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

“I know,” Ransom answered.

And he didn’t. He waited for the prince to attack and immediately trapped Jon-Landon’s sword arm against his hip. The dagger came up, but Ransom blocked it and wrested it away. He held the dagger against Jon-Landon’s throat.

Jon-Landon’s eyes bulged at how quickly he’d been disarmed.

“Now is where the teaching begins,” Ransom said, face-to-face with the prince. “You’ve just been disarmed. Put your leg behind mine and twist your hips. If you do it right, you’ll lever a man down on his back. Try it.”

Jon-Landon did, but he wasn’t strong enough to move Ransom. He strained, the dagger still at his throat, as he tried to comply.

“Harder. Put your spine into it. Try to throw me down.”

“I am trying!” Jon-Landon said with clenched teeth.

“Harder!”



When Ransom left, the prince was gasping for breath, with sweat streaming down his face and a look of exhaustion reminiscent of young squires at age twelve or thirteen. The prince had never worked so hard or been pressed to continue even after he’d decided to quit. Ransom had tested Jon-Landon’s patience and perseverance and found both equally lacking, yet . . . by the time he’d called an end to the practice, he’d sensed a little spark of pride in the prince.

Jon-Landon should have been sent to live with another duke, someone surly like Duke Ashel, who wouldn’t have given a care for his royal blood and certainly wouldn’t have allowed him to get this far without any real show of effort. It was the Elder King’s fault for depriving his son of good mentors, ones who didn’t brook excuses or allow privileges of rank to ease the work.

He went up to his room to change, but when he opened the door, he was startled to see a young woman he didn’t recognize.

“Goodness, you startled me!” said the lass, hand on her breast as she turned toward the door. “S-Sir Ransom? Sorry for intruding.”

“Who are you?” Ransom demanded. She wore the dress of a serving maid, a simple gown and girdle.

“I saw you . . . in the training yard,” she said, unable to meet his face. “You were so fierce . . . so angry.”

He saw smudges of ink on her fingertips, and some of his discarded letters to Claire lay on the floor.

A sensation of wrongness surged within him, and he noticed the girl was holding one of her hands behind her back. He searched her with his Fountain magic and learned she had skill with weapons and intrigue. This was no serving maid. In fact, her words of flattery had been a deliberate trick to put him off his guard.

He stepped toward her quickly, and she backed up until she hit the wall. Her nostrils flared with fear at his sudden closeness. He grabbed the arm tucked behind her and wrestled it forward until she opened her hand and revealed a crisply folded piece of paper.

Her eyes blazed with worry, and when he released her arm, she rubbed her wrist. She tried to slip around him, but he blocked her.

“Not yet,” he said to her angrily. “Stay where you are.”

After unfolding the note, he saw that she’d copied some of his words down in her own hand. She hadn’t stolen his letters . . . only tried to duplicate them. A queasy look came over her face as she realized she’d been caught in the act.

“You’re one of the Espion?” he murmured to her. He folded the sheet of paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Yes,” she answered flatly, sweat beading on her brow.

He sighed. “Longmont sent you, did he?”

She met his gaze. “No.”

“You are already in serious trouble. Be honest with me, or it will get worse.”

“I was being honest with you, Lord Ransom.”

“If not Longmont, who?”

“Jon-Landon,” she answered. “He said he was going to distract you in the training yard. I was to learn what I could from your room.”

His anger grew even hotter. “Were you looking for something?”

“Nothing specific,” she said. “He just wanted to know more about you. He asked me to go through your letters. Learn if you had a mistress.”

Her words felt honest enough, although he didn’t like hearing them.

“I have none,” he answered. “Nor will I.” The knowledge that the prince had so easily duped him only made him angrier. His own good nature had been used against him.

“So you are part of the Espion, but you serve Jon-Landon.”

“Indeed,” she said. “There are many of us who are paid by both men.”

“Do you know which ones?”

“Some of them,” she said. A sly smile came over her pretty mouth. “I could work for you as well, my lord.”

“I respectfully decline your offer of treachery,” he said blandly. “Get out of my room. And tell your fellows that anyone who’s caught in here in the future will find themselves in irons in the dungeon until King Benedict returns from the East Kingdoms. That might be a very, very long time. Am I clear?”

She swallowed, the sly smile turning into a worried one. “Quite clear, my lord. I beg your pardon. May I go now?”

He looked her in the eye. “If you’re a smart lass, you’ll reveal nothing of what you read. My personal business is of no concern to the prince, Longmont, or anyone else.” He gave her a hard look, one that conveyed his displeasure.

“I understand you, my lord,” she said meekly. “I’ll not say a word. I promise.”

He didn’t trust her. But he let her go and then burned the letters one by one.



Emiloh had already finished her breakfast when he arrived in the solar. His own stomach growled with hunger, but he denied her offer to send for more food. He was still upset after the incident with the Espion girl.

After he revealed everything to Emiloh, she shook her head and sighed. “My youngest son may be clever, but he’s also reckless. Why would he deliberately make an enemy of you? Did he trust that he wouldn’t be caught? His conniving is certainly ill-timed.”

“Which leads us back to the discussion we’ve had before on whether I should take the Wizr set with me when Estian starts his war.” Ransom raked his fingers through his shortened hair.

“Having the set with you would be an advantage,” Emiloh said. “But I see an even greater one in keeping it at the palace. Jon-Landon could move the pieces.”

“Jon-Landon could steal it,” rejoined Ransom. “For all we know, he heard whispers about it and paid the girl to try and find it. Your son has betrayed us to the Occitanians before.”

“She didn’t say she was looking for the set,” Emiloh pointed out.

“She could have stayed silent out of loyalty. Or maybe she didn’t know, specifically, what she was looking for. It’s hidden for the moment, but if I draw it out of the waters, you won’t be able to put it back.”

“I see your point, Ransom, but could you do any better safeguarding it yourself? You’ll be in a tent. Estian kept it at his palace, and I think it should stay here. If I can see the game as it plays out, I can tell you where to go next to challenge Estian. And if the situation grows desperate, Jon-Landon can move your piece to respond to any threat.”

“Yet, I don’t trust him.”

“He’s given you no reason to,” said the queen dowager. “But he is still my son. He is still an Argentine.”

“What about Drew?” Ransom said. “Why not summon Constance to Kingfountain and ask her to bring her son?” He knew she would not want to come, but the situation was desperate.

“It’s a possibility,” the queen acknowledged. “But I’m loath to use a child in war. And knowing Constance as I do, she would not wish to leave her duchy unprotected.”

No, indeed. From what she’d told him about the rites at the beach, he suspected she wouldn’t want to be away for long.

A knock sounded on the door, and Sir Iain entered. “Sir Simon of Holmberg has arrived from Glosstyr.”

“Send him in,” said Emiloh.

When Simon entered, he acknowledged Ransom with a friendly nod, but he looked uncomfortable. Something had happened.