He found Devon standing on the planks, gazing at the mighty river as it swept toward the falls. Memories poured over him of lifting the funeral boat, of hoisting Devon the Younger into the river. No doubt that was what had drawn the king there, although this time his grief was all inside. The palace of Kingfountain rose behind Ransom as he walked away from its shadow. He gazed over his shoulder at the beautiful stone walls, the intricate towers. When he turned back, he saw the Elder King had also turned, and he stood facing him, arms folded.
The rush of the falls in the distance grew louder as Ransom approached, mingling with the Fountain magic burbling inside of him. The king looked much older than his years, his emotional torment manifesting in physical pain. Thick clouds loomed in the sky, threatening rain. A distant rumble of thunder boomed far away.
“How did you know that you are the one I wanted to see?” the king asked, his voice raw with grief.
Ransom felt sorrow for him. Although he did not always agree with Devon’s judgment, the king was a man of deep feeling. “The Fountain told me to come,” he answered.
“Did it now?” the king said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “That is very interesting. I’ve been thinking about you, Ransom. Isn’t that curious?”
A prickle of unease tugged at the knots of dread already in his stomach. “Why did you want to see me?”
“You are loyal to me, are you not? You will not abandon me during my hour of need?”
“I am your sworn man, my lord.”
“We are alone, Ransom. I hate such formal little speeches. Are you faithful to me or not?”
He felt his dread increase. “I am.”
The king nodded, his brows furrowing. “I will tell you what I was thinking.” He turned his head and looked back at the river. “I was never close to Goff. I did not hate him. I just found his manners . . . tedious. But he was my son, and I did not wish him any ill will. Now his son has been left without a father.” He turned and looked at Ransom again, his eyes fierce and determined. “He needs a protector, my boy. I want you to marry Constance and be that boy’s guardian until he is old enough to rule the duchy himself. He’s an Argentine. I must look after his interests.”
It felt wrong from the first utterance of the king’s words, and the feeling of wrongness only intensified.
“I cannot,” Ransom choked out.
The king’s lips went tight with anger. “Are you loyal to me or not, Marshall Barton? I cannot trust Jon-Landon with this task, for I know he will see the boy as a threat. I need someone with Gervase’s sentiment, someone who would have compassion on a little boy and spare him! Can I not rely on you, of all people, to do this?”
His reasoning was sound, and yet it still felt wrong. Utterly and completely.
“Of course you may rely on me to protect the boy,” Ransom said. “To see him become a noble duke. I will grant you that. But she is not the lady I am supposed to marry. I think the Fountain brought me here to prevent you from making another mistake.”
The king recoiled. “Are you so wise in all your vast years?” he said, disappointment and grief warring on his face.
“I don’t pretend to be,” Ransom said. “None of us can know everything. Do you know who you remind me of right now?”
The king shut his eyes. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare compare me to him!”
Ransom didn’t have to. The Elder King had already recognized the truth for himself. Devon the Younger had been just as convinced he would come out victorious in the beginning—and in the end he’d been equally unwilling to acknowledge the role he’d played in his own doom.
“I stayed with him to the end,” Ransom said. “And I will do the same with you, come what may. But surely you must see that you’ve made enemies of your sons. It is the duty of a knight to serve his lord. To be faithful to the master of the mesnie. But it is the master’s duty to reward obedience. To be generous and praiseworthy.”
The king lowered his gaze, as if reluctant to look at him. “Are you not being selfish, my boy? You say this because you want the girl. You want that proud shrew from Legault. Glosstyr has prospered under my control. Its revenues are worth three times now what they were under Lord Archer. And Legault is ripe for the plucking! Isn’t it your own ambition that drives you to speak thusly to your king?”
Ransom hadn’t known about that, although it didn’t surprise him to hear the duchy of Glosstyr had prospered under the king’s royal favor. It certainly had nothing to do with his interest in Claire.
“Please do not call her a shrew,” Ransom said softly. “She is the lady I love and always will.”
The king whirled away from him, and Ransom saw the man’s shoulders shaking with emotion. Ransom stood there, fixed to his post, listening as the river rushed by, giving Devon the Elder his privacy. His declaration had brought a feeling of peace in his heart. It was a deep truth, and there was something especially valuable about such truths in a time so rife with deceit.
After a long pause, one with gasps of pain and tears from the king, Devon turned around again, his face haggard.
“You are sincere,” the king said. “I once loved as you do now. I cannot help but feel a little jealous as well as worried for you. Marriage isn’t easy. The greatest source of pain I experienced in my life, as a child, was witnessing my parents bicker. They hated one another, although they were shrewd allies. I swore . . . it would not happen to me when I wed. And now look at me. I grieve with no source of comfort. My lady love is locked up in that tower. And despite all the pain she’s caused me, I cannot bring myself to let her go.”
Ransom nodded, listening carefully. Hoping. Waiting.
The Elder King sighed, his shoulders drooping. “She is yours, my boy. And I’ll not speak ill of her again. I apologize. Her tenacity is admirable. And so is yours.” He sniffed. “You realize this will make you the most powerful lord in Ceredigion? And that your seed will rule Legault as kings or queens in their own right?”
Ransom’s shock quickly gave way to a rush of heady joy. He smiled and said, “It’s best not to count the harvest before the first rows are even furrowed.”
The king chuckled. “Well, you’ve got what you’ve wanted. Deborah has been vexing me about this as well. I shall tell Master Hawkes to prepare the rolls, the pedigree, and Sir Simon to give you an accounting of your domains and funds. The investiture cannot happen until the two of you are wed, and that cannot happen until the lass gives her consent. As well I know! And I daresay the people of Glosstyr will revolt if you aren’t married at the sanctuary there if she does accept. But we must turn the tide of this situation and bring my son to heel. Peacefully, if possible.”
“I agree with all my heart,” Ransom said, unable to suppress a grin of delight.
The king nodded slowly. “You’ve spoken the truth, Ransom. And Lady Deborah has as well. Hard as it is to admit, I have not been innocent in this situation. I do not intend to abdicate my throne, but I think I can offer terms that would be more to Bennett’s liking. Let me ponder it more. You, on the other hand, have tidings to bring to the tower.”
Ransom’s heart thumped with eagerness. “Have you told the queen about Goff’s death?”