Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,9

of that. You heard what he said in the hall. What he gives, he can take away. And he’s done so, just to prove that he can. There’s a cost in serving him. But I have to say this . . . I’m glad you’re on the council now. He needs you more than you know.” Then he smiled again. “So . . . you cannot have Claire, but she’s not the only heiress who’s available. Are you ready to learn about your future wife?”

A pit of dread formed in Ransom’s stomach.

For the last two years, it has often felt like nothing would ever change. And then change comes so rapidly and quickly I cannot make sense of it. Sir Dalian brought news that Ransom returned today to Kingfountain and has been named part of the king’s council. At first I thought either my ears weren’t working or he was babbling like an eejit, but it’s true. He has returned from his pilgrimage at last. King Devon snatched him up like a river trout before any of the other Fisher Kings could ply their lures at him.

He’s the youngest member of the council, which is good for the king. He needs to hear different points of view, not just the opinions of his favorites. Sir Dalian said Ransom’s been given the castle at Josselin, which is quite a gift. I’ve been there once. It’s a solid piece, built during the older wars of conquest back when Ceredigion was first established.

I am so happy today to hear this news, especially since most of what we hear is grim these days. The conflict between the king and Benedict grows more fraught day by day. I’ve needed some good news.

I hope someday soon my path will cross with Ransom’s again. I’d like that very much. Sometimes I take out that bracelet I found by the cistern. Touching it makes me feel closer to him. I’ve been keeping it in a safe place, but perhaps I’ll start wearing it now and then.

—Claire de Murrow

(giddy with news at long last)

CHAPTER TWO

Broken Promises

Simon, who’d always had an observant eye, noticed the look on Ransom’s face. He patted him on the shoulder, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“Let’s go to the Hall of Records,” he suggested. “Come on. You’re not being dragged to a noose on the gallows, man. Not this time. Buck up.”

The Hall of Records was beneath the main floor of the palace and smelled musty with books, scrolls, and dust. It was a cavern of shelves full of documents: writs signed, taxes due, and orders from the prolific king. It was buzzing with people coming in and out, some bringing documents that needed copying, others requesting information from previous decisions. The man at the desk had what looked like a perpetually pained look on his face as he gave orders to his underlings.

“That is Master Hawkes,” Simon said, pointing at him. “The master of the rolls. He organizes all this mess. Pedigrees, histories, and anything the king needs in order to make a decision. Ah, he sees us.”

The older man waved them forward, motioning for his underlings to back away from the desk.

“Who is with you, Sir Simon? I don’t recognize him.”

“Sir Ransom Barton,” said Simon.

The man’s furrowed brow relaxed somewhat. “I know that name. You’re the lad King Gervase saved from execution all those years ago. I’ve read something about it. You are not a child any longer it appears.”

“I should hope not,” Ransom said, smiling at the man.

“He’s been named to the king’s council,” said Simon.

“Has he indeed? Well, that is quite an honor. Or punishment, depending on how you view matters. Has the king granted him lands?”

“I think Josselin would suit him,” said Simon. “And he’s to start his own mesnie and take on one of the king’s wards.”

Master Hawkes rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. “Josselin . . . Josselin . . . the steward’s name is Westin, I believe. The castellan is an aging knight who has been asking to retire for several years, but the king hasn’t allowed it. He’s done well enough, although I’m sure he’ll be relieved to hear the news. What wards?”

“He asked me to choose them,” said Simon. “I was thinking John Dearley.”

“Ah, John Dearley, son of the late Malcolm Dearley of Coomb Manor. I believe the lad is sixteen and waiting impatiently to inherit his lands when he comes of age. A good choice. Shall I have him sent to Josselin castle? Along with a writ