“Yes. I want to spend as much time with them as I can before we go.”
“I want us all to spend time together. Sibyl missed you so much, and Keeva hardly knows you.”
“Let’s gather the family,” Ransom said. “They need to hear the news as well.”
“May the Aos Sí watch over them,” Claire murmured. “Or the Fountain. It might not hurt to pray to both right now.”
It was a painful farewell. Claire held their youngest in her arms, wiping tears from her eyes as she smiled at the boys and bid them be brave. Devon and Willem were dressed in new tunics, and each had a wooden sword buckled to the scabbard on his belt. They squirmed when she tried to kiss them.
“You must not misbehave,” said Sibyl to them in her serious way. Even though she was younger, she acted the part of an older sister to her brothers. Indeed, she had insisted on going with them to keep them out of trouble at the palace. Her request had been denied, but it had touched both Ransom and Claire.
“There’s a cistern under the palace!” Devon said excitedly. “We’re going to swim in it!”
“People drink that water,” Sibyl said with concern. “I don’t think you should.”
Willem threw up his hands. “Can we go? We should have left already.”
Ransom looked at Claire and saw her smiling through her tears.
Claire hooked her arm around Ransom’s neck and kissed his cheek. “At least no one can say they dragged the boys away by force.”
“Can we go?” Devon said, stamping his foot.
“They’ll kiss first,” said Willem with a wince of disgust. “Let’s get in the boat. Good-bye, Sib!”
Devon shoved Willem and then raced toward the boat, his brother charging after him and crying out that it would be unfair if he beat him.
“Come back to me,” Claire whispered in Ransom’s ear.
“I will,” he answered. But a feeling of foreboding struck him in the chest. Would he be able to keep his promise?
Winter has ended, and the trading ships come and go freely, and still no word has arrived from court. It is strange, truly, to watch Ransom down in the training yard, working with his knights and leading the training of another generation of warriors. I could get used to this. He is more relaxed than he’s been in a long time, but I can tell he’s anxiously awaiting a summons. There has been little news from Glosstyr, save that the winter was overly mild. One of the Occitanian hostages fell ill at Blackpool and died. That will not look well on us, I think.
I’ve written to my boys every week during the winter and saved the notes to share with them now that the seas are safe to travel.
Lord Tenthor died. I forgot to mention it. He was a good man, one who was a strong ally to us. He had no sons or daughters, so his niece, a girl of sixteen, will inherit his lands. She’s now my ward. Many nobles have been asking for her hand, for Tenthor was a man of great wealth. I have an idea that I need to run past Ransom on that front.
—Claire de Murrow, Queen of the Fair Isle
Connaught Castle
In the spring
CHAPTER NINE
The King’s Summons
After spending the morning training the young knights of the castle, Ransom returned to his room to wipe away the sweat and change into a new tunic. Then he strapped the Raven scabbard around his waist again, seeing it glow blue as its magic radiated through him, healing the small cut he’d earned during the training. His reflexes were not as quick as they’d once been, and he needed a bit more rest before catching his breath. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a towel, and then left the room to find Claire and the girls.
They were in the solar, where little Sibyl was studying a Wizr board, examining each piece carefully before setting it down in its proper place. It was a game that Ransom didn’t fancy playing, given all the trouble another Wizr set had caused them, but the set had been brought out during the long winter nights, and he’d played a few rounds with her. She was a smart one, her eyes so serious for one so young.
Claire was writing in her book, which she closed when he arrived. The nurse was changing Keeva from a nightdress to her day attire and speaking to her slowly with a tender Gaultic lilt.
“How was the training yard?” Claire asked, rising from the window seat and leaving her book on the cushion. She came and embraced him, tipping her head up to kiss him.
“They’re good lads,” Ransom said. “The five eldest are ready to be done with their training, I think. That will give us five more openings this year.”
“Is Dawson as strict a sword master as you?” Claire asked in a teasing voice.
“Captain Baldwin is the strict one,” Ransom said. “He may be getting on in years, but he’s just as surly as I remember him. Dawson trains with the older boys. They love hearing his stories.”
“You have stories to tell as well.”
Ransom shrugged and settled down in a chair, feeling his lower back ache. The glow of the scabbard dimmed as the magic finished its work.
Claire went to the window seat. She opened a little box that sat there and returned to him with something in her hand. It took him a moment to realize what it was—a piece of penuche, one of the morsels that Dearley had bought in Chessy. The smell of it was tantalizing.
“This is the last one,” Claire said, sitting down on his lap. “I thought you should have it.”
“I got them for you,” he reminded her.
“But I’ve shared. Here, let me break it in half, and we can both enjoy the last bite. I don’t know that either of us will ever venture into Occitania again, so we may as well enjoy it. We prolonged the treat as best we could.”
She pinched the morsel in half and then fed one piece to him. The sugary flavor melted on his tongue as he watched her bite into the other piece. The sight of her enjoyment was as delicious as the taste, and the memories of that day with her in Chessy. He’d already loved her then, but there’d been no prospect of marrying her.
“Thank you for the gift, Husband,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned in and kissed him again.
He gripped her waist, enjoying the sweetness of the moment, but his thoughts were still muddled at the lack of tidings from court. He was a duke of the realm, and he had no idea what had happened during the winter months or what the king was planning for the future. Or, for that matter, what was happening with his sons. The lack of information troubled him more than he wished to communicate to Claire.
“Have you given any thought to Lord Tenthor’s niece?” Claire asked him, remaining on his lap.
He smiled and chuckled. “We’ve had . . . five requests for her hand already? Who wouldn’t want such a wealthy heiress as a wife?” He squeezed her hips.
“So mercenary,” she said. “I’ve an idea.”
“I’d welcome it.”
“Why don’t we introduce her to Sir Dawson?”
Her suggestion came as a shock. “Truly? You don’t wish to suggest a husband from Legault?”
“Dawson has been so loyal to you, and it’s your duty to reward him for his faithful service. Besides, Dearley already has a wife and so does Simon. Dawson is the obvious choice.”