Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(67)

“Yet you married me to his daughter,” came the quick reply, an argument that had been made multiple times already. “I never once refused or demanded my own choice. You picked her, not I! All I am asking is for the chance to get her myself. And Ransom will come too! He has the might of a dozen men, at least, and we’ll bring other knights too. A hundred, five hundred, however many you insist we bring. Why are you so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Do you even hear yourself?”

“I trust my safety to Sir Ransom Barton,” the Younger King insisted, stabbing his own chest with a finger. “You gave him to me, and I thank you for it. Let him do his duty and protect me as he would my bride and anyone else he is charged to protect. Let me go!”

“And what does the queen think?”

Ransom could see the frustration, the impassioned feelings of the first Argentine king. The look he gave his wife had not softened, but at least he was seeking her counsel.

“He is eighteen now,” said the queen patiently. She looked at her husband with pleading eyes. “He should be allowed to make his own decisions.”

“Even if they are foolish and flawed?”

“How is my reasoning flawed?” the younger Devon demanded hotly.

The king held up his hand to his son, his jaw clenched and his eyes sharp as daggers. He looked back at the queen.

“Even so,” she answered, “I don’t think Lewis will harm him. He wanted the match very much. He’s wanted it consummated for some time now.”

“Of course he does,” said the Elder King. “Can you not see it? Either of you? He wants to take Ceredigion and turn it into a duchy. His duchy. If we allow it, he’ll carve us up like a midwinter turkey. I do not feel it is prudent to send you there, my boy. Can you not trust my judgment? My experience?”

Devon folded his arms. “Does Sir Ransom believe there is danger awaiting us?”

The Elder furrowed his brow. “What are you saying?”

“He knows, Father. Somehow he knows of danger before it happens. Even today, in the training yard, he knew Bennett had switched tunics with—”

“Bennett switched tunics?” the Elder King roared.

The queen buried her face in her hands and sighed.

Ransom felt a squeeze of guilt on his heart and wished his master hadn’t mentioned the ruse from the game so publicly.

“My sons are all insane,” the king said with a rasp, shaking his head. “What did Goff do? Strum a lute and sing during the fighting?”

“Father, you’re being unreasonable.”

The queen lowered her hands and shot her son a warning look.

The Elder King circled around to the front of his throne, hands on his hips. “Is it not unreasonable that a father should be countermanded by his son? That a king’s orders should be argued against as if they were not firm decrees?”

Ransom swallowed, prepared for another emotional storm.

“I didn’t mean that,” said Devon, hands up placatingly. “I just ask for this boon. This favor. This . . . mercy. Let me fetch my wife myself. Let me reveal the wonders of our land to her. I’m . . . I’m too jealous to give that opportunity to another. Send whatever escort you require to ensure my safety. Enough of a host that it will make King Lewis and the Black Prince cower in fear. Please, Father. You have no idea how much this means to me.” He swallowed, his face solemn and pleading. His hand was outstretched just so. Ransom admired the artlessness of his plea. He wondered if it would be enough to soften the Elder King’s stubborn heart.

The Elder King looked at his wife again. She nodded to him encouragingly. Then he turned to Ransom, his grave expression showing his resistance had indeed cracked.

“Some lessons must be learned through suffering,” he said with a sigh. “The Lady of the Fountain knows I’ve made my share.” Ransom felt the weight of the king’s eyes on him. “Is it true? Can you sense danger?”

“I suppose it is,” replied Ransom meekly.

The king snorted. “Maybe you are Fountain-blessed after all. Do you agree with my son and my wife? Should I let the newly crowned king of Ceredigion go amongst his enemies in Pree?”

Devon, his friend and king, shot him a pleading look as he bit his bottom lip in anticipation. When Ransom turned back to the Elder King, the man was staring at him intently.

It was a moment that made Ransom feel torn in two. Each of them wished for his support, but no answer he could give would satisfy both men. He had to choose between them.

“Well?” the Elder King prodded.

“I do think he should go,” Ransom answered truthfully. “I would not want anyone else fetching a wife for me.” As the words left his mouth, he felt a growing sense of loyalty to the Younger King. That feeling triggered a surge of conviction that shot through his body, strengthening his limbs and sharpening his mind. Something wonderful and strange was happening to him, almost like when he stepped onto the battlefield.

The Elder King’s lips pursed. He knew the look of a defeated man. The father nodded reluctantly. “Five hundred knights is a sizable escort,” he said. “Go by way of Tatton Grange and inform Lord Kinghorn of your mission. I command you to return to Tatton Grange within a fortnight, with or without your bride. I shall await you there. Should Lewis attempt to detain you, show him you are his equal, and set your own terms. Promise me, Son.”