Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

He swallowed. Lord Kinghorn had said a similar thing years before. He’d thought of it many times since, but he had been too afraid to pursue the possibility. Afraid of losing control of himself. When he had felt the Fountain’s influence on him, he hadn’t always liked the violence he’d done. He felt he needed a cause to serve, a way to bridle it. It was part of the reason he’d prefer to be in service to a lord than to start his own mesnie. “What do you mean?”

“There are sacred shrines dedicated to the Lady of the Fountain. Not the little pools that people toss coins into. The ancient ones. They say that those who are Fountain-blessed can make a pilgrimage to one of these shrines and seek a sign. If they are truly one of the blessed, the Lady will give them a gift from the waters. Sometimes a ring. Or a cape. Or a scabbard.”

Ransom felt troubled. Lord Kinghorn had also tried that—and failed. He gazed at Claire and saw a look of consternation on her face. It was clear that she didn’t believe a word of what was being said.

“I still serve your son, Your Highness,” he said. “We’re going to Brythonica next. Are there any shrines there?”

“Yes,” said Emiloh. “It is an ancient kingdom. Visit the sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan. If I were still the queen, I would send you there now.”

“Should I tell the king?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t believe in such things, but they say the very crown he wears was once a gift from the Fountain. There is no record of when the hollow crown was made or by whom. It has strange powers, Ransom. I urge you to do this on your journey to Brythonica. I believe it will help you defend my son.”

“I will, Your Highness,” Ransom said, although he still felt conflicted about his capacity for aggression and violence. His gaze returned to Claire. “I feel like my time is near an end, but I don’t want to leave.”

Claire’s face brightened. “We go for walks every day if the weather is fair,” she said, turning to the queen.

Emiloh’s expression darkened. “He would get in trouble, Claire.”

“No one goes there,” she said. “There’s a little garden in the courtyard above the cistern. Lord Kinghorn lets us walk there, to see the sun and feel the breeze. You could find it, Ransom. You could meet us there.”

He wanted to, but he also feared the repercussions. More so for Claire and the queen than for himself. “I will see if I can.”

“Please do,” Claire implored. She lifted a hand as if to touch him, but then let it fall. “I should like to see you again.”

“So would I,” Ransom said, giving her a smile.



Going down the stairs was much easier than going up them had been. He felt a foolish grin on his mouth the whole way down and became more determined to find the small courtyard with the cistern. Claire had described the location to him and how to access it. They were usually escorted by one of Lord Kinghorn’s knights. Ransom would need to go there first. It was a risky proposition, but perhaps he could convince Devon to come with him—he could visit with his mother, and Ransom could talk to Claire.

When he reached the bottom steps, he felt a prickle go down his back. He knew the guards were supposed to be stationed on the other side of the door, but he sensed that they were gone. Then he felt someone behind him, and he whirled, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword.

“So this is where you went,” Noemie said, emerging from the shadows beneath the stairs. The look on her face was raw and angry. Offended.

He stared at her for a moment, then released his grip on the weapon. For a moment, he’d feared it was the lady in the cloak.

“Why are you here, my lady?” he asked her warily.

“Your lady?” she said, walking up to him, her eyes burning with emotion. “Don’t mock me, Sir Ransom. Not when you avoided my kiss. You shamed me in front of everyone. At least now I know why. But I still don’t understand it.” He saw tears of fury glisten in her eyes. “I am to be your queen. Your devotion should be to me. Not to her. Not to that Gaultic girl. They say you love her. Is it true?”

He felt the hairs on his neck stand. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m jealous! You want me to admit it? Why do you torture me like this? This is not the way it is supposed to be, Ransom. You are supposed to love me.”

He took a step toward the door. “You are Devon’s wife.”

“Yes! Queen Genevieve of the legends fell in love with her husband’s best knight. You aren’t doing what you are supposed to do. Why? Why do you torture me? This is supposed to be our time, Ransom, but it doesn’t even seem like you care.” She wiped a tear on her sleeve.

He stared at her in total confusion. Her meaning escaped him, but he felt wary of being alone with her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, then hurried to the door and opened it, leaving Noemie behind in the shadows.





Ransom was as good as his word, although that shouldn’t have surprised me. He found his way to the cistern courtyard and brought Devon with him. He’s done it thrice, and each time, I am grateful for the chance to talk. He seems worried about something, but he will not reveal what it is. Whenever I ask, he just glances at Devon and then shakes his head. I can see the wrinkles of worry on his brow. How I wish I could ease them.

The queen has chided me that I am too reticent around my knight. She said a popular saying in the duchy of Vexin is that a woman must show more affection than she feels or else the poor, daft man she fancies will never take the hint. While it is true that men are poor and daft when it comes to love, I do not want to be the hunter but the hunted. The problem is that I long for what eludes me, not what is offered to me. If I bend to the Elder King’s will and marry a man of his choosing, I can escape this prison. I can return to my homeland, my beloved Legault, which I can only reclaim with an army behind me. But my heart is with Ransom. He is being celebrated as a champion, a knight without peer. It is only a matter of time before other maidens will attempt to conquer him.

I wish he weren’t going to Brythonica for the tournament. I wish he’d stay here, where he is nearby. But I know I’m being a reckless fool. Go win another tournament, Ransom. Show them your worth.

—Claire de Murrow

Cistern Courtyard

(Fare thee well.)





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE