Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(14)

Regret throbbed inside him, as insistent as the pain in his arms. He breathed out, and his chest hurt too. A breeze ruffled the air, bringing that briny scent from the ocean with it. His nose hurt. Although his left eye hadn’t swollen completely shut, it was trying to, and he could only squint from it. A dull ache in his back reminded him that sleep would not be easy this night. Well, it wouldn’t be easy for any of them.

The knowledge that he’d knocked down a duke’s son stoked the ill feelings roiling in his stomach and chest. James’s father was Duke Wigant of North Cumbria. The duke of the North. Ransom was a second-born son who had served a king who had long since fallen out of favor with the people because of the endless civil war. Perhaps he should have let the other boys thrash him. But with that thought came a defiant clench of his jaw. No.

He heard boots climbing the stairs leading to the defenses. Was it time for the changing of the guard? But as the steps came closer, he recognized the sound of the stride. It was Captain Baldwin.

Ransom couldn’t hide his injuries, so he just stared at the sea and pretended he couldn’t hear the other man approach.

Baldwin reached him and leaned against the adjacent merlon. Ransom could see the stripes of gray in his mostly nut-brown beard. They stood there awhile, silently, gazing at the rippling waters before they turned into waves that came crashing against the sandy shore below.

“You don’t look so bad compared to most of the other lads,” said Baldwin finally.

Ransom sighed. “Am I in trouble, Baldwin?”

The grizzled man chuckled deeply. “You might say that. Sir Bryon wants to see you. Now.”

Dread wormed through Ransom’s stomach. Bleak thoughts had made him so sick to his stomach that he hadn’t eaten anything yet. He followed the captain away from the battlements and down into the castle, all the way to the private chamber of his mother’s cousin. He hadn’t been there since his arrival. None of the other boys had ever been summoned to see Lord Kinghorn.

Baldwin knocked on the door, and they heard a gruff command to wait. After a moment, the door opened, revealing James Wigant. He had bruises on his temple, several cuts on his face, and his nose was absolutely swollen. He looked at Ransom and flinched, blinking quickly, before he marched past him without saying a word.

What could it mean?

Ransom glanced at Baldwin and motioned for him to go in first.

“Oh no, lad,” chuckled the captain. “You’re on your own.”

The sick feeling in his stomach increased, but he walked into Lord Kinghorn’s study, smelling paper and leather. The man was standing at the windows, gazing out, not seated behind the desk as before. He coughed lightly into his hand. He looked stern and serious, his expression making Ransom fear the worst. He paused halfway into the room and, unsure of what to do, simply stood there. The door closed behind him.

Lord Kinghorn turned to face him. “Would you like to tell me what happened after practice in the training yard today?”

Ransom squirmed inside as he considered how to respond. What had James already revealed? Had he accused Ransom of attacking him?

“Not really,” he finally said.

His answer caused Lord Kinghorn’s eyes to narrow. “Do you think it is appropriate to take out personal enmities behind the stables?”

Ransom wished he were anywhere else but there. “No, my lord.”

“What do you think the Duke of North Cumbria will say when he’s learned his son was . . . humiliated so?”

Ransom felt his ears start to burn. He said nothing.

“Well?”

Again, he went with the truth. “I don’t think he’ll be pleased, my lord.”

“Do you think I am pleased?”

“No.”

“You’re wrong.”

Ransom, who hadn’t been able to meet Lord Kinghorn’s gaze, suddenly lifted his eyes. The older man’s mouth quirked into a smile.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to humble that little braggart,” said Lord Kinghorn. “I’ve known for some time how he treats the others. I almost sent him back to his father the week after he arrived. It would not have been politic to do so, however, not without a formidable excuse. You’ve given me one, and I could send him on a palfrey back to his father tomorrow.”

Relief flooded Ransom’s chest. He let out his breath, realizing it had been pent up.

“Why didn’t you come to me earlier?” asked Lord Bryon.

Ransom clasped his hands behind his back. “I didn’t want to tattle.”

“But you saw how he treated the other boys?”

“Yes. But he’s a duke’s son.”

“And why do you think he was sent to Averanche, lad? Why do fathers send away their sons?”

The words reminded him of his own father, who’d sent him away within minutes of his return to the Heath. Where would he be if not for his mother? Anger and resentment began to throb in his heart. He looked away.

“How can I expect you to know that?” Lord Kinghorn said with some compassion. “I’ll answer you myself. Before a horse becomes a destrier that can be trusted in battle, it must be broken. It must be trained and hardened to withstand the chaos of war. I wish we lived in other times, lad. But we don’t. In a few short years, you will be joining that chaos. Whether you live or die will depend on your training and your will to survive. I cannot shield you from the horrors of it. I must prepare you for it. So must I do with Lord Wigant’s son and the others. I must make men out of boys.” He stepped around the desk, his eyes earnest and sincere. “What you did today took the courage of a man. War is not fair. It is not holy. It is a brawl between men who fight for those they serve whether or not they believe in the cause, just like James’s friends did today. Sometimes you know your enemy, and others you’re surprised by a betrayal in the midst of a battle. A knight must be ready for any circumstance. He must know when to fight and when to back off. And when it’s time to fight, he must fight with everything he has and is, knowing that his enemy will do the same. One will prevail. The other will die or be held hostage for a price. What happened today was the lesson I’ve been waiting for.”