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

The harbor in Atha Kleah is tangled with so many ships. I await the fair tide to give the men the order to sail and confront the enemies of Legault. The flagship will lead the way, setting the direction of the assault. I’ve instructed the captains to keep the destination secret in order to surprise our foes. The Duchess of Bayree will regret her trespasses.

Another letter arrived from Ransom this morning, asking me to send support to Glosstyr. I cannot afford to divert a single ship. He chose his loyalty already. I’ve chosen mine.

He wants to reconcile, and perhaps we shall someday. But not until I’ve had my revenge.

—Claire de Murrow

Atha Kleah

(fair weather—foul intentions)





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


The Black Banners


Fear and terror wriggled inside Ransom as he grappled with Alix on a bed, gripping her wrist to keep the dagger from plunging into his bare chest. His sword and scabbard were gone, so he faced her unprotected and disarmed. Claire was screaming his name over and over.

He awoke from the dream with a start, panting, covered in sweat, echoes of his wife’s screams still ringing in his mind. At first he thought it was the middle of the night, but as he looked at the open window, the curtains rustling with a breeze, he saw the pale colors of coming day. His stomach twisted with anguish. It was his bedroom in the fortress of Glosstyr. There was no Claire, no poisoner. And he knew that the Occitanian army would be arriving that day.

Tossing aside the sheets, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His sword and scabbard were still where he’d left them—in the middle of the bed, within easy reach. He’d slept in his hauberk, wanting to be prepared for anything, and his body now smelled of sour sweat. But he thought he detected a hint of lilac too. Alix’s scent. A chill went down his spine. Had she been in his room during the night? Uncertainty raged within him.

Grabbing his sword, he strapped it to his waist and then washed his face in the basin. A knock sounded on the door.

“Enter,” he said in a voice still rough from sleep.

It was Dearley, who looked weary as well. And worried.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re bringing bad news?” Ransom asked.

“Because you’re perceptive. The Duke of North Cumbria left Blackpool yesterday. He’s gone, and so is his army. The scout you sent didn’t encounter them on the road.”

Disappointment thudded inside Ransom’s skull. James’s final words to him had vouched for his trustworthiness. And Ransom had dared to believe him.

“No one knows where he went?” Ransom asked, struggling to keep his emotions under control. The desire to smash James’s face into a pulp sizzled beneath the surface.

“The knight returned after finding Blackpool abandoned. The citizenry wondered if you were coming to their defense. Everyone is fearful with that outlaw on the loose.”

Ransom stared at the floor for a moment. How was he to defend Glosstyr from Estian with only one army? He’d sent another letter to Claire, pleading for reinforcements, but her previous cold responses made him believe help would not be forthcoming. The anguish of their estrangement broke through his dread for a moment.

Dearley handed him a sealed letter. “This arrived for you during the night.”

Ransom recognized the palace seal. He took it slowly, dreading the possibility of more ill news. The seal looked intact. After peeling it loose, he unfolded the letter and recognized Simon’s handwriting.

Lord Ransom,

I’ve received information from multiple sources confirming the Duchess of Brythonica has made a truce with Occitania. She has declared herself independent of allegiance to either Occitania or Ceredigion and has invoked her rights of sovereignty. I was shocked by the original news, but it has come from too many witnesses for me to doubt its veracity. The queen dowager is concerned, but she did not seem surprised and indicated that you might not be either. Of course, I’ve shared all of this with her. We look to you and the Duke of North Cumbria to hold off the invasion. The Occitanians have launched an attack on the Duchy of Southport by sea and by land, led by the Duke of Garrone. Duke Ashel is defending Kingfountain, though I have some Espion reports that he might try to seize the palace for Jon-Landon. I don’t know what to believe, but we’ve decided to keep his forces outside the city for now in case it’s true.

Do your best, Ransom. If Glosstyr falls, I don’t need to tell you that we would not hold out for long. A messenger has been dispatched to inform King Benedict of our situation, though there will obviously be a long delay in learning his will or what is happening in the East.

I wish I had better news to give you, my friend. If there is anyone Estian fears, it is you. I’ve put a coin in the fountain here at the palace for you.

I look forward to news of your victory.

Simon of Holmberg,

Master of the Espion

Ransom rubbed his mouth and then looked at Dearley, who was staring at him solemnly, waiting for news. He handed his friend the letter to read for himself and then poured himself a cup of water from a nearby pitcher.

“We’re alone,” Dearley murmured softly. He handed the letter back.

“So it seems.”

“What are you going to do, Ransom? It won’t be easy to besiege Glosstyr. We could last for some time. Maybe long enough for the king to return.”

“I think that’s what Estian wants. He wants us to hunker down and wait for deliverance. But no deliverance will come. He’ll bottle up the harbor and trap us in here while he ravages the kingdom with his army.” He sniffed and shook his head. “I must face him.”

Dearley’s eyes widened. “We’re outnumbered on all counts.”

“I know. But if I’m going to die, I’m taking Estian to the Deep Fathoms with me.”



Ransom walked along an outside corridor, one with arched windows open to the view of the bay of Glosstyr. The town had walls around it, but the fortress was situated on a hilltop at the shore. He paused to look out one of the arches, watching the sun glisten on the waters. From where he stood, he could see the sanctuary of Our Lady where he and Claire had been married. It felt like a lifetime ago, and the memory brought a wave of sadness and despair.

He paused for a moment, letting himself dwell on the feelings, then continued up to the defensive towers, which would offer a wider view. Several sentries stood watch, and they greeted him with forced smiles.

“Any sign of ships coming?” he asked them. The harbor seemed relatively empty, but the tide wouldn’t come in until just before nightfall.

“Not even a merchant vessel,” said one of the men. “But we’ll keep watch, my lord. Those Occitanian knaves won’t take us by surprise, by the Lady.”

Ransom gazed down at the plains where his army was camped. He saw the tents and pavilions, the knights practicing with their lances. The bulk of the army was situated on higher ground, facing the direction in which Estian’s force would arrive. They were close enough to the castle walls to retreat, if necessary. But Ransom was determined to bloody his sword before that happened. He’d left Dawson in charge of the camp and Dearley in charge of defending the fortress and securing the supplies they needed. Scouts had gone out earlier and returned with news that the enemy army was not far off. They’d be in sight of each other before nightfall.

As he made his way around the tower, surveying the scene from all angles, he noticed a cluster of knights riding toward Glosstyr from the southeast. Who were they?

Ransom pointed the group out to the sentries before heading back to his room to put on his armor. After he suited up, he walked down to the bailey and discovered, to his surprise and delight, that reinforcements had come. It was his brother and the knights of the Heath.

“Well met, Marcus!” Ransom said with excitement.

His brother had already dismounted, and the two embraced. It had been too long since they’d come together.

“I heard Estian was headed this way. I couldn’t let you have all the glory for yourself, little brother.”

Ransom gazed at the knights, many of whom he recognized from previous conflicts. Some he didn’t recognize at all.