Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“I don’t know what news has reached you, but I will be brief. He sent me to get you. He told me to kill as many horses as necessary and bring you back to him. He was wrong about his wife. It was Sir Robert who was carrying on with her. When Devon found out . . . he . . . I’ve never seen him so distraught. Noemie fled the castle. She’s probably back in Pree by now. She won’t stand by him when he falls, not again. She won’t be a prisoner like Emiloh. Then Devon fell sick. He’s been coughing up blood. He sent Talbot to tell his father that he surrenders. And he sent me to get you. He feels horrible about what he did to you. He wants your forgiveness . . .” His voice cracked. “Before he dies.”

Ransom stared at him in disbelief, feeling the shock of the situation down to his bones. The sudden sickness could be no coincidence. He grieved for Devon, but he also felt the sinking sensation of having acted the fool. Noemie had told him that Devon’s life was at stake. He’d believed it to be yet another ploy to sway him into her trap.

The words the Elder King had spoken to him years before came back with haunting prescience. He could hear the voice ringing in his skull.

Your duty is to keep that feckless young man alive!

“How far is Beestone?” Ransom demanded.

“I left there this morning. My horse nearly died getting me here.”

“Are you fit to ride?”

Simon nodded, but his exhaustion was apparent.

“Get some rest. You can have a horse from my stables. I’ll leave at once. Lamere!”

The steward, who had been waiting just outside the door, entered with an expectant look.

“I want the fastest horse from the stables prepared. I’m leaving at once. When Sir Simon has recovered, you will provide him a fresh mount and send him after me. Everything I wanted for my journey, I want you to send to Beestone castle. My armor, provisions, everything. Send them to Beestone.” He gripped Simon’s shoulder. “Refresh yourself, and join me as soon as you can.”

“I’m coming now,” Simon said.

Ransom shrugged. “I’m not waiting for you.”

Before the candle had burned past another notch, Ransom was wearing his hauberk and a cloak and galloping out of Gison into the night.



As Ransom rode, his thoughts twisted into knots full of revenge and self-loathing. He’d been played a fool by the cloaked lady. With Ransom out of the way, Devon had been left totally unprotected. Who was a part of the plot? Sir Robert, surely, and Noemie had known. Did that mean the Occitanian king was the snake?

The woman had been watching Devon for years. Why kill him now?

No other travelers strayed across his path all night. When dawn came, he stopped to water his mount at a stream before pushing onward again. The rouncy was bred for stamina, and it sensed the concern and worry of its rider and responded with surprising resolve. His stomach growled with hunger, but he didn’t stop to feed himself. Each league increased his anxiety to arrive in time.

Ransom had been to Beestone before, during his journeys throughout the realm. It was one of the largest strongholds between Kingfountain and Tatton Grange and had withstood invasions in the past. But Devon had few resources, and Ransom wondered if the Elder King would beat him there. He vowed to himself he would not allow it to happen.

By midmorning, he finally saw Beestone on a hill in the distance, a small town nestled at its base. When he arrived, his horse was lathered but still enduring. He looked for evidence of the Elder King’s army, but the people were going about their business. Some glanced at him, but few paid him much notice.

Ransom’s horse clopped up the road leading to the gates of the castle. As he arrived, he recognized Sir Alain standing guard.

“You made it!” Alain gasped in astonishment. “I thought you’d be here this evening by the earliest, if at all!”

Ransom looked down at him from atop his exhausted mount. “Does he live?”

Alain nodded. “He’s . . . he’s very sick. He’s been calling for you all night.”

Ransom nodded and guided the horse into the bailey. There was a well in the middle of the yard, and he saw a few young men drawing water from it. As he approached the well, he sensed the presence of the cloaked lady. The realization did not surprise him. He’d expected he would find her nearby, although it surprised him to feel her presence pulse from the well itself. Ransom reached the edge, and one of the boys looked up at him in awe and admiration, much the way he might have regarded a knight when he was younger.

“Water my horse,” he told the boy.

“Yes, my lord.”

Ransom dismounted and stood by the rim of the well. Something struck him, a strange feeling that he had been there before and that she had been there with him. He looked at the lad, who was probably eight years old.

“Have you seen a lady here?” he asked the boy.

“Pardon?”

“Have you seen a lady here at the well?” he asked. His hand gripped the hilt of his bastard sword.

The boy looked around. “No, my lord. Not since the princess left.”

He knew the lady in the well could feel him too. That meant she was waiting for something, but what? And how was he to reach her? Was she really crouched down in the well? He carefully leaned over, looking down into the darkness. That strange sense of recognition thrummed inside him again, and he heard the distant roar of the waterfall in his ears. He felt the power pulse inside him, although it was much depleted.

“I’m here,” he called, hoping his voice would carry down the shaft.

He waited for an answer, but none came.

Ransom backed away from the well and started toward the fortress. She had done her damage, and it was likely too late to reverse it. He could at least see his king. The rest could be handled later. As soon as he entered, he saw Talbot leaning against the wall, hands covering his face as he tried to control his grief. Ransom walked up to him and gripped his shoulder.

Talbot’s face crumpled when he saw it was Ransom. “It’s you,” he said in a choked voice. “Go to him. I can’t bear to see him like this. He’s wasting away before our eyes. I’ve put twenty coins in the well as prayers he’ll recover. But he keeps getting worse!”