He was gratified by her words and her appreciation. The scene from his dream was still overpoweringly real in his mind. Had it been a vision from the Fountain? It felt like it.
“I wanted to help,” he said, swinging his legs down. The fog in his mind lifted slowly. “I know the costs of war.”
With him sitting up, she was slightly lower than him, looking up at his face. “You do.” She leaned against the couch, resting her head on her arms. “When DeVaux’s men came all those years ago, they said you’d murdered so many of his knights. It can hardly be called murder since they were trying to capture . . . the queen.” Her pause was deliberate, her eyes touched with pain. “I’ve heard other stories about you too. They say that you cannot be defeated. Your gift from the Fountain is a brutal one . . . but valuable in our world. My gift is similar.” Her eyelashes lowered. “I know how to hurt people, or prevent them from being hurt. I sense the potential for death in everyone. Except for you. I shouldn’t tell you this, but something has changed, and I know I can’t kill you. When we met in the dungeon at Beestone castle, I could have killed you easily, but I didn’t wish to. I’m sorry I shot you, though.” She touched his injured leg, patting it gently. “I wish I could have done more when DeVaux brought you here. I would have.”
The pressure of her hand on his leg caused warmth to radiate throughout his body. “You saved my life, Alix.”
“Even then, I saw what was needed to save you,” she said, removing her hand. “Are you hungry? You must be. I don’t think you’ve eaten since you came.”
“I’ve had a little,” he said, amazed by how much his feelings had changed. Although he would have thought it impossible a few days ago, he was beginning to trust her. It felt good to talk to another who wielded Fountain magic. It was something they shared that he would never share with Claire. And yet, he could not be comfortable with the situation, knowing that King Devon knew nothing about it. His sense of loyalty to Claire, to the king, nagged at him.
“I will have a tray brought here. Perhaps we could share it together? The barbers have started working on the injured. I just need to change out of this dress . . . it will take days for my maids to clean all the blood off it.”
He could see some stains on her sleeves, but it didn’t bother him. If anything, her hard work, her fortitude, was something to respect.
“I would like that,” he said, nodding. He reached down and picked up the fallen book.
Her hand touched his. “That’s not the best story. One of the others talks about a Fountain-blessed knight whose horse was cut in half riding beneath a shutting portcullis. A brutal tale, but I think you’d like it.”
“It sounds intriguing,” Ransom said.
She smiled and took the book from him, returned it to the shelf, and searched for another. Moments later, she slipped the slim volume into his hand.
“This one. The story of Sir Owain.”
Ransom took it and then watched as she left. She paused by the door, looking back at him with such an expression of gratitude that his heart melted in his chest. As soon as she was gone, he set the book down, rose, and began pacing. It was a quandary. The vivid dream, her manners and kindness, the gentleness of her violent hands . . . Feelings came and left of their own accord, his mind a jumbled mess. Was this why the Fountain had taken the bracelet from him at the oasis? To prepare his heart for a change? Or was he looking for meaning where there was none?
Dearley knocked on the door before entering. He had a knowing look and a wry smile. “I’m assuming Lady Alix told you that the supplies arrived? Ah, good. The knights have cleaned up the courtyard, although a little grudgingly. I wouldn’t hear any excuses, though.”
“Thank you, Dearley.”
“This castle isn’t as grand as Josselin, but it is an opportunity. Are you considering it?”
“I have to say that I am,” Ransom said, running his hand on the top of the sofa. “It’s not what I was expecting.”
“I’ve barely seen Lady Alix, but she seems pleasant enough. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’ve had my heart set on one person for so long,” Ransom said, wrinkling his brow. “But what if it was never meant to be?”
“I have to say,” said Dearley with a look of concern, “you’ve changed your thinking rather quickly. You just met Lady Alix under dolorous circumstances.”
“No,” Ransom said in disagreement. “We first met years ago.”
“Truly? I thought you said the duke’s heir was a stranger to you.”
“Remember the story I told you about serving Lord Rakestraw? How I was captured by DeVaux and held hostage for months?”
“Yes. What’s the connection?”
“After I was injured, they brought me to this castle. To the dungeon, actually. Not that I could have escaped with my injured leg. The Duke of Bayree was at the tournament I had just left. A lady brought me moldy bread and linen bandages. The moldy bread to help treat the wound and the clean bandages because I’d been tearing strips from my dirty tunic. That was her.” He sighed heavily. “That was her, Dearley.”
The look on Dearley’s face showed a change of feeling. “I owe her a great deal, then. She saved your life. You saved mine. Now I’m even gladder that you sent for the candles and food and such.” He looked around the room. “It’s a smaller castle, but it has a pleasing sense of antiquity. I could get used to it, I think.” He smiled at Ransom. “But I hope we’d still visit Josselin on occasion.” He cheeks flushed, and an embarrassed smile tipped up his lips. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”
He was likely thinking about Elodie. Ransom nodded to him and turned to the book. Holding it in his hands, he walked to the window and looked outside, staring down at the vast lawns stretching into the distance. There were no trees within the outer walls of the grounds, only the lawn. No gardens either, which was disappointing. Ransom enjoyed Josselin for that reason. The stone wall surrounding the grounds was thin and had a ditch on the other side, beyond which trees grew in abundance.
The room became so dark that Ransom couldn’t read, so he left and started down the corridor, only to see a servant coming toward him with a tray. Alix followed holding two fat tallow candles. He retreated to the room he’d just left and held the door open for the servant.
“Set it in the middle of the floor, please,” Alix said, and the man obeyed.
When he left, Alix went and set down the candles near the tray and then seated herself on the floor, knees tucked under her. Ransom joined her, finding the candlelight especially flattering to her green brocade dress.
She clasped her hands before her and bowed her head. “To our Lady, we give thanks for the abundance provided.”
They ate together, talked together, and shared the evening in a pleasant way, telling stories from their childhoods. She especially wanted to hear the tale of how King Gervase had almost hung him from a trebuchet for his father’s disobedience. As he told it, her eyes filled with emotion.
“That story moves me,” Alix confessed, hand on her breast. “I wish . . . I wish there were something I could have done to help that little boy.”