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

The sunlight was beginning to fade, and Ransom knew he needed to be aboard the ship before Longmont arrived there. He walked down the palace corridor, illuminated by torchlight, and found no one paid him much attention in his tunic and cloak. He’d written a letter to Claire explaining the decisions they’d made and pleading with her not to depart for Legault until he returned. Her presence in Glosstyr would be a strong deterrent against Estian’s ambitions. But the change in seasons was coming, which left Ransom only a little time to succeed in his mission. She would leave soon, and if he didn’t go with her, he would be parted from her and the children for months, a thought that pained him keenly, especially since he would miss the birth of their youngest child.

He arrived at the queen’s chamber and was promptly admitted by her guards. Once inside, Ransom experienced the strange sensation of staring at himself from behind. Dawson was clad in his armor, and Simon had even arranged for a scabbard to be crafted with the raven-head insignia on it. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was a convincing substitute. Simon and the queen dowager stood on either side of him.

Dawson turned when Ransom arrived, and he had a look that exuded too much confidence. He’d been overjoyed with the assignment to impersonate a duke. Ransom worried that overconfidence might ultimately get him caught, but Dawson was the only man in his mesnie who had the build to play the part.

“We’re just waiting for the sun to set,” Dawson told him. “Then I’ll ride out to Glosstyr. I can’t wait to see Dearley’s face when we get there.”

Ransom gave him a pointed look. “Don’t let it go to your head. Here, this letter is for Lady Claire. Do not let it out of your possession for any reason.”

“I won’t,” Dawson said, showing a little flash of offense. “I’m not a fool.”

He felt another pang of misgiving. He had enemies, and Dawson would have to face them. Would he be up to it?

“I see that you’re worried,” Dawson told him in a low voice. “I can do this, master. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you can,” Ransom said, putting his hand on the knight’s armored shoulder. “That’s why I chose you.” The words were intended to instill confidence, but his worries had not abated. Dawson’s confidence always made him seem older, but Ransom remembered that he was only nineteen.

Dawson glanced out the window. “I think it’s time.”

Ransom offered one more encouraging nod and then tapped his breast in a knightly salute. Dawson reciprocated and donned the helmet that would finish the disguise. “I hope Dappled won’t balk,” he said, his voice sounding strange from beneath the helm.

“He knows you,” Ransom said. “Ride on.”

Dawson dipped the pommel of his bastard sword and then bowed to Emiloh and Simon and departed.

“I trust Claire’s instincts more than his,” Emiloh said to Ransom, frank as ever. “But you were once so ready to serve. Look at you now.”

“Yes, a humble knight in service to the queen dowager,” Simon said with a wry smile. “Let’s get you on your ship. I have several Espion disguised as crew members. We told Longmont he’s bringing four guardsmen with him for protection, chosen by the queen dowager.”

“And he doesn’t know I’m coming?”

Emiloh shook her head. “No, and he won’t find out until you are underway. Right now, he believes he’s been entrusted with this mission. You’ll take command after the ship leaves, when it’s too late for him to send word to anyone.”

They heard steps moving down the corridor, heading their way. Simon turned to Ransom. “That might be Longmont. Time for you to disappear. We’ll take the Espion tunnels.”

He opened a triggered latch, and the wall grated open quietly, revealing the dark, tomb-like passage. Ransom went in first, and Simon grabbed a candle from the table before joining him. It cast barely enough light for them to see, and the musty smell of the dank corridor filled Ransom with apprehension. He much preferred the wide halls of the palace to skulking around in these narrow passages. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face as they walked, Simon leading the way.

After going down some narrow steps and passing through various twists and turns, they saw another dim light ahead. Simon held his candle up higher as they approached, the glow revealing Cecily in a hooded cloak.

“She’ll take you the rest of the way,” Simon said. He turned and gripped Ransom’s arm. “As I told you before, they’ll ask for a steep ransom. It may even be as high as a hundred thousand livres. If we squeeze all the duchies, we can get seventy thousand. That means we’d need a loan of thirty thousand from the Genevese. Do your best to get it down. But I recognize you’ll be competing against Estian. He has the means to outbid you.” Simon sighed. “Do your best, Ransom. Make them want to accept your offer.”

Ransom nodded to Simon, and the two embraced in the passageway. When would they see each other again? Would it be under better circumstances?

Simon took the candle with him, leaving only Cecily’s light. She wore an interesting gown—the fabric darker than was fashionable in Ceredigion, the sleeves a little tighter, the whole thing dotted with little dark beads that glistened in the candlelight.

“Are you ready for this, my lord?” she asked with a Brugian accent. He’d heard the Brugian tongue before, with its harsh, throaty sounds.

“To the ship,” Ransom said with a nod.

At the end of the dark passageway, she led him down another set of stairs. He could smell a hint of perfume coming from her, reminding him of the lilac scent Alix wore. It gave him a shudder of misgiving. No one he was leaving behind would have any protection against the poisoner. Only another Fountain-blessed could sense her presence.

The queen has the board, Ransom reminded himself. And Alix does not.

They reached a closed stone portal. Cecily touched a spot in the shadows, and the portal opened, bringing in the scent of wet stone and the sound of lapping water. In the distance, he could hear the river and the falls.

Impulsively, he gripped her arm. “Where are we?” he asked, unable to subdue the sudden feeling of terror.

Cecily held up the candle, its glow reflecting on a vast expanse of water. Arches crisscrossed the ceiling overhead. It felt like they were in the very depths of the castle.

“This is the cistern,” she whispered. “The water is pretty low right now since we’ve had a dry year. Are you afraid of water, Lord Ransom?”

A strange feeling tingled down his spine as he stared at it. He had never been there before, but it felt as if he had.

“Lead the way,” he whispered, and she stepped into the dark void.





You can imagine my shock when I was told Ransom had returned to Glosstyr without sending word of his arrival, only to discover it was Sir Dawson in disguise, riding that ugly brute Dappled. Dearley joined us in the confidence, so at least I’m not the only one burdened with the information of what is being risked to free King Benedict from a Brugian prison.

Fool, fool eejit. This is a secret that cannot be kept for long. Surely Estian or Alix will learn of the deception. I want to go back to Legault, but now I cannot. There is too much at stake here.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr

(on the intrigues of brainless badgers)





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


Callait


Ransom walked into the dark vault of the cistern, led by the Espion woman and her fragile candle. There was a small ledge around the cistern, a pathway that allowed them to circumnavigate the chamber. The stone arches supporting the castle’s bulk overhead were reflected in the calm water. Drips and plops echoed through the vast stone area. The strange sensation of familiarity did not lessen.

Cecily slowly brought them around the circumference. A set of stairs led up to a wider platform, but she went past it.

“Where does that lead?” he asked her, then quieted when his voice carried farther than he’d wanted.

Cecily stopped and raised the candle higher, chasing some of the shadows away. The ceiling, speckled with dark stains, had a hole cut into it. “There is a garden up there,” she whispered. “It’s one of the openings that fills the cistern when it rains.”

Ransom recognized the shape of the hole. It was in the gardens he’d been to several times to visit with Emiloh and Claire. Was that why the cistern had felt so familiar?