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

“Rest your horse, give it something to eat,” Ransom said to Guivret. “We need a moment alone.”

“Of course,” Guivret said, bowing and quickly striding away from the conflict. Ransom pushed the door shut.

“It isn’t fair to ask this of you,” she said, her voice hot. “Are you a hound to be summoned with a whistle? Is he proving how promptly you’ll obey him?”

“I’m not a hound,” Ransom said, anger spiking in his chest. “He is a king, and he has the right to summon his vassal whenever he wishes to.”

She frowned, her anger rising to match his. “Am I less in authority? My kingdom may be smaller, but my rank is equal to his.”

This was not what he wanted. He had to leave—they both knew it—so why part with an argument?

“If not for Bennett, you would still be in the tower at Kingfountain,” he reminded her. “You may not have to pay him allegiance, but you owe him some respect.”

She flinched, her cheeks flushing. “What if I forbid you to go?” she asked softly, her voice suddenly calm and dangerous.

He closed his eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“What if I wanted to test your loyalty, Ransom? Would you come if I called?”

“You know I would,” he said, staring at her pleadingly. “But why make it an ultimatum?”

She buried her face in her hands, but not to cry. He saw her fingers digging through the hair at the crown of her head. When she lowered them again, the fury was obvious in her expression. “The brainless badger! Why now? Why do this to us now!”

He wasn’t entirely sure whether she referred to him or the king.

“I have to go, Claire,” he said. “But not until tomorrow. Let me find out the cause of this summons. It must be serious, or he wouldn’t have done it.”

“Wouldn’t he?” she asked doubtfully. “He’s testing you, Ransom.”

“Shall I not pass the test?” Anguish ripped through him—he did not like being at odds with her, not now, not ever—but he held firm.

She pursed her lips and began to pace. “I’d looked forward to staying here at the lodge with you. I thought we’d be here at least a fortnight while they repair our rooms at the castle. A fortnight of bliss, of waking by your side each morning.” She sighed. “Of hearing you learn endearments in Gaultic and teaching you about the ways of my people. That vase of hopes is now dashed to the floor, broken to pieces.”

“I’m sorry, Claire. Truly I am.”

“But not sorry enough to stay,” she said. Her brow furrowed. “It better be a war, Ransom! Anything less, and I’ll feel jilted. Would Estian have broken the truce so quickly? He promised two years of peace. I thought he’d last more than a month.”

“It has been more than a month,” Ransom reminded her. The final days of King Devon’s reign felt like a blur now. The once mighty king had tumbled quickly in the end. He remembered the list of names of those who’d betrayed him in the last hours of his rule, the king’s youngest son’s name being foremost.

“I could just spit in his soup,” Claire said, stamping her foot. “Barmy . . . how I hate this!”

“Believe me, I have no desire to go back to the palace right now.”

She blew out a breath and gave him an arch look. “You’d rather stay with me?”

He took a step closer. “Need you even ask that?”

Claire came to him. One moment, she was all raw fury and squeezed fists, and the next she slumped her shoulders and sagged against him, sighing dramatically.

“It isn’t fair, Ransom.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, running his fingers through her delicious hair.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said. “I’m afraid to sleep alone. Maybe I should go with you?”

“You can,” he said, feeling a spark of hope.

Then her eyes darkened again, signaling another shift in mood. “The woman wants to. But the queen can’t. Don’t leave until the morning. Give me one night at least in this place. One night to remember.”

He stroked her cheek with the edge of his finger. “I’ll tell Guivret. Tomorrow.”

She still looked wounded, but she nodded, and he walked to the door and left the lodge. It was almost eventide, and the night birds were starting to make their sounds.

“I’d invite you to come in,” Ransom said with a sigh and a smile, “but I—”

“I wouldn’t dare intrude,” Guivret said. “When are we leaving?”

“I’m leaving at dawn,” he said. “And you’ll accompany the queen back to Connaught once she’s ready. I’m trusting you with her safety, Guivret. Guard her with your life.”

Guivret swallowed, nodding in agreement. “Yes, my lord. With my life.”

“I’ll sail back to Kingfountain with the messenger. Then return as promptly as I can.” He glanced back at the lodge, seeing the glow of the firelight through the heavy curtains.

“That big elk,” Guivret said, nodding to the kill, which they’d dragged from the woods to the lodge earlier. “It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. Did you kill it, Lord Ransom?”

“No,” he replied with pride. “She did.”



As the ship reached the palace docks at Kingfountain, which were situated on the other side of the waterfall and protected by lower towers armed with massive crossbows, Ransom stared up at the palace. This was the first time he’d come in at the royal docks, which would hasten his arrival at the palace. The roar of the falls welcomed them, and he felt the strong, steady thrum of power within him. He’d come as called. Duty had prevailed.

He wished that he and Claire hadn’t argued. Although they’d settled things between them, he regretted bringing up her imprisonment. It was a painful subject for her, even more so because she’d known he was returning here, where her tower prison could be seen from almost every part of the castle. Storm clouds were visible coming from the north, so he hoped his return wouldn’t be hampered by the weather.

The messenger, one of Bennett’s household knights, had not been able to give him any further information. He had been sent to summon Ransom for reasons unbeknownst to him. That made Ransom wonder if Claire were right—the king was just testing how promptly his vassals would respond to a call.

He made his way to the palace, where he was received by servants who brought news of his arrival to the great hall. They promptly returned and informed him his presence had been requested. The king had assembled his council.

By the time Ransom arrived, the others were all present. His gaze traveled through the room, taking in the faces of those who’d gathered. His mother’s cousin Lord Kinghorn was present, and so was Ransom’s childhood enemy Sir James Wigant. He met Ransom’s eyes for only an instant, giving him a bemused smile. In keeping with Simon’s report, Lady Deborah was missing, but Jon-Landon was present, and so were Duke Ashel of East Stowe and Duke Rainor of Southport, both of whom had sat on the Elder King’s council. There were two open chairs, one on each side of the king. One for Emiloh, Ransom intuited, and the other for himself.

Only one face was unfamiliar to Ransom, that of a clean-shaven man in a costly tunic. He had an arrogant look about him. Was this Lord Longmont, the king’s chancellor?

But Ransom’s attention shifted to the king, who had shorn his hair and trimmed his beard and looked like an altogether different man from when Ransom had last seen him. Dressed in royal robes of state and fur-lined boots, he was more merchant lord than soldier now. Benedict was undeniably handsome, but the transformation had made him more regal and self-assured. His eyes were shuttered, however, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking or feeling.

Ransom swallowed and approached the large ornate chair, and the king gestured to the empty seat to his right.