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

“I’ll return as quickly as I can,” he said, hooking his hand around her neck. They touched foreheads, and he kissed her. She pulled away too soon, giving him a forlorn smile.

“Be safe,” she said. “I’m glad we spoke of Dearley and Elodie returning to Josselin. I’ll miss their company, but they need some time alone. Having two babes in the castle must be torture for her. One of them could have been hers.”

Ransom nodded, feeling unsettled about leaving her. The children had not brought her much joy. If anything, her moods had darkened even more after their birth, and he felt helpless to understand the cause or what to do about it.

After kissing his children again, he mounted Dappled and prepared to leave. Guivret glanced back at the castle, a guilty look on his face.

“What’s wrong, lad?” Ransom asked the young knight.

His eyes shifted to Ransom, and he shook his head. “The castle was ambushed the last time you left. I fear what might happen.”

“There are fifty knights guarding Connaught. And the sea is calm. I have no doubt they’ll be safe.”

Guivret nodded to him. “If you say so, my lord.” He turned away from the castle, but he had a brooding look.

They reached the coastal city in two days, and Ransom was pleased to see the port so busy with trading ships. Several of them bore the Raven banner. When he arrived at the fortress, Lord Toole greeted him, and they began discussing the cases they had been asked to decide on the next day. Lords with overdue taxes. Rivals who’d fought during the winter and were coming to appeal for justice. Both agreed it had the makings of a terrible day.

There was a celebratory feast that evening, and Ransom found himself mobbed by individuals seeking his favor. The deference and flattery felt false, and at the first opportunity he broke away to seek out Lord Toole.

The sheriff smiled as he approached. “Have you had enough deceitful smiles for one evening, Lord Ransom?” he asked with wizened eyes.

“I find the battlefield easier to parse than court politics.”

“Courts are much the same regardless of which kingdom you live in,” Toole said. “Just recognize that every man, woman, and child wants a favor from you. There’s an old Gaultic saying. ‘He who is not contented with what he has would not be contented with what he would like to have.’”

Ransom chuckled. “How very true. How long do you think the business will last?”

“It will last until the Aos Sí return, if you let it,” said Toole. “It’s best to set limits, Lord Ransom. Never be too available.”

“Sound advice. What do you think we should do about Lady Dougal’s request?”

“Ah, the grieving widow. I would encourage some leniency, my lord. But not too much. She may or may not be guilty of her husband’s crimes. Even the best men cannot read another’s heart. Her prospects are diminished regardless of what you decide. I don’t see the harm in being a little merciful. Justice is like salt. Everyone only wants a little sprinkle of it for themselves.”

Ransom noticed Guivret hovering nearby, looking agitated. He seemed to be waiting for a lull in the conversation. Ransom gestured for him to approach. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

The younger man handed him a sealed letter. “This is for you. From one of Lady Constance’s knights.”

Ransom noticed the Raven seal.

“My lord,” Guivret said, abashed. “He told me . . . my mother is unwell. May I beg leave to visit Ploemeur?”

“I’m sorry to hear that news.” Ransom put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Of course you should visit her. I saw some Brythonican ships in the harbor. Perhaps one of them could take you?”

A relieved look crossed Guivret’s face. “I thought the same thing. Thank you, Lord Ransom. I hope to return soon.” He bowed and walked off.

“Why do you think that young man looked so guilty?” Lord Toole asked.

“Pardon?”

“I cannot claim any ability to read hearts, but that young man looked troubled about more than his mother’s ill health.”

Ransom turned and watched as Guivret passed through the thick crowd. He had been assigned to protect Claire. Ransom hoped the young man hadn’t developed feelings for the lady he served. It would explain his reluctance to leave the castle and why he’d been so agitated during her labor.

“I confess I don’t know what ails him,” said Ransom to Toole. “But I do remember being that young and having troubles of my own.”

Toole grinned. “That is true. Still, I would keep an eye on that one. His conscience is troubling him. But that’s a good sign. I worry more about the ones whose consciences don’t trouble them enough.”

“Lord Longmont comes to mind,” Ransom mused, turning the note over in his hand.

“Oh? I thought you and the queen dowager had reined him in?”

“We tried. But it would take a rebuke from the king himself to make him cognizant of his affronts. I’m still not certain he believes he’s done anything wrong.”

Ransom broke the seal and unfolded the note. It was written in a woman’s hand, and he saw Constance’s signature at the bottom. It was a brief note.

King Rotbart is dead. Estian will return sooner than believed possible. Beware.



The warning troubled Ransom’s sleep. Had Rotbart been assassinated? The message provided no details, but either way, there would be trouble and unrest within Brugia. Constance’s supposition that Estian would return was equally troubling. If Estian quit the field, leaving Benedict to face their enemies with the Genevese and Brugian troops who didn’t know whose orders to follow, everything would be in peril. But why wouldn’t it take Estian the same amount of time to return from the East Kingdoms as it took everyone else?

Even as the thought floated through his mind, he found himself thinking of Alix’s magical ability to travel. Could her brother do the same? His soldiers would probably not be able to return with him, if he traveled that way, but perhaps he hadn’t brought as many men as he’d promised. Some of them could be hidden away in Occitania’s castles for all they knew. Estian had proven himself to be both wily and deceitful.

He thought about sailing to Brythonica for more news, but doing so would arouse his wife’s suspicions. As he lay in bed that night, he wondered if he’d be summoned by the Gradalis, but the feeling never came, and eventually he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, he and Lord Toole met to dispense justice and mercy, and he found it difficult to concentrate on the matters at hand. Should he send word to Emiloh about what he’d heard? But surely she’d want to know how he’d found out, and he couldn’t compromise himself or the Duchess of Brythonica.

The next afternoon, one of his men came up to him and whispered that a ship with the banner of the Lion had been seen arriving in port. Ransom told Lord Toole to put a temporary halt to the session, expecting a messenger to arrive any minute. There was an outcry from those still awaiting judgment, but the hall soon began to clear. Ransom paced, his mind whirring uneasily, only to stop in his tracks. Sir Axien, one of the knights who’d stayed behind in Connaught, had walked into the chamber.

“Why are you here?” Ransom asked.

Axien looked worried. “The Queen of Legault sent me to you. She is furious.”

“What’s this?” Ransom asked in confusion.

“I hope you can make sense of it,” Axien said, brandishing another sealed note. “I’ve never seen her so enraged. She ordered me to come to you at once. She . . . she wasn’t in her right mind. It started after you left.” He backed away as soon as Ransom took the note.