Chapter Eighteen #3
She was curious. “Oh?” she said. “What is it?”
Creston took a deep breath, thinking of where to start. There was so much to tell her, and since the situation implicated her grandfather, he wanted to be gentle about it. The last thing he wanted was to upset her in her condition, but if she became upset, that couldn’t be helped.
She had to know.
“First, I must ask you a question,” he said after a moment. “Before your betrothal with Cecil fell apart, had you been in much contact with your grandfather?”
Ophelia shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “There was never any reason to. We did visit him on occasion when I was small, but not too often.”
“Then you do not know that some pirates burned his town a short time ago?”
She had to think on that. “I think I remember hearing of it,” she said. Then she nodded firmly. “Aye, I did. I was down on the waterfront and there were several businesses being rebuilt. Someone told me there was a fire, but I did not know that it was because of pirates.”
Creston nodded. “Evidently, it was,” he said. “Lia, I am going to present this situation to you as it was presented to me, because we do not know anything for certain, but we are fairly convinced in our conclusions. Convinced enough that we must act.”
“Act? On what?”
He squeezed her hand gently. “Brenton and Myles were in London last week,” he said.
“They were in a tavern when they came across a man bearing a missive from Louis of France. The missive, which is in the possession of St. Denis now, contained a message from Louis to St. Denis thanking him for supplying France with men and money for their conquest of Gascony. Do you know anything about the fight for Gascony?”
Ophelia’s brow furrowed. “I think I heard something about it,” she said. “Cecil spoke of it, once. Louis and Hugh de Lusignan invaded Gascony, and Henry had to send men to fight them.”
“That is correct,” Creston said. “Only Gascony fell to Louis. Henry lost it.”
She was listening carefully. “And St. Denis helped Louis retake Gascony?”
Creston shook his head. “That’s just it,” he said.
“He did not. You see, Blackchurch is simply a training ground. We do not take sides. We are not political. We do not align ourselves with any cause, so the fact that there is a missive thanking St. Denis for doing just that very thing, an act against King Henry of England, makes it an extremely dangerous situation for Blackchurch. If Henry were to find out about this missive, he would lay siege to Blackchurch and probably destroy us. It would mean the end of Blackchurch as we know it.”
“God’s Bones,” she muttered, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “What a terrible thing.”
“It is.”
“But if the missive is not true, why would Louis say such a thing?”
Creston sighed faintly. “Because it is a forgery,” he said. “Someone is trying to destroy Blackchurch with a forged French dispatch for Henry to see.”
“But who would do this?”
He hesitated, but just for a moment. “The messenger that Brenton and Myles encountered was from Axen Castle,” he said. “The missive came from the Earl of Sidbury.”
Ophelia’s eyes flew open wide and her jaw dropped. “My grandfather?” she gasped. “Are you certain?”
“As certain as we can be.”
“But… but I do not understand why he would do this! And you are sure?”
Creston was still holding her hand as she grew agitated. “Aye,” he said. “We are sure that it came from him.”
Ophelia was dumbfounded. Even as the information slapped her in the face, she was stunned. Nothing he said made any sense to her, but as she sat there and processed the news, she came to the very quick conclusion that she believed him implicitly.
She knew what her grandfather was capable of.
“Dear God,” she finally breathed. “But why? Why should he want to do such a thing?”
“In revenge for the pirates that burned Sidmouth,” Creston said.
“The pirates in question are Triton’s Hellions, and their leader is a close cousin of St. Denis.
We believe your grandfather is trying to exact revenge on those pirates by destroying Blackchurch, but it could be more than that.
He wasn’t exactly friendly when he was here for our wedding, and I know that he and St. Denis had words, so he could be trying to gain revenge on the lot of us. We just don’t know.”
Ophelia stared at him, her expression full of distress. “Oh, Creston,” she murmured. “I do not even know what to say.”
“Do you think he’s capable of it?”
“Without question,” she said with no hesitation.
