Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“Hand it over, lad,” Baldwin said, extending his free hand for the weapon, the other clenching Ransom’s sword.

James paused for a moment, but then handed over the weapon. The prickle of apprehension faded.

“Get some food,” Baldwin said. “I know you boys are always hungry. Ransom . . . stay behind a minute.”

The other boys wandered off, but a nervous silence followed them. Their normal banter had been muted. Ransom struggled to get the helmet off and was grateful for the fresh air.

Once Baldwin and Ransom were alone, the bearlike man said, “That was fine swordsmanship, boy. It felt like I was watching the knights go at it. Well, except for one of you.” He chuckled. “I worried that Jack might go after you there at the end. He was pretty upset.”

Ransom felt itchy from the sweat and the armor. He held the helmet in the crook of his arm. “He doesn’t like to lose,” he replied.

“No one does, lad. But it’s time you started to.”

Ransom blinked in surprise. “You want me to lose to him on purpose?”

Baldwin chuffed. “Is that what you thought I meant? No, boy. I think it’s time you started training with some of the knights. You’ve been here but a month, and you’re already better than all of these boys. Granted, they might not be trying very hard, but I’ll daresay that Jack was. He couldn’t touch you. Which means you won’t continue to improve. I want to see you cross blades with someone better than you. Someone clearly better. It’ll hurt, boy. I won’t lie to you. Not many lads your age can handle a bastard sword for long, but I think you can. Prove me right.”

Ransom smiled and nodded in gratitude. “Thank you.”

The captain chuffed again. “You won’t be thanking me tomorrow, trust me. Now, take off your armor and go get some food before all that’s left are peas and butter.”

Ransom grinned and hurried off, going to the worktable the others had already abandoned. He tugged off the gauntlets and unbuckled the bracers and guards. While squirming out of the hauberk, he smelled himself and the sweat he’d worked up. They all stank at the end of the day. Ransom went to the water bucket and took a satisfying drink and then hurried away from the training yard while Baldwin put the weapons back in their proper places. He was a fastidious man, the captain.

Ransom jogged around the corner and down the length of the castle wall in the courtyard. He passed the rear of the stables where the horses were kept and thought of Gemmell. When they started to work with their lances, he’d be able to ride again.

A flash of warning came to him, just in time for him to start raising his arms. The staff struck him hard across the front, smashing into his forearms and knocking him down on his back. When his head struck the cobblestones, everything went dark for a moment.





A ship has been found willing to take our household to Legault. Da had chartered with another captain who turned out to be as thick as manure but only half as useful. He’d proposed setting sail, even though there seemed to be a squall on the sea. Da may not be a sailor, but a good man giving bad advice is quite often more dangerous than a nasty brute giving bad advice. That captain was acting the maggot. Da says we may not return to Ceredigion for a while, as if that would bother me. Best to be out of the country while the new king establishes his court and gets used to the burden of the hollow crown. He’ll be rewarding his friends with all the plums in his new orchard. Since Da served King Gervase, albeit without much enthusiasm, he doesn’t expect any of the delectable fruit. No, Da will prove his worth as soon as someone pokes the royal nest with a stick, and men-at-arms and knights are needed to fight. Course, he may have to prove himself even sooner. Many in Legault aren’t keen on having a ruler who isn’t Gaultic-born. Some people only listen to forged iron after being clouted on the head.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr Keep

(final entry before embarking on a journey to my true home)





CHAPTER FOUR

The Sound of the Falls

When the boot struck Ransom’s stomach, it hurt and made him gasp for breath as it woke him. Another solid blow to his spine followed, and he knew he was in trouble. With his eyes squinting from the pain, he couldn’t make out how many there were, but there were at least four. Maybe five. They’d caught him blind with that staff, and his arms still throbbed from absorbing the blow.

“Bring him into the alley,” snarled the voice of James Wigant in an undertone.

Two of the lads hauled Ransom up by the arms to drag him there, where only more pain and humiliation awaited. Sweat had already soaked his braided tunic from the workout in the yard, but he felt something sticky on his brow and saw red in his left eye. Breathing was a challenge, but he managed to suck in some air despite the pain.

Surprisingly, Ransom felt no fear. The pain faded quickly, and his mind suddenly became as crisp as the air on a winter’s morning. The thumping of his pulse in his ears slowed, and it almost sounded like a rush of water from the falls outside Kingfountain. Was it a memory? Whatever it was, he buried himself in it, remembering the power of the falls, the beautiful and violent swath of waters that had taken away the canoe bearing his king. An image flashed in his mind of that canoe, of the still corpse that lay inside. The love he’d felt for Gervase thrummed in his heart.