Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

When we arrived at Glosstyr, they made such a fuss. The streets were crowded, and the shouts and claps were quite noisy. Truly, I wasn’t expecting flower petals to be rained down on us from the battlement walls. Da rode ahead, waving occasionally to the masses. I’d not expected them to cheer for me, yet they did. Mothers were weeping, as if they’d been fearing for me life all along. I don’t understand it. I wasn’t ever in any danger. If King Gervase had threatened me, I know as right as rain that Da would have cut off his legs and made him walk to Dundrennan on the stumps.

The people of Glosstyr surprised me. I was a little girl when I was last here, and I only remember pining for Legault. I’ve some affection for them now. Still, I’m anxious to be on our way after the feasting is done. Glosstyr has my father’s people, but I miss my mother’s homeland. The clans of nobles have been dueling each other these many years for the proxy right to rule after Da returned to Ceredigion to support Gervase. All told, it’s a mess. But I love them anyway. My people are on an island kingdom as old as the world. A kingdom with standing stones and unperturbed forests that are older than the legends of King Andrew. There is magic deep in its bones. I can’t wait to be back. But for now, I’ll share a part of my heart with Glosstyr.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr Keep

(the long journey home)





CHAPTER TWO

The Heath

Upon the death of the king, Ransom had been given a small purse containing thirty silver livres, the pick of one of the rouncies from the stable, and a training sword from the palace smithy. Thirty livres would not last long, but it would be enough to bring him home. It was a kindness of Sir William that he offered to ride with Ransom to the Heath, which was on the way to Occitania.

Ransom chose the horse Gemmell. The horse was too small to be a destrier, but he had the endurance and fearlessness of a warhorse. He had an easy nature, and although Ransom had ridden him many times on hawking expeditions with the king and his son, the horse had never once bucked him off. Gervase’s son, Bertram, had been a true friend to Ransom during his time at Kingfountain. His accidental death had truly been a tragedy.

Ransom and Sir William rode side by side, with a packhorse tethered behind them, carrying the knight’s armor, two lances, and the rest of his baggage. The roads were still considered dangerous, but they’d passed about a half-dozen soldiers wearing King Devon’s badge, the Silver Rose from House Argentine, riding back to Kingfountain. Sir William had commented that the new king had started sending patrols through the realm. A good sign that peace might be established in some of the lawless parts of the kingdom.

After a full day’s ride, kept at a leisurely pace because of the packhorse, they arrived at a fork in the road.

“Your father’s castle is yonder,” said Sir William. “It’s been a few years, but I remember all the yellow broom growing in this area. That’s why this place is called the Heath.”

Ransom’s nerves had been increasing along the journey. He wished there were a way he could have stayed at Kingfountain. His parents had never asked for him back, and he wasn’t even sure what they would say when they saw him. Still, he felt he owed his mother a visit, and the desire to see her pulled at him. Besides, he knew thirty livres would not last long in Occitania, and he did not wish to be a burden on Sir William.

“Do you want to spend the night?” Ransom asked. “It will be dark soon.”

Sir William pursed his lips. “Sorry, lad. I wouldn’t want to abuse the right of hospitality. I fought against your father during the war.” He shook his head. “I’d rather sleep in a meadow. But there’s a village farther on, closer to Westmarch. I’ll try my luck there and avoid an . . . awkward confrontation.”

Ransom expected his parents would honor the right of hospitality, but he wasn’t sure enough to press the matter further.

“Well, Sir William. Good luck on your travels. I hope you reach Occitania safely.”

“I’m wearing my hauberk under the tunic just in case,” he said with a grin. “Your older brother, what was his name?”

“Marcus,” Ransom said.

“Your father’s name is John? That’s a common name in Ceredigion.”

Ransom nodded. “Aye.”

“Well, he sired you, so there must be some good in him.” He winked at Ransom. “You’re a good lad. I’m glad to have known you. If I had any prospects, I’d take you on as my squire right now.”

Ransom felt a keen ache in his breast. “I’d still go with you.”

Sir William sighed. “I know you would, lad. And I’m sorely tempted. But I don’t have the money to start a mesnie of my own. I have no lands, no income. I have to prove myself all over again to another lord. But I promise you this—if I come across a situation that requires a strapping youth willing to work hard for very little money, I’ll be sure to mention your name.”

Ransom grinned at the banter. “I’d come.”

“Your prospects are brighter than you think. Maybe I’ll come looking for work from you in a few years. Go to your father. And give your mother a kiss, even if it embarrasses you. Do right by her, and she’ll do right by you.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Sir William straightened the fingers on his right hand, cocking his thumb, and then tapped the thumb against his left breast twice, an informal salute between two knights, one they did as they passed each other on the road. It was a sign of respect, and although Ransom was much younger and didn’t deserve the tribute, he felt the honor of it catch fire in his chest. He mimicked the gesture, and Sir William nodded to him and continued down the road.