Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

Ransom gave Claire a worried look. “Averanche isn’t the most protected castle. He’ll be vulnerable there to Alix and Estian.”

“The king knows. He’s going to ride to Beestone, where much of his treasury is kept. The queen will stay at Averanche with their children. And your sons. They escaped by ship as well.”

“And Sir Dawson?” Ransom asked.

“Sir Dawson is protecting them and the queen. He’s a good knight. You’ve trained him well.”

“I don’t feel Averanche is safe,” Claire said, setting down the note. “It’s vulnerable by sea.”

“The king’s fleet is being rallied as well,” said Branson. “And Lord Faulkes is securing mercenaries.”

“From where? Not Brugia,” Ransom said.

“No, my lord. Genevar. That’s another reason he went to Averanche. An army from the North is coming down toward Blackpool. Kiskaddon attacks from the east. It won’t be long before the Black King of Occitania meddles as well.”

“You should sail for Glosstyr,” Claire told Ransom. “You still have a garrison there. You could form a wall and stop that Northern army from coming down.”

Ransom didn’t want to fight James, but he felt that the sooner he confronted him, the more bloodshed could be avoided. He gave the Espion a weighing look. “Would the king accept my help?”

The man grinned at him through his beard. “He’d be most grateful, my lord. I was sent to give you the information and see if you were willing to help. After all the king has done to you, he wasn’t certain.”

“If we continue to fight amongst ourselves,” Ransom answered, “we make our kingdom even more vulnerable to our enemies. I don’t want to fight a war. I want to try and stop one.”

Branson looked skeptical. “Kiskaddon won’t relent. He’s risked his fate on defeating the king.”

“And I’ll risk mine on helping him keep his crown,” Ransom answered. “I’ll go to Glosstyr straightaway. Have the king send word on where he’d like to meet me.”

Chase breathed a sigh of relief. “My lord, he’ll be most pleased to hear this news.”

“Then hurry and tell him,” Ransom said. The Espion nodded and left the solar to return to his ship.

Claire picked up the letter and crushed it in her fist. “I hope he realizes he doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”

Ransom approached her, taking her shoulders in his hands. He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t want to fight other knights of Ceredigion. Each man we lose weakens us all the more.”

She looked up at his face. “You may not have a choice. You’re facing two duchies with only one. Not to mention all the other lords who have defected, according to the king’s letter. He has Faulkes, you, and mercenaries if they can arrive in time. They will be using their full strength. Be careful.”

“I’m going to try and argue for clemency,” Ransom said. “If it comes to a pitched battle, we could lose.”

“You? Lose?” Claire asked with a mischievous smile. “Not my husband.”

“If there is a battle, we lose no matter who wins,” Ransom said. “Every person we lose is a kinsman.”

“Maybe you could offer to go to King Gotz and sue for peace,” she suggested. “Jon-Landon refused to send you before out of pettiness. You can make an alliance or at least prevent Gotz from joining Estian.”

“It’s a good suggestion, but until we find a way to stop fighting amongst ourselves, an alliance won’t last. I need to persuade Hal to back down.”

Claire pursed her lips. “How do you plan on achieving that? He was loyal to Benedict, and he’s plotted to murder Jon-Landon.”

“His back was to the wall,” Ransom said. “I’m going to ask Jon-Landon to pardon him and James.”

Claire studied him with a look of disbelief. “Be serious, Ransom.”

“I am. And I’m going to try and get Lady Deborah on my side. If we cannot make the king see reason, then none of this matters. If he’s determined to fight to the end, well . . . the end will come much sooner than he thinks, and he’ll lose the crown. If that happens, he’ll deserve it.”

Claire looked at him seriously. “Then who would be king? The boy?”

Ransom met her gaze. “Yes.” The Fountain had told him as much, although it had not given him enough information to know when Devon was to become king.

“A child king,” Claire said thoughtfully. “What if Kiskaddon balks? What if he won’t swear fealty? He could try to claim the throne himself.”

Ransom shrugged. “I don’t want to fight him. But I will if I must.”

She threw down the paper and took his hand, leaning her forehead against his chest. “This feels worse than what we went through with the Elder King. Or even with Benedict when he was away at war. I don’t trust Jon-Landon, and neither should you. Promise me you won’t be foolish.”

He squeezed her hands. “I will do my best. And I’ll try to bring our sons home with me.”

She looked up into his eyes. “Come back to me, Ransom. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.”

Her words sent a ripple of apprehension through him. He lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles. “I will come back.”

“You’d better,” she said with tears glistening in her eyes. “There’s a legend that the Aos Sí had the power to raise the dead for one night a year.” Her tearful smile told him that she didn’t truly believe in it. That maybe she truly was beginning to believe in what he had seen and heard. In what he knew in his heart to be true. “Don’t make me use heathen magic on you, Ransom Barton. Come back to me!”

“I promise,” he whispered huskily, trying not to focus on the sliver of doubt in his heart.





The morning was clear the day Ransom left for Glosstyr. And then, around midday, a wind rose from the sea that felled trees in the meadow and damaged the turret roofs at the castle. The ships at harbor were battered against the docks, and many took heavy damage. It came from nowhere. It is still summer, so the storm was unusual. An omen that makes my heart shiver with dread.

Ransom was at sea when that storm struck. The felled trees are being axed into wood to help prepare for the coming winter. And I must wait to learn if my husband arrived safely. Why does my heart murmur so? Why does it whisper that he may not be coming home?

—Claire de Murrow

Fair Isle

(in weather foul)





CHAPTER NINETEEN


The Drowning of Leoneyis


The cog lurched down another swell, and Ransom gripped the edge of the table, catching his goblet before it slid off the top. His stomach clenched and heaved with the heavy pitching. It was an unseasonable storm, one that shoved and tossed the cog mercilessly. Unable to bear sitting, he rose to his feet and stumbled to the door, his footing like that of a drunkard.

He opened the door to his stateroom and gripped the handrails as he shuffled down the corridor. It took some effort to mount the stairs, and when he reached the deck, he was surprised to see the sail had been lowered. The wind and waves pounded the cog, and the crew wrestled with ropes to try to bind down the cargo. Some of the barrels had already been smashed, and the stink of pickled herrings rushed to his nose.

The main mast creaked and groaned, and sailors shouted at one another. Ransom stumbled forward, trying to reach the helmsman deck where the captain gripped the tiller with both hands and leaned against it with all his weight. Wind buffeted Ransom like an invisible giant. His hair whipped about, and his tunic rippled against the current as he struggled his way to the ladder and climbed it to join the captain.

“Did you throw a coin in the well before leaving, Lord Ransom? For safe passage?” the captain shouted against the wind. “Methinks not!”

Ransom hadn’t, but it was never too late to petition the Fountain for safety. He clutched the railing and watched the sea collide with the hull, sending a huge spray up onto the side deck.

“Feels like a winter storm!” Ransom shouted back.

“Aye, except the air is too warm for it! The Deep Fathoms must be angry. I see no other cause for it.”