The spittle hit Ransom in the face and trickled down his nose.
“Oy!” snarled one of the knights who’d witnessed the show of disrespect. “I could take your head off for that, duke or no!”
“Let him be,” Ransom said, brushing the saliva away with his gauntlet. A sense of satisfaction welled up inside him. Estian wouldn’t have allowed such a powerful man to be captured. That suggested Estian’s plan really had backfired.
After the knights and their prisoners passed, Ransom and his men rode the final league to Auxaunce. When they arrived, the attackers’ camp was still being taken down by Jon-Landon’s men. The mercenaries were giddy with excitement, and many of them were drunk on Occitanian wine. Oxen were dragging siege engines up the ramparts to the castle itself. The king’s flag with the Triple Lion waved from a banner from the highest spoke of the tower. The wagons had already been stripped of supplies.
A few dead horses littered the field, and dead soldiers had been stacked into heaps.
Ransom rode up to the castle gates. It had been years since he was last there. When he arrived and dismounted, he entered the castle with Dearley and Dawson, the latter of whom seemed disappointed that they’d missed the fight.
The audience hall was thick with Jon-Landon’s knights, who clashed their cups together and drank to one another’s success. The king was conversing with his mother, Emiloh, and hadn’t noticed his arrival, but Lord Faulkes approached with an arrogant smile.
“You finally made it,” he said to Ransom with mocking eyes.
“I congratulate you on the victory.”
“It was a devastating victory,” said Faulkes. “One that will long be remembered. And where were you when the danger was the greatest? Supping with the enemy?”
Ransom felt his chest tighten with anger. He kept his expression calm. “I was on the king’s business.”
“Trying to reclaim one of your castles, eh? Did you have to grovel much?”
Ransom wanted to punch the man, and from the way Dearley and Dawson were looking at him, he wasn’t alone in that. But he wouldn’t stoop to his level.
“I’ll speak to the king,” he said, walking past Faulkes, who suddenly leaned toward him so that their shoulders jostled. It was a brazen sign of disrespect, the kind that happened between squires in the training yard. Not dukes of the realm.
As Ransom approached the king and the dowager queen, Emiloh noticed him first and smiled in relief. “Ransom!”
Jon-Landon turned slowly and gave Ransom a withering look. “Why are you here?”
His coldness shocked Ransom. “I came as soon as I learned about the siege,” he said.
“You mean you didn’t already know? How convenient.”
“My lord,” Emiloh said in a calming way.
“He can speak for himself, Duchess,” said the king. “Were you not consorting with the enemy in Chessy while my mother’s castle was under siege?”
Ransom felt his stomach shrink and twist with discomfort. “I went to Chessy with your permission.”
“Oh?” drawled the king. “I find your loyalty suspect. I’ve asked the Espion to investigate your meeting in Chessy and learn what was said. In the meantime, I order you to return to Beestone castle at once. Wait for me there.”
Ransom stared at Jon-Landon in surprise. When he glanced at Emiloh, he saw her look of shock and embarrassment.
Everyone in the hall had fallen silent and turned to watch the scene unfold. Ransom straightened, exhausted from the harrowing ride and little rest. He bowed to the king and then turned and walked out of the audience hall. He dared not look at Faulkes to note his reaction to the public humiliation.
Ransom didn’t think he would have been able to restrain his anger if he had.
Where is my badger-brained husband? I’ve heard accounts that there was a battle fought at Auxaunce, a battle where Ceredigion vanquished the Occitanian army. There is even talk that Drew Argentine was captured during the siege. I’ve no news of this from Ransom, though. I’m making for Connaught castle by sea, so any word may be delayed further in reaching me. Lord Tenthor’s illness is growing worse—I fear he won’t survive the coming winter. At least it will be a peaceful winter, without the threat of war looming ahead. If Occitania was defeated, they will need to lick their wounds, pay ransoms for the captured, and hopefully allow us to negotiate for our lands.
It’s time to go home. I miss my children. Hopefully, Connaught is still standing. The two boys get into mischief constantly, playing tricks on each other and the castle servants. I have baby Keeva with me still, and I know Sibyl misses her sister. We can be a family again soon. As long as that happens, this will all have been worth the aggravation.
—Claire de Murrow, “Duchess” of Legault
Leaving for Connaught
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Turning
Ransom’s knights were beleaguered by the time they reached Beestone castle again. They’d tried camping in yew groves a couple of times, though they mostly rode through the nights, but sleep had been elusive even with their understandable fatigue. Ransom could not help but worry about the change in Jon-Landon’s attitude and what it boded for the future. A sickening dread had crept into his chest, tugging and yanking on the strings of his heart. Even though Ransom was the most powerful lord in Ceredigion, he no longer felt protected by his station.
When he was younger, he had lost his place in Lord Kinghorn’s mesnie, but that was far from the only thing he’d lost. His favorite horse had been skewered. Years later, he’d nearly lost his leg in an ambush, only to be dragged across Occitania as a hostage for months. He’d become one of Devon the Younger’s most trusted companions—and then lost everything again due to unfounded accusations against his honor. He never wanted to feel that helpless again.
When they arrived at the village, there was great rejoicing among the townsfolk, and the mercenaries partook in the ruckus, spending livres so quickly they must have been freshly paid. Ransom saw soldiers trying to ply the maidens of the village for favors, only to be rebuffed. The lack of discipline was vexing to him, but he rode past the drunkenness and up the hill to the castle proper. He was sore from riding so much and could smell his own reek from being trapped in his armor.
When he passed through the gatehouse, which was heavily guarded by Jon-Landon’s men, he saw the inner bailey was full of prisoners in various stages of wretched misery. The knights had not only been stripped of their weapons but also their armor, which they’d need to repurchase after their ransoms were paid. Some had bloodstains on their tunics from injuries that had been left untreated. Some were sick. Mercenaries patrolled the yard and treated the prisoners with obvious contempt. He scowled at the sight, and although he had a mind to intervene, the king had already made his displeasure with him known. From years of working with Jon-Landon, he’d come to realize the king had an uncommon aversion to anything that had even the slightest hint of criticism.
Ransom dismounted Dappled, but a page told him that the castle stables were already full. Every inn was also swollen.
“I’ll take the men and make a camp in a meadow outside town,” Dearley told Ransom.
“Can I stay with you, my lord?” Dawson asked.