Chapter One
The Blackchurch Guild
Devon
Two Months Later
“I have not seen you in three years and you come to tell me that I am to marry?”
The words of incredulity came from a man who normally didn’t give credence to that kind of emotion.
He was a Blackchurch trainer, one of the toughest, most experienced men on earth, and emotions didn’t play into the demeanor that his elite status dictated.
He was usually calm in all situations, calmer still in the face of danger, because that was what it took to be a Blackchurch trainer, to teach the most qualified and experienced warriors in the world.
Blackchurch trainers didn’t break.
They didn’t react.
But he was sure reacting now.
“Creston, listen to me,” Royston de Royans said to his younger brother. “Do you not understand, lad? This is a great position for you, not to mention the fact that you would outrank me. I am only a warlord, a mere baron, but you… you would be an earl. An earl!”
Sir Creston de Royans was listening to his brother with his mouth hanging open. He was simply having difficulty fathoming what he was hearing. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of it.
“You have come all the way from Yorkshire to tell me that I have a bride,” he said, repeating what his brother had just told him so they were both clear on what had been said.
“She is the heiress to the Earldom of Sidbury and that includes a hereditary position in the Septem Ports Alliance, a collection of lords whose properties include ports all along the coasts of Devon and Cornwall.”
“Aye, that is what it includes.”
Creston closed his gaping mouth and shook his head in disbelief. “Kent and Sussex have the Cinque ports and those are trouble enough,” he said, waving a hand around in agitation. “The Septem ports are even worse—they are riddled with pirates and the battles there are frequent and brutal.”
“I am aware.”
“How can you be aware?” Creston demanded. “You sit at Tottingham Castle up in the north and have nothing to do with the ports. How are you aware of what trouble they are?”
“Because Lord Sidbury explained everything to me,” Royston said evenly. “I’ve just come from his home, Creston. He told me all about the Septem ports and their battles against the pirates. That is why he needs someone strong to command the earldom when he passes on.”
Creston threw up his hands. “Of all the ridiculous nonsense,” he said, turning his back on his brother as he began to pace. “Royston, you do realize that I am a Blackchurch trainer.”
“Of course I do.”
“And you further realize that Blackchurch is related—by blood—to Triton’s Hellions, the most fearsome band of pirates in Devon?” Creston stopped pacing and glared at him. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
Royston nodded. “I am aware.”
Creston rolled his eyes. “Clearly, you do not, or you would not be asking this of me,” he said.
“St. Denis de Bottreaux, the Earl of Exmoor and the Lord of Blackchurch, is a cousin to Abelard de Bottreaux, leader of Triton’s Hellions.
They are close. Abelard is at Blackchurch frequently.
We all know the man and share a relationship with him to varying degrees. ”
“And?”
Creston’s eyes widened with disbelief. “And what am I supposed to do when Triton’s Hellions come to the port at Sidmouth and want to weigh anchor?
” he said. “Bulverton probably has a thousand archers aimed at the shoreline to repel any such thing, and if I marry that man’s granddaughter, I cannot supersede any of his commands.
If he says launch against Triton’s Hellions, he will launch, and if I am part of his family, I will be expected to repel them also. ”
Royston sighed heavily. “You are making too much of this,” he said.
“No one ever said you must go into service for Bulverton. You are simply marrying his granddaughter and will someday inherit the earldom from him. At that point, what you decide to do if Triton’s Hellions come knocking at your door is your business. ”
That wasn’t the answer Creston was looking for. He shook his head and turned away.
“You are trying to put me in an extremely difficult situation,” he said. “Moreover, what right do you have to do this? You are my brother, not my father, and I am a grown man. I’ve not spoken to you for years, Royston. You like to forget you have a brother at Blackchurch.”
Tempers were cooling because, at that point, they both turned and walked away from one another.
Just like they had when they were children.
The dynamic between them had been both brotherly and combative. Royston was the eldest by fourteen months, but Creston was the shining star. The warrior, the assassin, the brilliant one. Purely by birth order in the family, however, he was forced to follow when he was a natural leader.
That had never sat well with him.
At the moment, the brothers were in Creston’s cottage on the outskirts of the small village within the perimeter walls of Blackchurch, at noon on a bright day.
The village was mostly empty at this time of day except for a few wives of the trainers and their children, and those children were usually out in the village square, playing or eating or getting some much-needed sunshine as the mothers went about their chores.
But in Creston’s sparsely furnished dwelling, there were no children or wives.
Only two men shouting at one another, muffled by the stone walls.
Royston wiped his hands wearily over his face and found the nearest chair, sitting heavily as his brother began to lob personal insults.
“That’s not fair,” he finally said, his tone quiet. “You are my only brother. Of course I do not forget that I have one. If I had forgotten, I would not be here. This is a good opportunity for you, Creston. Can you not see that?”
Creston sighed heavily and found another chair to sit on.
He was twice the size his brother was, a muscular man with enormous arms and shoulders from the constant training he was involved in, days and days of swinging swords, or other physical activities, that had given him great strength and stamina.
