Chapter Six #2
Perhaps he needed to try another tactic.
“I do not lead an exciting life,” he told her. “But I lead a fulfilling one. Has no one told you what the Blackchurch Guild is?”
She lifted her slender shoulders. “I was told that you train warriors,” she said. “But I do not know more than that.”
The serving wench brought a pitcher of wine and two cups. She set them on the table and Creston poured a cup for Ophelia first and then one for himself. As he took a sip, she took her cup and gulped it down. He was coming to think he might have upset her with his pressing questions.
“It is a training guild for the most elite warriors in the world,” he told her, his voice a little softer, a little kinder. “It has been for well over one hundred years. It is owned and operated by the Earls of Exmoor.”
“And that’s whom you serve?”
“Aye,” he said. “I have been a trainer for close to fifteen years. There are ten of us, all highly skilled knights ourselves. We each teach a different aspect of warfare, something we are particularly knowledgeable about.”
“What is it you teach?”
He sat back, cup in hand. “Interrogation tactics,” he said. “Treatment of an enemy, spying, covert operations. I also teach a man how to deal with torture and survive it.”
For the first time since their meeting, she seemed to show some interest in what he was saying. “That sounds terribly difficult,” she said. “Where did you learn such things?”
He smiled faintly. “I trained with the master knights of Kenilworth Castle,” he said.
“I also trained at Dover Castle and in France at Chateau de Beynac. I’ve also traveled to many place and have learned many things from warriors of specific regions.
My background is solid and varied, enough so that after my education, I returned to England and became a royal knight. ”
“Oh?” she said, showing more interest. “Did you serve the king?”
“I did.”
“Directly?”
“I was answerable only to him.”
He thought he saw a hint of a smile. “He is very young,” she said. “I’ve often wondered what Henry is like. He was so young when he took the throne, but he must be a young man now.”
“I served his father, John.”
Any shadow of a smile was now gone from her face. “I see,” she said. “And… and you enjoyed serving him?”
“I did.”
“It must have been dangerous.”
“It was.”
She simply nodded, but he could see that she wanted to say more. Perhaps she was determining just what to say given the fact that John was widely hated, still, and he hadn’t exactly elaborated on his answers. She surely must have noticed that.
He was expecting the conversation to become difficult now.
John had ruined another relationship for him, too.
“Forgive me,” she finally said. “I do not mean to pry, but you do not look old enough to have served John.”
That wasn’t what he’d expected. No condemnation? No criticism? Her comment made him smile.
It was also a relief.
“How old do you think I am?” he asked.
She flushed, fighting off a smile because he was grinning. “Truthfully, I do not know,” she said. “I just meant that you seem ageless.”
He chuckled. “That is a kind thing to say,” he said. “But I will tell you that I am, indeed, old enough to have served John. I came into his service when I was twenty years old and remained with him for about five years. I left his service before he died, about fourteen years ago.”
He could see the thoughts flickering behind those golden eyes. “If you came into his service at twenty years, and remained for five years before leaving fourteen years ago, then you must have come into his service in the Year of Our Lord 1205.”
His expression turned appreciative. “You can do sums in your head.”
She nodded, modest. “I have always been able to.”
“Then given the years and time spans I have given you, how old am I?”
“Thirty years and nine.”
He pounded the table softly. “Well done, my lady,” he said. “You are very bright.”
She grinned, displaying enormous dimples in both cheeks that he found absolutely enchanting. “As I told you,” she said, “I am quite educated. I can read and write, also.”
“Good,” he said. “If you can read, then I shall have you read to me. I’ve always loved listening to a beautiful woman with a beautiful voice read aloud.”
Her smile faded and she looked at him with a rather shocked expression. “B-beautiful?”
He could see that the gentle compliment had disarmed her. “You are quite beautiful,” he said. “I hope that I am not too difficult on your eyes, either.”
Ophelia shook her head before she could stop herself. “Not at all,” she said. “You are… you are… acceptable.”
He snorted. “Acceptable, am I?” he said. “Well, mayhap someday you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me that I am the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.”
“Would that please you?”
“Only if it were the truth.”
Ophelia wasn’t sure what to say to that.
