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

“Your mesnie has grown, Marcus.”

“They’re not all mine. Some are from Thorngate castle. Lady Deborah sent help as well. I see you’ve arrayed troops in front of the city. You’re going to fight, aren’t you?”

“It seems a reasonable course,” Ransom answered. “A lot can happen on the battlefield.”

“And Estian knows it,” said Marcus with a bold stare. “Where should I gather my knights?”

“Report to Sir Dawson at the command pavilion. You’ll be leading one of the forces.”

“I’d hoped you’d say that!”

The brothers embraced again, Ransom beyond grateful for Marcus’s support, even if the men he brought were too few to make a difference in the outcome. Their sister, Maeg, was still under ward in one of Benedict’s castles far away. That left their mother defending the Heath, but she was up to the task.

Ransom asked for Dappled to be brought. He gave his final orders to Dearley, then headed down to his command tent to meet with Marcus, a few of his key knights, and his battle commanders. Two of them, Sir Thatcher and Sir Harrold, had served the Elder King during his wars, yet Ransom would have felt better if someone like Lord Kinghorn had been there to lend his wisdom and years of experience.

The tent was lit by several lanterns and furnished with a pallet to sleep on, several chests, and a table outfitted with a large map of the city and the surroundings. Ransom nodded to his knights and went to the table.

“How far off is Estian’s army?” he asked.

Dawson pointed to a spot on the map. “Here. And they’re bringing siege engines. At least three trebuchets were lumbering down the road behind them, drawn by horses. There is a line of wagons going back to Josselin.”

That wasn’t good news, but Ransom had expected it. “The trebuchets will be of no use during the battle we’ll be fighting. Have they spied us yet? Do they know we’re waiting for them?”

Sir Harrold spoke up. “We’ve seen their scouts at a distance, like flies hovering over a pile of stink. They know we’re here.”

Ransom nodded and planted his palms on the tabletop. “It’s just us, lads. They have the advantage of greater numbers, but we have the advantage of higher ground. There are no rivers between us, so no tricks can be performed. This is where they test our mettle. This is where they’ll find what true knights are made of.”

All the kings he’d served had been better at rousing speeches than he was. But it didn’t seem to matter. They beheld him with respect, knowing he’d be fighting in the thickest part of that battle.

A squire barged into the tent.

“Excuse me, my lord! Come quickly!”

Ransom straightened. “What is it?”

“There’s another army coming! Our scouts just spotted them.”

“Where?” Ransom barked.

“From the north! It’s Duke Wigant!”

Ransom ordered one of his men to collect fifty knights, determined to ride out himself to learn the truth. The sun was about to go down, and the tide was already coming in. Merchants would be arriving soon, hopefully with news from Kingfountain, and the timing of James’s arrival was highly suspicious.

Dawson fell in next to him as he approached Dappled.

“Do you think it’s an ambush?” the other knight asked. They both knew James could be fickle. Ransom had led a group of knights, including Dawson, on a mission to Dundrennan for Devon the Elder, only to be attacked by the new duke—James Wigant—who’d shifted his allegiance to Benedict.

“It might be,” Ransom said. He didn’t feel any warning from the Fountain. But the warnings weren’t always predictable or timely.

They mounted and rode north. Just as the squire had informed them, there was an army riding toward them, some foot soldiers too. Ransom took up a position and waited, seeing the banner of the North fluttering in the breeze. The army came toward them purposefully, led by a knight whose flashy armor revealed him. As they got closer, James detached from the bulk of the group with four knights and rode ahead to meet them. He lifted his visor as he approached, glancing at Ransom’s escort as if silently counting them.

“I’m here, Ransom,” he said with a wary voice. “I disobeyed the queen dowager’s order, but I made a promise to you, and I’ve kept it. Now why does it look like you’re going to arrest me?”

“What order?” Ransom demanded. “I asked you to wait at Blackpool.”

“I did,” James said. “Then I got a message that I was to withdraw to defend Kingfountain. I left Blackpool and started east, but I kept feeling this nagging sensation that I was going the wrong way. The order didn’t make sense to me. I couldn’t imagine why the queen would want you to face Estian alone.”

Relief came like a cool drink. “Let me see the order,” Ransom said.

James reached into his saddlebag and produced a letter and seal. The handwriting was similar to the queen’s, but Ransom thought he saw differences in the style.

“It’s a forgery, I think,” he said to James. “Who brought it to you?”

“One of those Espion types,” James said. “Truly? They’ve compromised our messengers this badly? This did not come from Emiloh?”

“Definitely not. You were supposed to be here. I’m relieved you came.”

James glanced back at the men Ransom had brought, then gave him a surprised smile. “You thought I’d betrayed you.”

“It’s happened before.”

“True,” James admitted. “But if you go down, Ransom, we all go down. Where would you like my army?”

Ransom couldn’t help the smile. It felt good to smile at last. “I’d like you to lead the left flank.”

“You’re taking the vanguard?”

“Of course. I’m assuming Estian will lead his.”

“That suits me,” James said. “Based on what you’ve told me, Occitanians have infiltrated the Espion.”

“That’s evident, yes. But I don’t think they were counting on you keeping your promises.”

“Don’t get used to it,” James shot back with a grin.

They rode back to the command tent together, side by side. But they didn’t make it all the way before Sir Thatcher came riding up to them quickly, eyes blazing.

“What is it?” Ransom demanded.

“Ships,” he said, out of breath. “Word just came from . . . Sir Dearley.”

“Friends of yours?” James drawled to Ransom.

“The tide is coming in,” Ransom explained. “I’ve been expecting more bad news all day. A blockade. How many Occitanian ships, Sir Thatcher?”

“No,” gasped Sir Thatcher. “They’re Gaultic ones. Sir Dearley said to come at once. So many ships. It’s . . . it’s your wife! She’s returned to Glosstyr!”





We sail into Glosstyr Harbor with the coming of the tide. Thank the Aos Sí the trick worked, and they did not know we were coming. I did not wish to deceive my husband—deceit feels wrong, even when it serves a greater purpose—but I knew there were traitors among us who were stealing our messages. And someone had riffled through the pages of this little book. Now, at last, we can confront each other and discuss the matters that have plagued our marriage. No more will I need to write lies. Let the previous pages be a testament to the dark times in which we live, to the need for dissembling when your enemies are as manipulative as King Estian and his sister.

I wonder what Ransom will say when he learns I’ve come with an army to help him face Estian? That the coolness I expressed in my letters belied what I really felt? I’ve missed him. I’ve missed him so very much.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr Harbor





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


The Breach