As he sat, the chair creaked under his weight and he half expected it to break.
That would have been in line with the luck he’d had this morning.
Sprawling on the floor like an idiot would not help his cause.
“I do see that it is a good opportunity,” he admitted. “And I am grateful that you are looking out for my interests. But my life is here, at Blackchurch. I have a life here, and a good one. Did you ever stop to think of that?”
Royston looked at him. “Nay,” he said frankly. “What man does not want to be an earl?”
“Me!” Creston insisted. “I do not want to be an earl!”
Royston shook his head. “So you want to be a trainer for the rest of your life?” he said.
“Training other men to go on and do great things? What about you doing great things, Creston? Coming here to Blackchurch broke Papa’s heart, you know.
He expected you to be the greatest knight England had ever seen, but instead…
instead, you came here and wasted your talent. Papa never got over it.”
The old family hurt was surfacing. Creston had wondered how long it would take Royston to bring that up.
Early in his career, Creston had served the Crown with distinction.
He’d served King John and he’d been proud of it, no matter how badly the king had been viewed by many.
He was still the king and Creston had done what he felt was his duty.
John had even noticed the serious young knight built like a bull and beg to use him for more dangerous work.
Even if it hadn’t exactly been noble.
Creston began to understand that after a while, but he still completed his orders as assigned. He never questioned, never complained. He was a knight serving the king and he simply did as he was told. But the results of that loyalty put him in a situation where he was denied what he wanted most.
His loyalty to the Crown had cost him everything.
That was when his service to the king came to a halt.
Racked with grief, Creston had walked away.
Weeks of hiding out from John’s soldiers, who were looking for him, had led him to a seedy tavern near the Thames called The Pox.
He’d been drinking himself into oblivion when he met St. Gerard de Bottreaux, the heir to the Blackchurch empire.
St. Gerard had been passing through London and the meeting with Creston had been purely by coincidence, but a good coincidence when Creston saved St. Gerard’s life from a drunkard with a big knife.
One thing had led to another and, in gratitude, St. Gerard offered Creston a position at Blackchurch.
It was the best decision Creston had ever made, even if his father hadn’t thought so.
But that didn’t matter now.
“I’m not going to have that discussion with you,” Creston said after a moment. “Blackchurch has been lucrative. It has been rewarding.”
“You are nothing more than a tutor of men.”
“It was my salvation.”
They stared at each other, having quickly reached an impasse in their conversation. However, Royston wasn’t finished. He well remembered his stubborn little brother and knew that all of the arguing in the world wouldn’t sway him.
He had to go to a higher power.
“I’ll see what St. Denis thinks about this offer,” he said. “He’s your liege, is he not? If he thinks this is a good idea, you’ll have to obey him.”
Creston frowned. “Leave him out of this.”
Royston shook his head. “I won’t,” he said.
“Creston, you do not seem to understand. I am the head of the family. That means you must obey me. Any court in the land will side with me if you refuse to obey my wishes. Worst still, if your beloved liege knows about it and you refuse him, too, then I suspect you will no longer be a Blackchurch trainer. Men like you do not disobey orders from St. Denis de Bottreaux and still remain in your position.”
By the time he was finished, Creston’s fair face was red with rage. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you are being ridiculous when I am trying to do something good for you.”
Creston wanted to throttle the man. He really did.
But he also knew that he had no leverage in the situation because everything Royston said was correct—he was at his brother’s mercy, with Royston as the head of the family.
He was a subject of St. Denis de Bottreaux and if the man thought he should marry and become an earl, then there would be no argument. He would do as he was told.
As upsetting as that was.
“When is this all supposed to happen?” he muttered angrily. “The marriage, I mean. Have you planned my life out to the very last minute?”
Royston held his ground at his brother’s baiting. “She is already on her way here,” he said. “She should arrive very soon. The marriage will take place as soon as she arrives.”
Creston was about to explode. He rolled his eyes and hung his head, staring at the ground as clenched fists rested on his slender hips. He was trying to decide if he should kill his brother where he stood, but wisely decided against it. It wouldn’t solve anything.
His betrothed was still coming.
“I have a class to instruct,” he finally said, pushing past his brother.
Royston watched him go. “I will be at The Black Cock Inn,” he called after him. “Come and see me tonight and we shall finalize the details. If you do not come, I shall go straight to St. Denis!”
Creston paused at the door, gearing up for a sharp retort, but he thought better of it. More insults wouldn’t force Royston to change his mind. Therefore, without a word, he simply yanked open the door and stepped through.
Royston followed his brother’s path to the doorway, watching the man storm off across the quiet compound.
He knew his brother was angry, but he also knew, as Creston knew, that he had no choice.
Creston would marry de Bulverton’s granddaughter and that would be the end of it.
Considering the woman was already on her way to Blackchurch, Royston needed his brother’s agreement sooner rather than later.
Or things might become a little… difficult.