Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(57)

The handle of the door jangled, followed by a curt knock.

The queen released his hand. She touched his face tenderly and said the next in a whisper. “If my son believes that you serve my husband or me, he will not trust you. He is seventeen and thinks he knows everything about the world already.” Her smile turned sad. “But heed my words. Be loyal to him, Ransom. Help him become the king that Ceredigion will someday need.”

Her confidence in him made his heart beat stronger with determination. “I will, my lady.”

She arched her eyebrows.

He licked his lips. “I will, Emi.”

The smile she flashed him showed she was pleased. She quietly slipped through the hidden door and gently closed it behind her as the knocking grew louder.



Ransom was given a new sword from the armory at Kingfountain, a bastard sword with the royal crest engraved on the hilt, and a dagger to be used for cutting meat during meals as well as another one for fighting in close quarters. Sir Iain introduced him to the palace cooks, to the chief steward who would pay him his wages, and to a squire who had been entrusted with his belongings, which had been retrieved from Tatton Grange. These visits took up the remainder of the afternoon, but he was brought to the prince’s chamber as Devon and his knights ate the evening meal.

When he was admitted, there was no doubting which of the young men assembled at the table before him would be called the Younger King.

Devon was tall, nearly as tall as Ransom, and while he was more slender in build, he was fit and strong and had an aura of command. The ribbed velvet tunic he wore had a high open collar and was the color of pomegranates. Ransom had never seen such a vivid color before, and it stood out from what the others were wearing. Devon’s hair was dark with streaks of gold, thick and wavy and trimmed above his shoulders, and he had a goatee that seemed to be trying too hard. The resemblance to his father was unmistakable. As soon as he caught sight of Ransom, he chuckled something to the four other knights gathered around him. All eyes turned in unison to look at him.

It came as little surprise that one of the men was Sir James.

“My lord prince,” said Sir Iain, who had escorted Ransom there, “I should like to introduce you to Sir Ransom Bar—”

“No need for an introduction, Sir Iain! I can tell who he is just from looking at him.” He set his goblet down on the table and approached Ransom in a friendly manner. Several knights stopped eating, wiping their hands on linen napkins, before rising to their feet. Devon tapped his own chest with his thumb in a knight’s salute before reaching out and grasping Ransom by the shoulders. “Sir Ransom! You are just as James described you.” His blue eyes were intense, piercing, and he gazed at Ransom with a mixture of delight and wariness.

Sir James rose from the couch and came over, standing by the prince’s shoulder. “You look a little shrunken, Ransom. I take it they didn’t feed the prisoner very well.”

“He’s big enough!” said the prince with a laugh as he released his hold on Ransom’s shoulders.

“It’s my honor to serve you,” Ransom said.

“Oh no, it is my honor to have you in my service,” said the prince. “What do you make of him, James? You were friends once.”

Ransom kept his expression guarded, but in his mind he heard James disavowing him. I’ve waited for this day, he’d said. To see you fail.

“I’ve always been more than a little jealous of him,” said James, putting his arm around the young king. “He was better than all of us. He’s a tad boring, though. I always had to persuade him to go carousing. I wonder if that’s changed?” His look was challenging.

“Has it?” the king asked, a grin threatening to burst through.

Ransom felt tempted to punch James in the stomach, but he knew it wouldn’t be wise. He’d clearly formed a powerful connection with the young Argentine.

“Sir James’s desire to go carousing certainly hasn’t changed,” Ransom said, giving him a bold look. “In fact, we were out together the night the Brugians invaded. It surprised us to see all of Lord Kinghorn’s knights in town, buying things to prepare for war instead of sausages and wine.” He smiled and nodded to James. “We were among the first to know. And Sir James was the first among us to be knighted.”

“Oh, I like him already!” said Devon. “He tells stories! Is it true, Ransom, that you’ve fought in the tournament circuit at Chessy?”

“I have.”

“I’ve so wanted to bring my knights there. Is it true that the Black Prince competes in events?”

“He does on occasion.”

“Yes!” said the prince eagerly. “You will have to train us, Ransom. All of us, except for James. The poor sod has to go back to Dundrennan. I pity you, truly. Come spring, we will ride to Pree to fetch my wife, and we will stop by Chessy. Oh, how I’ve wanted to go!” His eyes were lit with genuine enthusiasm and determination. Ransom wondered if he’d even considered that his father was deliberately provoking the King of Occitania by having his son crowned without his wife.

A look of anger brooded in James’s eyes. He’d never liked for anyone to do anything interesting or challenging without him. “Perhaps I could convince my father to let me go,” he said.

“Both of us have to persuade our fathers, if we can,” said Devon. “At least I have an excuse to go. Oh, what honor we will win! But first, introductions are in order. Sir James, you already know. Poor man can’t help how ugly he is, but what can be done about it? Here is Sir Alain of Yvescourt, a town in Westmarch.”