“He is undoubtedly capable of it. He is a vindictive, ambitious man. My mother has made mention of how he’s treated enemies in the past. She hasn’t told me the details, but she has intimated that he has ruined or eliminated more than one adversary.
He does not like to be contested or shamed.
I am certain that if I were not his only grandchild, he would have had a horrible fate for me because I shamed him.
But because I am his only descendant, he instead made an advantageous marriage that would benefit him. ”
“And tried to fool me by promising me a woman who was already pregnant,” Creston said. “He still thinks he has fooled me.”
“I am certain that he does.”
“The next time I see him, I intend to remedy that.”
“I hope you do.”
Creston fell silent. Truthfully, she was taking the news much better than he’d thought she would. No screaming or crying or fainting. Quite honestly, her shock had given way to a kind of steely resolve that he was surprised to see.
This was no weak woman he’d married.
He should have given her more credit.
“Now comes the next part of this tale,” he said. “You realize that your grandfather poses a lethal threat to Blackchurch with his actions.”
“I do,” she said. “What are you going to do to punish him?”
“We have a plan,” he said. “But I will need your help. I realize this is asking a great deal, as he is your flesh and blood, but…”
Ophelia sat forward, quickly placing her fingers on his lips to silence him.
“He is a man who starved me,” she murmured.
“He was cruel and brutal. He has never been kind to me or my mother. For the past six months, I have forgotten him. It has been the best time of my life, forgetting that terrible man, but now that I hear he is trying to destroy this place, and these people, that I have come to love, it does not matter if he is my flesh and blood. Tell me what you want me to do and I shall do it, Creston. All you need do is ask.”
Creston was struck by her bravery. Perhaps she didn’t know what she was getting into, but that didn’t matter.
She still offered. He pulled her into his embrace, holding her against him as she wrapped her arms around his head and neck.
This was their best position, embracing tightly, their bodies pressed against one another.
He could feel her big belly against his midsection, and as he held her, he could feel a strong kick from the child.
That made him smile, and he released her long enough to put his hands on her stomach.
“He is very strong,” he said. “I think he wants to join us in our quest to stop your grandfather.”
Ophelia giggled. “He may not be of your blood, but he is of your spirit,” she said softly. “He has the fight of a de Royans.”
“He does,” Creston said, leaning forward to kiss her.
“I hope you have it, too, because it will not be easy for you. We plan to abduct your grandfather and force him to face justice, but in order to do that, we must catch him off guard. He will not go willingly and we cannot bring an army to his door, so there will just be a small number of us to complete this objective. That is where you come in.”
“What shall I do?”
“Provide the bait,” he said quietly. “Your grandfather will not suspect you, in any way. While you distract him, we will capture him. That is as simple as I can put it.”
Ophelia nodded. “I can do that,” she said. “I will do that. Thank you for trusting me. No one has ever trusted me with something so important before.”
He reached out, gently cupping her face with his right hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
“It will not be easy, sweetheart,” he said.
“You must not let on that something is coming. You must make him think that your visit is completely normal. You can say that you simply want to visit your mother, or you can tell him that you wanted to see him before the child is born. We will come up with an excuse. But you must stick to that excuse no matter what. Never waver from it. Understood?”
She nodded seriously. “I understand,” she said. “But may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you truly believe King Henry would accept the validity of a missive from the King of France to Lord Exmoor?” she said. “Does it not seem far-fetched that a king would communicate with an English training guild?”
Creston shook his head. “Not at all,” he said.
“Blackchurch is quite prestigious, and a king could easily communicate with us directly. But to be clear, the issue is this—kings and lords over the decades have begged for Blackchurch’s support.
They have offered us copious amounts of money for it, but the Lords of Exmoor always refuse.
Remaining neutral is what we are known for—we train warriors to fight.
We do not fight ourselves. That has saved us from the political winds that so often blow through this land—everyone will leave us alone rather than try to engage, knowing that we will always remain neutral. We are not a threat to anyone.”
She accepted his explanation. “And Henry would be insulted if he discovered you supported his enemy.”
