“I’ll send a ship tonight to the palace,” Ransom said.
“What about Lord James and your sister?” Dearley asked.
“They must go tomorrow,” Claire said. “For their safety as well as ours.”
The thought of sending his sister away was a cruel torment to him. If the plot failed, they would be on the run. He hated to think of it, particularly since he knew Jon-Landon lacked any generosity of spirit. He’d looked forward to coming home, to being with his wife and daughters, but it was obvious there would be no rest, no comfort.
“I’ll tell them,” Claire said, seeing the raw pain in Ransom’s eyes.
“No,” he said. “I’ll do my duty.” But duty had never hurt like it did now—it had never felt so very heavy before.
Claire must have known that, or perhaps she simply knew him, because she came to him and held him. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips into her hair.
In his mind, he could see Drew falling off the bridge, hands grasping at nothing. Then he imagined his own sons being tied to boats and sent over the falls at Kingfountain. The thought made him shudder with dread.
As he held Claire tightly, he remembered the king’s son, Prince Devon, and the look he’d given Ransom before he left Kingfountain.
“F-farewell, Lord Ransom. I hope we shall meet again soon.”
And Ransom realized, once again, that he was all that stood between death and that boy.
I’d wished for Ransom to be home, but now that he is here, I believe it would have been better for all if he’d stayed. The king does not deserve to be saved, but save him we must. Ransom believes Jon-Landon’s son is important, and although I still have difficulty accepting that everything I’ve been raised to believe is a lie, I can do no other than believe in him.
Who will prevail in this contest? There’s a saying in Legault—if you plan to injure your neighbor, better not do it by halves. Lord Kiskaddon does not seem to be a man of half measures. But having a plan doesn’t mean one will execute it well.
I only pray we will not be forced to take up arms against our friends. Peace is our plan. Let us hope we need not spill blood for it.
—Claire de Murrow, Queen of Legault
Connaught Castle
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
To Murder a King
It was nearing midnight when Ransom went to his room. Claire was still awake, wearing a pale nightdress and shawl, nestled into the window seat, her little book in her lap. She turned her head at the sound of the door. Ransom leaned back against it, listening to the snap of embers in the sinking fire within the hearth.
“I thought you might already be abed,” he told her, throwing the lock on the door.
Claire set the book down and rose, her bare feet soundless as she approached and buried her face in his chest. “Why do troubles continue to torment our family?” she whispered, shaking her head.
He held her, stroking her dark hair, admiring the glints of crimson in the dim light.
“I don’t know,” he answered sadly. “We can never have a moment’s peace.”
She pulled back, then wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged his face down to kiss him. It was a possessive kiss, one that stirred his blood and made him wish all the world would just leave them alone. He pulled her closer, enjoying the sensation, yet his heart grieved at so much bad news.
Claire stopped and withdrew, clenching her fists. “I want to throw something against the wall and break it.”
“A pillow?” he suggested with a wry smile.
She gave Ransom a stern look that quickly softened. “How did James and Maeg take your refusal?”
“With disappointment but not surprise,” he answered, running his fingers through his hair.
Claire unfastened his scabbard belt and then propped his weapon against the nightstand. “Sit down. You’re exhausted.”
He sat on the edge of their bed and started pulling off his boots.
“James asked if Maeg and Percy could stay with us,” he said.
“It would still be treason,” Claire said. She tossed the first boot down and helped drag off the other. “If we help them in any way. I hope you told them no.”
“I did, but I made another suggestion. I thought they might seek shelter in Ploemeur.”
Claire tossed the other boot down and gave him a quizzical look. “Do you think Constance would accept them?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I believe so. Especially given their connection to Drew. Still, it would be better if Jon-Landon didn’t know where they were staying. I don’t think Constance would want to take up arms against Ceredigion. But I suspect she’ll never forgive us after what happened.”
“I feel sorry for her. Truly, such news would have broken my heart. I’m probably not as kind as her. I’d have ripped Jon-Landon’s heart out with my own dagger.”
Ransom sighed as he leaned back against the pillows, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling timbers. Claire snuggled next to him, one hand resting on his chest, the other propping up her head. She gazed down at his face.
“I missed you,” he whispered tenderly.
“Tell me about our sons. I’m sure you left out much in your letters. They truly stole an Espion key and threw it down a well?”
Ransom chuckled. “That’s true. They’re both fearless. And so is the king’s daughter. The three of them were always slipping away from their caretakers. But not the king’s son. He seemed more . . . timid. But he has a keen mind. I’ve heard his tutors praise his understanding of law and languages. I’ve talked strategy with him several times, and he’s eager to learn how to prevent a war. In the training yard, he’s more uneasy. He doesn’t relish violence.”
“What do you make of the queen?”
He reached out and stroked the edge of her cheek. “It’s difficult to guess her thoughts,” he answered. “Does she know her husband is unfaithful to her? Does she turn a blind eye? She enjoys the power of her rank. That much is clear. I don’t think she knows everything.”
“I’m sorry for her, then,” Claire said, stroking his chest. “I would be devastated if you were ever unfaithful to me.”
He looked into her eyes. “And I would be the world’s biggest eejit.” Taking her fingers, he kissed them one by one.
“Are you saying you are not an eejit, Ransom?”
“I’m not as clever as you are,” he said. “But I’m faithful to you. I always will be.”
“I like hearing you say it,” she said, then kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m faithful to you, Ransom Barton. This situation with the nobles . . . it’s going to turn ugly for everyone. It cannot do otherwise. We might be lucky to stay out of it for a little while, but we’ll both be dragged into the fight. I’m not afraid of Jon-Landon. I never was. But even he isn’t enough of an eejit not to realize he needs you now more than ever.”
Ransom thought the same. He kissed her wrist next. Then he pulled her sleeve up to kiss the inside of her arm.
“You’re not too tired?” she asked him, tousling his hair.
“Not if I’d swum all the way from Glosstyr,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her neck.