Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“What news?” Marcus asked the man, taking a sealed scroll from him.

“The king wishes you to be ready,” he said curtly, then his gaze shifted to Ransom sitting as one of the guests. He clearly recognized him, but it didn’t disrupt his composure.

Marcus broke the seal and quickly scanned the note. He let out a whistle of surprise.

“What has happened?” Sibyl asked. Maeg looked worried.

Marcus lowered the scroll, his face full of dread. “Duke Goff invaded the duchy of Vexin. Two of the king’s sons are fighting each other.”

“Aye,” said the herald. “The Elder King’s ungrateful sons will never be at peace with one another.”

Ransom heard the words, but a memory sparked in his mind. Goff had asked for a private conversation with Devon during the tournament. A sour feeling twisted in his gut. At the time he’d assumed the meeting was about the fate of Sir Terencourt, but now he wondered. Was Devon part of this outburst? Had he been talked into something he would regret? Was James now the one giving him advice? Ransom had no illusions about the outcome of a fight between Benedict and Goff. Benedict was more ruthless and more determined.

The sickly feeling inside him grew worse. Things were not as they seemed.

A log in the hearth exploded in a crackle of thunder and a shower of sparks.

He could not help but think it an ill omen.





I continue to be astounded by the feckless nature of men. Are they all eejits? I am aghast at the latest news coming to the palace. The Younger King was behind the treachery in the Vexin. Somehow he persuaded his brother Goff to start the trouble. But it was a ploy, a diversion from his true aim, to depose his father, the king. Again. There was to be a talk of a peace in Westmarch, but Goff had concealed men there in the hopes of ambushing the Elder King. But their father was too canny for them, and the men were discovered and driven away. When his treachery was revealed, the Younger King fled toward Brythonica, but his escape was cut off.

Young Devon is holed up in Beestone castle, the castellan of which was sympathetic toward him, and his father is preparing to besiege the castle and bring his son to heel one more time. The barmy catastrophe could have easily been prevented. It wouldn’t surprise me if Duke Benedict attacks Brythonica in retaliation. Such witless fools. The father gave a kingdom to his son, although it wasn’t freely given, and the inheritance would have been the work of a lifetime. That future end wasn’t enough to satisfy the Younger King’s ambition. And now he’s barricaded himself inside a castle that, some say, is without peer. Yet somehow, I don’t imagine it will take long for the Elder King to bring the walls down.

—Claire de Murrow

Queen’s Tower

(disgusted with the kingdom)





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Death Watch

Gison castle was small but formidable. It was one of the rewards Ransom had received for winning the tournament of Chessy. He liked it well enough, even though it did not feel like home. The only place that had felt as such was the Kingfountain of his childhood. The main hall was smaller than that of the Heath, but the timberwork on the interior was sturdy and the walls in good repair. His steward, a man named Lamere, had just finished going over the revenues with him, and Ransom had given the order that Lady Sibyl was to handle the finances moving forward.

Night had settled, and the few servants within the castle were lighting the interior torches. Ransom sat at the dining table, his meal complete, brooding about the journey that lay ahead.

Word of Devon’s attempted insurrection had already reached him, and he was grateful to be nowhere near Beestone castle. He picked up the goblet and saw the cup was already empty before setting it down again.

Lamere strode back into the dining hall, a confused look on his face. “My lord, you have a visitor.”

Ransom started in surprise, then pushed back the chair. Who would think to visit him here? He’d told none but his family he intended to make the journey. “Who is it?”

“Sir Simon of Holmberg,” said Lamere. “Do you know him?”

Suddenly Ransom remembered telling Simon about the castle on their journey to Brythonica. He’d forgotten all about it during the upheaval in his life. “I do. Send him in at once,” Ransom said, his confusion growing. Concern gripped him, and he began to pace while Lamere left to fetch the visitor.

Simon strode swiftly into the dining hall, his hair windblown and his face weary from an arduous journey. The panicked look on his face struck Ransom forcibly. So, too, did the fact that his skin was paler than chalk.

“What’s happened?” he asked with dread.

“You need to come with me,” Simon said. “Right now. This very night.”

Ransom gripped the edge of his chair and cocked his head. “Where?”

“To Beestone castle.”

“If this is your idea of a jest, Simon . . .” Ransom started, but one look at his friend’s face silenced him.

“Devon is dying,” Simon said softly.

The news struck Ransom like a staff to the ribs. He took a couple of steps toward his friend. “I don’t understand.”