Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Lord Kinghorn walked around Ransom in a circle. “Your armor has been severely damaged, lad. Are you injured? I’m not sure if any of this blood on you is yours or from the previous battles.”

Ransom was weary, but he didn’t feel pain. “I don’t think they got through.”

“But you were struck with repeated blows. There are dents everywhere.”

“I know,” he answered, wishing the mayor would leave.

“Go get some rest,” Lord Kinghorn said.

“Our orders were to stay awake,” Ransom said, looking at him.

“You’re exhausted. I’ll have someone tend your horse. Go get some sleep.”

Pain bloomed in his heart. “Gemmell . . . my horse . . . is dead.”

Lord Kinghorn looked crestfallen. “Indeed, that’s a shame. I’m sorry, lad. Losing a horse is a terrible blow. A knight isn’t a knight without one.” He put his hand on Ransom’s shoulder. “Get some rest. Take some food. Here. Have the whole platter.”

“I’ll not ruin your breakfast, my lord,” Ransom said. Truly, he wasn’t hungry.

He went to his tent and struggled to take off his armor, eventually succumbing to the need to ask a page for help. It took a while, and when he saw it laid out before him, all bent and misshapen where the soldier with the hook had snagged him, he frowned and realized the cost of repairing it would be tremendous. When he was finally unencumbered, he flopped onto his bedroll and shut his eyes.

He was asleep in moments.

When he awoke again, he heard the grunt of horses outside the tent. His head felt dull. That feeling of emptiness persisted. He rubbed his cheeks, feeling the stubble there, and glanced at the set of broken armor. Grabbing a water skin, he took a little drink from it and realized it was nearly empty. He rose, pulled on his damaged hauberk, then buckled on his sword belt. He left the tent and found the men breaking up camp. Most of the tents were down, and pages were stowing the gear. He saw his companions, his fellow knights, joking and laughing with one another.

Mace, one of the boys he’d trained with these last five years, approached with a friendly smile. “We won, Ransom! The king’s army struck the decisive blow. They captured the Brugian lord who was in command before he could escape.” He grinned and patted Ransom on the back. “Sorry about your horse, though. Everyone feels bad about it. Oh, and Lord Kinghorn wanted to see you when you woke.”

“Thanks, Mace,” Ransom said. The news of the victory was welcome enough to help settle some of his grief for Gemmell. He walked back to Lord Kinghorn’s tent and went inside. Lord Kinghorn was talking with James. The duke’s son still wore his armor, and it looked spattered with mud and other signs of the fighting. He nodded to Lord Kinghorn and then glanced at Ransom.

“By all means, you may return to Dundrennan if you wish,” said Lord Kinghorn. “You acquitted yourself well, Sir James. And you brought back six captured knights you can bargain with for their ransoms. Two additional horses as well. You’ve done well on your first campaign.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said James meekly. “I’ve learned a great deal serving in Averanche. Given this latest conflict, I think it’s wise to return to my father and begin to assume my new duties.”

“Indeed. I agree. I will send my recommendations in a letter to your father as well.”

“I would be honored if you’d do that for me. Thank you, my lord.”

“Very well. You may go.”

James gave Ransom a sidelong look as he left, offering no nod or smile as he did so. He departed the tent. Ransom approached his cousin.

“Sir Jude found your steed on the road,” said Lord Kinghorn. “The Brugians who attacked you were skulking in the woods. They were all caught. Most surrendered, but a few defied and were executed. Lord Rakestraw sent word that it’s over. We’re finished here.”

Ransom was relieved. “I’m glad of it, my lord.”

Lord Kinghorn frowned. “Sir James is returning to Dundrennan. I think you heard that, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Well, you are both knights now and can do as you please. There’s no easy way to say this, lad, but your father, Lord Barton, died in an accident. They were riding hard to join the king’s army, and his horse stumbled. He broke his skull when hitting the ground, died a few hours later. Your older brother is now the lord of the Heath.” He pursed his lips, looking deep into Ransom’s eyes. “I’m sorry, lad. I know you and your father were not close. It grieves me that any son should not reconcile with his father before his demise. May he find rest in the Deep Fathoms.”

The news was unexpected, striking Ransom hard in the ribs. What made it worse was the realization that he’d grieve more for Gemmell and dead King Gervase than he would for his own father, who had never shown him any consideration, let alone love. His stomach clenched, and he struggled to master his emotions. But the events of the past days had hardened him, much like the oaths he had taken. He pressed his lips together tightly, squeezing his hands into fists.

“I think you owe it to your mother and your sister, at least, to return to the Heath and pay your respects.”

The numbness filling Ransom’s chest didn’t subside. “Thank you for telling me, my lord.”

“I wish my bad news did not end here. Best to let it out all at once.”

“There’s more?” Ransom asked in growing concern.

“Ransom, I admire your skill at arms and the leadership you’ve shown. Without your conduct yesterday, we may have been overrun and suffered a dreadful defeat. But you also worry me, lad.” Something in his eyes shifted, and there was that look of fear again. Not fear of Ransom himself, precisely, but fear of what he was capable of.