Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(87)

When the noblewoman leaned down to kiss Sir Combren, he met her lips with relish, gripping her cheeks as he did so. He held the kiss for too long, earning a boo from the crowd. Sir Combren didn’t seem to care and rocked back on his heels with a gloating smile. The lady flashed Ransom a wicked grin and winked at him. His insides roiled.

He looked at Devon pleadingly. Don’t make me do this, he wanted to say.

Because he knew who would be delivering his crown.

Devon’s grin only broadened, and he gave him a look that said, Enjoy it while you can.

The trumpets rose again and sent out another blast of notes, which calmed the restless crowd.

“And now,” declared the herald when silence reigned once more. “The champion of the tournament of Chessy, blessed by our Lady of the Fountain, winner of ten thousand livres and the castle of Gison!”

A surprised gasp came from the audience. Ransom blinked in wonderment. A castle was part of the prize? He’d never seen that happen before.

“Sir Marshall Barton of the court of Kingfountain, also known as Sir Ransom!”

Cheers exploded in the air, sending waves of feeling through Ransom’s body. He was conflicted, yet he couldn’t deny this was probably the greatest moment in his life. The faces around him looked joyous, not contemptuous.

Then Princess Noemie came forward, holding the silver laurel crown in her hands. She tried to look proud and disinterested, but the noise and exuberance had an undeniable effect. A small smile cracked through. She stood before him, dressed in an expensive Occitanian gown, her hair in braids and coils beneath her silk veil.

She set the crown gently on his head, and its pressure was lighter than a breeze compared to the helmets he was used to wearing.

“Well done, Ransom,” she said, her voice barely heard over the ruckus. She seemed to be enjoying herself, her face relaxed and eager, as if this moment meant something to her. “Thank you for not killing my brother.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he said softly.

Her eyebrows arched. “Oh? It seemed as if you might.”

She flashed him a radiant smile as she bent down to kiss him. His heart hammered like an earthquake. It felt . . . wrong. Disloyal. Her eyes closed as her face lowered to him.

Ransom was tortured by conflicted feelings. Suddenly, instead of savoring his triumph, he wished he were anywhere else. In fact, he wished he were in the queen’s tower at the palace, a place he was forbidden to go. A place no one wanted to go but him.

A place where he could see Claire.

At the last moment, he turned his head slightly so that her lips brushed the edge of his mouth. He felt their softness, and it was a dangerous sensation that stirred emotions he didn’t want to feel.

Because of her veil, perhaps no one saw what he did.

But when she opened her eyes, pulling back, he saw that his action had greatly offended her. He’d refused her kiss. From the look she gave him, he wondered if she would make a scene and force a kiss from him in front of everyone. He felt a trickle of defense go up his spine, his instincts warning him of her intentions.

He gave her a look that told her not to.

Her flawless knuckle came up and wiped her bottom lip as she stared at him in wonderment, in fury, yet she clearly knew there was still a crowd to please.

It was a look that promised revenge.





I must admit that it felt good to start writing again. Emiloh asked me about the book, and I shared portions of it with her yesterday. It led to a very deep conversation, one in which she spoke of her past, her youth in the duchy of Vexin. Her father died when she was fifteen. For some reason, I hadn’t remembered that. She cherished him, so she could understand how I felt about losing my father. It’s been difficult picturing her as anything other than the Queen of Ceredigion. But she knows fear, loss, and the uncertainty of the future. I asked if she had ever been in love before marrying the Elder King. Her look showed that her mind went far away. She nodded but said nothing more.

Ransom has returned to Kingfountain with Emiloh’s eldest son. Apparently, the fool eejit won the tournament of Chessy, and if the rumors are true, he nearly killed the Black Prince. We saw them ride into the courtyard, but the tower is too high to see very well. I should like to see him again, but if fancies were horses, even beggars would ride. I don’t know where I’ve heard that saying before. Things are so different now. But I wish him well. I truly do. Even if it means we cannot be together.

—Claire de Murrow

Queen’s Tower

(a fair summer’s morning)





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The King’s Contempt

The queen’s throne had been removed from the royal hall of Kingfountain, which was a sorry sight that still made Ransom cringe inside. The king’s was empty, for the man could hardly bear to sit still and usually paced in front of the dais, as he did now, listening to the report of their victory.

“I wish you had been there, Father,” said Devon the Younger. “We won honor for Ceredigion.”

“It sounds like Sir Ransom did the brunt of the work,” quibbled the father, giving Ransom a sidelong look and a somewhat approving smile. “They gifted you a castle, did they? Which one?”

“Gison castle, my lord,” Ransom answered.

The king pursed his lips and nodded appreciatively. “That was probably intended for the Black Prince, whom they expected to win. That they gave it to you instead? Curious.”