Chapter Six #3
That wasn’t what Ophelia had expected, but the end was just the same. A servant came over and Creston ordered a meal for them both, a grand meal, as he told the wench, and she went scurrying off to the kitchens. When the woman left, Creston looked at Ophelia.
“I should have asked you if you were hungry,” he said, genuinely contrite. “I hope you are not too uncomfortable.”
“Nay,” she said. “I will eat if you wish to eat. But you needn’t go out of your way just to accommodate me.”
“It is not going out of my way to offer a lady a meal,” he said. “It is my pleasure to do so.”
Ophelia wasn’t used to someone being so nice to her. In fact, everything Greenie had said about Creston de Royans was, so far, coming true right before her eyes. He was kind. He was considerate. He didn’t even know her, yet he was concerned for her.
God… was there really a world where such men existed?
“Did you order food?”
The earl was suddenly standing next to their table, asking the question, and Creston stood up to face him.
“I did, my lord,” he said. “I was very rude and neglected to offer the lady a meal after her long journey. Forgive me for my oversight.”
De Bulverton frowned. “She does not need to eat,” he said. “If there is no further conversation between you two, I will send her to rest. You and I have much to discuss, de Royans.”
It was a rather rude demand when Creston was only being kind. Furthermore, it was clear that Creston wasn’t pleased by the man’s response. “We may have our discussion after the lady and I finish our meal,” he said steadily. “There is no hurry.”
De Bulverton did what he probably shouldn’t have done.
With Creston unwilling to bend to his will, he went to Ophelia and very nearly yanked her out of her chair.
“She does not need to eat,” he repeated, looking at her when he spoke.
“Return to your chamber, Ophelia. I will send for you when I want you.”
“Hold,” Creston said in a deep, deadly tone. “Remove your hand from her arm.”
De Bulverton looked at him, startled, and removed his hand simply because the tone coming from Creston was a command. He knew a command when he heard one. But he didn’t like being questioned, and that had his dander up.
“I may do as I please with my granddaughter, Sir Creston,” he said. “She will return to her chamber now. You’ve spoken with her enough.”
There was tension in the air now, prickly and uncomfortable.
Creston was coming not to like de Bulverton because of the man’s bullying attitude and, even if he was an earl, Creston was not afraid of him.
Not even slightly. He held the size and weight advantage by a mile. In response, he lifted an eyebrow.
“Has the betrothal contract that was offered been signed?” he asked.
De Bulverton was trying to figure out why Creston asked the question. “Why?” he said. “If it is not, do you think to break it?”
“Answer my question, my lord.”
“I will not.”
“It is valid,” Royston said. He didn’t like what he was seeing between his brother and de Bulverton and hoped to stave off any confrontation. “When Lord Sidbury made the offer, it came signed. That is legally binding. You cannot break the betrothal, Creston.”
There wasn’t much room to move, so Creston shifted the table back.
It was a very heavy piece of furniture, but he moved it like it meant nothing.
That cleared a path between him and Ophelia, who was watching the situation with concern.
He reached out and took her gently by the arm, pulling her to sit down in the chair her grandfather had yanked her out of.
“I do not intend to break anything,” he said, effectively putting himself between Ophelia and her grandfather.
“If the offer is signed, and I have accepted, then by law and by God, she is already my wife. She belongs to me. And you will never again touch my wife in the manner I just saw. Is that clear?”
De Bulverton had to step back because Creston was close enough to throw a punch if provoked. Still, he looked at Creston in outrage. “How dare you speak to me that way,” he said. “She is not your wife until I say she is.”
Creston didn’t back down. “Then we will be married immediately,” he said, looking at his brother.
“Send word to the Church of St. Andrew. It is at the end of the village. Tell the priest that he is to perform a wedding mass at dawn. I will marry the lady and we will answer this question once and for all. If you refuse, Lord Sidbury, then I will take this to the local magistrate and you will lose.”
De Bulverton was furious. He looked at Ophelia, who was gazing back at him with some fear, before returning his attention to Creston.
The knight was pompous and rude, and as Oscar looked at the man, he began to think of the absolutely delicious secret his granddaughter was hiding.
So de Royans wanted to marry her immediately, did he?
All the better for Oscar if he did. The arrogant arse deserved everything he was going to get.
It was all Oscar could do not to smile at the thought.
“If that is what you want, then you shall have it,” he said. “You’ll have everything in life that is coming for you, de Royans. Mark my words.”
With that, he turned and headed toward the kitchens, shouting for Hobbes and demanding to be shown his chamber.
His daughter, who had been lingering at the rear of the common room, watching the entire situation unfold, went running after him.
That left Ophelia sitting at the table, feeling sick at her grandfather’s behavior.
She was horribly ashamed.
“I am sorry,” Creston said softly, interrupting her thoughts. “I did not mean to create a scene, but I cannot tolerate a tyrant. I did not like the way he grabbed you.”
Ophelia was trying hard not to weep. “It is… his way.”
“I suspect this is not the first time he has done this to you.”
She shook her head, hanging it. “Nay,” she whispered.
Creston watched her lowered head for a moment.
“No more,” he told her. “That will happen no more. Tomorrow, we wed, and he’ll never touch you again.
Now, I want you to retreat to your chamber and remain there tonight.
I will make sure arrangements are made for a wedding mass at dawn.
And I will have the meal sent to your chamber, so you can eat and rest. We will speak more tomorrow. ”
With that, he extended a hand to her. Ophelia had no idea what he wanted until she realized he wanted her hand.
She was so used to being grabbed or forcibly escorted that it was a completely foreign concept to her that a man should be so considerate.
Timidly, she put her hand in his enormous one and he gently pulled her to stand.
For a moment, they simply gazed into one another’s eyes—his were warm; hers were anxious.
He smiled gently.
“Go, now,” he told her quietly. “I will see you on the morrow.”
Ophelia simply nodded and headed off toward her small, rented chamber.
She didn’t dare look at anyone around her, afraid that everyone had seen the confrontation.
She was unsettled enough as it was. But she did dare to look back over her shoulder, just once, to see Creston in conversation with his brother, who didn’t seem too pleased.
Upsetting the bride’s grandfather was never cause for celebration.
Bride.
As Ophelia made her way to her chamber, disappearing inside and bolting the door, she knew one thing for certain.
Nothing in her life had ever been so clear.
Creston de Royans thought he was marrying a pure, innocent woman who was being bullied by her grandfather, but that wasn’t the case.
He was marrying an impure, pregnant woman, and if he did, her grandfather would have victory over Creston.
The insulting scene out in the common room would be avenged.
By Oscar.
But Ophelia couldn’t allow that to happen.
She was going to have to save Creston de Royans.