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

They reached Josselin castle before all Estian’s army could get safely inside. Several more skirmishes had stalled them, but with Tenthor’s men they’d made quick work of the defenders. More and more knights continued to bolster Ransom’s ranks as they caught up, and by the time he was within sight of the walls, he had about a thousand men with him, all mounted and ready for conflict.

The Occitanian foot soldiers were rushing to get back into the castle through the rear gate, but Ransom’s arrival threatened to forestall them. His heart filled with fury at the sight of Estian’s flag fluttering from a parapet.

As he led his men forward, he heard the Occitanians cry out in terror and flood toward the gate in a panic. If they didn’t close it, then Ransom’s men would be able to force their way inside, allowing him to seize his castle back.

The sun was starting to fade, and Ransom was weary from the hard ride and constant fighting, but he’d done it. They’d made it back to Josselin again.

“Like pigs for the slaughter,” Tenthor said next to him, gesturing to the helpless soldiers spread out before him.

A familiar presence tingled down Ransom’s spine as they drew nearer. Lady Alix was there at the castle. In fact, he thought he sensed her on the battlement walls.

The groan of the portcullis sounded as it began to lower, causing a shriek of despair from soldiers who hadn’t made it through. Estian was trapping part of his army outside. He had no other choice. There was nowhere he could run.

Ransom turned to his knights. “Ready!”

Tenthor grunted in anticipation.

What would Alix do? Did she have her crossbow again? Was it her intention to kill him? There was utter chaos outside the castle walls as the portcullis slammed shut.

Ransom knew Estian had made it to the castle. He was probably the first to have set foot inside it. How the situation had turned because of Claire’s timely arrival and her brilliant deception. He wanted to capture Estian before Bennett returned, to end the conflict and restore Ceredigion’s borders. He was so close . . . so very close to achieving his goal.

“Line up,” Ransom ordered his men. They all held lances, and they assembled into a long horizontal line as the first shadows of evening began to fall.

When they were in order, Ransom began to ride forward. Occitanian soldiers huddled together against the walls, some wailing in fear. As Ransom and his host drew near, he saw a hooded figure on the battlement walls, surrounded by knights. It was Alix, her golden hair slipping from the hood she wore. She stood by Estian. What advice was she giving?

When they were within earshot of the walls, Ransom held up his hand to order a halt. He gazed up at the figures standing atop the walls, then at the miserable mass quaking in front of them gripping spears with shaking hands.

“Well done, Lord Ransom!” shouted Estian from above. “You’ve always been a notable adversary. Are you ready to discuss terms?”

“I would be glad to discuss your surrender,” Ransom said. “By morning we’ll have the castle surrounded and begin to lay siege. So yes, by all means, let’s discuss terms.”

A brief silence ensued as Estian considered his words. “I’m not trapped here, Ransom, as you well know. I was merely going to barter for the lives of my soldiers trapped outside. Withdraw your force so I can bring them in safely.”

Tenthor snorted with disgust and said in an undertone, “Not bloody likely.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Ransom asked. “If they lay down arms, I’ll not slaughter them.”

“I know you won’t,” said Estian. “But more than their lives are at stake. We captured many of your townsfolk hiding in the woods. Your steward is here as well. You recognize him, don’t you? He has very distinctive hair.”

A knight shoved Westin to the edge of the wall. A sense of dread crept into Ransom’s stomach at the sight of the steward’s shock of pumpkin-colored hair.

“Withdraw so my soldiers can come inside. Or I will start hanging them, one by one, from the wall. Within view of your men. There are women and children here, Lord Ransom. They are your people, and it is your duty to protect them. We’ll start with your steward, just so you know I’m serious.”

Ransom watched in horror as some of Estian’s knights put a rope around Westin’s neck. His hands were bound behind him.

“That is against the order of Virtus!” Ransom shouted, his voice trembling with pent-up fury.

“This isn’t a tournament,” Estian spat in disdain. “This is war. I think we both know that I don’t make empty threats. Let my soldiers in, or he dangles from the wall. And the others, one by one.”

Ransom’s stomach felt ill as memories from his childhood came charging back. A castle under siege. The castle of the Heath. King Gervase had been asked to sacrifice a child’s life to prove his mettle, and now Ransom was being faced with a similar test. This was deliberate. Lady Alix had known exactly what would wound him most.

How many of the townsfolk had been captured?

“Can he truly escape?” Tenthor asked in a low voice. “If the castle is surrounded . . .”

“He can escape,” Ransom answered just as softly. He suspected Alix’s magic would allow it. He might not be able to bring his army back with him, but before he left he could take his revenge on Ransom’s people.

“You’re hesitating,” Estian said. “I think you doubt my sincerity. Throw him over the wall.”

“Wait!” Ransom barked before they obeyed.

“Don’t try my patience,” Estian warned. “Retreat now so I can draw my soldiers inside.”

Ransom felt impotent and furious. Was Estian bluffing? How many townsfolk had been captured? He had no way of knowing. The only question he could ask himself was whether Estian would murder the innocent. And yes, he believed Estian would.

“We will retreat,” Ransom said. “But I warn you. Whatever you do here tonight, whether you show mercy or murder, it will be done back to you at Pree.”

“You are just a pawn in a game of Wizr, Ransom. I don’t fear your threats.”

Ransom remembered when Alix had given him the chance to slay Estian, to stab him in an act of murder. How might things have gone differently if he’d gone through with it? The thought of killing Estian quivered inside him. He motioned for his knights to lower their arms, and they began to back up their horses.

He heard the portcullis groan and saw it begin to lift. One by one, the soldiers skulked back into his castle, protected by the walls. What would Benedict have done if he’d been there? Would he have persisted with the siege? Was the price worth the cost?

As he watched the soldiers slip one by one into the castle, he stared at them bleakly, the exhilaration he’d felt snuffed out. He’d come so close to catching Estian. To be thwarted now, his efforts foiled by his own mercy, was a sour brew. It wasn’t fair. But war wasn’t fair.

“What would you have done, Tenthor?” Ransom asked.

“If it had been my castle, my people? The same as you. You did order the villagers to flee, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Ransom answered. “But some wouldn’t go, it seems. I don’t know how many.”

“The Occitanian king has a heart as black as his tunic,” said Tenthor. “All that chuff he and his father made about Virtus. It’s just smoke. Nothing more.”

“It seems so.”

Another prickle went down Ransom’s spine. Dread quickly followed it—this was the feeling of warning that signaled he was about to be summoned to Brythonica.

Not now!

He could still feel Alix staring down at him. Was she smiling at his weakness? But the more he thought about his decision, the more certain he was he’d made the right choice. The only choice. It was like the ghost of Gervase had told him. The murder of innocents was against the order of the Deep Fathoms. His heart recoiled from it.

Ransom needed to find a way to escape his soldiers. The duchess’s summons would sweep him away regardless of where he was or who could see him.