Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Word finally arrived that the banners of Averanche could be seen coming up the road, and Ransom was summoned by Lord DeVaux to meet the riders in the bailey. His hands were sweating. He stood by Lord DeVaux, hating even the smell of the man. He listened with anticipation for the riders to enter, but they all stopped outside the gate, save one who rode forward leading a second horse.

Ransom squinted, trying to tell who it was. The size and bulk of the armored warrior gave him away. It was Captain Baldwin. The chain-mail hood concealed most of his features, but Ransom recognized his beard, which now had a few more streaks of gray in it. He looked displeased, even resentful, as he rode into the yard. The other knights remained outside. Ransom thought he caught a glimpse of Lord Kinghorn, although it wasn’t possible to be sure at that distance.

“Welcome to Roque Keep, honored knight,” said Lord DeVaux. “You have hospitality here. Bid your companions enter and rest from their journey.”

“I have been instructed to decline your offer, Lord DeVaux.” He looked down at Ransom impassively. Then he nodded. “I was chosen because I know Lord Barton’s son.”

“You anticipated trickery?” Lord DeVaux said, bristling with anger.

Baldwin said nothing in response to that question. “Can you ride, boy?” It was said in a dismissive tone. Ransom’s heart began to wilt.

“Yes,” he said.

“Mount up, then,” Baldwin said, dropping the reins of the horse he’d guided in.

“What of the payment?” Lord DeVaux demanded. “Five thousand livres.”

Ransom stared at him in shock. It was an exorbitant amount. His stomach shriveled at the thought of it.

“Half of it is in these saddlebags,” Baldwin said. He leaned down and patted one of them, and the jingle of coins could be heard. “We leave them here. The other half comes once we are allowed to depart in peace.”

“You dare suspect my honor?” DeVaux demanded hotly.

The captain shrugged. “Whether or not you have any, I don’t know. But I know Lord Kinghorn does, and I know the rest of the ransom is waiting outside the castle.”

“I will not forget this insult,” Lord DeVaux said with a snarl.

“I don’t really care,” Baldwin replied. “I serve the constable of Westmarch. Maybe I should thank you for killing the previous one.” His eyes narrowed with suppressed anger. He looked ready to fight every knight assembled in the courtyard.

“Leave the coins. He may go free. I will honor the terms of the truce.”

Baldwin glared at him. “I’m sure you will. Come on, boy.” He didn’t take his eyes off DeVaux.

Ransom eagerly complied, trying to conceal his limp as he walked. He failed at his first attempt to mount the horse, feeling a blush of shame burn his ears, but he managed it on the second try. Baldwin unhooked the buckles securing the saddlebags, and they dropped with a clinking thud to the stone floor. He looked over at Ransom and gestured for him to do the same, which he did. Lord DeVaux’s eyes glittered with greed.

Baldwin nudged his destrier, and they began to back up toward the gate, the captain’s eyes still fixed on DeVaux. Ransom knew the man well enough by now to believe he would not break the truce, so he turned his own horse around before following Baldwin out at a slow clop. Once they were beyond the gate, Baldwin finally gave the lord his back and gestured to two of the knights waiting for them. Ransom recognized the men from his time in Averanche and couldn’t suppress a smile as they rode forward and dropped their saddlebags in front of the gate.

The wind was brisk and cold. Ransom was grateful for the cloak they’d given him in the castle, but he longed to have a sword again, to feel the protection of armor.

Five thousand livres. It was more than all the winnings Ransom had earned in his time at Chessy. Even if he wanted to pay it back, he couldn’t. Dumbfounded by the situation, he rode toward Lord Kinghorn, who was still a little distance away.

“Sorry for calling you ‘boy’ back there,” Baldwin said after coming up alongside him. “We weren’t even sure you were still alive.”

“I’m . . . I’m surprised that I am,” Ransom said. “I’m so grateful.”

“Oh, you should be,” Baldwin said with a chuckle.

“Where’s my armor?”

“Lord Rakestraw had one of his pages collect it months ago. It’s waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Ransom said. “That’s good to know. I am so grateful Lord Kinghorn ransomed me. I will make it up to him. I swear it.”

Baldwin laughed again. “No, lad. No, you won’t. He’s not the one who bought your freedom.”

Ransom turned and looked at Baldwin, feeling strange emotions churn in his stomach. His eyes were pleading as he stared at the captain.

Baldwin smiled at him. “The queen did. You’re going to Kingfountain.”





He is found! That wicked man Lord DeVaux of the Vexin has released poor Ransom. Da told me it cost five thousand livres to secure his release. While not a princely sum, it is still outrageous. DeVaux, the foul-smelling turtle, said his captive was Fountain-blessed, of all the nonsense. Well, however much I hate him, he has more brains than a badger, for he got his coin and also a two-year truce. From what I know of the new Duke of Vexin, Benedict is an ambitious youth with not a care for the code of Virtus esteemed by so many knights in Kingfountain. He will bring vengeance to DeVaux’s valley when the truce runs out, or, if he’s clever, find ways to trick DeVaux into breaking it. That’s what I would do.

It seems the faeries of the Beneath have conspired to increase my happiness further. Da has said we will be traveling shortly to Kingfountain, where I might behold my friend at long last. To what purpose, might you ask? Why, there is to be a new King Devon. The son, not the sire. With all the mischief whirling around Ceredigion, King Devon the Elder will retain his rights to rule Westmarch and crown his son, Devon the Younger, as coruler of the vast kingdom. The only question that remains is which man will wear the hollow crown, for both will be kings.

—Claire de Murrow

(preparing to voyage, returning to Kingfountain)





CHAPTER SIXTEEN