Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Ransom looked down at his wrist and found the bracelet was gone. One of his captors had stolen it from him in his delirium. The rage that filled the emptiness in his chest nearly made him start screaming accusations. It had been given to him by Claire. He wanted it back, and in that moment, he would have killed any of them to get it. The violence of his thoughts alarmed him. He was still sick, still weak. He couldn’t hurt anyone. But he wanted to. He wanted to make them suffer.

Instead, he chewed on another piece of moldy bread, breathing in and out through his nose to stifle his fury. And when the other knight returned with a platter of cold meat, a wedge of cheese, and some goblets of wine, the two men sat on the floor and began to eat in front of him. Ransom turned over on the cot so that his back was to them, removed the linen from the bread. A thought struck him that perhaps the bread might help soak up some of the blood. He unfastened the bloody bandage before pressing the bread against the wound.

The lady of the castle had helped him. Knowing that secret helped him endure the agony he caused himself. He would guard her secret. As he tied the strips of linen over his wounds, he thanked her repeatedly in his mind.

He promised himself he would find a way to thank her for her kindness.





Every day I keep hoping for word, but I’ve heard naught but silence. It has been three months since the tournament of Chessy, and still no one knows if Ransom survived the slaughter on the road to Auxaunce. Not knowing is frightful, yet at least it allows me to hope. All the knights that Queen Emiloh brought with her were slain. Even Lord Rakestraw was slain. Peasant farmers said that one man fought against a hundred. That he was pierced by a lance from behind a hedge and taken by DeVaux.

That is all we know. Did they dump his body in the woods? What has become of him? Nothing. We know nothing. Silent, cruel, menacing nothing. Da has left for Atha Kleah to hold the courts of justice again before winter. The thought of winter coming adds to my torment. What have they done to my Ransom? And how will he survive the coming cold, if he has survived at all? I’m weeping again. How I hate to cry.

—Claire de Murrow

Connaught Castle, Kingdom of Legault





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Price of a Knight

There was a single leaf clinging to the branches of the tree. Ransom watched it, his back against the crooked trunk, wondering when it would fall. He didn’t want it to. The stubbornness of the stem clinging to the twig gave him a small measure of hope. The woods were carpeted with fallen debris from the trees. A tattered cloak covered his shoulders, but it did little to warm him. Cold and hunger were his constant companions these many months.

“You try and do better,” snorted Callum.

Ransom knew all their names now. He knew the moods of his guards, their temperaments. In a strange way, he was part of DeVaux’s mesnie, even though he was a prisoner. He took a turn feeding the fire, which kept them all warm at night, but it would have been impossible to escape, given that multiple guards were always on duty and his leg still troubled him. Not that he would have tried to run. When a knight was being held for ransom, it was considered dishonorable to attempt an escape. And so he stayed.

He talked with the other men, bantered with them, and shared their cup of misery, which they’d all drunk from since the day they’d unwittingly murdered Lord Rakestraw.

Callum, Brett, Jonah, and Riley had come upon the notion that hurling a boulder would be a pleasant way to spend a cold afternoon. One by one, they’d hefted the massive rock, which was about the size of a miller’s bag of wheat. And they’d thrown it down the hillside, seeing how far it would roll before resting. Then two men would fetch it and bring it back. So far, Riley held the record.

“I can do better than you,” Jonah told another man with a snort.

“But you can’t do better than Riley. His went the farthest.” A dagger had been stuck tip-down to mark the spot.

Jonah brushed his hands together and swaggered to the stump. They were all of them filthy, having spent the summer and early autumn skulking in the woods, avoiding capture and threatening manors and castles alike for food and temporary shelter. The king’s men had come close to them more than once, and only DeVaux’s perverse luck had saved them from capture. If Ransom had had any coins, he would have cast them with his prayers into the streams of water they passed. But he had nothing of value. They’d taken everything away.

Jonah screwed up his face as they handed him the heavy stone. He stared at the mark, his eyes full of fire. Ransom rubbed his mouth, feeling the tangled beard on his jaw. His locks were speckled with bits of soot and flecks of dead leaves. He wondered if his hands would ever become clean again. But he watched the contest with amusement and secretly hoped that Jonah would best them all. He was the closest in age to Ransom, the one who’d served DeVaux for the fewest years. The others made grunting noises to try to distract him, which elicited a scowl from the flaxen-haired knight.

With a mighty heave, Jonah let the boulder fly. It landed with a thump and didn’t roll at all. It was the worst of the throws and was met with derisive laughter. Jonah muttered a curse and kicked at the log.

“Don’t kick it,” Riley shouted. “You moved the stump, man!”

“Who cares?” Brett said with a surly frown. “We’ve all tried. You won. Get your coins.”

No one liked to lose. Ransom had watched them bet on everything they could—throwing knives, the loudest whistle, the strongest arm. They were bored, hating the exile as much as Ransom did, and had grown petulant, even with one another.

Ransom looked up to discover the single leaf had fallen while he’d watched the contest. It caused a stab of pain in his heart to have missed such a simple scene. He’d hoped that leaf would last longer. How he felt like a withered leaf some days.

“What about Ransom? I bet he could beat your throw.”

The comment from Jonah snagged his attention away from the barren tree.

“Don’t be daft, he’s still limping,” Riley said, but he sounded concerned.

“So? You afraid of losing your winnings?” Brett added.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Riley said, chuckling. “It just doesn’t seem fair since he can’t bet anything.”