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

The crew went about their work while he leaned against the railing. As the sky began to pale in the east, he glimpsed the coastline of Legault and felt a rush of relief. As it brightened, he could see Connaught castle in the distance.

Dearley came out of his room groggily, rubbing his eyes, then joined Ransom at the railing. “I wish we didn’t have to ride the sea each time we left. But I can see why they call it the Fair Isle. It’s beautiful. Has an ancient feel about it.”

“Indeed it does,” Ransom agreed, looking at the land. He wanted to explore the wonders of Legault with Claire, to learn more about her heritage and past.

“I heard you parted ways from the knights you were with on your return to Glosstyr,” Dearley said. “Was there a reason?”

He felt a silent warning from the Fountain. “I cannot speak of it,” he said softly, staring across the waters.

Dearley didn’t press the matter. “I see. The knights were worried. They didn’t understand why you’d left. I’ll say no more about it.”

“Thank you,” Ransom said, grateful for his friend’s trust but wearied by the secret.

His excitement and anxiety increased as the ship drew up to the docks behind the hill. The ships moored there had sustained some damage in the storm—a few had smashed planks, and one had a cracked support pillar—but his attention shifted to a small party gathered on the dock: Claire, her maid Keeva, and Guivret.

Claire looked eager to see him, and Ransom rushed down the gangplank as soon as it was fixed in place. The splotches on her cheeks, nose, and forehead gave her the appearance of someone with the pox. It startled him to see her in poor health, but his worries diminished when she smiled and came into his arms. He smelled her hair and held her close.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” she said.

He pulled back, caressing the side of her face. “Are you well?”

“It’s the babe,” she said regretfully. “I’m swollen and wretched, especially in the mornings. Sir Dearley!”

The young knight approached them on the dock. “I didn’t have to go far to find him. He was at Glosstyr, just as you said.”

“You knew I was at Glosstyr?” Ransom asked.

An unreadable look crossed her face. “Had you been there long?”

“No. I’d just arrived back . . . from Kingfountain.”

“From Kingfountain?” she said, a little surprised. Was that worry in her eyes?

“I came back as soon as I could,” he told her. She started to tremble. “Are you cold?”

“Yes,” she said, her mood shifting again. “It feels like I’ll never be warm. Let’s go back to the castle.”

She took his arm, and they walked down the planks. Dearley spoke to Keeva and asked how Elodie was doing.

“She’s sláintiúil,” said Keeva, mixing in some Gaultic.

“She’s slain?” Dearley asked in confusion.

“Sláintiúil—healthy.”

“Goodness,” Dearley said. “I’m relieved to hear it!”

Claire smiled at the banter. There were shadow smudges under her eyes. She seemed to have difficulty with the steep stairs from the docks, so Ransom slowed down and went at her pace. When they reached the top and entered the castle grounds, he saw the workmen repairing the walls. It was a painful reminder that he hadn’t been there when she needed him. Guilt wrenched at his heart.

When they got inside the castle, they went up to their room, alone at last. She stood by the hearth, rubbing her arms. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She flinched.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

“I had a strange dream the other night,” she said, looking into the flames. “I know it’s silly. I dreamed you were at Ploemeur.” Her voice held a throb of doubt. “But you wouldn’t have gone there, Ransom. Not on purpose.”

A feeling of darkness roiled through him. Something was wrong, but he didn’t understand it. Nor did he know what to do about it. He’d been warned not to speak of the Gradalis, but he hated keeping such a big secret from Claire.

“Why would I go there?” he asked softly, trying not to lie to her directly.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did,” he said sincerely. “You mean everything to me.”

She bowed her head. “I don’t feel it, though. Your duties to others have kept you away. I’m fat and sick and had to fight off a desperate attempt to murder me and my unborn child. And you weren’t here.”

Pain burst in his heart. “I came as soon as I got your letter.”

“Did you?” she asked, turning to look at him, accusation burning in her eyes.

A sour taste filled his mouth. He wouldn’t lie, but lies of omission were still lies, were they not? He stepped toward her, anguish squeezing his chest. “I came as soon as I possibly could,” he said sincerely, forcefully. “Jon-Landon nearly caused a revolt. And there’s a madman plundering Blackpool and North Cumbria. I think he’s the Gaultic brigand known as the Hood. He attacked our ship when I left Connaught.”

“Truly?” Claire said in surprise. “Ryain Hood?”

“He shot an arrow at me,” Ransom said. “I’ve not been rolling dice. It makes me sick that Dougal attacked you. I’m furious you had to worry about your safety for even a moment. But I have certain duties that I must perform. A loyalty to King Benedict Argentine that without . . . I wouldn’t even be your husband. Forgive me for being gone. It couldn’t be helped.”

His words were sincere and passionate, and her look softened a little. But only a little. Perhaps her pregnancy made her feel unworthy of love.

He took a step closer. When he reached to brush his thumb across her cheek, she turned her head slightly, but she let him touch her.

“I’m samhnasach,” she said.

“What?” he asked, teasing her hair with his finger.

“I’m loathsome. Disgusting. I’m hungry all the time yet cannot keep my food down. I get vomit in my hair.”

He took a lock and pressed it to his lips.

She butted him in the stomach with her elbow. “I’m serious.”

“You’re the most beautiful thing in all the world.”

“You almost sound as if you mean that,” she said, her nostrils flaring.

“Claire,” he said, shaking his head. “I do mean it. I’d be an eejit to want anyone else.”

She closed her eyes as she started to weep and leaned her forehead against his chest. He stroked her hair as she nestled against him. Had the siege of Connaught been her first battlefield? How many had died? He held her, whispering softly, and finally she softened to his touch.

When she lifted her chin and kissed him, he could taste the salt from her tears.





It has been too long since I’ve last written, but today’s sad news nudged me into lifting this quill once more. The castle is quiet now, the snow thick on the trees. Not long ago, there was a keening wail that made everyone weep. Lady Elodie lost her child ere it was born. A little boy, wrinkled and bloody. She nearly bled to death. Poor John Dearley was frantic, afraid of losing both wife and child on the same day. When I heard the news, I sent Dearley away and told Ransom to go to her and lay his scabbard on her breast. She was quite unconscious. He did it at once, and the bleeding stopped. When Dearley was told the bleeding had stopped and she would live, he wept in gratitude and grief. Poor man. Poor mother. My heart aches for them both as I write this.

This event has clouded my own feelings toward my coming confinement. I’ve been excited, but now I dread the worst. I thought this would be a daughter, but it must be a son. It feels as if I’m carrying a calf, not a child, all the wriggling and wrangling. My body aches all the time, and I’ve swollen more than even the midwife agrees is good. I love this child in me, and when he—and I say “he” because I’m all the more certain of it—is kicking and squirming, I take Ransom’s hand and guide his palm to where he can feel it. He smiles and looks at me so lovingly.

I smile as well, knowing all the while that he lied to me. I forgave him, even though he does not know I did. The stone sees the present. That much I know for sure.

—Claire de Murrow

Connaught Castle

(on the stillbirth of Finnley Owen Dearley)





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Silent Snow