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

The seas were too rough to approach the king’s docks. The crossing from Callait had been a heart-pounding affair, the ship pitching and tossing from start to finish. Ransom stayed above deck, clutching the ropes until his arms ached as the spray stung his face and soaked him through. On a clear day, it was possible to see the coast of one kingdom from the other, but the raging water and furious winds concealed what lay ahead until they were halfway across.

Unable to do anything but throw down an anchor and ride out the blast, they lingered outside the harbor, rocking back and forth, until one of the shipmates cried out suddenly.

“A longboat!”

Ransom squinted and wiped moisture from his eyes, and sure enough, he saw the longboat rowing hard against the surf to reach them. Hope and weariness warred within Ransom’s chest. There had been no rest, no sleep, since leaving the Wartburg. They’d nearly killed their horses getting to Callait in the storm.

The captain pulled his way toward Ransom, moving from rope to rope. “She’ll be able to get close to us, but boarding her will be treacherous, my lord. Shouldn’t we wait?”

Ransom shook his head. Emiloh must have been watching the Wizr board for his movements. She knew he was home, and no doubt she was the one who’d dispatched the longboat. His mission wasn’t over yet, and he was determined to fulfill it.

Cecily stumbled toward him, her cloak drenched and her wet hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks. When she reached him, she looked over the side at the advancing longboat fighting the waves.

“This is where we part ways, my lord,” she said to Ransom, nearly shouting to be heard over the wind. “I’m fearful of drowning.”

He nodded to her, then took off his cloak and handed it to her.

“Wait, be reasonable,” said the captain. “Let’s at least tie a rope around you. The queen dowager will have my head if you drown before you make it back.”

Ransom agreed, and a sailor quickly provided one.

“You should remove your hauberk,” said the captain. “If you fall into the waters, it’ll pull you straight down to the Deep Fathoms.”

Ransom remembered the siege of Dunmanis. The Elder King had removed his armor prior to exiting the castle gates and nearly died for his error. He shook his head. “I’m keeping it, Captain. Just don’t let go of your end until I make it to the boat.”

“You’re mad, my lord.”

“I also outrank you. Do it.”

They wrapped the rope once around his chest and then tied a quick sailor’s knot. The longboat drew nearer, but it couldn’t get too close because of all the waves slamming against the ship. Ransom would not be delayed. He went to the edge and then climbed over the side. They gave enough slack for him to make it over and then slowly began lowering him toward the waves. Another round of spray struck him in the face, and he started spinning on the rope, losing his sense of direction.

“Over here!” cried the sailors on the longboat.

The sailors lowering him down gave the rope more slack until he was submerged in the ocean. Ransom started swimming, but he felt the weight of his armor and sword dragging him down. He clenched his jaw and fought the sensation as he swam toward the longboat. One sailor held out an oar, but he missed it on the first reach and dunked beneath the waves.

And that’s when he saw it.

Submerged, he opened his eyes despite the sting of the salty water. A vision of sorts unfurled, and he saw what seemed to be the ocean floor, littered with casks of jewels, chests of coins, and ancient weapons and armor. He saw dead men’s bones within the armor, knights who had drowned during the crossing between Callait and Kingfountain. The raven’s head on his scabbard shone like a bright star on a clear night. He didn’t think he was injured—was it merely reacting to the sight of the treasure buried in the deep? He longed to swim down to it, but the oar jammed against his shoulder, rousing him from the trancelike state. He grasped it, and then the sailors were gripping his arms and pulling him aboard. The longboat tilted, bringing in water, but they dragged him on board and whistled in joy that they’d saved him.

“It’s him,” said one of the men, a knight with the badge of the Lion on his tabard. Ransom recognized the face, but he was so waterlogged and groggy he forgot the man’s name. “It’s Lord Ransom!”

“Come on, lads,” said one of the sailors. “Put your backs into it. Let’s get him home! Pull! Pull!”



Ransom was still dripping when he reached the palace walls. The weariness was terrible to endure, but he pressed on, marching through the torchlit halls of Kingfountain, leaving a trail of wet in his wake. Servants ushered him to the great hall. When he entered, he saw Simon, of course, pacing nervously. James Wigant, duke of the North, was also present, and he gave Ransom a look that suggested he looked half drowned. Emiloh had been sitting on one of the council chairs, leaving the two thrones vacant, but she leaped to her feet and approached him.

“Look at you, Ransom,” she said, her voice full of worry. “You’re sopping.”

“I came as swiftly as I could.”

“There has been no news, none at all. Does my son still live?”

Ransom nodded, and Emiloh clutched her breast and groped for a nearby bench. She slowly sat down.

“There hasn’t been news on my side either,” Ransom said. “What is going on?”

Simon stepped forward. “Jon-Landon is at the sanctuary of Our Lady at this moment, marrying DeVaux’s daughter. Some are already proclaiming him king and her queen. But you’ve seen Benedict with your own eyes. You know he’s alive?”

“Yes, and we’ve agreed on a ransom payment with Lord Gotz of the Wartburg. It will take months to gather it, I’m afraid, but he’s very much alive.”

“It is enough,” Emiloh said, giving him a blinding smile. “I feared . . . that no longer matters. It is enough. You succeeded, Ransom. In spite of this storm. In spite of all the treachery and greed and misinformation. Thank you.”

James rose from his council chair and sauntered over. “I suppose it would be timely and appropriate for us to disrupt the nuptials? We may be too late to stop the wedding, but at least we could stop the coronation.”

“Yes,” Emiloh said, rising from the bench. “That would be the proper course. Will you act on my behalf?”

“Of course, my lady. Although I do think Ransom should come. Jon-Landon doesn’t fear me, but I know he fears the Duke of Glosstyr.”

“Take thirty knights from the guard with you,” Emiloh said. “Ransom, I know you are fatigued, but I must ask—”

“I will go,” Ransom said, interrupting her. He was a little surprised that James had remained loyal. In the past, he’d gone to great lengths to make a friend of Jon-Landon, and Ransom had always taken him for a man who’d exploit unrest to serve his own interests.

“Hurry,” Emiloh said with an encouraging smile.

Simon approached Ransom and asked in a low voice. “How much did you promise the Brugians?”

Ransom gave him a weary look. He said it loud enough for them all to hear. “A hundred fifty thousand livres.”

Silence fell—Simon standing dumbfounded while the others gaped at them. Not that Ransom was surprised. It was an unimaginable ransom.

Ransom clapped Simon on the back. “I’ll tell you the story later. It was the only way to secure his release.”

Emiloh lowered her gaze. “Thank you, Ransom. With all my heart.”

Ransom nodded to her, and then he and James left the great hall and headed toward the main gates. He glanced at his old training companion.

“Admit it, you’re surprised I’m here,” James said with a mischievous grin.

“To be honest, yes.”

“I shouldn’t always be predictable. That would be boring.”