“Well, have a pleasant evening, then,” Claire said, tugging Ransom with her toward the pavilion’s entrance.
“How can it be pleasant without your company?” James said. His eyes launched daggers at Ransom.
Claire ignored the comment and pushed aside the curtain of the pavilion, muttering under her breath, “I’m sure you’ll buy something that pleases you.”
As they entered, there was no opportunity to continue their conversation, for there was already one happening inside. Ransom recognized Lord Archer. Memory had enshrined him as an impressively huge man, but Ransom found himself nearly meeting his eyes. He was speaking with Lord Rakestraw, the constable of Westmarch, whom Ransom had last seen two years prior. The constable still ruled the duchy for King Devon, who had not bestowed his dukedom on anyone, instead preserving the power and authority for himself.
The interior of the pavilion was spacious, with a central main tent, where the two lords were speaking, as well as two cordoned-off sections boasting stuffed pallets and fur blankets. Chests had been arranged in orderly rows in each of these areas, and the duke’s armor and sword gleamed from an armor rack on one side. Ransom also noticed some portable camp tables, one of which boasted a small coffer full of silver livres.
Both men turned their attention to the entrance as Claire and Ransom entered together. The duke’s eyes looked at Claire with something akin to disappointment, and then he noticed her hand on Ransom’s arm. His nostrils flared.
She released Ransom and glided forward before dropping a curtsy in front of Lord Rakestraw and her father. “Greetings, my lords! Lord Dyron—I have not seen you in several years. Allow me to introduce you to—”
“I know the lad already,” Rakestraw said. He appraised Ransom with a friendly eye and a genuine smile. “Barton’s second son. We met during the Brugian affair, lass. Attacked a company of knights on his own while rallying the men of Averanche. Brave and bold. I’ve never forgotten it.”
Duke Archer looked quizzically at Ransom. “He was friends with my daughter at the palace while they were both hostages to Gervase.”
“Da,” said Claire reprovingly. “That’s hardly the appropriate word. Neither of us were in any danger.”
“That’s not how I remember it, lass, may the Fountain bless his rest,” Rakestraw said. He grunted. “But some of the lords didn’t look on the boy fondly after the trouble with Brugia. I should ask what brings you to Chessy, lad, but that is self-evident. I don’t see you wearing a badge?”
“I’ve been riding in the tournament circle, my lord,” Ransom said. “Since I left Lord Kinghorn’s service.”
“A good way to keep your skills honed. Which should benefit you in the tournament. Have you captured anyone of note, young man?”
“I ransomed Lord Montignac, my lord.”
“That was you?” Rakestraw said with a burst of laughter. “I’d heard he’d been taken. He’s one of Prince Estian’s best knights. How’d you accomplish that?”
“Is now the time for stories, Dyron?” Lord Archer said, frowning with impatience.
Claire shot a look at her father. “I should like to hear it as well.”
Ransom felt the tension coming from Claire’s father and decided it would be wise to make the tale as short as possible. “I snatched the reins of his destrier, my lord.”
Lord Rakestraw’s eyebrows lowered, and he looked at the duke quizzically. “While he was on the horse?”
“Well . . . yes.”
The duke’s look softened. “That’s not an easy feat, lad.”
Ransom sighed. “I knew he had a horse with armor, a destrier that had a strong reputation. It was part of a war games tournament, and I volunteered for the opposing side. I kept my eyes on him during the fighting, saw the opportunity, and rode in while he was preoccupied. After I took the reins, I led his horse away from the battle. If he’d tried to jump, he would have likely injured himself, so he offered me a ransom. I got the horse I wanted and its armor to boot. That’s the story. I won’t embellish it.”
Rakestraw burst out laughing. “And by the Fountain, he’s an honorable man and upheld his end of the bargain. The Black Prince wouldn’t have allowed him to forsake his oath. Bless you, lad, that was clever. War is trickery and deceit. Ambush and evasion. Always keep your enemy off balance.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t get stabbed by the knight’s lance,” Lord Archer said gruffly.