Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Ransom opened his eyes and saw the look of concern on Simon’s face.

Without answering, he started moving through the crowd toward the door. There were so many people he had to push his way through some of them, and the tone of the vibration grew stronger. It was both a warning and a commandment to investigate. He’d experienced this sort of feeling in battle, but never in a place like this, where no one was armed. If they had been, he feared he would have started cutting them all down in response to the conviction in his heart that something was coming, something dangerous.

As he approached the front door, he sensed someone’s presence. That was the only way to describe it. A matching thrum of hammer and anvil. As the two forces joined, he knew that the person was approaching the tavern. He then sensed them abruptly turn and depart.

Ransom shoved past those blocking his path, forcing his way to the door. Worried that they were under attack, Ransom shoved against it with all his might, and a person on the other side stumbled. Then he yanked the door open, exposing himself to the crisp night air, and saw a man sprawled on the street.

“Oy! Whaddya do that for!” he said, rubbing his backside.

This was not the person he sought, but he could sense them still, moving swiftly, walking away from the tavern. Ransom stepped out into the air, surprised to see fluffy flakes of snow coming down. It was too soon in the season for snow, so he momentarily wondered if they were ashes from a burning fire, but one landed on his cheek, and he felt the cold.

He started walking after the person, hand still gripped around his hilt. Darkness and shadows swathed the world around him. He caught sight of a figure in a cloak, staying close to the wall. Slender, sure-footed. Ransom increased his speed and began to gain ground. The cloaked figure turned its head toward him, and he caught a glimpse of long, flowing hair in a sudden flash of moonlight. It was a slim figure, and the gait was not that of a man. Then shadows smothered her again.

He could sense her now, feel her trying to outdistance him. This was the threat he had sensed inside the tavern. He couldn’t explain it, not to himself or anyone. But there was something that connected the two of them.

She darted into the next alley, and Ransom started to jog, the snow beginning to whiten the edges of the rooftops and the seams within the cobblestone street. As he reached the dark alley, he felt another pulse of warning and knew, without a doubt, that she was not alone. His senses screamed at him.

Ransom stopped and drew his sword. The black maw of the alley seemed to yawn at him. Memories of the barn flooded his mind. It had been a mistake to ride Gemmell into it without caution, and he would not make such an error again. A strong feeling of dread came over him. The Younger King was in danger.

Ransom turned and marched back to the Broken Table. He shoved open the door just as the first salutes were expressed. Everyone had a cup lifted high, and Devon bowed with a triumphant grin.

“Long live the king!” they shouted in a hazy stupor.

Ransom muscled his way directly to Devon and grabbed him by the arm. “You’re in danger,” he hissed in his ear. “We must go at once.”





We awakened to find it winter. How much it snowed the other night. The castle and hills were transformed, and the servants bustled to shovel the courtyard and the steep road leading down to the city below.

The coronation was splendid. Ceremony is an interesting concept, even if the traditions differ between kingdoms. The Younger King looked very dashing in his finery and appeared solemn and alert. Another crown was fashioned for him, a duplicate of the hollow crown in style, although smaller. Was that deliberate? His father’s advisors will be tutoring him in statecraft. He was even granted his own seal of authority, which, again, is smaller than his father’s. Queen Emiloh looked ill at ease. And, I must admit, so did the Elder King. This action ensures a stable transition should any harm befall the sire. I wish I knew what they were thinking or why the snows have come so early this year.

I was able to see Ransom amidst the entourage. He had a limp, which he tried to conceal. But it was an absolute relief to see him so hale. And yes, he was conspicuously wearing a bracelet. It made me smile.

—Claire de Murrow

Sanctuary of Our Lady

Coronation Day





CHAPTER TWENTY

Two Kings, One Lady

The warmth from the fires within the great hall was quite a contrast to the chill morning outside. Servants carried enormous dishes with racks of meat, a variety of pears and plums, and an abundance of Occitanian wine. Ransom saw some of the palace dogs rooting beneath tables for fallen scraps.

Dancing and music created a lively atmosphere, but his eyes were fixed on the two kings of Ceredigion, locked in a heated argument beyond the main tables where the feast was underway. He didn’t know what had started the row, but the situation was heating up quickly based on their angry looks and rising voices. It saddened him to see conflict so soon. Queen Emiloh abruptly pushed away from the table and strode toward her husband and son.

Ransom approached them surreptitiously, keeping along the walls where the servants were mingling, some of them openly watching the scene unfold.

“Be about your business,” he reprimanded. The servants who’d been eavesdropping quickly scattered, especially when they saw the badge on his tunic.

As he drew nearer, he began to hear their voices.

“You are both making a scene,” the queen scolded. “Cannot this wait?”