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

Longmont saw it too. “He’s expecting conflict. Instead of provoking a fight outside the city, we wait until he’s inside and they’re outnumbered.”

“Exactly,” Emiloh said. “Once he is separated from Ashel, I will speak with him about his intentions. He will likely complain about the grievances of North Cumbria, Thorngate, and East Stowe—all of which he couldn’t care less about. He’s a selfish boy. He doesn’t know Ransom is here, or that the three of us have the authority to determine his fate. For now, I wouldn’t trust him back in Atabyrion. Make his room ready, Damian. He’ll likely be staying awhile.”

Longmont’s countenance fell.

The queen dowager sighed. “What is the problem?”

“That is where I put Lord DeVaux’s daughter,” he said sheepishly.

Ransom hid a smirk behind his hand.





They were bold today and suffered heavy losses. Even if I wanted to depart by sea, the tides are too dangerous. Our fate is bound with Connaught’s. I have been tending to the wounded, offering them water to slake thirst and comfort to endure pain. The squires came tonight and begged me to let them fight on the morrow. They are the same lads who fought the pumpkins not long ago. Some are only twelve years old. I look at their faces, and my heart constricts. So young. So very young to die.

—Claire de Murrow, Queen of Suffering Connaught Castle





CHAPTER TWELVE


Defiance


The prince arrived amidst a flurry of flower petals and the calls of trumpets. The scene wasn’t pleasing to Ransom, but Jon-Landon had a smirk on his face, as if he were finally receiving his due . . . until he saw Ransom. Pure rage flashed in his eyes, but he offered no objection when Ransom led him and his companion, a rather sullen-looking Duke Ashel, into the great hall. The queen dowager sat in her council chair, her look impassive as she studied her youngest son. Longmont paced before the empty thrones, which conjured in Ransom’s mind the images of twin ghosts—the two Devons he had served. Ransom turned to face them, hands clasped behind his back, his cheek twitching with controlled anger.

“You may go,” Longmont said in a tone of rebuke to Ashel.

The duke bristled with offense. “Is my presence so irksome to you already, Lord Justiciar?”

“Need I remind you that my word is the king’s?” Longmont said dangerously.

“You think I need another reminder?” Ashel scoffed.

“Please,” Emiloh said before the tensions could escalate even further. “The hour grows late, Duke Ashel. I would speak with my son.”

Her words mollified the surly duke, if only a little. Ransom wandered a few steps to the left, waiting to see whether he’d need to compel Ashel to obey.

“No harm will come to the prince,” said Ashel in a tone that carried an obvious threat. “We came in good faith.”

“I know you did,” Emiloh said. “If you would give us a few moments?”

Ashel bowed his head to her, then did the same to Jon-Landon. From the look that passed between them, it was obvious they had indeed formed an alliance. How many others had Jon-Landon already rallied to his cause? The duke marched back to the doors and left the hall.

“If your intention, Mother, is to scold me into obedience, I’ll save you the wasted time.”

Ransom didn’t like the superior air coming from Jon-Landon. He knew Devon Argentine, the Elder King, would have rebuked his son for such cheek.

Emiloh rose from her chair and approached Jon-Landon. As she drew nearer, his disdain began to waver. He looked discomfited by his mother’s proximity.

“I’m glad to see you,” she told Jon-Landon. He flinched.

“I hate to interrupt such a touching scene,” Longmont said, coming forward. “You broke your sworn word that you’d abide in Atabyrion until your brother returned.”

“Just as you broke your sworn word, Lord Justiciar, that you would defend the interests of my brother’s realm. I came because of your outrageous offenses.”

Longmont gaped at him. “My offenses? Are you impugning how I have performed my—”

“Yes,” Jon-Landon snarled, cutting him off. “There is not a single drop of Argentine blood in your veins, sir. And yet you have all the pride. You’ve belittled and abused those who were loyal to my father. You dress like a strutting peacock and act like a prince of the blood. I’m here to remind you that I’m a prince of the blood!”

Longmont’s cheeks flushed with anger. Although the accusations were not unfounded, Ransom suspected Emiloh was right—Jon-Landon cared less about the damage done by Longmont than how he could use it to his advantage. Still, Ransom felt guilty he and Emiloh had not done more sooner to curb the lord chancellor’s excesses.

“How dare you criticize me!” Longmont said with heat.

“How could I not?” the prince replied. “You’ve taxed the nobles heavily but some more heavily than others. That is not justice, it is corruption. How could I sit idly by in a foreign kingdom with all their quaint manners while you pillage my people?”

“Pillage?” Longmont declared hotly.

“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say? Defend yourself, man, if you can. I take by your silence, Lord Ransom and Mother, that you condone these actions?”

Ransom would not be drawn into the verbal brawl. He seethed in silence, but he admired Jon-Landon’s ability to speak. He’d matured in many ways since his father’s death—this was a bolder, more cunning boy than he’d known.

“You are an ungrateful—” Longmont started, but the queen dowager raised a hand to him to silence him.

“An admirable performance of outrage, Jon-Landon,” she said. “It was very convincing. I’m not convinced, however, that your intentions for returning to Ceredigion were wholly moral ones.”

“Madam, if I may defend myself from these false accusations?” Longmont demanded.

She gave him a withering look. “Everything my son has said is true, and you cannot deny it.”

Jon-Landon smirked.

Longmont stared at her, dumbfounded.

Ransom stepped closer. “I agree,” he said calmly, facing the prince. “You’re not driven purely by good intentions. Your brother chose us to counteract any abuses of power.”

“Which you haven’t,” the prince stated. “But then again, you’ve enjoyed the patronage Longmont has provided for you.”

“What was your intention in returning?” Emiloh asked him pointedly. “Did you come to cause a rebellion?”

“Of course not!” Jon-Landon said sharply. “I came for one purpose, despite what you think. I want Longmont removed as high justiciar. I demand that he be replaced with someone else.”

“You?” Ransom asked.

“No, of course not! I don’t think my brother would trust me with that kind of authority. Give it to Duke Ashel, maybe. Or you can have it, Ransom, for all I care. But not him. Anyone but him.”

Longmont was pale with rage. “Your brother should have punished you instead of forgiving you. Your treachery against your own father—”

Ransom sensed that Jon-Landon was about to fly at Longmont and pummel him. He quickly intervened and gripped the prince by the shoulder. “Not here, not now,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Get him out of my sight,” Jon-Landon snarled, trembling with fury.

“I am the high justiciar,” Longmont said in a quavering voice. His knees were trembling at the sudden threat of violence. “If you strike me, you’ll be in . . . in chains . . . in the dungeon.”

Ransom eased his grip on the prince. Jon-Landon didn’t make any moves toward Longmont, but he stared at him with open hate. His haunted look was no act. No doubt the son had been plagued by his conscience at having betrayed his father at the end and then having it thrown in his face.

“I think we’ve heard enough for now,” Emiloh said sternly. “Let’s have his room made available and two knights assigned to guard him.”

“Am I a prisoner, Mother?”

“I said your room. Not the tower. You’re free to come and go, but you’re confined to the palace grounds. No carousing in town.”