Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“I was going to the queen’s garden,” Ransom said. “I’d like to be alone.”

“I’ll check on Cecily, then. I never knew about your scabbard, Lord Ransom. I cannot thank you enough for saving her life. She’s weak, but the wound is nearly healed. We’re lucky the blade wasn’t poisoned.”

Ransom turned and gave Dawson an affectionate smile. “It has served me well these many years. Please keep its secret. I haven’t even told Dearley.”

Dawson gave him a knightly salute, his pledge to honor the request.

After they separated, Ransom moved his way gently through the interior of the palace, watching as the servants prepared a luncheon for those who had attended the rites. The cramps were becoming more severe. Sweat trickled down his back. A seizure of sudden pain came so startlingly fast that he had to stop and lean against the wall to keep from crumpling to the ground. So this was the agony the others had endured. He would bear it too.

Once the searing pain had ebbed slightly, he continued through the corridor and exited into the garden. He forced himself, step by step, to go to the nearest fountain and sat at the edge, grateful to relieve the pain in his leg. Lowering his head, he breathed out slowly, trying to master the anguish ravaging his innards. A blob of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. The sound of the fountain waters was soothing.

He looked up at the trees. Their leaves had turned into a dazzling array of autumn colors. Some yellow, some as orange as pumpkins, and others the same crimson as the streaks in Claire’s hair. A stab of pain dug into his heart. He would miss running his fingers through her hair. Miss waking with her at his side, their bodies generating warmth and feelings of safety. For many months of their marriage, she had wakened alone because of his calls of duty to the king and because of the malice of others who had brought war to their land. Peace. That was all that he wanted now. Estian could endure his confinement a little longer. Bennett had in Brugia. It was time for a change of seasons. An end of war, an ushering in of peace.

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, breathing through the stabs of pain and tormenting thoughts, but he heard voices, and he recognized them. He tried to stand to greet his family, but the needles were too strong.

Willem and Dev rounded the corner at a run, followed by little Sibyl, who brightened when she saw his face. Tears stung his eyes at the sight of his family, Claire coming next with Keeva in her arms, escorted by Dearley himself.

“Papa! Papa!” the children cried in a tumult of arms, hugs, kisses that nearly knocked him back into the fountain water.

Claire’s eyes were full of worry when she saw his face, but she strode up and knelt in front of him, her hair windblown, and her cheeks a little pink.

“You’re still alive,” she murmured. “Dawson told us what happened. My beloved. Oh, my dearest!”

She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder, squishing their youngest between them. Ransom’s heart was breaking, but he was so grateful to see them again. If they hadn’t started their journey sooner, he might have been dead before they arrived. His tears wet her hair. Looking up, he saw Dearley choking back his own emotions.

Claire pulled back and kissed Ransom on the mouth. He could taste her tears. “There is time to grieve later,” she whispered. “You’re alive, and we love you, and we want to be with you every moment.”

“We do, Papa!” said Sibyl. “Are you really going to die?”

He looked at his daughter and nodded truthfully. “But I will always be your father,” he told her, pulling her in with one arm to hug her. The boys’ eyes were wet, but they tried to be brave, even though their breathing was ragged, their emotions a heavy load to bear.

“I’ll be a knight like you,” said Willem proudly.

“So will I,” said the younger Devon with equal conviction.

“You must serve the king since I cannot,” Ransom said. “He’ll need you both to be loyal and true.”

“We will, Papa. Just like you,” Willem said.

Ransom saw Dearley turn and begin to walk away, his head bowed.

“John,” Ransom called, stopping him. He took Claire’s hand and grunted as she helped pull him to his feet.

Dearley turned, his eyes streaked with tears, and the two men embraced each other like brothers and wept.



The pain was unendurable.

Ransom tossed and turned on the bed, one moment overwhelmed by fire and the next trembling with shivers. Claire never left his side, and she did all she could to comfort him, bringing water to his fevered lips and sponging the sweat from his brow. His children were there as well, in the room Sir Iain had prepared for them. The boys slept on the couches and sometimes slunk off with Léanore to explore the Espion tunnels. They’d brought Sibyl into their conspiracy and had begun teaching her the inner pathways on the first day. To everyone’s surprise, she enjoyed navigating them. Word had been sent to James and Maeg in Brythonica, but he doubted he’d last long enough for them to return.

“Your eyes are bleeding again,” Claire said sadly, dabbing the corners with a wet towel. “How I hate seeing you suffer. Are you hungry?”

“I wish it were winter, and you could bring me some ice,” Ransom said, touching her hand and squeezing it. “I vomited everything last night. I’m empty but not hungry.”

“It will be winter soon enough,” she said. They’d talked and talked for hours since her return. “I think we’ll spend it in Glosstyr, though. With your mother.”

He began to shiver again, and she pulled up another blanket. He gazed at her, feeling comforted by her presence.

“Is it dawn yet?” he asked.

Claire rose and went to the curtain and drew it aside. “Soon,” she said. “I know you hoped you’d last the night. You’re a stubborn man, Ransom Barton. You fight it still.”

“I wish I could conquer this foe,” he said with a gasp. He writhed beneath the sheets, trying not to show his agony. “But it will prevail . . . in the end.”

She came back and sat at his bedside. “You have been a faithful husband to me,” she said, laying a hand on his chest. “I doubted you when I never should have. Forgive me.”

“We’ve been over it before,” Ransom said. “There is nothing to forgive. I . . . I don’t think I can last much longer, Claire. I’m so weary . . . so weary of fighting death.”

“Let me wake the children, then,” she said, rising swiftly. She jostled them and then went to the chair by the door and roused Dearley. He’d not left Ransom’s confinement either. They’d spent many hours talking, and Dearley had pledged to protect Ransom’s family and ensure they prospered.

As his bleary-eyed children rubbed their faces, they gathered around his bedside. Dearley opened the door and whispered something to the knight standing guard.

Ransom looked at the faces of those he loved. He tried to smile at them, but he was afraid it looked like a frightening grimace. Then suddenly Dawson and Cecily were at his bedside too, hand in hand. Cecily looked at Ransom with gratitude and compassion and bent down and kissed his brow.

“Thank you, Lord Ransom. I owe you my life.”

Dawson wiped his eyes. “We’ll be married today,” he said, holding her hand. “We won’t wait.”

Ransom gave them an approving nod. “I’m glad of it. May the Fountain bless you.”

“May you be blessed as well,” Dawson said. He held the scabbard and belt in his hands, as if ready to offer them back to him. Ransom noticed the bastard sword inside looked like his. It was his.

“I want Willem to have it,” Ransom said. “When he’s old enough. Until then—you safeguard it.”

Dawson looked startled and then grateful. “I’ll give it to your eldest son,” he promised. “When he is ready.”

Claire looked to Dawson, recognizing the scabbard, and smiled through her tears in agreement.