“A pardon isn’t forgiveness,” DeVaux said slyly. “I bear no illusions about that. But clearly the king has deeper problems than us. He’s named his second son, Benedict, Duke of Vexin. A boy of fifteen!” He chortled. “With this pardon comes a truce for two years. I gladly took it.”
Ransom’s mind whirled with thoughts. He wanted to know whether he was still a prisoner. Would he be spending the winter in DeVaux’s castle in a dungeon? It was better than sleeping in the woods during winter, but not by much.
“A stripling,” said a knight who had accompanied DeVaux. “The prince will be no match for Lord DeVaux.”
DeVaux gave a magnanimous shrug. “I will soon disabuse the prince of any notion that he can rule the duchy as he sees fit. Rest assured. We ride back to my castle, where we will feast and drink and”—he wagged a finger in the air—“keep watch on the walls in case this is a trick. But I doubt it. The king is sending someone to finalize the truce. He’ll be at our castle tomorrow.”
“Who?” asked Brett.
“Lord Kinghorn of Averanche. He’s coming to pay the ransom.”
The looks on their faces showed surprise. DeVaux would be paid for committing such treachery?
But the name made Ransom finally breathe again. A breath of relief.
DeVaux Valley was known for its grapes and for some of the best wines in the region. Not even the king, in his wrath, had torched the vineyards, for they brought much tribute and profit to the coffers of Kingfountain. DeVaux’s castle, Roque Keep, was a simple one that had been built centuries before, with low mountains on the north and the south, meaning it could only be approached from the east or west. It was far enough away from Auxaunce to provide ample warning should riders come bearing arms.
When they arrived at Roque, Ransom was given new clothes, a much-needed bath, and a barber to attend to his hair, beard, and his scabs. The barber was surprised that his wound had healed so well and had not become infected. In fact, he said it was a miracle from the Fountain that Ransom was walking at all, even with a limp.
They didn’t put Ransom in the dungeon, instead allowing him to enjoy the feast that had been prepared for Lord DeVaux’s return. The joyful atmosphere surprised Ransom—the people were overjoyed to see their cunning lord again, and the affection with which Lady DeVaux greeted her husband in the great hall indicated his family loved him too. Why was such a duplicitous man so revered?
Ransom consumed the food with relish, savoring the fruits and vegetables more than the spicy meats, since meat was predominantly what they’d had during their wanderings. He still had no idea where their travels had taken them, although he suspected they’d left the borders of Vexin at the beginning. Nor did he know which lady had shown him compassion in a hollow loaf of moldy bread. During the feast, he tried to press Jonah and Brett for information, but they were too engrossed in the revelry to remember details, and neither man supplied what he wanted to know.
He slept that night on a pallet in the great hall along with the other knights. Dogs still rooted for food through the evening, and Ransom felt the flutterings of anticipation in his stomach. Ransom wondered whether his suit of armor was still with his blacksmith friend Anders in Chessy, or if they’d taken it to Tatton Grange as promised. Replacing a hauberk was much easier than getting a new suit of armor.
The thought of returning to Averanche was a pleasing one. After his misadventures, he looked forward to being in the training yard again. Perhaps he’d even be called upon to help train a new generation of warriors.
Sleep came slowly, his mind too awake from the strange sounds coming from the castle. For months, he’d been lulled to sleep by the sounds of the wood and the crooning of night birds. Instead, he heard the distant clang of pans, the crunch of feet on floor rushes, and the garbled voices of cooks and servants cleaning up.
It wasn’t until all fell quiet, well after midnight, that Ransom finally dozed off.
When he awoke, preparations for the guests were already underway. Ransom paced in the hall, trying to see if the pain in his leg would subside. He stroked the bracelet around his wrist, anxious to send word to Lady Claire and let her know he was well. Had she worried about him, or did she think he was dead? How would she take the news, he wondered?
With all the food he’d devoured the night before, he wasn’t hungry yet, and his raw nerves made him even less so. After so many months of captivity, the wait for Lord Kinghorn was positively excruciating. He wanted to bend the knee, even his painful one, and swear allegiance to the lord.