Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(66)

When Ransom made it to the prince, he reached down to help him up.

Benedict glowered at him but grudgingly took his hand and rose.

“Did you know it was me?” Benedict asked darkly.

“What did you hope to gain by your deception?” Ransom asked, not answering the question.

“I’ve always wondered if you held back,” said Benedict. “During our fights in the training yard. If you treated me delicately because of who I am.”

Ransom wondered at the question. “And what do you think now?”

“Just answer me, man!” Benedict blurted. “Stop being the philosopher!”

“When you ask me to train you, I set out to do just that. I never hold back, my lord. It wouldn’t help you, and it would shame me if I did.”

Benedict swore vehemently. He glared at Ransom, his eyes shining with anger.

“That angers you?” Ransom asked in concern.

“I’m furious that I can’t beat you,” Benedict said. He kicked his helmet and sent it tumbling away. “I’m leaving for the Vexin, and I so wanted to humble you before I went.”

“You’re only sixteen, my lord,” Ransom said. “I’m sure you will someday. Keep practicing against better men.”

Devon approached the two of them, and the condescending look on his face was sure to rile Benedict even more. Devon was only a few fingers taller than Benedict, but in a brawl between the two, there was no doubt in Ransom’s mind who would win. Benedict looked like he’d worked a forge. He was naturally athletic, and he trained harder than anyone else in the castle, in Ransom’s opinion.

“Don’t say it,” Benedict growled, pointing an accusing finger at Devon.

“What? I was going to ask if you wanted to borrow Ransom for a season and take him with you. I see you do not, Brother.”

“Are you serious?” Benedict demanded.

“By the Fountain, no! The best knights should stay with their king.”

“It doesn’t gall you that he’s better than you?”

Ransom was grateful that Devon was more even-tempered than his brother. “Did not King Andrew have a knight that was better than him? Did it make him any less of a king?”

“Are you saying you believe those old legends?” Benedict scoffed. “You’re more of a fool than I thought.”

“I know you think me a fool. But we are brothers still. Let us not part ways breathing ill words. It was a bold move, I should say. Rushing my most powerful man all at once. Bold, but stupid. It’s fortunate none of you need a barber to mend a cut.” He wrapped his arm around Benedict’s neck and gave him a hug. “See me before you go,” he said in a low voice. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. But take a bath first. How you stink!”

“I bathed last week,” Benedict said, showing affront before grinning in reply. He hugged Devon back. The brothers laughed and clapped each other on the back. Then Benedict looked at Ransom, his rage having melted like some of the ice in the yard. He thumped his chest in a knightly salute, and Ransom mirrored it.

Devon folded his arms, watching his brother go. “He wants you to knight him, you know,” he said.

Ransom raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“He admires you, Ransom. By the waters, we all do! They all attacked you as one, and you knocked them down as if they were a stack of spears! Did you know it was going to happen?”

“I just had a feeling,” Ransom said. “Like that night before the coronation. I could tell Benedict wasn’t wearing the royal tunic.”

“The lad is brave, no doubts there,” Devon agreed. “Another victory. I’ve never won so many times before. Sir James was a pleasant fellow, and a clever thinker, but none of that matters when it’s time to fight. You are unstoppable. It’s usually Bennett who’s difficult to beat. My brother’s envious as well as admiring.” He clapped Ransom on the back, and they started walking back to the castle while the pages picked up the fallen weapons and armor.

“What do you need to talk to the prince about?” Ransom asked him.

Devon smiled. “He knows I’m going to try and persuade Father to let me go to Pree. He wanted me to send a message to his betrothed in the Vexin.”

He flashed a conspiratorial smile, but Ransom knew in his heart the Younger King had just lied to him.



Ransom had been at the castle long enough that he’d witnessed more than one shouting match between the two kings of Ceredigion, but he still hated to see the ill blood fester between father and son. Worse yet was the pained look on Queen Emiloh’s face as she watched two men whom she loved deeply bicker with each other.

Most of the servants had already fled the hall at the onset of the argument, but Ransom, who stood as a mute witness, felt he had no choice but to stay. He hadn’t been dismissed, after all, and he was being used as part of the Younger King’s argument.

“And I do not see why I must send my knight to fetch my own wife! It’s humiliating, Father! Not to mention a cause for gossip.”

The Elder King was no longer on his throne, but he stood next to it, his arm propped on the back of it. The queen sat on hers, her fingers gripping the padded armrests so hard her knuckles were white.

“Of course you don’t see it,” snapped the angry father. “Because the roads have been safe since you were a child. They were made safe by my laws! By my force! I know King Lewis. I know what kind of man he is. I do not trust him.”