faithful to you, Ransom Barton. This situation with the nobles . . . it’s going to turn ugly for everyone. It cannot do otherwise. We might be lucky to stay out of it for a little while, but we’ll both be dragged into the fight. I’m not afraid of Jon-Landon. I never was. But even he isn’t enough of an eejit not to realize he needs you now more than ever.”

Ransom thought the same. He kissed her wrist next. Then he pulled her sleeve up to kiss the inside of her arm.

“You’re not too tired?” she asked him, tousling his hair.

“Not if I’d swum all the way from Glosstyr,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her neck.

“I’d forgotten how ticklish your beard was,” she said with a sigh and lowered herself onto the pillow. “Can we forget our troubles for a little while, Ransom? Can I make you forget them?”

He liked the sound of that. “I love you too much, Claire,” he said, kissing her neck again. “Is breá liom an iomarca duit.”

“Tell me again. And again . . . and again . . .” she whispered, grasping his tunic.



Several days passed in a surprisingly restful manner. Ransom played with his daughters, taking them for rides on Dappled through the meadows and woods beneath the castle hill. He went hunting again with Claire, and they spent a night in the lodge in the woods. She offered to take him to the barrow mounds, but he remembered the way the magic had afflicted him on his last visit and declined.

They waited for news to come from Ceredigion. And when it did not, he wondered if something had interrupted the insurrection. Life had a way of interrupting well-laid plans, something he’d seen often enough in the service of four Argentine kings.

But that stretch of quiet was shattered on the fifth day, when a message came from the king, who had fled Kingfountain and had transferred his court to his fortress at Averanche. The message was delivered by an Espion named Branson Chase, a tall fellow with a bushy black beard and the physique of a knight.

“What does the message say?” Claire demanded. They had brought the Espion messenger up to the solar for privacy, and Ransom had only just finished reading the missive. He handed it to her, and she read it swiftly before lowering the page.

“Kingfountain is lost?”

“Aye, my lady,” Branson said. “The king and his family had time to flee with half of the palace guard. The message Lord Ransom sent arrived before the plot could take effect. The king is grateful for your warning.”

“Did they flee by horse or ship?” Ransom asked.

“By ship in the dead of night,” Branson said. “Some of the knights rode as decoys. They were attacked on the bridge outside the sanctuary of Our Lady. Blood was shed that night, and the knights fought to the last man. No quarter was given or offered. Kiskaddon controls Kingfountain now.”