Chapter Ten #3
The Earl of Sidbury had managed to keep silent through the wedding mass, too, but that seemed to be changing.
Though he’d been introduced to St. Denis, he’d hardly had a word for the man.
Even seated next to him throughout the entire meal, he hadn’t spoken.
He’d simply sat and drunk away the excellent wine St. Denis had provided. But now, he had something to say.
“Did you enjoy your meal, my lord?” St. Denis asked with forced politeness. “Is there anything else you require?”
Oscar looked at him with eyes that were hard.
“Nay,” he said. “There is nothing else. But I was addressing your comment. My granddaughter’s husband will not be here at Blackchurch indefinitely.
He is gaining an earldom out of this marriage.
He must learn of this earldom at some point, which means he must come and live in Sidmouth.
That is the only way he will learn what is expected of him. ”
There was something about the man that was icy. “I understand that, and I am certain he does, too,” St. Denis said. “But I do not think he has any plans to leave Blackchurch right away. You look healthy enough. I doubt you will be dying anytime soon.”
Oscar’s left eyebrow lifted, another hint at his displeasure.
“Possibly not,” he said. “Unless your cousin returns to Sidmouth and finishes what he started those months ago. Abelard, is it? He burned half of my town to the ground, you know. Mayhap he intends to return and burn the other half. Pirates are despicable cowards.”
St. Denis could see this conversation wasn’t going to go well in the least. “I would be willing to wager there is far more to that story than simply burning,” he said.
“Abelard does have some scruples, but whatever happened between you and my cousin remains between you and my cousin. I do not want it discussed here, with me, for I have no control over him and, better still, I do not care.”
Oscar smiled thinly. “Triton’s Hellions and Blackchurch are one and the same,” he said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Th-that is most assuredly not true,” St. Sebastian spoke up.
He wasn’t going to let his father be bullied.
“The Blackchurch Guild is not an alliance of pirates, but a training ground for warriors. I thought you would have known that. And if I were you, I would not throw stones at Triton’s Hellions.
I’ve not heard flattering things about the Septum Port Alliance.
From what I’ve been told, it’s a group of men who intimidate those who do not bend to their will, steal from their own ports, and conduct business that the king would not be happy with if he knew the details. Do you deny this?”
Very quickly, Oscar was on the defensive. “Who are you to make such accusations?” he demanded.
“I am Blackchurch,” St. Sebastian said, rage in his tone. “M-my name is St. Sebastian de Bottreaux, and when you attack Blackchurch with baseless allegations, you attack me. I have a right to defend myself.”
St. Denis was trying to calm his son down, but Oscar’s sense of offense was growing.
“Then if you find insult with baseless accusations, you should not be making them yourself,” he said.
“The Septum Port Alliance is beyond contestation. It is a solid alliance of men who protect the ports in Devon and Cornwall, and that includes protecting them from your pirate cousin. The man is a thief and a murderer.”
“A-and I’ve heard the same about you.”
Oscar stood up so fast that his chair toppled.
That had St. Denis standing up, and St. Sebastian next to him.
Because the men were on their feet and furniture was falling over, the noise caught the attention of the trainers, who turned to see what looked to be St. Denis and Oscar facing off against one another.
Sinclair, the master swordsman, leapt over two tables to get in between Oscar and St. Denis, while Creston and Cruz, the other men who were known to be experts with swords, followed him.
It was Creston who put himself in front of St. Denis as Sinclair very nearly shoved Oscar backward.
“Knowing that Lord Exmoor is not a confrontational man by nature, I can only assume that you are, my lord,” Sinclair said in a low voice.
“I’ve been watching you since the wedding and it is clear you are unhappy.
If it is the marriage you are unhappy with, it is done.
But if it is anything else, now is not the time to discuss it, and most certainly not with Lord Exmoor.
With respect, my lord, you are not to disrupt Creston’s wedding day. ”
His voice was like a razor sheathed in velvet. Smooth but sharp. St. Denis knew it was a deadly tone, like a viper before it strikes, so he reached around Creston to grasp Sinclair by the shoulder.
“Ease back, Sin,” he said softly, assuring Creston that it was safe for him to step aside. “Lord Sidbury and Sebo were simply having a lively discussion. Sometimes passions run hot when subjects are close to the heart.”
Oscar was mostly glaring at St. Sebastian, but he was well aware that there were several very large men standing nearby, ready to pounce on him if he made a move against anyone.
Not wanting to end up a cripple, or worse, he backed away, finally turning and storming off toward the rear of the tavern, where his rented room was located.
Quickly, the common room was vacated by all that remained of Ophelia’s family.
Creston was rather sorry. He hadn’t wanted this day to go badly, of course.
He hadn’t wanted the entire situation to go badly, but more than ever, he was starting to see what a bully his wife’s grandfather was.
That was going to make it difficult for him in the long run, since he was to inherit the man’s earldom.
It would have been much easier had they gotten along.
Perhaps that simply wasn’t meant to be.
“You have made a mess of this, Creston.” Royston, who had been seated at the end of the main table, walked up on his brother.
He’d seen everything, from start to finish, and was convinced his brother was to blame.
