Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“Yes. My older brother is Marcus. I only have one sister.” A poke of sadness stabbed him. His siblings hadn’t communicated with him since that day by the castle of the Heath. He’d heard nothing from his family, except for a few letters his mother had written to him. He felt some loyalty to her because of that. He had written to her only twice, most recently to inform her of Gervase’s death. In truth, he had hoped his parents would come to the funeral, but they hadn’t seen fit to show up. He doubted his homecoming would be a happy one.

“The oldest gets it all, and sisters get a dowry. My father has four sons, one daughter, and two girls in wardship. No, I’ve been thinking about riding to Occitania.”

Ransom stared at him in shock. His feelings were dangerously close to outrage. “You’re going to try and serve King Lewis?”

“No! Of course not! The king has been sponsoring some tournaments in the town of Chessy. He wants to keep his men-at-arms in good training while there aren’t any wars to fight. If you win a tournament, the reward is high. It’s not just for swordplay and lancing a target, but for demonstrating knightly virtues on and off the field.” He shrugged. “I don’t trust or support the king, but I think it’s wise to reward traits you expect in your warriors. Maybe I’ll find a new lord to serve while I’m there.”

“Can I come with you?” Ransom asked. The prospect was more compelling than returning to a family who didn’t want him.

“You want to get your brains dashed in already, Ransom?”

Ransom hadn’t heard Claire approach, but there was no mistaking her lilting accent, which she’d striven to maintain despite her many years at Kingfountain. He loved listening to her talk, even if some of her words made absolutely no sense to him.

Sir William’s smile broadened, and he turned his head. “We may be standing too close to the edge of the water, lad. She’s just the kind of sprite who’s liable to shove one of us in.”

“You’re more likely to trip and fall out of sheer clumsiness, Sir William,” she said with a saucy smile. “I was rootin’ for you not to drop your end of the pole too soon. It would have been ghastly dropping the king’s body back on the dock, wouldn’t you say?”

Ransom thought her irreverent humor inappropriate considering the moment, but she could get away with saying anything. She was especially sassy with the palace cook, but that had never stopped her from being given a buttered roll or a ripe peach. One time she and Ransom had climbed a tree so high that they were both afraid to come down and had to yell for a long time before a gardener found them. He’d chided them for their foolishness, but that hadn’t stopped Claire from climbing the very same tree the next day.

“I tried my hardest, demoiselle,” the knight replied.

“Good, Sir Knight. I’m grateful they didn’t trust Ransom here with such a responsibility. That casket looked heavy. I’m not sure he’d have been up to the job.”

There was that provoking smile again. How she enjoyed teasing him. Near the docks, he could see the crimson hue of her hair on full display. Some of the breeze caught a few strands and brought them across her face.

“I wouldn’t have dropped it, Claire.”

“We’ll never know now, will we?” Her dress was a pretty shade, not quite blue, not quite green, with a crisscross bodice over a pale blue under dress. She tilted her head a little and looked at Sir William. “So you’re off to Occitania to clash swords all day? Heed my advice and hide in the shrubs until the other men have bashed themselves silly, then come out fresh and win the day.”

“Hide in shrubs?” Sir William asked with a chuckle.

“And you, Ransom. You’re going back to the Heath to see your da.” Her look softened a bit. “I’m sorry. Not even I can find humor in that. Your family may not have bothered to visit you, but at least you have one. I’ll miss seeing ye both here at Kingfountain. But I’m grateful to go back to me mother country.”

“What about your father’s estate at Glosstyr?”

She tossed her head. “Who cares about Glosstyr when he can rule all of Legault!” The way she emphasized those words told him what he already knew—her heart beat firmly and fastly for her native land.

“If he doesn’t want Glosstyr anymore, I will take it,” William said.

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.