That thought unleashed a ripple of jealousy in her breast. It was Ransom’s wedding day and so most of the castle lay deserted. Everyone was gathered in town at the sanctuary of Our Lady of Glosstyr. King Benedict was there with Emiloh, the dowager queen. Alix wanted to see her mother, but if she got too close, she risked revealing herself.
She paused at one of the arches, looking out at the waves rippling to shore. There were plenty of ships docked at the city, bearing flags from many kingdoms. She recognized the Raven of Brythonica and felt another spurt of anger. Had the duchess brought her son? Were all of Alix’s prey gathered together in one place? Benedict, of course. The boy heir, Andrew. And it was rumored that Jon-Landon had also come, showing he could play the role of dutiful brother.
Three Argentines left to murder. An opportunity like this might never present itself again. She could step into a fountain in the castle and magically appear in the sanctuary. She believed she could kill one, maybe two, if fortune favored her boldness. But she’d be caught. And that was not an outcome she would tolerate.
Sir Chauvigny had paused next to her, standing in the archway and looking down at the spray of foam on the rocks as the surf collided with them. He was a handsome knight, one of Estian’s best men. His arm was still pressed between rods and bound in wrappings to help the break heal. Ransom had captured him at Dunmanis, expecting to receive a fee to earn release, but Alix had freed him from his confinement. She’d tended to his injury and placated him with words designed to win both his loyalty and his affection. He did not have all Ransom’s skill, but he was a powerful warrior and one with great potential.
Chauvigny lacked one essential quality: he was not the man she wanted. As she thought about Ransom’s rejection, the enmity burned hotter inside her. She felt . . . jilted. She could not remain aloof about it. The feeling twisted inside her like one of her deadly concoctions.
“Can he sense you from here?” asked Chauvigny. His tone revealed his feelings of rivalry against Ransom. He, too, wanted vengeance.
“It is too far,” she said. “That’s why we came through the fountain when we did. I had to be sure he’d be away.”
“When my arm heals, I’d like to face him again.”
So like a man.
“You’ll have your chance. The king wishes him removed.”
“Gladly,” said Chauvigny.
The door at the end of the corridor opened, and a woman appeared, a servant by the looks of her, middle aged and doughy. She was startled to see a knight and lady standing there by the arch.
The woman looked at them warily and with concern. “What are you doing here? The wedding is underway at the sanctuary.”
“I know,” said Alix, shifting her speech to that of a fluent speaker of this realm. “Thank you, madam. But my husband fell ill last night.” She stroked Chauvigny’s arm and gave a disappointed pout. “He’s still recovering from the fight at Dunmanis. Poor thing.”
As she spoke, she reached out with her Fountain magic and dispelled any mistrust or wariness the woman felt. Immediately the matron’s expression shifted to one of regret.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, clucking her tongue. “How unfortunate for you to have come all this way only to miss it.”
Chauvigny shrugged but didn’t speak. His accent would have revealed him immediately. Little did he know, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Alix’s skill would have made the woman hear what she expected to hear.
“Do you know if the new duke and duchess of Glosstyr will be staying here awhile?” Alix asked sweetly, tilting her head to one side, giving the woman a feeling of trust in her. Alix’s magic infiltrated the senses so subversively that it couldn’t be noticed.
“They’ll be going to Atha Kleah first,” said the woman brightly. “Representatives from the nobles are here for the wedding. Rude sorts. But they came begging peace. Some of the lords have tucked their tails and run back to their castles. As well they should!”
“They’ve waited many years for the heir to return,” Alix said. “Is she excited to be with her own people again?”
“As pleased as a cat in the cream,” said the woman, sighing. “We’d just as soon keep her here. She may be the new queen of Legault, but she’s Lord Archer’s daughter first and foremost. And Lord Ransom . . . well, if he isn’t a noble of the highest kind!”
“Yes, he is,” said Alix with feeling, suffering another spasm of jealousy. “Did his sister come to the wedding?”
“Of course! And so did his brother and his lady mother. It is sweet seeing their family together. Good days are ahead of us, I think. Well, sorry to disturb you. I have duties to fulfill. Glad you came for the wedding.”
“You are so kind,” Alix said, withdrawing her magic as the woman turned and left the way she came.
Chauvigny grunted. “I wondered if you were going to kill her.”
“There was no need. I do only what must be done.”
Chauvigny gazed at her, his eyes full of speculative interest. “You announced me as your husband.”
“Do you object?” she asked with a sly smile.
That only inflamed him more. “You are the heir of Bayree. Above my station.”
She put her hand on his chest. “The same was true of Ransom. He’s just an ordinary knight. A worthless second son.” She looked down in a coquettish way. “If you ask the king, he may yet give you what you deserve.” Glancing up again, she met his eyes in an entreating way.
As she lowered her hand, she saw him tremble. With Ransom, she had nearly expended her full stores of Fountain magic to disable his natural wariness, his deep devotion to his Gaultic obsession. It was exhausting maintaining such an effort. With Chauvigny, she didn’t have to invoke anything. He had responded to every touch, every look with ardor.
“When we return to Pree, I shall demand it,” he said, his voice thickening with passion.
“I should hope so,” she answered, gazing out at the sea again.
She’d wanted Ransom to choose her. Yes, she’d been ordered to seduce him, but her brother, Estian, wasn’t the only one with a taste for changing fate and upending the established leadership. Although her role was a valuable one, it chafed. She would be rid of her bondage someday. Just as the Gaultic girl had finally been freed from hers.
The image of Ransom kissing Claire made her blood heat with outrage. Her imagination might drive her to a frenzy. Make her risk all and throw away her life to murder everyone Ransom loved. Just to spite him. Just to punish him. In her raging thoughts, she imagined bursting from the fountain in the sanctuary, a poisoned crossbow in hand, all her knives and implements at the ready. She could do quite a bit of damage in so crowded a place. It brought her a little thrill to imagine him standing over her own dead body, her blood spreading across the floor and staining his boots. She stopped the thought before it tempted her too much. Patience. She had to be patient. To plan her moves carefully, secretly, deftly, the way any keen Wizr player would.
There was no cure for a broken heart. But there was revenge.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
One of my early readers of this book was on tenterhooks because she assumed that Owen and Evie’s story would be repeated in this tale. I don’t like telling the same story over and over, and thankfully history gave me an excuse not to. I have taken some authorial liberties from the written record, since the age gap between the two characters that Ransom and Claire are based on would be jarring to modern sensibilities, but the historical text that inspired this book ended up being a love story of the best kind. I’ll share that source when the story is done.