Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Ransom shrugged off the praise. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll advise the Younger King to stay in the palace for now.”

“That would be for the best,” said Sir Iain. The two men excused themselves, and Ransom continued to walk in a circuit around the great hall. He saw his new master in conversation with Sir James and frowned at the friendship and intimacy between them. It would take time to earn the Younger King’s trust. But he felt gratified by the warden’s news—although he didn’t savor the thought that his new master was in danger, he now knew that he could trust the pulses of warning he felt. He noticed King Devon the Elder and Queen Emiloh had returned to their seats, one sulking, the other at least pretending nothing was amiss. It was so stifling in the hall—even more so because of the tension he saw and felt everywhere—that Ransom could hardly bear it. Memories of being at Kingfountain as a child came back sharply, reminding him of King Gervase, the father he had lost. His heart swelled with longing. He wanted to serve someone honorable, like Gervase had been. So far, the Argentines were a bit of a disappointment. The ache of loss prompted him to leave by one of the side doors, and he walked through the corridor, going through the maze of passages until he reached the doorway leading to the royal docks.

As he walked outside, his boots crunched in the snow. The noise from the celebration faded, and he felt the tension ease from his shoulders as he soaked in the sound of the rushing waterfall. He walked down the stone path leading to the dock where the knights of King Gervase had dumped his body into the river in a canoe. Memories of that day were vivid, but the scenery had changed completely—night instead of day, snow instead of fair skies. He thought of his friend Sir William Chappell, and wondered how the stalwart knight would have handled such a duty, where loyalty was knotted with conflicts. Snowflakes came down on his hair, his arms, but the cold had not penetrated him yet.

He reached the edge of the dock and stood there for a moment. It was empty, for all the boats had been taken inside for storage. Standing there, he wrestled with his feelings, trying to get them under control again. But before they had fully settled, he heard someone approaching from behind. For an instant, he had a warning to step away from the edge of the dock, knowing that if anyone shoved him in, he’d perish not just from the frigid waters but from the plunge off the falls.

When he turned, he saw a young woman approaching him. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see her face at first, and for a moment, he worried it might be the cloaked woman he’d seen two nights previously. He approached, wanting to reach for his sword, but he didn’t—his senses were all heightened, prepared for an ambush.

“You are Sir Ransom,” said the girl.

“Yes,” he answered. “Who are you?”

“I am Genevote,” she said. “My lady saw you leave the banquet. She wishes to speak with you.”

“Who is your lady?”

“I serve Lady Claire de Murrow.”

Surprise jolted him at her confession. He’d seen Claire of course—his gaze always found her when she was present—but he hadn’t thought he’d have the opportunity to speak with her privately. Even if they had met by accident, what could he have said, knowing as he did the king’s plans? “Where is she?”

“She was wise enough to stop and fetch a cloak before going out into the cold,” said Claire, stepping out of the shadowed archway, smiling at him. “Unlike some barmy knights.”

“My lady!” gasped Genevote.

“I grew impatient,” said Claire. “But thank you for finding him anyway. You may go.”

“As you wish, my lady,” said the maid. And she hurried back inside, leaving them alone together.

A familiar ache filled Ransom’s heart as he looked at Claire, her cloak’s cowl covering her lovely hair, the dark velvet fabric splotched with snowflakes.

“Do you want to go back inside?” he asked her.

“Are you trying to escape me already?” she replied with a laugh. Her accent sounded delicious in his ears.

“No, but it’s cold out here.”

“I’m not cold yet, Ransom. I was afraid you were going to bed early or something. You didn’t even look for me in the hall.”

He sighed. “I did notice you, but you were talking to others. I didn’t want to be rude.”

“I would much rather have been talking to you,” she said, looking up into his eyes and tilting her head slightly. She breathed out a little mist. “You don’t know the rules of the game, do you?”

His brow furrowed. “Game?”

“The game of courtiers, Ransom. You are one now, whether you believe it or not. You serve the Younger King. You have a position of influence. You’ll hear gossip. People will ask you for favors. Do you really not know what I’m talking about?”

He hung his head, feeling abashed as they walked back toward the edge of the dock. “I’ve not been here for very long.”

“Well, let me teach you the rules, then, since you are clearly a dolt in such matters. It is the fashion here to set your sights on a lady who has a higher rank than you do. Like Queen Emiloh, for example. Or your master’s wife, whenever she comes.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Ransom asked in confusion.

“It is part of the game of courtiers,” she answered. “You fight in her name. You prove your valor and all that rubbish and nonsense. You try to earn symbols of your beloved’s affection. And then, of course, you brag about your exploits to others in your mesnie. It sounds fantastic, doesn’t it?” Her tone of voice indicated she found it quite the opposite.

He let silence fall between them. Was she accusing him of setting his sights on someone else? Could she be jealous? They reached the spot of trampled snow where he had stood alone moments before. The river glided by peacefully but felt dangerous.

“Say something, Ransom,” she said, staring at the water.

“What do you want me to say?”

“If I told you what to say, then it wouldn’t come from your heart. It would come from mine.”

What did that mean? Now he felt utterly confused.