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

Tears were streaming down Léa’s cheeks, but she clutched Jon-Landon’s arm protectively, as if fearing for his life.

Jon-Landon’s plan had been thwarted, but he didn’t give any ground. “The kingdom will be mine,” he said in a low, firm voice. “This day or another. I swear it.” Then he gave James a black look, one that promised revenge.

“Lord Ashel, Lord DeVaux—you are under arrest,” Ransom said sharply. “The king will decide on your fate for conspiring against him. You will go with Lord James to the palace and submit to the terms of imprisonment.”

“I did not knowingly betray the king,” Ashel said, his hand dropping to his sword.

“Gentlemen,” said the deconeus in a quavering voice. “It is sacrilege to spill blood in the Lady’s sanctuary! I adjure you, forbear! There are dire consequences for violating the terms of sanctuary.”

“You will be tried, my lord,” Ransom said. “You may provide evidence of your innocence. But until the king returns, I am your judge. Or you may rot here in the sanctuary and be presumed guilty.”

Ashel’s look softened. “I submit to your honor and justice.” His shoulders sagged, and he released his weapon.

Lord DeVaux wrung his hands. “What of my daughter? What will you do with her?”

Ransom glanced at Léa and Jon-Landon. He could separate the two, await Benedict’s release, and let the king decide whether he would honor the marriage. But it was obvious there was real feeling between them.

“Return to the castle,” Ransom said to both of them. “The queen dowager will decide your fate.” Then he glared at Lord DeVaux. “I will show you more mercy than you showed me, but do not try my patience again, my lord. It will not go well for you.”

The celebrants were dispersed, and Ransom watched as his orders were obeyed. The deconeus tried to speak to him, to plead his innocence in the affair, but Ransom had no patience for the man. Weariness had begun to crush down on him, and by the time the great audience hall of the sanctuary was cleared, he wanted nothing more than to drag himself to his room to collapse in a heap on the bed.

After returning to the palace, he did just that and fell asleep still wearing his armor and wet clothing. He was awakened by a firm knock on the door. The room was pitch-black, and it took him a moment to place his surroundings. It was still nighttime. He opened the door and found Dearley standing outside, holding a lantern.

Ransom squinted at the sudden blaze of light.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Dearley apologized. “But she ordered me to bring this to you, wherever I found you.”

“Who?” Ransom asked, his stomach plunging when he saw the ink-stained letter gripped in Dearley’s glove.

“Lady Claire,” he said. “I’ve ridden long and hard. I had no idea you’d be here at the palace, but they said you’d just returned, and in time to halt the coronation. Here, my lord. She so wanted you to know.”

His heart sank. She’d wanted to be reunited with their sons, and to have their next child at home. Disappointment raked his heart as he prepared for the news that she’d already left. After hazarding the short sea crossing from Callait, he knew it would be much too dangerous to cross to Connaught now.

With Dearley holding the light so he could read, he broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

Dearest—Come home to Glosstyr. I’m waiting for you.

Is breá liom an iomarca duit.

—Claire





It has been a short winter. The snow in the mountains is still thick, but it has started melting on the roads, and the merchant ships are beginning to arrive at Glosstyr harbor. One of them was a ship from Connaught. Our two lads are hale and driving Dame Roisin desperate for help. She says they climb everything, and the younger likes to sit in a pot on the kitchen floor and spin until he’s dizzy. The other took a huge spoonful of qinnamon and stuffed it in his mouth before she could stop him. He nearly choked and spewed dust. That made me laugh, but I miss my sons desperately and cannot wait to depart. It pains me to have missed so much. We risked one winter voyage during an especially calm spell and made it safely to Connaught and back within the month.

I should also mention that our babe was born, a girl—a lass we named Sibyl after Ransom’s mother. Lady Sibyl, the grandmother, spent the winter with us here at Glosstyr. She’s a fine woman, and I’m grateful to know her better now. It fascinated me to hear the story, from her perspective, of when Ransom was nearly executed by King Gervase. Pain and suffering are something we all share in this life.

During the winter, Ransom arranged to collect the funds to free King Benedict. The bandit Ryain Hood bartered his treasures for his life and will earn his freedom once he delivers the last of his ill-gotten fortune. He demanded to barter directly with Ransom, for he knows him to be a man of honor. The story of Ransom’s dealings with Lord Tenthor are apparently more well known than we even realized. Because of the mildness of the winter, we were able to bring back much of the hidden treasure, and it was where he’d concealed it.

The fighting quieted a bit this winter, as it always does with the changing of the season, but once Bennett returns, a war of retribution against Occitania will begin in earnest, the goal being to reclaim the duchy of Westmarch and thus restore the Elder King’s empire. The king has written many messages to his council. Duke Ashel was replaced by Sir Kiskaddon as Duke of East Stowe. Sir Dalian, my erstwhile friend and captor, is heir to Lord Kinghorn’s power and has been promised Westmarch if we reclaim it. Many of the Gaultic lords are interested in joining the fight against Occitania. There are prizes and honors to be had if we prevail.

It will be sad parting from Ransom again, but we’ve had a good winter together. A chance to heal wounds of the heart. He says our separation will only motivate him to be a scourge to the Occitanians. That way, he can return to me all the sooner.

I’d like that.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr

(the robins are nesting again)





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


The Coming of the Rightful Monarch

From the window, there was a trace of pink in the sky, revealing the coming of dawn. The sound of the surf crashing against the lower rocks was soothing. Ransom sat in a large stuffed chair, his baby daughter lying in his arms, her small rosebud mouth yawning now and then, making him smile with wonder. Her feathery hair was as soft as down. Cradling her in his arms, he felt like the luckiest man in all the world.

The door creaked open, and when he turned his neck, he saw Claire enter, wearing a thick robe over her nightgown. Claire approached them and then bent down and kissed Ransom’s neck.

“I love seeing you holding her,” she said, dropping to her knees and grazing the babe’s nose with her fingertip. Claire rested her cheek on her arm, gazing at the infant. Her hair fanned out, unkempt and wild, and a feeling of loss swelled in Ransom’s heart. They’d be parted soon, and he wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready.

“I wanted to savor each moment,” Ransom said softly. “She’s such a little thing.”

“But how quickly they grow. The boys will love to torture her. I have no doubt of it. Like poor Maeg, having two brutes as older brothers.” She gave Ransom a teasing smile.