Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(7)

She crinkled her nose. “Are you trying for me hand, Sir Chappell? I’m only twelve. Give me a few years yet before showing your ambition so nakedly. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Ransom sputtered out a laugh, knowing that it wasn’t William’s intent, but she was a vixen with words and could turn someone upside down before they knew what had happened.

“You know he didn’t mean it that way,” Ransom said.

“Don’t I, though? Isn’t that what all you young ruffians want? A wealthy heiress to wed? Thankfully, I get a choice as me mother was Queen of Legault. She chose me da, so I get a choice too. All the women of Legault get to choose who they marry and whether to use their mother’s name or their father’s.”

“Are you so sure?” Sir William said, his cheeks flushed from their banter. “What if King Devon decides to conquer Legault? He could change the laws.”

“I’d like to see him try,” said Claire with a knowing smile. She glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “Well, my da is giving me a stern look, which I suppose means he wants me to stop having a little fun with you two gooses. Fare thee both well, Sir William and young Ransom.”

“Young?” Ransom challenged with a grin. They were the same age after all.

“I was going to say short Ransom, but I thought that might hurt your tender feelings. Fare thee both well. I’ll likely never see you again. ’Tis a pity, to be sure, but only because neither of you are brave enough to hazard a trip to visit my mad kingdom.”

With that final insult on her lips, she tossed her mane of brilliant hair and started back to her father, who stood at the far end of the dock like a block of granite. Lord Archer was an intimidating man. He’d served King Gervase until the end, mostly out of duty and partly because his daughter had been held as ransom for his loyalty, although it had become obvious no harm would come to her in Gervase’s care. Now that Devon Argentine was king, he was turning his face away from Ceredigion to the greener country called Legault.

Partway down the dock, Claire turned back and waved good-bye to them both. Her smile was genuine.

Sir William folded his arms. “Whoever marries that lass has no idea what they’re in for,” he said in an undertone.





When we arrived at Glosstyr, they made such a fuss. The streets were crowded, and the shouts and claps were quite noisy. Truly, I wasn’t expecting flower petals to be rained down on us from the battlement walls. Da rode ahead, waving occasionally to the masses. I’d not expected them to cheer for me, yet they did. Mothers were weeping, as if they’d been fearing for me life all along. I don’t understand it. I wasn’t ever in any danger. If King Gervase had threatened me, I know as right as rain that Da would have cut off his legs and made him walk to Dundrennan on the stumps.

The people of Glosstyr surprised me. I was a little girl when I was last here, and I only remember pining for Legault. I’ve some affection for them now. Still, I’m anxious to be on our way after the feasting is done. Glosstyr has my father’s people, but I miss my mother’s homeland. The clans of nobles have been dueling each other these many years for the proxy right to rule after Da returned to Ceredigion to support Gervase. All told, it’s a mess. But I love them anyway. My people are on an island kingdom as old as the world. A kingdom with standing stones and unperturbed forests that are older than the legends of King Andrew. There is magic deep in its bones. I can’t wait to be back. But for now, I’ll share a part of my heart with Glosstyr.

—Claire de Murrow

Glosstyr Keep

(the long journey home)





CHAPTER TWO

The Heath

Upon the death of the king, Ransom had been given a small purse containing thirty silver livres, the pick of one of the rouncies from the stable, and a training sword from the palace smithy. Thirty livres would not last long, but it would be enough to bring him home. It was a kindness of Sir William that he offered to ride with Ransom to the Heath, which was on the way to Occitania.

Ransom chose the horse Gemmell. The horse was too small to be a destrier, but he had the endurance and fearlessness of a warhorse. He had an easy nature, and although Ransom had ridden him many times on hawking expeditions with the king and his son, the horse had never once bucked him off. Gervase’s son, Bertram, had been a true friend to Ransom during his time at Kingfountain. His accidental death had truly been a tragedy.

Ransom and Sir William rode side by side, with a packhorse tethered behind them, carrying the knight’s armor, two lances, and the rest of his baggage. The roads were still considered dangerous, but they’d passed about a half-dozen soldiers wearing King Devon’s badge, the Silver Rose from House Argentine, riding back to Kingfountain. Sir William had commented that the new king had started sending patrols through the realm. A good sign that peace might be established in some of the lawless parts of the kingdom.

After a full day’s ride, kept at a leisurely pace because of the packhorse, they arrived at a fork in the road.

“Your father’s castle is yonder,” said Sir William. “It’s been a few years, but I remember all the yellow broom growing in this area. That’s why this place is called the Heath.”

Ransom’s nerves had been increasing along the journey. He wished there were a way he could have stayed at Kingfountain. His parents had never asked for him back, and he wasn’t even sure what they would say when they saw him. Still, he felt he owed his mother a visit, and the desire to see her pulled at him. Besides, he knew thirty livres would not last long in Occitania, and he did not wish to be a burden on Sir William.