Lady's Ransom (The First Argentines, #3)

“I’m soaking wet,” he apologized.

She drank him up with her gaze. “Oh, you eejit. I wouldn’t care if you were sáithithe—soaked to the skin!”



It was nearly midnight. All the windows in the fortress were shut, and the remains of a fire crackled in the hearth. Ransom had changed into dry clothes, and he sat next to Claire on a small sofa, Lord Toole and Dearley across from them on a pair of chairs. He’d told them all about his trip to Kingfountain, the king’s betrothal, the upcoming war with the East Kingdoms, and the storm that had prevented him from landing at Connaught—which was, it turned out, a blessing instead of an inconvenience.

Because of Atha Kleah’s status as a trading port, word had already reached them about the trouble at the Chandleer Oasis. But none of them had heard news of the war, so they’d listened eagerly to his story. Claire was grateful, relieved even, that Ransom had not been chosen to go with the king into the war.

Lord Toole had given Ransom a briefing on his new role as high sheriff of Legault. The results, of course, would be revealed on the morrow when the most powerful lord of the realm, Lord Tenthor, was due to bring his taxes to the palace. Ransom smiled and nodded and did not mention his encounter with the nobleman.

If the man didn’t show up, he fully intended to bring him in. He knew where he was staying.

“It’s after midnight,” Lord Toole finally said. “I suppose we should let the queen and her consort have some time to themselves. Shall we depart, Sir Dearley?”

“I’d completely lost track of time,” Dearley said. “Of course. No doubt Elodie is fast asleep herself. Atha Kleah is very quiet at night. I prefer it.”

“The quiet is not peaceful,” said Lord Toole. “We’ll have to do something about the brigands soon, my lady. But let us control the roads before we try taming the seas.”

He rose from his chair, and Dearley followed suit, both men taking their leave.

Ransom, still holding Claire’s hand, rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

“Is that a bruise?” she asked him, touching his cheek. “I didn’t notice it under your scruff.”

“Is it?” he asked, lifting her hand and kissing it. “You were unwell when I arrived.”

“I’ve been unwell for over a week,” she said with a sigh. “But now my mood has improved.”

“I’m sorry we quarreled before I left.”

“It was my fault,” she said softly, looking down. “I’m glad you did your duty. And that fair winds blew you home in time.”

“I hope Longmont isn’t as dreadful as Lady Constance said he is,” Ransom murmured. He’d told them about his stop at Ploemeur, although he hadn’t disclosed the secret that bound him. He couldn’t, however much he hated keeping it from his wife.

“He’s not the one I’m worried about,” Claire said, sidling closer to him. She leaned her head against his neck, her hair tickling his throat. “It’s Jon-Landon. Do you think he’ll stay in Atabyrion?”

“No, I don’t,” Ransom answered with a sigh. “But what’s to be done about it?”

“I suppose it’s Longmont’s trouble. But the oasis is very far away. And what if the king doesn’t return?”

“Hush,” Ransom said, feeling suddenly ill. Constance had already mentioned that possibility, and he didn’t wish to think about it. Already two kings he’d served had died. “Let’s talk of more pleasant things.” He took a goblet and filled it with a little wine.

“There is one bit of news that I wanted to share with you. Now that we’re alone, it’s probably as good a time as any.”

“What?” he asked, stroking her arm, enjoying the feeling of being alone with her at last.

She turned her head and whispered something in his ear. The surprise made him drop his goblet.



Ransom held Claire’s hair out of her face as she vomited noisily into the basin. He could hear the rumble of conversation in the audience hall beyond the heavy wooden door. Claire’s maid, Keeva, fetched her a drink of water for when she was finished. The nobles had been assembling, and the furor was growing louder as they waited for their queen to finally arrive. Knights patrolled the gates and the grounds, on the lookout for any trouble.

“I can do this,” Claire gasped, nodding her head. She took the proffered cup and swallowed some water. Then she took a deep breath and gripped Ransom’s hand. He squeezed back, staring at her with love. Now he knew the reason for her sickness. A child was coming. A child that would arrive before Benedict even reached the East Kingdoms. What if it was a little girl with hair like her mother’s? The thought made him grin like a fool.

The wooden door opened, and Dearley entered. “Everyone is here,” he said solemnly. “They look none too happy.”

Ransom pressed her hand to his lips. “You are their queen. I believe in you.”

She let out a pent-up breath. “Hopefully, it won’t end in a brawl.”

Ransom thought about Lord Tenthor, who would surely recognize him despite his change in clothes. “I don’t think it will.”

They walked hand in hand toward the door.

“Good luck, my lady,” Keeva said, beaming.

Even after vomiting in a bucket, Claire had a regal look about her. As Dearley opened the door for them, a hush fell over the hall. Everyone rose in unison as the couple entered the hall. There were lords and ladies standing before wooden benches, which had been arranged for the occasion. Lord Toole stood by the double throne at the head of the room, and he bowed his head to them, prompting everyone else to do the same.

Ransom and Claire walked together, side by side, climbed the dais, and seated themselves. The queen’s throne was more prominent, which was as it should be—Ransom was a king’s man, not a king. They sat in unison, and their audience followed suit. At the front bench was a huge man with a qinnamon-colored beard. He had dark scabs on his nose and cheek, a purpling bruise on his forehead, and a split lip.

He looked up at them and saw Ransom sitting next to the queen. A look of recognition came over his face. His lip began to tremble with dread as he realized just who had given him a beating the night before. Ransom bowed his head slightly to Lord Tenthor.

“That big man is Lord Tenthor,” Claire whispered to Ransom. “He’s in an awful state. I wonder what happened to him?”

Ransom squeezed her hand and said, “We met last night when I arrived.”

Claire’s brow shot up as she turned her head and looked at Ransom in disbelief.





The leaves on the trees have begun to change to their more brilliant hues. Ransom says this is his favorite season because the leaves remind him of my hair. So much has happened this summer, I have not had a chance to pick a quill up to write before now.