Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Ransom felt sick inside. Still, he knew better than to say anything about his feelings for Lady Claire, especially when it was Devon’s wife who’d funded his release. He tried to compose his face, but he feared his emotions were clear for Lord Kinghorn to see. The man was studying him closely.

“You are to report to the queen at Kingfountain,” Lord Kinghorn said. “You may stop by the Heath and see your kin. In fact, I ask that you do so since you ignored my advice last time, and you will invite your brother and the rest of your family to court to attend the coronation. All of this will happen before winter.” He gave Ransom a wolflike smile. “So that King Lewis and the Black Prince may spend the winter pondering and worrying about what they might expect come spring.”

It was a threat of war.

“Before I go, my lord, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course you may. Go on.”

“You are the most well-read man I know.” Ransom swallowed. “While I was a hostage to DeVaux, he claimed that I was Fountain-blessed.”

“He did. It is what made the cost of the ransom so high.”

“My lord . . . am I?”

Lord Kinghorn gave him a serious look. “I don’t know, Marshall. Whether it was a ploy DeVaux used to extort more livres from the queen, I couldn’t say. When her knights from Auxaunce arrived on the scene, she feared all of you had been slain. But there were farmers who’d watched the battle from a distance. Men who knew DeVaux and feared him. They spoke of two knights who stood back-to-back, protecting the road and preventing DeVaux’s men from going after the queen. One of those knights was struck down and killed. Sir William Chappell. I knew him.” His voice trailed off, his gaze intense. “The other was struck down from behind, his leg pierced through with a lance. He was carried off. That was you.” He rubbed his palms together. “I don’t know anyone who could have survived what you did. They say it is very difficult to kill someone who is Fountain-blessed.”

“Difficult but not impossible. What else do the legends say? I’ve read them too, but I’ve not read as much as you.”

Lord Kinghorn sighed. “That is the problem with legends, Marshall. There are many stories of Wizrs and knights and magic swords. But how are we to know which of them are true and which are merely stories?”

“I suppose we cannot,” Ransom said.

The constable made a sound of agreement. “In the legends, knights would leave court to seek one of the shrines of the Fountain. They would kneel in prayer and offer to serve the Fountain. If the offer was accepted, a relic of some sort would appear in the water. Some drew swords out of the water. Others would be given a gauntlet or a ring. That token was a sign that they were Fountain-blessed. And when it happened, you can be assured that every other knight in the realm would seek to challenge them to take what they’d been given. The blessing could be quite a curse. So would a wise knight ever reveal that he was Fountain-blessed? You tell me.”

Ransom considered what Lord Kinghorn had said, but he hadn’t survived because of magic—he’d lived because a lady had concealed fresh linen in moldy bread. True, he did have an unusual amount of success in combat, but he still wasn’t sure what it meant—or even what he wanted it to.

He had yet to forget the way Lord Kinghorn had looked at him after that day at the barn or the way Lord DeVaux’s men had treated him.

Maybe it didn’t matter. Either way, he would serve the queen as best he could.

“But I’ll tell you this.” He looked at Ransom with serious eyes. “I’ve tried it. I’ve made it a point to visit as many sanctuaries as I can during my travels. At each one, I have made the same plea.” He fell silent. “Nothing has ever shimmered in the waters for me to take. Not once over many years. Nor have I ever known another knight who found something.”

“Thank you, my lord. With your leave, I’ll be on my way home.”



The stable master had given Ransom a rouncy for his mount and a mule to bear his armor and supplies. During the ride eastward, his mind was plagued by all the information Lord Kinghorn had given him. The sick feeling in his stomach hadn’t abated. As he rode, he cursed himself for being a fool, for daring to hope that he might be allowed to court Lady Claire. Her bracelet was still coiled around his wrist, adding to his misery. He had no doubt that Claire and her father would both be at the coronation. Would they be able to talk? Could he dare to tell her what he knew? Should he? Or perhaps she already knew herself.

As he traveled the roads of Ceredigion a free man, he felt himself growing stronger, the ache in his leg ebbing. He’d endured a great hardship, one he would never forget. He felt he owed the Queen of Ceredigion everything for paying for his release. He would serve her until his dying day in the hopes of returning the kindness she’d done to him. His feelings about King Devon were more mottled, however. He was still the man who’d upset King Gervase, and now he was attempting to match his youngest son with Claire. In truth, it chafed to see a father provide so well for his sons—a feeling that only worsened the closer he got to the Heath.

He arrived after nightfall, having decided to save his coins rather than rent a room at an inn. The road home was familiar, and he recalled the ghost of Sir William at the crossroads, his heart burdened by the loss of his old friend.

Guiding his horse down the road, he approached the castle. It had the same general shape as DeVaux’s castle, and the sight of it looming in the distance sent a rush of dread down his spine. It did not feel like home. It never had.

As he approached the gate, he was met by the porter.

“Your mount looks weary, Sir Knight,” said the porter, a man Ransom didn’t recognize. “As do you. Have you come seeking shelter?”

Ransom looked down at him, feeling a pang of disappointment for not being recognized. Again. “I’ve come to see my mother. Would you tell her that Marshall is here?”

The porter’s eyes bugged. “Bless me! I didn’t know! Of course. Come in. Come in straightaway!”