“What were you thinking? Sending your cohorts to rough up an earl? The very man you are set to inherit from?”
“This situation was not of Creston’s doing,” Cruz growled.
He would not be silent when his friend was being attacked.
“I’ve watched you try to intimidate and berate the man since your arrival at The Black Cock.
Do not deny it, for we all saw it. He has done what you wanted him to do—he married a woman he did not know and did not want.
Her grandfather is a tyrant, or have you not noticed that? ”
Creston tried to pull Cruz away from what could potentially be a fistfight, trying to force him to turn away and cool off, but Cruz wasn’t going to do it. He and Creston were too close for that, and in his mind, the man needed defending from his own brother.
But Royston didn’t see it that way.
“This is none of your concern,” he said hotly. “I do not know who you are and I do not care, but go back to your seat and stay there. This is a conversation between my brother and me.”
Cruz smiled, but it was a deadly smile. Creston had seen that expression before and knew his brother wasn’t long for this earth if he didn’t remove Cruz from the potentially deadly situation immediately.
Putting both hands on the man’s shoulders, he had to struggle to turn him around, straight into Tay and Fox, who pulled Cruz away before any blood was spilled.
Creston watched him go, to ensure that he did go, but before he could return to his brother, Ming Tang took position where Cruz once stood.
“My lord,” he said, addressing Royston politely but firmly, “you must understand that the trainers from Blackchurch are a brotherhood. Like all men who have faced life and death together, or work hard for a common cause, there is very much a bond here that cannot be broken. These men will leap to the defense of each other without question, so do not be offended by it. Your brother is well respected and well loved.”
Royston looked at the man with the dark eyes and slightly accented speech.
He had a calm way about him, which helped defuse the situation a little.
Royston was angry, but he wasn’t a fool.
He wasn’t going to shout at a man who was trying to ease the tension.
But his brother was simply looking at him, displeased, and the rest of the men standing around had the same expression.
There would be no winning this situation.
Frustrated, Royston turned away, marching off in the direction that Oscar had gone. When he disappeared from view, St. Sebastian put his hand on Creston’s shoulder.
“My apologies,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to stir up trouble on your wedding day.”
Creston turned to him. “You did not,” he said. “My brother did when he forced me into this marriage. He thinks I should surrender completely to Sidbury’s manner and demands, but I will not. The man has done terrible things to my wife, and I will not tolerate him.”
St. Denis, standing next to his son, heard him. His brow furrowed with concern. “What has he done to her, Cres?”
Creston grunted in disgust. “Starve her,” he said. “Evidently, the earl feels that a woman should be pale and slender and weak so that it will arouse a man’s natural sense of protection. He wanted to make her appealing to me.”
It wasn’t exactly the truth, but close. It was a broader picture of de Bulverton’s cruelty, and the men who had heard his explanation were clearly revolted.
“Vile,” St. Denis muttered. “Is she well enough? She has suffered no lasting damage?”
Creston looked over to the table where the women were sitting, only they were no longer sitting there. They had heard the commotion and were now standing behind the men. Creston caught sight of Ophelia’s face, seeing the shame and despair that her grandfather had caused a scene.
He felt tremendously sorry for her.
“Probably not,” he said softly. “But I should tend to her. Will you forgive me for retreating with her to my cottage?”
“Of course not,” St. Denis said, waving at the trainers to get out of the way so Creston could get to his wife. “Take her now. She needs a tender hand, lad. Be kind to her.”
The trainers parted, revealing the women, but Athdara saw him coming. She was almost as tall as a man, so she had seen more of what was going on with Oscar and Royston than the other women had. When Creston came near, she put up a hand.
“Creston, wait,” she said. “The other ladies and I were going to prepare your cottage for you. We thought you would be feasting all day and we would have more time. Will you at least give us an hour? We want to make your place lovely for your new bride.”
Creston smiled at the women he’d genuinely come to like—Athdara was strong and noble, Gisele was cultured and kind, Elisiana was fiery and fun, and Astria was gracious and generous.
They were all gathered around Ophelia in what Creston thought was a rather protective way.
He felt it was very sweet of them. He looked to Ophelia to answer their question.
“My lady?” he said gently. “An hour?”
Before Ophelia could answer, Gisele slid her arm through Ophelia’s. “She’s coming with us,” she said. “We will help her prepare for you. You stay here with the men, Creston. We won’t be long.”
Ophelia didn’t even get a chance to answer. She was pulled along by Gisele and Elisiana, the women closing ranks around her and shuffling her out the door, leaving Creston standing there, scratching his head.
“What just happened?” he demanded to anyone who could answer.
Tay snorted, putting his hands on Creston’s shoulders and turning him for the table. “My wife happened,” he said. “She is the daughter of a duke and the sister of a duke. She is demanding and bold and knows how to get things done. Sit down, Cres. We have an hour before your wife is ready for you.”
Creston let Tay push him down onto a bench while Cruz, now sufficiently calm, poured him a drink. Even though it was midmorning by this point, they all settled down with more wine to wait out the hour while the women prepared the cottage of the new Lord and Lady de Royans.
Perhaps the wedding day wasn’t ruined after all.
Creston could only hope.