Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(44)

DeVaux’s words throbbed in the painful mess inside Ransom’s mind. He had called Ransom Fountain-blessed. But that was not how he felt. If anything, he’d been cursed by the Fountain. When he was young, he had hoped to serve King Gervase, but the king’s untimely death had prevented it. Then he’d gone to Averanche to serve Lord Kinghorn, and that dream had been shattered as well. Finally, he’d thought his luck had turned around—he’d seen Claire again and been given a chance to serve Lord Rakestraw, but his lord had been pierced through with a lance. If they had ridden with armor, many if not most of the knights would have survived the confrontation with DeVaux’s men. The ruse had not been worth it.

He felt his body leaning and grasped the mane of the horse with his left hand, gripping hard, trying to keep himself in the saddle. Memories of the fight rushed through his mind unbidden. He was still amazed he had outlasted all the other knights. He heard a buzzing noise in his ears, but this was not the tranquil noise of the waterfalls at the palace of Kingfountain. No, this was an angry buzzing sound, like hornets. The idea of slumping out of the saddle and landing on the scrub felt tempting to him. How long before they’d notice? How long until he died?

Ransom pulled himself back up, fighting the urge to destroy himself. He would survive this nightmare. He would be free again.

The growing fever gave him nonsensical thoughts. He imagined Claire walking through the fields of Chessy arm in arm with James. “Poor Ransom,” she said with a pitying smile. “We were friends as children. Only friends.”

James nodded and smiled, all sympathy and fine wishes, but as soon as Claire looked away, the look in his eyes shifted to that of a wolf hunting its prey. Ransom wanted to scream in warning. He tried to run, to pull Claire away from him, but his leg couldn’t support his weight, and he fell. Blood seeped from the wound. So much blood. He was dying, drop by drop.

No! I must tell her what happened. I have to warn her.

“How long has he been like this?”

A woman’s voice.

“Two days now. He’s dying.”

DeVaux’s voice.

Someone touched his leg, and he screamed. Pain was all he felt and knew.

“I’ll call for a barber. Let the wound be treated.”

It was the woman’s voice again.

“No! No one leaves this castle. If any of your servants slip away, you’ll regret it, my lady. If he dies, he dies. But I swear the lad is Fountain-blessed. A lance wound won’t kill him. You’ll see. He’ll recover.”

“Let me provide bandages at least.”

“No! Give him broth to drink and a little bread. Tend to my wounded knights instead. They suffer as much as he does. He’s cost me a lot of men. I’ll see him ransomed, or I’ll throw his corpse in a ditch. Either way suits me fine, but I suspect he’ll live. The Fountain-blessed do not go down so easily. Do not trifle with me, my lady, while your kin is at Chessy field.”

“You would break the oath of hospitality?” she asked him.

Who was she? Where were they?

Ransom realized he was lying on a pallet filled with old straw. Was this another dream conjured by his feverish mind? He twitched. From the throbbing burn, it felt like he’d already lost his leg.

“Who gives a carp about that?” DeVaux snorted. “I killed the constable! The king will come after me himself. None of the niceties of Virtus apply to me anymore, my lady. You’d best remember that.”

“Let me tend to your men,” she said.

Ransom tried to open his eyes. But it took him time to force his eyelids to part, and he only caught a fleeting glimpse of her as she left. DeVaux stood over him, sneering.

“Prove me wrong,” he said slyly, gazing down at Ransom. “Either way, we’ll know.”

He fell into an uneasy sleep, full of twisted dreams. He dreamed of his father, the big man with the eye patch and thundering voice, mocking him for lying down when there was work to be done. Even in the dream state, he knew his father was dead, but the barbs still landed. He tried to rise and couldn’t walk, only hobble, which earned scorn and derision from his father. They were at the Heath, and as soon as they went outside, a huge part of the castle sloughed away and crushed his father beneath the rubble right in front of Ransom’s eyes.

“You killed Father!” said his brother Marcus accusingly.

The nightmare shifted. He saw Queen Emiloh riding away from the carnage only to be shot down by an archer concealed in the woods. He screamed, trying to run to her, but his leg didn’t work, and he stumbled and crashed to the ground, weeping at the loss.

Then he saw Captain Baldwin in the training yard. “What’s wrong with you, boy? It’s just a little pain. Defend yourself. Again. Again!” The staff swung toward Ransom’s head. Too slow to stop it, he dropped to the ground, and everything in his field of vision shattered like a huge mirror.

He heard voices and realized they were real, not part of the fever dream.

“Moldy bread, my lady?” said a gruff voice.

“It’s all we have left,” answered the lady. He recognized her voice as the one he’d heard before. “And a cup of broth.”

“Let me see that,” another man said. Ransom heard the sound of sniffing. “I thought you’d brought him some spirits to dull his pain. DeVaux would have our hides if you helped him.”