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Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(31)

Author:Jeff Wheeler

“Thank you, my lord,” said James meekly. “I’ve learned a great deal serving in Averanche. Given this latest conflict, I think it’s wise to return to my father and begin to assume my new duties.”

“Indeed. I agree. I will send my recommendations in a letter to your father as well.”

“I would be honored if you’d do that for me. Thank you, my lord.”

“Very well. You may go.”

James gave Ransom a sidelong look as he left, offering no nod or smile as he did so. He departed the tent. Ransom approached his cousin.

“Sir Jude found your steed on the road,” said Lord Kinghorn. “The Brugians who attacked you were skulking in the woods. They were all caught. Most surrendered, but a few defied and were executed. Lord Rakestraw sent word that it’s over. We’re finished here.”

Ransom was relieved. “I’m glad of it, my lord.”

Lord Kinghorn frowned. “Sir James is returning to Dundrennan. I think you heard that, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Well, you are both knights now and can do as you please. There’s no easy way to say this, lad, but your father, Lord Barton, died in an accident. They were riding hard to join the king’s army, and his horse stumbled. He broke his skull when hitting the ground, died a few hours later. Your older brother is now the lord of the Heath.” He pursed his lips, looking deep into Ransom’s eyes. “I’m sorry, lad. I know you and your father were not close. It grieves me that any son should not reconcile with his father before his demise. May he find rest in the Deep Fathoms.”

The news was unexpected, striking Ransom hard in the ribs. What made it worse was the realization that he’d grieve more for Gemmell and dead King Gervase than he would for his own father, who had never shown him any consideration, let alone love. His stomach clenched, and he struggled to master his emotions. But the events of the past days had hardened him, much like the oaths he had taken. He pressed his lips together tightly, squeezing his hands into fists.

“I think you owe it to your mother and your sister, at least, to return to the Heath and pay your respects.”

The numbness filling Ransom’s chest didn’t subside. “Thank you for telling me, my lord.”

“I wish my bad news did not end here. Best to let it out all at once.”

“There’s more?” Ransom asked in growing concern.

“Ransom, I admire your skill at arms and the leadership you’ve shown. Without your conduct yesterday, we may have been overrun and suffered a dreadful defeat. But you also worry me, lad.” Something in his eyes shifted, and there was that look of fear again. Not fear of Ransom himself, precisely, but fear of what he was capable of.

“I don’t understand.”

“No, of course you do not. I must put it bluntly. Young men react very differently when they are called to lift arms against their enemies. Some become greensick and vomit. Some become fearful and never want to fight again. It is not easy on a man’s soul to take a life. You killed in the king’s name, as you were ordered to do. But I fear you enjoyed it too much. You had no regard for your own safety. You were reckless, Ransom. And what happened to you at the barn is a manifestation of that recklessness. You could have been killed.” He frowned again, shaking his head. “As a result, you lost your horse. Your armor is ruined and can only be fixed at great expense. You don’t have the money to do this. You took no hostages, and therefore will earn no ransoms, even though your nickname should have reminded you to consider it. In short, lad, you are a liability. I took you in because your mother is my kinswoman. I paid for the cost of your armor, your food. The cost to repair your armor, to purchase another horse must come from somewhere. It is not right or proper that I, your liege lord, should incur those expenses again.”

Ransom’s eyes widened with surprise during the speech. He’d set out to earn honors for Lord Kinghorn, to do him proud, but he had shamed his master by putting him in this situation.

“You’re not a boy anymore, Marshall. But a man. You’ve proven it during this campaign. I would be honored to have you in my service someday, for I believe you will learn from this.”

“Some . . . day?” Ransom croaked out.

He’d hoped that day might arrive now.

“Aye. I must start training new knights to ride in service of the king. I’ve lost several men during this action, and some of your fellows will earn positions in my mesnie. I offered one to Sir James, but he was too proud to accept and has decided to take his winnings back to Dundrennan with him. Now that the duke has claimed Dundrennan as his own, they have need of more knights to fortify the North. I could save you from this calamity, Marshall. I could pay for your mistakes out of my own coffers. But in doing so, I would dishonor you and myself. A knight must bring to his lord more than the costs of his employ. If I took you on, it would not be prudent. Yet still, even now, I hesitate. I want to help you. Something in me whispers that I should not. It’s the voice, lad. And I swore an oath to obey it, even when it pains me to do so.”

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