“Take him to the dungeon,” she said with a look of anger.
“Yes, my lady.” Her guard hoisted the man up beneath his arms and began dragging him away.
Alix held the torch closer to Ransom, looking at him worriedly. “You’re in pain. Come, let me treat you.”
He knew the scabbard would render her efforts unnecessary. “I will be fine.”
“Please, Ransom. Let me tend to you. Let me heal you.”
He looked in her eyes, saw the compassion there, and he felt inclined to let her do as she asked. The need to do so pulsed through him. But he didn’t want her to trouble herself, not when he knew it wasn’t required.
“I would accept your help, only it’s not necessary. I will be fine.”
Her brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you sure?”
“We tumbled down the stairs is all,” he said. The pain from the dagger was fierce, but he shoved it down. No blood came from the wound.
She reached out and pressed her hand to his cheek. Her thumb grazed his cheekbone. “I’ll check on you in the morning with some breakfast. Shall we share it together as we did tonight?”
He smiled through the pain.
Her look was tender. “I’m worried about you. I feel very protective right now.”
“This is far from the worst injury I’ve ever had,” he said. “Go get some rest yourself.”
She nodded and carried the torch back to her room. He leaned against the wall and began slowly moving up the stairs, one step at a time. Why hadn’t the Fountain magic warned him as it had in the past? He could still sense her, as bright as the flame she carried, but he hadn’t felt any danger on the stairwell. In her presence, he’d thought of nothing but her.
As he walked, he saw a blue light glowing from the Raven scabbard belted to his waist. It was dimmer than it had been before, the buzzing noise more muted. The sudden change alarmed him. Was it simply because his injuries were less serious, or had something muted its power?
He staggered up the rest of the steps and finally made it to his room, where he found Dearley asleep on the couch again. He slid the latch into place, securing the door, then hobbled over and flopped onto the bed. As he lay there, he tried to sense Lady Alix down below. A giddy feeling inside his heart made it impossible to fall asleep. She was no delicate demoiselle. As soon as danger had presented itself, she’d leaped into action. It was a quality he admired—in fact, it was one of the things he loved about Lady Claire.
Claire.
Thinking of her sent a ripple of guilt through him. He had feelings for both of them, although his emotions were bubbling like the contents of a kettle on a raging fire.
King Devon wanted him to marry Alix, and he’d indicated he’d never agree to a match to Claire. If he wished to wed Alix—and he did, didn’t he?—all he needed to do was keep silent about her true identity. At least until after they were wed. The thought of having her as his wife caused the burning sensation in his heart to flare even more. He lay on the bed, feeling the mixture of pain and attraction until sleep finally swept him away into another dream.
It was a dream he didn’t want to be awakened from. In it, Alix was sitting on his lap, and they were kissing each other with a ferocious need, her hands touching his face. A firm shove against his shoulder interrupted the delicious sensations, and his eyes opened at the same moment he heard Dearley’s voice.
“You normally don’t sleep this late,” his ward said in a jovial way. “But Lady Alix is at the door with a tray of food. I thought it would be rude not to wake you.”
Ransom lifted his head, seeing the sunlight spilling in through the sheer curtains. His skull throbbed with a headache, but the pain in his leg had gone. He quickly sat up, feeling himself restored to health, yet the sluggishness of sleep clung to him like heavy chains.
“Of course. Send her in. We were going to breakfast together.”
“Are you all right?” Dearley asked with a tone of concern.
“I was attacked on the stairwell last night,” he said. “One of the duke’s knights wanted vengeance.”
Dearley gaped at him. “I’m sorry, Ransom. We should have been guarding you.”
“I’m capable of defending myself, but I should have foreseen it. It will take time to win the trust of these people.”
Dearley nodded. “I’ll let her in. I imagine you would like to talk privately with her.”
“Thank you,” Ransom said. As Dearley was about to leave, he caught his arm. “We’ll be riding back to Kingfountain. Prepare the horses.”
“Will we stop by Josselin first?”
“No. We’ve been invited to Auxaunce, however, and we’ll stop there and at the castle of the Heath on our way back.”
“Very well.” Dearley went to the door while Ransom scratched his head and tried to shake off the torpor. He saw the hole in his pants from the dagger wound, but there was not even a scar on his skin. The pain of his injuries was gone, except for the strange ache in his mind.
He rose from the bed and walked without a limp as Alix brought in the tray. She set it on the floor as she had done the previous evening. Her smile was bright, but she studied him carefully, as if still concerned about his condition. Dearley hid a smile before leaving.
“You look healthy. I don’t see any bruises.”
“There are none,” he answered. The tray featured a variety of dishes, from cooked eggs with flecks of green spinach to sliced fruit and an array of cooked fish.
“This is river trout,” she said, pointing to one of the plates. “This other one is a deep sea fish called tuna. They’re quite large and have to be speared. A wagon came with them during the night. Our food supplies have been restored thanks to our hardworking fishermen.”
Ransom tried all the dishes and found them cooked to perfection. The tuna had an interesting taste, the flesh harder than that of other fish. Most of all, he enjoyed being in Alix’s company. He felt at peace with her, and he listened with interest as she described the life of the fisherfolk in Bayree.
When the meal was done, she gave him an intent look.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t want to say it,” she said. “I don’t want to break the spell.”
He gazed at her in confusion. “What spell? Are you a Wizr?”
She smiled at the statement and shook her head no. “There are none. Not since Myrddin vanished. Do you believe in the old legends, Ransom?”
He looked toward the window, considering her question. “The ones about King Andrew and Leoneyis, the kingdom that was drowned in the sea?”
“Yes. That’s what I meant.”
He looked back at her. “Do you?”
Her eyes showed her sincerity, but she only held his gaze for a few moments before looking down at the tray and the remaining scraps of food. “They aren’t just stories, Ransom. They’re real. I know they are.”
“How do you know for certain?”
“I can’t tell you. Nor can I show you. Not until you become the lord of this castle.” Her eyes met his again, her look pleading. “I cannot speak freely until the curse is broken. There is so much I want to tell you.” She looked away again. “I’m sorry. I’d nearly given up hope that I’d find a partner who could understand me. Someone I could be my true self with.”