The man had completely disarmed her. Truthfully, this conversation had been most enlightening and nothing she had expected.
In fact, Creston de Royans was nothing she had expected.
He was indeed the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with wonderfully big muscles and blond hair that hung over those high cheekbones in a most glorious way.
When she’d first seen him, she’d had to do a double take because she could hardly believe that he was the man meant to be her husband.
Her! Somehow, it made the whole situation worse and worse still as she came to know him a little.
He was humorous and honest, and she liked that.
The man wasn’t afraid to talk. It would have been so much easier to go along with her grandfather’s scheme if her husband had been a nasty-looking troll who was easy to hate.
But Creston…
Already, she could see that he deserved better.
Greenie had been right.
“I would not say it if it were not the truth,” she said after a moment. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course,” he said before sipping at the wine in his cup. “You need not ask permission for a question. It does not annoy me if you are curious.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “It annoys my grandfather,” she said. “It is a habit to ask permission.”
“Not with me,” he said. “What is your question?”
“I was wondering when they expect this marriage to take place,” she said. “Do you know?”
He shook his head. “I do not,” he said. “But I suspect my brother and your grandfather are plotting that as we speak. Given the circumstances, I cannot imagine they would wait longer than necessary to see us married. Less chance of one of us running off to Araby and training horses for the rest of our life.”
He was smiling as he said it, like it was a joke, but she wasn’t so sure there was humor in this situation. Still, she didn’t want to appear contrary.
“Is that where you were planning to go to escape this marriage?” she asked, lifting her cup to her lips. “You should have left sooner.”
He laughed softly. “I considered it,” he said. “But I had a class to instruct.”
“Are men easier to train than horses, I wonder?”
“Probably not,” he said. “I’ve trained both, and men are not easier.”
“Have you been to Araby, then?”
He poured her more wine in her half-empty cup. “I’ve not had the pleasure,” he said. “Why? Do you want to go there?”
She took a sip. “I’ve never left England,” she said.
“My grandfather’s home overlooks the sea and the sand of Sidmouth and I see the ships come in.
They linger in the cove, bobbing gently upon the undulating waters, and I wonder where they have been.
Sometimes I imagine they have come from faraway lands that have streets made of marble and buildings made of gold.
I heard that about Rome, once. That the streets were made of marble. It almost sounds like heaven.”
He was watching her as she spoke, her eyes taking a far-off glow as she thought of golden buildings and stone streets. Most people he knew were older and had been to the places they wished to visit, with very little room left for dreaming. He admired someone who had that quality—
To dream.
He’d lost that ability long ago.
“I have been to Rome,” he said. “It is magnificent.”
Her features showed the first real excitement he’d seen from her. “Truly?” she said. “You have been so fortunate?”
He nodded. “I have,” he said. “It is a very ancient city, more ancient than London. There is a big, circular building in the middle of it that has no roof. They used to have ancient events there.”
She was quickly becoming entranced with his tale. “Was the floor of it marble?”
“Nay,” he said, smiling at her. “It was dirt. It is crumbling, too. A tribute to the ancient gods who used to watch their ancient games, I suppose.”
“But how did you get there?”
“When I was in France,” he said. “The lord I was serving had a brother or cousin in the Kingdom of Italy, so we traveled there because he was having trouble with a neighbor. The nights were warm, the days were warmer, and I have never eaten so much good food in my life. I enjoyed it.”
As he spoke, Ophelia nearly drained half of her cup, bewitched by his tale. “What did you eat?”
He thought on it. “Pork pies,” he said. “Sausages, veal tarts and the like. And they love eggs. Everything has eggs in it.”
“I love eggs, too,” she said, feeling her stomach rumble.
Even though Greenie had given her food, she was still quite hungry.
She thought of a way to get around her grandfather’s no-food policy.
“And speaking of food, may I buy you a meal? I have a little money. It would be polite for me to offer to feed you.”
Ophelia was quite pleased with herself. How could her grandfather refuse to let her eat if she was providing food for her betrothed? He would look like an inhospitable cad if he voiced any opposition. But Creston immediately called to the nearest servant.
“Forgive me,” he said to Ophelia as he waved the wench over to their table. “I should have offered you a meal the moment we sat down. That was very impolite of me.”