Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“He is eighteen now,” said the queen patiently. She looked at her husband with pleading eyes. “He should be allowed to make his own decisions.”

“Even if they are foolish and flawed?”

“How is my reasoning flawed?” the younger Devon demanded hotly.

The king held up his hand to his son, his jaw clenched and his eyes sharp as daggers. He looked back at the queen.

“Even so,” she answered, “I don’t think Lewis will harm him. He wanted the match very much. He’s wanted it consummated for some time now.”

“Of course he does,” said the Elder King. “Can you not see it? Either of you? He wants to take Ceredigion and turn it into a duchy. His duchy. If we allow it, he’ll carve us up like a midwinter turkey. I do not feel it is prudent to send you there, my boy. Can you not trust my judgment? My experience?”

Devon folded his arms. “Does Sir Ransom believe there is danger awaiting us?”

The Elder furrowed his brow. “What are you saying?”

“He knows, Father. Somehow he knows of danger before it happens. Even today, in the training yard, he knew Bennett had switched tunics with—”

“Bennett switched tunics?” the Elder King roared.

The queen buried her face in her hands and sighed.

Ransom felt a squeeze of guilt on his heart and wished his master hadn’t mentioned the ruse from the game so publicly.

“My sons are all insane,” the king said with a rasp, shaking his head. “What did Goff do? Strum a lute and sing during the fighting?”

“Father, you’re being unreasonable.”

The queen lowered her hands and shot her son a warning look.

The Elder King circled around to the front of his throne, hands on his hips. “Is it not unreasonable that a father should be countermanded by his son? That a king’s orders should be argued against as if they were not firm decrees?”

Ransom swallowed, prepared for another emotional storm.

“I didn’t mean that,” said Devon, hands up placatingly. “I just ask for this boon. This favor. This . . . mercy. Let me fetch my wife myself. Let me reveal the wonders of our land to her. I’m . . . I’m too jealous to give that opportunity to another. Send whatever escort you require to ensure my safety. Enough of a host that it will make King Lewis and the Black Prince cower in fear. Please, Father. You have no idea how much this means to me.” He swallowed, his face solemn and pleading. His hand was outstretched just so. Ransom admired the artlessness of his plea. He wondered if it would be enough to soften the Elder King’s stubborn heart.

The Elder King looked at his wife again. She nodded to him encouragingly. Then he turned to Ransom, his grave expression showing his resistance had indeed cracked.

“Some lessons must be learned through suffering,” he said with a sigh. “The Lady of the Fountain knows I’ve made my share.” Ransom felt the weight of the king’s eyes on him. “Is it true? Can you sense danger?”

“I suppose it is,” replied Ransom meekly.

The king snorted. “Maybe you are Fountain-blessed after all. Do you agree with my son and my wife? Should I let the newly crowned king of Ceredigion go amongst his enemies in Pree?”

Devon, his friend and king, shot him a pleading look as he bit his bottom lip in anticipation. When Ransom turned back to the Elder King, the man was staring at him intently.

It was a moment that made Ransom feel torn in two. Each of them wished for his support, but no answer he could give would satisfy both men. He had to choose between them.

“Well?” the Elder King prodded.

“I do think he should go,” Ransom answered truthfully. “I would not want anyone else fetching a wife for me.” As the words left his mouth, he felt a growing sense of loyalty to the Younger King. That feeling triggered a surge of conviction that shot through his body, strengthening his limbs and sharpening his mind. Something wonderful and strange was happening to him, almost like when he stepped onto the battlefield.

The Elder King’s lips pursed. He knew the look of a defeated man. The father nodded reluctantly. “Five hundred knights is a sizable escort,” he said. “Go by way of Tatton Grange and inform Lord Kinghorn of your mission. I command you to return to Tatton Grange within a fortnight, with or without your bride. I shall await you there. Should Lewis attempt to detain you, show him you are his equal, and set your own terms. Promise me, Son.”

“I swear it,” said Devon, grinning broadly. “Thank you, Father.”

“Make your preparations, then,” said the king, slumping down onto his throne, his eyes full of anguish. Ransom wondered what he was thinking, what caused him such grief.

He suspected that the answer lay in the future. In the royal city of Pree.





A rider came to the castle today wearing the king’s badge. I could not specify which monarch the man represented, for they both wear the Silver Rose. However, Da showed me the writ and the seal, which was the larger seal, the one for the Elder King. He ordered Da to stay in Glosstyr. To stand ready for any circumstances that might befall the realm. When I asked Da what this meant, he said that before we left Kingfountain, Devon the Elder had advised him to be prepared to go to battle. The king was uneasy about something, but he would say no more on the subject. Da said that he will be sending me back to Legault. I should be grateful, but I am worried about departing now.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr Keep

(during the intrigues of men)





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Court of King Lewis the Wise