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

A pleasant fire crackled inside the hunting lodge. It was a single-chamber structure of stone and wood, a lacework of beams forming a tall sloping roof. It was sturdy enough to have survived many winters. There was a bed, enough ground for knights to sleep on, and a table and chairs for meals. It had been stocked with plenty of food in anticipation of their visit.

Ransom and Claire lay on a fur blanket before the fire, enjoying the solitude it afforded, away from servants, duties, and the pressures of life. She propped her head up on her arm and looked at him with affection.

“How is your wound?” she asked him. “Is it fully healed?”

“The cut on my arm? Yes. It was healed the following day.”

“That scabbard is a wondrous thing,” she said. “Tell me how you got it.”

He was lying on his chest, propped up on his elbows. “I found it at the bottom of a well, actually.”

“What were you doing climbing down a well? Were you that thirsty?”

“We’d crossed a desert,” he said with a smile, “so yes, I was thirsty.” He gazed at the flames. “A deconeus had told me to travel to the Chandleer Oasis if I sought a blessing from the Lady of the Fountain. I went there and felt guided to that spot. I was wearing armor, you know. Climbing into a deep well wasn’t my idea.”

“It doesn’t sound very wise to me. And it was in there?”

“That’s when I lost the bracelet,” he told her, looking at her again. “And then you found it by the cistern.”

“Water is important in both of our traditions,” she said, glancing at him in the warm light from the hearth. “It is where the Aos Sí were banished. They have dominion over the waters.”

“You mentioned the Aos Sí made thirteen treasures. There’s a sword, the scabbard. Do you know about any of the others?”

She reached over and touched the edge of his collarbone. “I think this is another little scar. I haven’t noticed this one before.” She bent closer and kissed it. “Thirteen . . . I don’t remember all of the artifacts, but they’re very powerful, Ransom. There was a . . . cloak. I remember that one. A lady’s cloak. Then there was the magic Wizr set. The game played itself, the pieces moving as if invisible fingers controlled them.”

Ransom’s eyes widened. “A Wizr set?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“I have. I believe the King of Occitania has it.”

She lifted her brows, her mouth pursing into a frown. “I hope not. It would give him an unfair advantage. The legend says it’s not just a game. It controls the destiny of kingdoms. I only remember two others. The Fault Staff, a piece of wood that can cause earthquakes, and the most powerful artifact was the Grochan.”

“It sounds like ‘broken,’” Ransom said.

“Perhaps, but it’s not. It’s a cauldron, a silver bowl used for cooking. Its power was used to make rifts between worlds. It’s how the Aos Sí were able to come here. But it was stolen by a human, something that caused a war between our kind and theirs. The war finally ended when they were banished to live below the sea. It is their goal to end their curse by flooding the earth with water and regaining dominion over the land again.”

Ransom couldn’t deny Claire’s stories were interesting. It explained the origins of the Wizr set, which he’d never seen but had learned of from Alix. And was the Grochan the same as the Gradalis? Just a different translation of the same thing? Its power had indeed summoned him from a distant place. He wondered what artifact Alix possessed since she had gone on a pilgrimage like he had.

“So you are saying the Aos Sí flooded Leoneyis?” he asked her.

“I have no idea,” Claire answered. “It could have been an earthquake. It could have been a storm. Perhaps it was the Wizr board. It happened so many years ago, we’ve no way of knowing. What I do know is that the myths of our people attribute the same things to different causes. And the legends of my people, here, are older than yours. There was a time when Connaught was equivalent to Kingfountain, when other kings came and paid tribute to my forefathers to keep them from invading their realms.”

He rested his cheek on his forearms, looking at her. “Are you planning an invasion, Claire? Is that your aim?”

“Don’t be an eejit, Ransom,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It is Occitania’s goal to rule the world, not mine. Connaught and Kingfountain have been allies for a long time. I’d like to keep it so. My father treated Legault like it was only another duchy. They tolerated him because he was a powerful lord, but many of them were resentful. The people here will look to me to lead them. I speak their tongue, and I know their traditions. Try not to scoff at them, Ransom. Learn what you can.”

“Tell me how to say ‘I love you’ again, in Gaultic.”

“Is breá liom an iomarca duit. It means ‘I love you too much.’” She smiled as she said it, a smile that made his heart thump harder in his chest.

He tried to say the words, but they tumbled out of his mouth like stones, making her laugh. He attempted it again and failed the second time as well, but Claire leaned over and kissed him, a kiss that continued to grow in intensity and excitement, drowning out the sound of the horse riding up to the hunting lodge.

It wasn’t until they both heard the jangle of spurs and march of steps toward them that they broke their kiss.

Claire’s faced flushed with anger. “I warned Keeva—”

“Maybe there’s trouble,” Ransom said. He rose and walked to the chair where his belt and scabbard lay. He put them on as a fist started pounding on the door.

He approached it, Claire joining him with a scowl, and raised the crossbar. Ransom didn’t feel a warning of danger, but part of him worried he’d find a towering man painted green standing there.

Instead, it was Guivret. He looked worried and anxious.

“You rode hard to reach us before nightfall,” Ransom said. “It must be important.”

Guivret nodded. “A boat just arrived at Connaught from Kingfountain,” he said, breathing fast. “King Benedict has summoned his council. You’re to go there at once.”

“No!” Claire said, gripping Ransom’s arm tightly, her face flushed.

“I wasn’t supposed to go to the palace until autumn,” Ransom said in confusion.

“The messenger is expecting an answer,” Guivret said. “He needs to be able to tell the king you’re on your way.”

Ransom didn’t know the nature of the emergency. But he knew the king wouldn’t have summoned him unless there was one. Although Bennett hadn’t been his king for long, the king had impressed upon him the importance of reclaiming Legault—something he’d wished for Claire and Ransom to do together.

Ransom looked at her and saw the anguish in her eyes, her silent pleading for him to refuse the summons. But he was now the Duke of Glosstyr. He had to go.





I had so looked forward to sharing the barrow mounds with Ransom. I have vague recollections of Father being stern when we went, but Ransom was positively spooked. Why would the barrow have more of an impact on him than they did Father? Maybe it is because Ransom is more superstitious about such things. We’ll have to try it again in the future to see if those feelings persist. I want to be able to take my children there someday, Aos Sí willing. To teach them the lore of our people.

These ancient woods hold so many memories. How many knights have brought their ladies beneath these boughs? How many kisses have been stolen or claimed? The woods are precious to me. I will always remember our time here together, our early days as husband and wife.

—Claire de Murrow

the Hunting Lodge, in the Woods





CHAPTER FOUR


Call of War


The look on Claire’s face caused a wrenching feeling in Ransom’s heart, as if his loyalties were pulling him in different directions. She wanted him to stay, but how could he disobey his king?

Guivret fell silent, seeing the tension between his master and his master’s wife.