Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

As he drew closer to the town, he heard the thunder of hooves before he saw the knights riding toward him. He slowed his own horse and tried to seem steadier than he felt. Looking down at the bandage wrapped around his leg, he saw blood seeping through it already. Another bout of dizziness came upon him.

He was no stranger to the men who approached him, having beaten all of them in the training yard. Looks of immediate recognition rose on their faces. The foremost gave him a knightly salute.

“Sir Ransom! What are you doing here?”

He responded to the salute in kind. “I came to see the king. And bring him tidings of his son’s death.”

His words shocked them, but they offered no argument or discussion. They fell in around him and took him back to the town with them. Even though he no longer wore the badge of the Silver Rose, he felt he belonged there. His responsibility was a dreadful one, but he was determined do it.

They arrived at the home of the mayor of the town, where dozens of horses were stationed out front. Ransom winced as he swung his leg over the saddle. As soon as he touched the ground, he had to grab the saddle horn to keep from collapsing. He squeezed it hard, summoning his courage and his strength. He then limped after the knights as they led the way into the mayor’s home.

The Elder King’s face turned ashen when he saw him. “Leave us,” he ordered curtly.

Once the room had emptied, Ransom attempted to kneel with his good leg, but the king waved at him in annoyance. “I see you’re wounded. None of that. Did my son send you?”

“My lord, your son is dead.”

The Elder King’s eyes widened with the shock. “He wasn’t . . . it wasn’t trickery? He did lay dying?”

“Yes, my lord. I was there at the end, gripping his hand as he passed beyond to the Deep Fathoms. He charged me with bringing you the tidings.”

The king groped for a chair and sat down, his expression dumbfounded. Grief and shock battled for dominance on his countenance. “Is this all true? Surely it is, for you wouldn’t lie to me.” He looked at Ransom imploringly. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, lad?”

“No, I would not. He was murdered, my lord. Poisoned. Like Lord Archer.”

The king stiffened. He stared at the hearth, rubbing his lip, his hand trembling. “Poison, you say?”

“Yes. The same person who had stalked your son in the city. I met her, my lord. She nearly killed me.”

“Sit down, Ransom. Sit before you fall down.”

Ransom complied, the injury grieving him, but he ignored it. “Do you know who she is?”

“I don’t,” said the king. “I’d heard that Lewis had someone in his employ. Someone who removed his enemies.” His lips pulled back into a snarl. “She’s fled, then?”

“Yes. Along with Sir Robert Tregoss, who is a traitor to your son and to you. I took the liberty of sending some riders out to try and cut off their escape.”

The Elder King glanced at him, a small smile appearing and then fading. “Did you now? That was clever, Ransom. You’ve always been clever.” Raw emotion battled across his countenance.

“I’m sorry to bring you this news, my lord. Truly. If I had been there, I might have prevented it. I would have died trying.”

The king blinked quickly, trying to suppress tears. He stroked his lip silently. “I didn’t believe the accusation, you know. About you and Lewis’s daughter. I didn’t want to believe it, but I also thought it beneath you. He dismissed you. Foolish, foolish boy!”

“We were all misled. But his biggest regret was his disloyalty to you. He begged me to tell you that he was sorry for it.”

The king’s face crumpled, and he covered it with his hands and began to weep. Ransom had already wept for Devon. He watched the king suffer, knowing he could offer nothing to appease his grief. So he waited in silence until the bout of terrible anguish had passed.

The Elder King lowered his hands, shaking his head disconsolately. “I’ve been stitched and wrapped and fed yarrow root and thyme. But there is no poultice to apply to the wound caused by an ungrateful son. I did not believe that I would outlive him! He looked like a king. The people loved him more than they ever loved me. But how many thank the butcher for the cut of meat they enjoy? No, they thank the cook, who had the easier task.” He sighed, squeezing his knees. “Oh, Devon,” he said with deep emotion, “I would have given the Fountain my life for yours. I’m getting old. It’s in my bones now.” He looked Ransom’s way, his eyes serious. “You will be there when we send his body to the falls. You were part of his mesnie.”

Ransom nodded. “I would be honored.”

“Some people may hate you, for even if told the truth, they will always prefer a lie, but you should be there anyway. I demand it. The gossipers and naysayers will have their day for a season. But I exonerate you. And so will those who want my goodwill.”

Ransom’s heart ached. “I will come. I would like to bring the news to the queen. May I?”

A black look came on the Elder King’s face. His face twisted with anger. “Never. Not until the fountains run dry and the world becomes a desert. Let her rot in her tower till then.”





The king grieves in an unnatural way. Whatever betrayal he feels, he lets others suffer tenfold plus six. Emiloh is not permitted to attend her son’s funeral rites. She told me that I could go, but I will not leave her alone during her mourning. Something tells me that she suffers some secret grief beyond the death of her son. I wish I could understand it. But she bears her wounds alone.