He gazed at her and nodded, feeling a deep sense of connection. He did understand her, in a deep way he suspected only another Fountain-blessed person could. “I must go today.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I knew you might need to leave. I shouldn’t try to hold you here.”
“I want to stay,” he said seriously. It had crept up on him, the desire to stay, but there was no denying it was strong.
Her smile was full of hope. “Do you? Since you came, I’ve had dreams about us every night. Isn’t that strange?”
He felt his eyes widen in surprise. “So have I.”
“Truly?” she asked with a smile of pleasure.
“I have. I think it’s the Fountain’s way of telling us we are supposed to be together.”
“I feel the same way,” she said with conviction. “I didn’t want to frighten you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said.
She reached over and pushed the tray aside. “I think you are,” she said, giving him a welcoming smile. An invitation.
Ransom had never kissed a woman before. He’d never practiced on the lasses at Averanche like Sir James had. He felt wholly ignorant and shy but knew what he wanted to do, even as he knew what it would mean. If he kissed her, it was akin to deciding this was the life he wanted, that he was leaving his old ambition, his old love, behind. Edging closer, he felt the heat coming from her. She swallowed, and he saw the motion in her throat. He was the world’s biggest fool, but the feeling swelling inside of him couldn’t be denied. So he leaned forward and kissed her mouth. It was a gentle kiss, not like the one in his dream.
She tasted of the honeyed melon that she’d had with breakfast.
He leaned back, looking at her pleased expression, and she laid her hand atop his.
“That was nice. I look forward to more.” The warm look in her eyes shifted to something worried, even desperate, and she said, “Please don’t tell the king about me. About my mother. I don’t want to lose you.”
She kissed him again before he left, this time in front of all his knights. It made his cheeks burn with self-consciousness, but she didn’t seem embarrassed. As he rode across the inner courtyard on Dappled, he caught Dearley smirking and gave him a look of rebuke.
“I’m sorry,” Dearley said. “I’m happy for you, truly.”
Ransom noticed there wasn’t a single weed throughout the grounds. Not a single one. They passed the well-sculpted lawn, the horses’ hooves crunching on the gravel drive, and then cut through the village of Kerjean, where they were met with more warmth than when they’d arrived. Ransom thought about making Alix his wife, almost dizzy with gladness. He wanted to kick Dappled into a gallop and whoop out his feelings. He glanced back at the castle, taking note again of the ancient carvings on the gate. It likely had some connection to the legends of the Fisher Kings. He craved to learn more about them, about all the Fountain-blessed.
When they reached the knights still encamped at the border, he described the assistance they’d already given and ordered the men to enter the duchy and do as the lady of the castle commanded them.
Ransom’s small group camped off the road at the border between Bayree and the Vexin. He’d hoped to dream of Alix again, but his sleep was dreamless, and he awoke disappointed. Had it been the castle itself that had infiltrated their dreams?
By the end of the second day, they reached the castle in Auxaunce. The steward brought Ransom to the training yard, where he found Benedict in full armor with a battle axe, fighting against two knights at once. The bout did not end until both knights had been knocked senseless. Benedict removed his helmet, his face flushed, his beard a tangled mess. He set down the axe and took a water skin and gulped down his drink. When he finished, he slapped it on the table and turned to face Ransom.
“Could I persuade you to fight me, Sir Ransom?” he asked, his blue eyes flashing with a challenge.
“Is that why you asked to see me?” Ransom asked, looking at the king’s son with indifference. He’d never been close to Benedict, although he bore no ill will toward the man. Of all the Argentine children, he was the most like the father—quick to anger, relentless, and a true warrior. He lacked the manners and grace of Devon the Younger, and he’d always fixated on defeating Ransom.
“No, by the Lady! I think I can beat you. But it’s possible my pride will destroy me if I fail. Maybe it is better if we never know. But thank you for coming out of your way.”
“It was not far off course,” Ransom said with a shrug. “What do you want?”
“What? No friendly chat between neighbors? I don’t like the castle at Kerjean. It’s too small. What did you make of it?”
“It suits me well enough,” Ransom said evenly.
“The lady suits you too, does she?” asked Benedict, then grinned. “I’ve tried to meet Lady Alix, but I could never get her uncle to permit it. She was always off visiting Pree for this reason or that. It made sense, to me anyway, that Bayree and the Vexin should be on good terms, but I don’t think the duke wanted me to marry his niece. Maybe he knew our personalities would clash. What do you think?”
Ransom didn’t want to offend Benedict, but he wasn’t about to disagree either, especially given what he knew about Alix’s parentage. “Yes.”
Benedict snorted. “I should punch you for being so honest. I didn’t push for it hard, anyway, because I suspected Father wouldn’t permit me to marry her. It wouldn’t have suited his ambition. Or mine. I am grateful we will be neighbors, though, if you’ve decided to accept your fate?”
“There are worse things than becoming a duke,” Ransom said.
“Indeed there are. Like getting gout. I hope I die young.” He pulled off his gauntlets and tossed them onto the table where he’d placed his helmet. “Father trusts you. And you served my brother well, except for all that nonsense at the end. I don’t care about any of it. What I want is your honest opinion. Do you believe my father will give me his throne?”
Ransom wasn’t surprised by the question. Nor did he find it difficult to provide an answer. “I do. He may not have officially named you his heir, but he acts as if you are. I suspect it will happen soon.”
“Of course I’m his heir,” Benedict said peevishly. “But that wasn’t my question. Do you think that he will give me his throne, or must I take it? I know Devon, my brother, came to realize that Father never gives away anything. He clings to Westmarch with white-knuckled fingers when anyone can see it should be Lord Kinghorn’s. Do you understand what I’m saying, Sir Ransom? He may name me his heir, but he will not give up one scrap of power until he’s dead or he’s compelled to. If I allow him, he’ll put me in the same position he did my brother.”
Ransom felt queasiness in his stomach. He saw the ambition in Benedict’s eyes. The determination.
“Don’t fight against your father,” Ransom said in a low tone. “Bide your time, and it will all be yours.”
“That’s the problem, you see,” said Benedict. “What you’re asking requires patience. It requires me to see my father not as he is, but as he wants to be seen.”