Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

He heard voices outside, and Devon and Noemie entered the tent. The look she gave him wasn’t one of horror, it was a look of awe. She gazed at him with undisguised adoration.

Devon looked a little greensick. “By the Fountain, Ransom,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought he was going to strike while you were distracted, but you spun around and took off his arm. Remind me never to get on your bad side!”

Sirs Robert and Talbot came in next.

“How much did you win?” Talbot asked.

“I bet against Ransom,” Robert said, grimacing. He gave him a look of jealousy and disappointment. “You took off the man’s arm!”

“You’re only sore because you lost,” Devon said. “It was foolish of you to bet against Ransom. I knew he’d win. Just . . . not like that. Well, it’s the risk we all take when we become knights. Some poor fellow was so concussed today he says the same phrase over and over again, like a mule kicked him in the head.”

Sir Simon came in, juggling a coin bag with a bright smile. “That was unexpected, but we’re now the favorites for winning the tournament. The last event takes place in two days. Everyone needs to recover . . . everyone who can, I mean. I think we’ll win this one, my lord.”

“Oh, we will,” Devon said, clapping Ransom on the shoulder. “They’ll all be too afraid to charge against our mountain!” He turned to Sir Simon. “Have we spent all of the livres Father gave us yet?”

“No, there’s still quite a bit left,” Simon said.

“Then give each man their due, and we’ll spend the rest of it tonight! They may be angry that we bested their champion, but only a fool begrudges a man liberal with his coin.”

The knights of the mesnie crowded around Simon, hands open eagerly for coin, except for Ransom. He still felt sick inside. He had no desire to wander the town again, especially as word of his victory spread. The locals would hate him. Once the livres were handed out, the knights of the mesnie left the tent, leaving Ransom alone with Devon and Noemie. She stood by a little pedestal with a spherical bauble on it, picking it up and toying with it.

“Go enjoy yourself,” Devon said to him, looking confused by Ransom’s reticence.

“My lord, I’d like to beg your leave to go on a journey.”

Devon’s brow wrinkled. “What?”

“I would like to leave Ploemeur.”

“Impossible. I need you for the last event, Ransom. We’re going to win this one too and wipe that smug grin off my brother’s face.”

“I’ll be back in time for that,” Ransom said. “I’d like to go to St. Penryn.”

His request seemed to baffle Devon even more. “St. Penryn?”

“I’ll need use of a boat, but I could probably be back at the palace by midnight if I leave soon.”

When he said the word midnight, Noemie flashed him a pained look.

“First you wanted to see Our Lady of Toussan, and now St. Penryn. Whatever for?”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Noemie stood within hearing, so he could not possibly share his fears about the Occitanian spy, not given the way Devon had reacted in the past. He also did not wish to announce for everyone’s ears that Queen Emiloh had given him the charge, and while Devon knew Ransom could do things most men could not, he had never expressed a true belief in the Fountain. It was unclear how he would react.

“I feel I need to go,” he said simply.

Devon pursed his lips. “Are you all right, Ransom? You look troubled.”

He stared at the Younger King. “I’m troubled by what I did to that man.”

Devon nodded and put his hand on Ransom’s shoulder. “Guilt is unpleasant. Thankfully, I find solace from it in a cup of wine. Maybe you find yours in a better place. I did want your advice, though. Yesterday, while we were spending my father’s money so wantonly, I came across an old friend who is here for the tournament.”

“Who?” Ransom asked.

“Sir James Wigant,” Devon said. “When he heard you were fighting, he decided not to join in. He wanted us to have the glory. He can be pragmatic about some things.”

“What advice do you need?”

“Well, Sir James is chafing under the restrictions my father has put on him as well. He cannot leave the kingdom without permission, and he owes the king a loyalty debt he’ll be paying off for years. He’s right sick of them, to be honest. Feels we’re beating cheated of our rightful inheritances. He warned me that if I don’t do something about Bennett, my brother will be named heir instead of me.”

Ransom frowned. James was always scheming, and his schemes rarely turned out well for anyone involved. “And?”

“And I want to know what you think. Should I . . . cause some trouble for my brother?”

“What good would that do?” Ransom asked.

“Father respects someone who fights for what he wants. He’s not impressed by knightly tournaments. Although he’s glad for the reputation they give us, I know how he truly feels. He thinks them a waste of time . . . and money. He’s proud of what Bennett has done to assert his authority throughout the realm and his own duchy. I think Father will only be proud of a son who defeats him. I have to start somewhere.”

“This isn’t the time to risk your father’s anger,” Ransom said. “Nor is it wise for Sir James to do the same.”

Devon smiled and patted his arm. “I thought you’d say that.”

The tent door ruffled, and Devon’s brother Goff stepped in, his face mottled with anger.

“Ah, Brother,” Devon said, feigning cheerfulness. “We were just talking about siblings.”

Goff gave Ransom a threatening look. “May we speak, Devon? Privately?”

“Yes, yes—we shall. Ransom was just asking for a boat to visit St. Penryn. Could you arrange it? It would be much faster than going by horse.”

Goff sneered. “The tide is out now and comes in this afternoon. It would be foolish to send a boat out now. Perhaps tomorrow?”