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

“I’m still queasy from last night,” he said. “I’m relieved those brigands didn’t try to board us. I should probably spend more time in the training yard. I haven’t drawn my sword in years. I’m out of practice.”

Ransom sipped from his goblet before setting it down again. “But if they’d come, you would have fought.”

“True. Are you riding to Kingfountain today? The roads are pretty muddy.”

“At least they don’t rise and fall like the sea. The weather doesn’t bother me. I’ll head to the palace. Is Emiloh still there?”

“From what I’ve heard, yes, although she was planning to winter in Auxaunce. I hope she hasn’t left yet.”

“Do you think I should send a courier ahead of me?” Ransom asked, cutting a piece off a strip of pork.

“It might be better if your arrival surprised Longmont. You can see for yourself how he comports himself.”

It was a good point.

“How many knights will you bring with you?” Simon asked.

“I was thinking a dozen. Can you choose the men to ride with me?”

“Gladly. When will you depart?”

“As soon as I finish eating,” Ransom said with a smile and wolfed down the rest of his food.

The weather was foul all the way to Kingfountain. They stopped at Beestone to spend the night and then rode hard all the next day to try to reach the castle by dusk. With the ugly drizzle and inconsistent harder rain, they were all soaked and mud-spattered by the time they arrived. Water dripped from the wooden signs on the city streets as they passed them. Once, it had felt like home, but now the memories were bittersweet. It felt as if Devon the Younger might ride up beside him, laughing about some trifle, or his father, Devon the Elder, might be pacing restlessly in the throne room. And he couldn’t help but think of Claire whenever he saw the tower where she and the queen had been imprisoned for years.

While crossing the bridge, he sank into the noise of the falls and let the sound fill him up and strengthen his determination. They rode up the hill to the castle proper, and their sudden arrival sent a shock wave through the knights guarding the gate, many of whom he knew from previous journeys.

“What are you doing here, Lord Ransom?” one of them asked with a nervous laugh.

“Is the queen dowager here?” he asked.

“Aye. Did you come for her . . . or to see Lord Long-Fur?”

Ransom furrowed his brow in annoyance.

The knight flushed with chagrin. “Sorry. He’s a blasted fool. We mock him with many names. I beg your pardon, my lord.”

That Longmont was being openly ridiculed by the knights didn’t bode well. Ransom dismounted, travel weary but grateful he’d arrived. He marched into the castle while his knights attended to the horses. Torches burned in racks on the walls, and he observed the murals had been changed. New tapestries had been added, along with fine silk curtains hung from filigreed iron rails tacked into the stone walls. The walls had been scrubbed of soot—recently—and he noticed servants still bustled about, though it was late, scrubbing and arranging things with a look of nervous dread on their faces. They seemed too harried to even notice him as he passed.

Ransom’s tunic and cloak were soaked through, so he went to change first. As he walked toward the stairwell, he heard gasps of dismay and turned around, finding servants on their knees, frantically wiping up the trail of mud he’d brought in with him. Sighing, he continued up the steps and went down the hall to his private room in the palace. Devon the Elder had allotted it to him due to his frequent stays at the palace, and Benedict had upheld the decision. It served as yet another reminder of how much gratitude he owed his king.

He grabbed the handle and pushed it open, earning a scream of dismay from a young woman inside in the midst of changing into a nightgown with the help of her maid.

“How dare you!” shrieked the lass.

Ransom, startled and mortified, froze for an instant. He didn’t see any immodesty, but he quickly shut the door and backed away from it. Bewildered, he glanced up and down the hall, wondering if he’d made a mistake, but the room was in the same location it had always been.

A moment later, the door flung open, and the outraged young woman stood there with a shawl over her nightdress.

“Who are you! How dare you spy on me while I’m changing!” she said to him.

The maid looked abashed and backed away from the girl, who behaved like a lioness but was probably no more than twelve.

“I beg your pardon,” Ransom said, still trying to understand. “I didn’t know—”

“You could have knocked! Or were you trying to spy on me? Callum! Callum!” she yelled, her voice rising.

Another door opened, and a knight with a tunic and sword came charging out with a confident look. It took a moment for the name and the face to register, but Ransom knew this knight. Callum was one of Lord DeVaux’s knights. Ransom had been DeVaux’s hostage for months until Queen Emiloh herself paid his ransom.

The knight approached with a swagger. “What’s this fuss about, Lady Léa?”

“This fool burst into my room while I was dressing!”

“Actually,” Ransom said, trying to control his anger, “it is my room.”

The girl gasped in outrage. “Insolence! It’s my room! Lord Longmont gave it to me himself. I should have you flogged. Callum! No . . . Father!”

Ransom saw someone else coming down the hall. The sight of Lord DeVaux made his stomach clench with pent-up revenge. What was he doing at Kingfountain? This was his daughter?

“Whatever is the matter, child?” said Lord DeVaux as he approached.

When he looked at Ransom, his eyes bulged with recognition, and his skin turned pasty with fear.

“Take this man to the yard and flog him!” the girl said, stamping her foot.

Callum grabbed Ransom by the cloak, but Ransom yanked him by the front of his tunic and shoved him into the wall.

“Unhand me, Sir Callum,” Ransom said in a voice barely under control. “I’m not defenseless this time.”

“Do as he says,” commanded Lord DeVaux, who had finally reached them.

“But, Father!” Léa complained.

“Be silent!” he barked at her. “He is the Duke of Glosstyr! Not a man to be trifled with. He’s Fountain-blessed.” He sized up Ransom, his eyes shifting from fear to ambition. “Well . . . we meet again under different circumstances.”

“But he said it was his room,” the girl said in a sulky voice.

“It is,” rebuffed the father, his eyes not leaving Ransom’s fierce gaze. “Out. Now.”

Callum had long since released Ransom’s cloak, his face registering horrified recognition, and Ransom unclenched his hand from the man’s tunic.

“Hello, Ransom,” he said in a shaky voice, holding up his hands in a submissive gesture.

“What is all this commotion about?” came another voice from the stairwell. It was Longmont. He arrived on the scene next, wearing the most gaudy outfit Ransom had ever seen. A puffed tunic, lace at the throat, and a vest striped with green and purple. He looked like a courgette squash in all its color.

He went pale at the sight of Ransom.

“Lord Ransom! What are you . . . why . . . it is so good to see you! You hadn’t said you were coming! What a terrible mistake. A message must have been delayed. I’m absolutely mortified. Lord DeVaux, please forgive me. I had no idea Lord Ransom was due . . . for a visit.”

Longmont’s smile was a pained one, his attempt at cheer as convincing as a seasick man pretending his stomach wasn’t about to overturn.





A storm pounded the sea after Ransom left. I hope he made it to Glosstyr safely. Alas, the storm caused us trouble as well.