“Oooh, that’s a strong word, Ransom,” she said, eyes shining. “Try being more blunt. He’s worse than a pig’s fart in a tent.”
Ransom chuckled. “Is that a Gaultic insult?”
“We are masterful at them,” she said proudly. “I should teach you some. You need to practice more.” She smiled at him then, which was why the question slipped out of him.
“But how can I when you’re not around to teach me?” he asked.
“’Tis true. I wish Da had paid your ransom, Ransom—oh, it never gets old saying that!—and that you’d come to work for us. Then again, there is something honorable about serving a king. At least, a partial one. The father and the son are at odds. That puts you in a difficult situation, doesn’t it?”
“I should think so,” Ransom admitted. “But I serve the Younger King. He is my charge. He has my loyalty.”
“He’s handsome, affable, and quite good at dancing, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never had the pleasure of being his partner. But he’s a brainless badger, Ransom.” She looked him in the face. “You know that, I hope.”
“I made mistakes when I was younger as well,” Ransom said. “Nearly got myself killed.”
“True. You’ve always been a bit of an eejit yourself.” She touched his arm. “But you survived. And you learned. It’s good to see you again.” She lowered her hand. “I worried about you. I truly did.”
The wistful look on her face told him that she was hoping for something. Something he feared he could not give, however much he wished it were otherwise. But he could at least give her the truth. Reaching down, he rubbed the braided bracelet she’d given him at Chessy. He saw her eyes go down to it.
“I’m not really a courtier,” he said, bending his elbow and bringing it up higher. “I’ve nearly died twice. Games don’t amuse me. I wear this because you gave it to me. And I’ll always wear it until you ask for it back.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because you may not have any other choice,” he said. “I’ve heard the Elder King wants you to marry his youngest son.”
“The brat prince. Yes, I know.”
He swallowed. “They told you?”
“Da says that I should. But I don’t want a prince or the spoiled son of a duke.” She looked as if she were about to say something, but stopped herself. She looked down.
“What is it?”
“You’re being an eejit again.”
“Claire . . . I can’t ask for something I have no right to expect. I serve the king now and will likely serve him for many years. I’m not at liberty.”
“And you think I don’t know that?” she asked, blinking at him. “They cannot force me to marry any of them, Ransom. It’s a Gaultic custom for the woman to choose. Try to remember that, all right?”
She turned, the hem of her cloak swirling some snow, and walked back down the dock.
The ache in his chest hurt worse than the one from his injured leg. He knew how to treat wounds from a battlefield. He had no idea how to cure this one.
At last the winter has ended. A robin has been fetching thatch and building a nest in a nook in the wall here at the castle of Glosstyr. I’ve been trapped here for months, the onset of snow preventing either Da or I from crossing to Legault. We spent the midwinter celebration in Ceredigion. I missed the Gaultic celebration—the haunting melodies of the songs and the strange lights that glimmer in the woods, reminding us of the Aos Sí and their strange ways.
The Elder King asked Da if Jon-Landon might stay with us in Glosstyr during the season, and he could hardly disagree. What a strange boy he is. His brothers all have gold in their hair, but this lad is dark, brooding, and rather sullen. I’m grateful the petulant child didn’t attempt any wooing. That would’ve been unbearable. No, he seemed ill at ease among us, and I did pity him, but not enough for pity to turn into any sort of fondness. I received a midwinter gift from Sir James. Nothing from Ransom. I was frustrated by our conversation following the coronation. Did he understand what I meant when I said that I have a choice? Does the fool man know I’ve already chosen him? Maybe I should have written a confession of feeling on a note, bound it to an arrow, and shot him in the heart from the palace walls. He may not understand anything more subtle.
—Claire de Murrow
Glosstyr Keep, Duchy of Glosstyr
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE