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

Gotz was an older man with thinning hair streaked with gray and a bushy goatee covering his mouth. Even though he was in the middle of his own castle, he wore armor. Ransom wondered whether he was always on his guard. The iron hand was fixed to his arm like a gauntlet, the fingers folded into a fist except for the extended index finger. As they drew nearer, Ransom noticed the man’s bloodshot blue eyes, one of them milkier than the other. Scars mottled his face—burn marks by the look of them. He ignored the commotion of the hall, his gaze fixed on them as they approached.

But the sense of power didn’t come from him. No, the power emanated from one of the noble ladies who sat near him. Ransom was taken aback by her appearance. She wore a mask of polished silver, with openings only for the eyes and nostrils and a thin slit for the mouth. It was fashioned into a nose and lips and was so reflective it, too, seemed to burn. Even her hair was concealed beneath a hood fashioned of gold that was sculpted to look like hair. A golden crown had been designed into it. He felt power radiating from the woman—at least, he assumed it was a woman beneath the garb.

The lady leaned in and said something to Gotz as they were brought to stand in front of them, but the noise obscured her words.

Ransom felt his nerves twinge with unease. He looked at the masked face of the lady, trying to understand the source of her power. Her whole countenance was otherworldly and strange.

“Velcome to the Vartburg,” said Gotz in a ragged voice. He looked at each of them in turn before his gaze came to rest on Ransom. “Velcome, Duke of Ceredigion. You come garbed as a common knight. But you are not common. No, our ancient foes send their best varrior. How fitting.”

Cecily seemed taken aback by how quickly they’d been discovered. She looked at Ransom for what to do next.

Ransom stepped forward. “Greetings, Lord Gotz. I’ve come to bargain—”

The iron fist rose. “I know vhy you’ve come, Lord Ransom. You seek Benedict the Unfortunate. He is here.”

Ransom glanced at those seated closest to the duke. He recognized Estian’s steward, whom he’d met before, and a Genevese man, identifiable by his vest and jerkin. Was he here to save Benedict or murder him, freeing Portia to marry again?

“May I see him?” he asked through the tightness in his throat, which suddenly felt as dry as the sand in the oasis.

“Of course!” said Gotz. “But I am doubtful you can match the highest price offered.” With his normal hand, he tapped on a button on the knuckle of the iron one, and the fist sprung open, the fingers splayed wide. The contraption was startling. The iron hand gestured to the lady with the silver mask. “Von hundred fifty thousand livres. Bid by a combination from the East Kingdoms. I vould be a fool to refuse such a generous offer.” He glowered at Ransom. “And I am no fool.”

A hundred and fifty thousand livres? The East Kingdoms would pay that amount for revenge against Benedict? The cost was so overpowering that Ransom felt his knees weaken. Ceredigion couldn’t afford to match it, let alone surpass it.

A hundred and fifty thousand. The sum lingered in the air, an impossible amount. Ransom glanced at the woman in the silver mask. No emotion could be seen in that carefully crafted face, but he felt a feeling of gloating and revenge that was not his own. Another mystery. If it was from the masked lady, he didn’t understand why he’d sensed it.

“I may see him, then?” Ransom said after wrenching his gaze from the strange mask.

“I am a man of my vord,” said Gotz. “I do not suffer fools, Lord Ransom. If you attempt to rescue him, I vill fix your head to a spike on the tallest tower. Make no mistake. I mean to have my prize.”

“May we have lodging?” Ransom continued.

Gotz shrugged. “Of course.” He looked to his steward. “Take him there. Only him.”

Once they left the dazzling hall, Ransom’s heart began to quiet. Another servant took Cecily and the others in another direction, leaving him alone with the steward.

“Is he cared for?” Ransom asked.

“Lord Gotz is generous to his noble prisoners,” answered the steward in an offended tone.

They went through a series of walkways and passages, enough to thoroughly confuse Ransom. But he recognized the covered walkway where they finished their journey—it was the very one he’d noticed from the courtyard below. When they reached the walled fortress, which was guarded by several men, one of them unlocked the iron door. The room had a stone floor and sparse furnishings—a small cot, a writing desk, and a single chair—and the only warmth came from a small brazier.

A man sat huddled in the chair with a blanket over his shoulders, back facing them, warming his hands at the brazier.

Benedict looked forsaken and haggard and utterly depressed. His beard was long and matted. So was his hair. The royal tunic had holes in it, and from the condition of his boots, they likely did too.

“Leave the food on the desk,” Benedict said dispassionately, gazing at the brazier.

Ransom knew how it felt to be a prisoner. And his heart softened with compassion for the king. Benedict’s mother had been trapped in a tower, but at least her accommodations had been comfortable.

“I’m here, my lord,” Ransom said, his voice suddenly thick.

The chafing hands stopped their movement. Benedict turned his head slightly until he saw Ransom filling the doorway.

A look of hope and misery wrestled in his expression. “You’ve come! Blessed Lady, you came! Ransom!”

Then the king surged from the chair and rushed forward to clutch him in a fierce embrace.





Word just arrived that the city of Kingfountain has pronounced Jon-Landon as the rightful king of Ceredigion. He will be welcomed into the city, but the palace remains loyal to Benedict. A confrontation between Emiloh and her son is coming. We’ve heard Jon-Landon is in East Stowe with Duke Ashel, but it’s said they will come forward to claim their prize soon. No word from Ransom on whether he has found Benedict, but such news would certainly shift events.

The force I sent to Josselin was attacked by Estian’s men. There was a skirmish between the knights, and we lost several good men in the conflict. Dearley led the knights back to Glosstyr. He was disappointed they hadn’t routed the Occitanian knights, but he bloodied his sword. Sir Dawson is returning from Beestone in case they bring the attack here next.

I miss my sons. I yearn to be back at Legault. Not much time remains before winter. I’m worried. I must admit it. All we’ve worked for could fall if Ransom fails. I plead with the Aos Sí to watch over him and my children. But perhaps they cannot hear my pleas because I have been away from the Fair Isle for too long.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr

(on the death of certain knights)





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


The Silver Lady


Benedict withdrew from the embrace, his face awash with emotion, but the hope seemed more predominant now.

“How is it that you are even here?” Benedict asked in astonishment. “I should not question what I see before my eyes, but I must. You are here, in the flesh.”

Ransom gripped Benedict’s shoulder. “Has Longmont arrived?”

“Damian? Is he coming? I’ve heard nothing—nothing!—from home since I was brought here. What a mess I’ve made of things.” He shook his head and began to pace and prowl like the lion on the badge Ransom wore. His brief burst of joy was muted by thick despair. “I’ve demanded Gotz send word to Kingfountain to negotiate for my release, but he’s a strange fellow. What is the state of things, Ransom? I’m nearly delirious with happiness right now and can bear some bad news.”

“The situation at home is dire, my lord,” Ransom said without pretense. “Estian has invaded. Your brother tries to claim the throne.”

“Of course.” He sighed, shaking his head. “My father’s final curse still rings in my ears. Like a fool, I fell under Estian’s sway as my brother did before me. And now Jon-Landon, no doubt, thinks to use Estian to his own advantage as well. He’ll be tricked just as we were.”