Baldwin knocked on the door, and they heard a gruff command to wait. After a moment, the door opened, revealing James Wigant. He had bruises on his temple, several cuts on his face, and his nose was absolutely swollen. He looked at Ransom and flinched, blinking quickly, before he marched past him without saying a word.
What could it mean?
Ransom glanced at Baldwin and motioned for him to go in first.
“Oh no, lad,” chuckled the captain. “You’re on your own.”
The sick feeling in his stomach increased, but he walked into Lord Kinghorn’s study, smelling paper and leather. The man was standing at the windows, gazing out, not seated behind the desk as before. He coughed lightly into his hand. He looked stern and serious, his expression making Ransom fear the worst. He paused halfway into the room and, unsure of what to do, simply stood there. The door closed behind him.
Lord Kinghorn turned to face him. “Would you like to tell me what happened after practice in the training yard today?”
Ransom squirmed inside as he considered how to respond. What had James already revealed? Had he accused Ransom of attacking him?
“Not really,” he finally said.
His answer caused Lord Kinghorn’s eyes to narrow. “Do you think it is appropriate to take out personal enmities behind the stables?”
Ransom wished he were anywhere else but there. “No, my lord.”
“What do you think the Duke of North Cumbria will say when he’s learned his son was . . . humiliated so?”
Ransom felt his ears start to burn. He said nothing.
“Well?”
Again, he went with the truth. “I don’t think he’ll be pleased, my lord.”
“Do you think I am pleased?”
“No.”
“You’re wrong.”
Ransom, who hadn’t been able to meet Lord Kinghorn’s gaze, suddenly lifted his eyes. The older man’s mouth quirked into a smile.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to humble that little braggart,” said Lord Kinghorn. “I’ve known for some time how he treats the others. I almost sent him back to his father the week after he arrived. It would not have been politic to do so, however, not without a formidable excuse. You’ve given me one, and I could send him on a palfrey back to his father tomorrow.”
Relief flooded Ransom’s chest. He let out his breath, realizing it had been pent up.
“Why didn’t you come to me earlier?” asked Lord Bryon.
Ransom clasped his hands behind his back. “I didn’t want to tattle.”
“But you saw how he treated the other boys?”
“Yes. But he’s a duke’s son.”
“And why do you think he was sent to Averanche, lad? Why do fathers send away their sons?”
The words reminded him of his own father, who’d sent him away within minutes of his return to the Heath. Where would he be if not for his mother? Anger and resentment began to throb in his heart. He looked away.
“How can I expect you to know that?” Lord Kinghorn said with some compassion. “I’ll answer you myself. Before a horse becomes a destrier that can be trusted in battle, it must be broken. It must be trained and hardened to withstand the chaos of war. I wish we lived in other times, lad. But we don’t. In a few short years, you will be joining that chaos. Whether you live or die will depend on your training and your will to survive. I cannot shield you from the horrors of it. I must prepare you for it. So must I do with Lord Wigant’s son and the others. I must make men out of boys.” He stepped around the desk, his eyes earnest and sincere. “What you did today took the courage of a man. War is not fair. It is not holy. It is a brawl between men who fight for those they serve whether or not they believe in the cause, just like James’s friends did today. Sometimes you know your enemy, and others you’re surprised by a betrayal in the midst of a battle. A knight must be ready for any circumstance. He must know when to fight and when to back off. And when it’s time to fight, he must fight with everything he has and is, knowing that his enemy will do the same. One will prevail. The other will die or be held hostage for a price. What happened today was the lesson I’ve been waiting for.”
He stepped even closer, his eyes fixed on Ransom’s face. “I just wish, my boy, you had come to me sooner and told me what you’d observed happening with the lads. I am your liege lord. Your master. Remember who you owe your loyalty to. Your peers, yes—they deserve a portion of it. But the lesson I wish you to learn is that your first duty is to me. To your liege lord.”