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

We have captured many Occitanian knights in this war so far, and they’ve been brought to Glosstyr for confinement until this is over. Still no word from my husband on his pursuit of Estian, but surely he could not have made it all the way back to his borders by now. The lack of news is worrisome. I must endure it as best I can. As the Gaultic saying goes, “Misfortune might follow you for the rest of your life, but may it never catch up.”

I am not a prisoner in a tower any longer. If word does not come from him today, I’m taking my bow and a horse, and riding hard after him. I’m not proud of my traitorous thoughts, but I had a dream last night of Ransom and Constance sitting together on a balcony, hand in hand.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr

(the worries of war)





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


Twilight in Ploemeur


I need some time to think,” Ransom told Lord Tenthor in a low voice. “I’m going to send a rider back to Glosstyr to inform my wife of the situation. Remain here and keep watch over the castle from afar.”

“And where are you going to be?” Tenthor asked with concern.

“The woods, over there,” Ransom said, pointing to the darkening forest. “If I’m not back within the hour, return to Glosstyr.” Anxiety coiled within him. He feared he was about to vanish in front of the others, thus revealing his peculiar duty, but he was also concerned about what would happen to his army, and to the people held captive by Estian. He could still sense Alix’s presence in the castle.

“Do what you must,” Tenthor said.

Ransom gave orders to send word to Claire about the situation at Josselin. Then he mounted Dappled and rode a short distance away. He continued until he could no longer feel Alix’s presence—knowing that she, in turn, could no longer feel him. Then he dismounted and found a small spot in a grove of trees, where he lashed Dappled’s reins to a branch so his destrier wouldn’t wander off. Dappled offered a noisy grunt, and Ransom patted the beast’s neck, grateful for his immense stamina. Stars had begun to appear in the sky overhead, their glow visible through the curtain of tree limbs. His stomach squeezed unpleasantly as he anticipated the final rush of summoning magic.

It came while he was staring at a bit of starlight.

The sensation of plummeting roiled inside him, and he found himself back in the city of Ploemeur. He turned around slowly, taking in the salty sea air, and found himself on a balcony in the palace. A night bird sang from atop one of the stone ravens along the rim, and he saw a harbor full of ships, the tall masts void of sails.

The door opened, and Constance joined him on the balcony, her arms folded, her eyes downcast. She looked weighed down.

“I didn’t want to summon you, Ransom,” she said, her voice thick. “But I had no choice.”

From the doorway, he recognized her bedchamber, where he had recovered from his previous injuries. He felt a tightness in his chest. It felt wrong to be here, especially now, when he was so needed by his army.

“Why did you bring me here now, and not before, when Alix came?”

Constance stiffened at the mention of the poisoner’s name. She still didn’t look at him. “There was nothing you could have done,” she said. “I’m meant to use the visions from the seering stones to help others, not myself.” There was so much pain in her voice that he felt the stirring of compassion.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t call you here to share my woes, Ransom.” Her gaze lifted to his face. There was a yearning in her eyes that whispered of more than just friendship. His stomach clenched. He stared at her, waiting for her to speak but dreading it at the same time.

“Benedict is going to be captured,” she said, her voice calm and deliberate.

She might as well have struck him with a battering ram. “What? How?”

Constance walked to the edge of the balcony, resting her hands on the smooth stone. “The messages you receive from him don’t always arrive in the right order,” she said. “I’ve seen a vision of what’s to come. A truce at the oasis will happen soon. Benedict will learn that Estian has abandoned him and plans to invade Ceredigion, so he will come home as swiftly as he can . . . and that means leaving his army behind.”

Ransom winced. “That is terribly reckless.”

“Indeed. He’s also worried about Jon-Landon seizing the throne, as he should be. He will be traveling with a small group of knights pretending to be mercenaries.” She turned away again, gazing down at the bay of Ploemeur. “They’ll find passage on a Genevese ship headed to Brugia. When they get there, a Brugian duke will apprehend them, and Benedict will be held prisoner until his ransom is paid. All of this will happen months from now, but I’ve seen it as if it happened this very day. And I cannot hope to warn him because there is no way of knowing where he will land.” She shot a look at him. “It’s not the Fountain’s will that I intervene. Only that I tell you so he can be saved.”

Her words plunged like knives into Ransom’s chest. “Do you know which duke will capture him?” he asked urgently.

Constance nodded. “The vision was clear on that. His name is Gotz the Iron Hand, and he is master of the Wartburg in Brugia. That is where you will find your king. And that is why I summoned you. Many people will be interested in buying him, Ransom, and Estian will be among them. You must win the negotiation. The duke is irascible. It won’t be easy. And there will be other . . . complications.”

So Benedict wouldn’t be returning to save them—rather, he would need saving. The disappointment was a terrible blow, especially on the heels of Lord Kinghorn’s death. Benedict had always had impetuous tendencies, and if the Duke of Westmarch had lived, he would have kindly but firmly dissuaded him from such a course of action. The cost of the ransom would be a burden on the people, especially after the steep expenses of the war with the East Kingdoms and Longmont’s profligate spending. They could send for help from Genevar, but hadn’t the queen, Portia, returned to her father’s house? What did that imply?

“This is hard news,” Ransom said, shaking his head. “Do we prevail?”

Constance had tears in her eyes. She wiped them on her sleeve. “Eventually,” she said softly.

Seeing her pain made his heart ache. “What is it?”

She patted the stone railing and let out a deep sigh. “She took my son.” As if admitting it aloud had made it real, she finally gave in to her grief, clenching her hands into fists and letting her shoulders quake. Sinking to her knees at the edge of the balcony, she pressed her cheek against her forearms, her face turned away from him.

Ransom didn’t know what to do. Drew was gone? Now he understood why Brythonica had claimed independence. Her hand had been forced.

“Where is Drew now?” he asked her. His promise to protect the boy struck his heart like a bell.

“I’ve no idea,” she gasped. “Do you know how hard it is, Ransom? I could find out this very instant. But I cannot use the seering stones for myself. I cannot . . . I cannot . . .” She began to gasp for breath and then wept piteously.

Ransom’s heart twisted in shared pain. Alix had come for his sons too. And Keeva had lost her life protecting one of them. It made his stomach turn to think of Drew, so innocent and good-natured, in the grips of Alix and Estian.

“If he harms your child . . .” Ransom said, his voice throbbing with anger.

When Constance turned her face toward him, her cheeks were still wet with tears. “No, Ransom, don’t even think it! She . . . she said he wants Drew to be named Benedict’s heir. That he will allow him to claim the throne in Kingfountain.”

“But you cannot trust a word he says,” Ransom countered. “He’s willing to murder children. He threatened it just now at my castle in Josselin.”

“I know his character,” Constance answered. “But I couldn’t stop her from taking him away. I don’t know where he is, and the uncertainty is torturing me.”

“Let me look at the seering stones,” Ransom insisted.

Constance shook her head. “It would be the same as if I used them, Ransom. Neither of us have been commanded by the Fountain. I dare not risk it.”

Ransom wanted to bury his face in his hands. Instead, he dropped to one knee in front of her. “Then let us petition the Fountain. Let us at least ask.”

“I have asked,” she whispered.