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

“Poor Maeg indeed,” Ransom echoed. When the king returned, there would be a push for her to marry James. Ransom knew that his sister wasn’t keen on the match. Not only did her heart belong elsewhere, but the duke of the North was a known carouser. Ransom himself had told her plenty of stories about his old companion that had likely inclined her against him. But he couldn’t deny James had changed a great deal. He’d been steadfast to King Benedict during Jon-Landon’s revolt, which had kept things just unbalanced enough for Ransom to return. The man had matured into a more decent fellow, but their past interactions still were cause for worry. Would he remain faithful or slip back into his old ways?

“I’ll be lonely without you in Legault,” Claire said, her head still tilted sideways. “Promise me you won’t drag this war on needlessly.” She reached out and stroked his chin, then his neck.

“Now that the king is returning and the season has changed, we’ll cripple Estian’s army, then lay siege to Pree,” Ransom answered.

“You talk of Pree, but you need to take Tatton Grange first. It’s a formidable castle.”

“So was Dunmanis,” Ransom answered. “And yet it fell in a day. Once we’ve reclaimed Westmarch, we’ll go straight to Pree.” He felt the desire to punish Estian. Truthfully, he was looking forward to it.

Little Sibyl was disturbed by their talking and yawned again and began to gurgle and make noises.

“She’ll be hungry soon,” Claire said, stroking the babe’s nose again. “Give her to me. I didn’t even hear her awaken. Was she fussing?”

“Only a little,” Ransom said. “I wanted you to sleep.”

Claire kissed him and scooped Sibyl into her arms. The warmth and love in her eyes made Ransom’s heart swell. “I should go to the training yard.”

“Very well. We can breakfast together afterward.”

Ransom rose from the chair. “I would like that.”

As he was about to go to the door, she stopped him.

“Do you love me, Ransom Barton?”

He looked at her in concern. “You know I do. I love you too much.”

“I know.” She smiled. “But I like hearing it all the same.”

He’d told her about the strange medallion Noemie had worn, which he’d been prompted to tear off her neck and throw in the cistern. Yet there was, on occasion, a look in her eyes that showed she worried still. Worried that his heart might be entangled elsewhere.

He walked up to her and cupped her cheeks between his hands and kissed her fiercely. Her breath quickened, and so did his.

“I am loyal to you,” he told her, looking deep into her eyes. “And I always will be. And I deeply, deeply love you, Claire de Murrow.”

“Now I believe you,” she said with a cocked grin. “Go make war.”



Ransom and many of the nobles were gathered at the king’s docks, watching the royal ship as it approached the harbor. Emiloh had personally delivered the final portion of the ransom payment to Lord Gotz in the Wartburg. She had left the Wizr set in Ransom’s care, and he had watched the board anxiously until the king’s white piece appeared again on the edge.

When the ship bearing the banner of the Lion docked in the tranquil waters, Ransom heard a swelling cheer rise up from the populace of Kingfountain. Then the king strode down the gangplank, one hand stretched out to bring his mother safely down, and Ransom felt a throb of relief. He had dreaded an unexpected turn of events. A last-ditch effort from Estian to undermine the rescue. The dockworkers broke into cheers as the king raised his fist into the air and waved to the crowd. Horses were brought, and the king and his mother began to ride up to the palace.

James leaned toward Ransom, pitching his voice loudly enough to be heard over the commotion. “I don’t see Portia with them. Is she still in Genevar?”

Simon, who stood on the other side of Ransom, answered, “She decided to stay. She’s waiting for the king to come to her and woo her.”

“That won’t happen anytime soon,” James chuffed. “He’ll want to bloody Estian’s nose first. I think it peculiar she didn’t come.”

“There is estrangement between them,” Simon said. “Not all marriages are as happy as Ransom’s.” He butted his friend with an elbow.

But the jest didn’t land well. It wasn’t so long ago that Ransom had worried whether his own marriage would survive.

The king and the queen dowager soon arrived at the upper landing, where Ransom and the others awaited. Emiloh looked radiant astride her stallion, and Ransom gave her a respectful smile and nod, which she returned.

The king wore a velvet tunic with a glistering chain hauberk beneath it and the hollow crown atop his head. The tunic was as red as blood, the threads of the lion a startling gold. His beard and hair had been trimmed and groomed, and he looked every bit the part of a king. Benedict nodded in greeting to the various nobles, then swung off his horse and embraced Ransom like a brother.

Grinning with ferocity, the king proceeded to look up at the palace. “I thank thee, Lady of the Fountain, for delivering me home again,” he murmured.

Amid the swelling cheers, they returned to the palace together and assembled for the first king’s council since the war with the East Kingdoms had begun. Some of the faces in the room had changed. But Ransom’s seat of prominence had not, nor had the queen dowager’s. There was a palpable sense of power in the room, a strange energy that buzzed inside Ransom’s chest. He felt his Fountain magic fill to bursting.

“Our first matter of discussion,” said the king in a formal tone, “is what to do with my brother, Jon-Landon, to punish his rebellion against me. I would hear your views.”

The discussion was a familiar one, but the nobles repeated their arguments, some pleading for leniency and others for punishment. The king listened patiently to each member of his council, but Ransom already knew what he planned to do. Emiloh had told him that her son had learned from his father’s mistakes. He was willing to forgive his brother if he apologized. But would Jon-Landon bend the knee to a brother he hated?

“Lord Ransom, you’ve been thoughtful. What is your view?” the king asked.

“There is a long history in your family,” Ransom answered, feeling the eyes on him, “of brothers vying for control of the hollow crown. He grew up watching his elder brothers do it, so can we not see reason behind what he did? Would you not have considered it yourself, my lord, in his place?”

The king nodded. “You make a strong case, Lord Ransom.”

“You’ve shown forbearance with him thus far, my lord. I think mercy would be appropriate considering we’re about to go to war. Give him an opportunity to prove his loyalty to you. Give him men to command and a duty to fulfill. His actions will prove his heart in the end.”

From his side vision, Ransom saw a few of the other nobles nodding in agreement with what he’d said. He’d given the king the opportunity to follow counsel and not just decide on his own.

Benedict looked to Simon. “Bring him in.”

Simon bowed. Ransom watched a look pass between mother and son. They were both hoping Jon-Landon wouldn’t react in a way that would make it difficult to rationalize pardoning him. Wisdom dictated a prudent response, but Jon-Landon wasn’t known for his discretion.

When Simon returned, Jon-Landon in tow, the two approached the council. Jon-Landon’s eyes revealed nothing of his intentions, but when he met Ransom’s gaze, something dark and vengeful flashed between them.

Once he reached the front of the audience hall, Jon-Landon gazed up at the double throne installed there. He smirked a little as he beheld the empty chair next to his brother. Some at court had been disgusted by Jon-Landon’s marriage to a bride who was little more than a girl. But no one who saw them together could doubt the two were devoted to each other. The king had delivered his judgment by letter: he’d decided not to dissolve their marriage since it was sanctioned by the deconeus. The younger man should be grateful, but instead he seemed disdainful of the less happy circumstances of his brother’s marriage. Emiloh’s eyes tightened, and she leaned forward, giving her youngest son a warning look.