He stared at her in total confusion. Her meaning escaped him, but he felt wary of being alone with her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, then hurried to the door and opened it, leaving Noemie behind in the shadows.
Ransom was as good as his word, although that shouldn’t have surprised me. He found his way to the cistern courtyard and brought Devon with him. He’s done it thrice, and each time, I am grateful for the chance to talk. He seems worried about something, but he will not reveal what it is. Whenever I ask, he just glances at Devon and then shakes his head. I can see the wrinkles of worry on his brow. How I wish I could ease them.
The queen has chided me that I am too reticent around my knight. She said a popular saying in the duchy of Vexin is that a woman must show more affection than she feels or else the poor, daft man she fancies will never take the hint. While it is true that men are poor and daft when it comes to love, I do not want to be the hunter but the hunted. The problem is that I long for what eludes me, not what is offered to me. If I bend to the Elder King’s will and marry a man of his choosing, I can escape this prison. I can return to my homeland, my beloved Legault, which I can only reclaim with an army behind me. But my heart is with Ransom. He is being celebrated as a champion, a knight without peer. It is only a matter of time before other maidens will attempt to conquer him.
I wish he weren’t going to Brythonica for the tournament. I wish he’d stay here, where he is nearby. But I know I’m being a reckless fool. Go win another tournament, Ransom. Show them your worth.
—Claire de Murrow
Cistern Courtyard
（Fare thee well.）
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Whispers from the Fountain
Noemie’s words itched inside Ransom’s mind, festering like a dirty wound. He did not trust her, not in the smallest degree, yet her actions, especially since that interlude in the shadows of the tower, seemed to match her words. Whenever he was in the same room as her, she would often look his way. The moment their eyes met, she’d look down, her hands trembling, her conversation distracted. Everything about it felt wrong, and the knowledge of how she felt—or claimed she felt—clashed with his sense of honor, his sense of himself, and his feelings of duty to his king and his friend. And the ache he carried in his heart for Claire.
He did all that he could to stay away from Devon’s wife, to not let her trap him into conversation as she had done in the tower. She didn’t touch him, or give him any outward show of kindness. But those eyes, pleading and raw, unsettled him. And her words were a mystery he could not comprehend. She’d made it sound as if their love had been preordained somehow. He was mystified by it, feeling as if he were walking in a fog. The stolen moments with Claire and the queen were the only times when he felt his mind was clear.
Devon’s entourage rode their horses to Brythonica, armor bright and polished, banners fluttering in the air. Noemie rode alongside Devon, her jewels glittering in the sun, the silk scarves wrapping her headdress, trailing in the breeze, her posture elegant atop the strong chestnut she rode. He saw her laughing and talking with her husband. But every once in a while, she would look back at Ransom, and he would look away, pretending to enjoy the scenery while he felt that awful tugging sensation in his chest, one that pulled him between attraction to the beautiful princess and his deep misgivings about what she intended. Why would she deliberately try to tempt him when he showed no interest in her at all?
He sensed a horse approach alongside him and turned to find Sir Simon of Holmberg there in his shadow.
“Are you looking for money to borrow, Simon?” he asked, smiling at his fellow knight.
“Not yet, of course,” replied the knight. “Actually, the king’s steward has more than compensated you for the previous loans. Not to mention your first payment arrived from your new castle in Gison. You are becoming a wealthy man, Ransom, for you spend very little of what is your own. The other knights in the mesnie squander their income. You and I are the only ones who seem capable of keeping our heads when it comes to debt.”
“Life is a harsh and foul-smelling bill collector,” Ransom said. “I never want to be a debtor to that foul onion again.”
“Have you been to your new castle yet?”
“No, but I hope to visit it after this next tournament. My father’s castle was always in a bad state of repair. I hope the one in Gison doesn’t cost me more than it’s worth.”
“With that attitude, you won’t be taken in easily,” Simon said approvingly. Then he lowered his voice. “Do you consider me a friend? Or, if that is too strong a word, an ally?”