“You seem troubled, Sir Ransom. Is anything amiss?”
There was a suspicious air about the prince now, and Ransom bridled the urge to knock him down.
“Nothing that concerns you, my lord,” he replied quickly, trying to move past him.
“Can I have a moment of your time?”
“Tomorrow, perhaps. I must attend to my king.”
Prince Estian smiled graciously and gestured for him to proceed. “By all means.” But there was a strange look in his eye as he said it. Ransom didn’t know what it meant, but he didn’t like it.
He took the stairs two at a time, hoping he’d overtake Devon and Noemie or at least some of the knights, but he didn’t. The entire way up the darkened stairwell, he listened, trying to hear the echo of steps on stone. Because of the few torches hanging from sconces, it would be the perfect place for someone to ambush him. Ransom drew his dagger and plunged ahead, open to every sound, every shadow. He dreaded sensing the presence of the hooded lady in such a place, and his worry and the steep incline soon caused sweat to streak down his ribs and his breath to come in hard puffs.
He reached the upper floor without incident and went into the room. The knights of the mesnie slept in the sitting area, some on couches, others on pallets that had been provided. The royal bed had long velvet curtains surrounding it for added privacy.
Devon was talking with Sir Robert near the couch, his tunic open. His sword belt hung across the back of a chair. He turned when Ransom entered.
“What in blazes is the matter with you?” Devon asked in concern, seeing the way Ransom was panting, the dagger still clutched in his hand.
A maid had removed Princess Noemie’s head gear and jewels, but her hair was still braided, and she still wore her gown. Everyone turned to look at him in bewilderment.
“My lord, I must speak with you,” he said, trying to catch his breath and failing. He slid the dagger back into his scabbard.
Devon stifled a yawn. “It’s late, Ransom. Can we not speak on the morrow?”
“It’s urgent, my lord.”
Devon sighed. “What is it? You have our attention.”
Ransom saw the Occitanian servants were looking at him, as was the princess. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“In private, my lord,” Ransom said, walking over to the windowed balcony on the north side of the chamber. He turned the handle and opened the glass door, stepping out into the cold spring air. Stars were so thick in the sky it felt like he could scoop some in his hand if he reached up. The gardens below were darkened, but there were still lights from torches being carried down in the courtyard below. A stubborn horse let out a noisy grunt.
Devon stepped out on the balcony, followed by his wife.
“What is it?” the king asked with growing concern.
Ransom pressed his lips together tightly, looking at the princess as she sidled up next to Devon, gripping his arm.
“Your knight looks so worried,” she said. “What news could have possibly alarmed him so?”
Did she already know? It wouldn’t surprise him, but the darkness of the balcony limited his ability to gauge her expression.
“Could I speak with you alone, my lord?” Ransom asked.
Devon shook his head. “Whatever you have to say can be said before my wife. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, Ransom.”
It was too important for him not to disclose it. He had to take a chance. “Simon overheard two Occitanian lords boasting about preparations to invade Ceredigion. They’re going to strike while your father is waiting for you at Tatton Grange.”
Devon stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. “I take, by your demeanor, that you believe it to be true.”
“I asked Simon to point out the men he overheard. One was Count Hardle and the other, the Duke of Bayree. It wasn’t idle gossip from servants.”
Devon looked at his wife, and she looked at him.
“My lord, I took the liberty of notifying Captain Issoudun. We could ride out of Pree this evening, while everyone is going to bed.”
“That is a sensible idea,” Devon said.
Ransom expected Noemie to deny it, to accuse him of lying. But she didn’t say anything. Her face was calm. Knowing, even.
“I’ll await you in bed, my lord,” she said, kissing Devon’s cheek. “Perhaps you should tell him alone.”
Ransom’s stomach experienced a jolt, leaving behind a feeling of sick suspicion. He watched the princess exit through the balcony door. When Devon turned around to face him, Ransom saw her look back through the glass, a sly smile on her mouth. She was enjoying the moment.