Creston snorted. “Insulted is where he would start,” he said. “It would only end when he wiped Blackchurch from the earth and danced on our graves.”
Her brow rippled with concern. “Graves?” she repeated. “Your grave?”
Creston nodded. “I would be guilty by association,” he said. “All of us would be. We would all face the ax, so the threat against Blackchurch is a threat against us all.”
Ophelia hadn’t thought of it that way. The king’s anger with Blackchurch wouldn’t be at the institution itself, the walls, the fields, the lake, the castle.
It would be at the individuals.
Now the tides were turning.
Did she truly think her grandfather had done exactly what Creston was speculating?
Without question. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that her grandfather had forged that royal dispatch, meaning for Henry to see it.
But instead of simply destroying the buildings and cottages of Blackchurch’s property, that destruction would bleed into the trainers.
The men who taught the warriors, the men who, in a crisis, would command Blackchurch’s substantial army.
Tay…
Fox…
Sinclair…
Payne…
Cruz…
Kristian…
Ming Tang…
Amir…
Creston.
They would be murdered because of a lie. Her happiness would be ended because of a lie, because of a spiteful, malicious old man who didn’t care who or what he ruined in his quest to have his wants fulfilled.
My God… What have I done?
This was her fault, all of it. It became her fault when Cecil walked out on her and Oscar betrothed her to a man of his choosing.
It became her fault when she married Creston and became a part of this living, breathing community within Blackchurch, the most wonderful community she’d ever been part of.
She had friends that she liked and a husband she loved, and it was the most amazing world tucked deep into the Devon countryside.
But in becoming part of Blackchurch, she’d brought the malignancy of Oscar de Bulverton with her.
Now he was trying to destroy everything she loved.
She wasn’t going to let him do it.
And she wasn’t going to let Creston and the others risk their lives because of her.
“I’m sorry, love,” Creston said, breaking into her thoughts. “I did not mean to be so blunt. Do you feel well?”
She didn’t. She really didn’t. Knowing what she had done, and what she had to do, had her feeling sick to her stomach. She looked at him, at his beautiful face, and tried to smile, but the smile wouldn’t come. Instead, she broke down in tears.
“I am so sorry,” she wept. “I am so sorry he is doing this.”
Creston grunted with sympathy, pulling her into his arms again. “It is not your fault,” he murmured, trying to be of some comfort. “You cannot control a bitter old man. You did not do anything.”
Oh, but I have. I caused this, she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. He would just argue with her, and she didn’t want his comfort, not now. She’d only brought heartache to the man she loved thanks to her grandfather.
But she was going to do something about it.
She had to think!
“I… I want to rest,” she said, pulling herself out of his embrace. “I want to lie down for a while, please.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” he said, gently helping her to stand and putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll help you upstairs.”
“Nay,” she said. “Just… let me go. I will be well, I promise. But I want to go alone.”
He was hurt by her words, trying not to show it. “If you wish,” he said as she walked away. “I truly am sorry to upset you, my love. I did not want to, but you needed to be told.”
“I know,” she said, still walking. “I am not angry. Just… tired.”
Creston was full of sorrow, watching her until she reached the stairs. “I love you, Lia,” he said softly. “Always remember that. You are my living, breathing heart.”
Ophelia paused, looking at him. “And I love you,” she said. “Everything will be all right, Creston. You needn’t worry.”
He watched her mount the stairs until she disappeared from view, feeling just as bad as he possibly could.
He’d made her sad and miserable. Frustrated with himself, he marched from the back door, standing there a moment, watching the sky, then watching some servants as they drew water from a nearby well, and finally watching the cats as they lay upon the grass in the morning sun.
He began to second-guess himself.
Maybe he shouldn’t have told her about this. Maybe he should have simply left her out of it like a decent man would have done, protecting his wife. Well, he hadn’t protected her. He’d let de Lohr create a plan that involved her, and, like an idiot, he went along with it.
Now Ophelia was miserable.
He was miserable.
Heading out to a small outbuilding behind the cottage, he found a few bottles of wine he’d stashed there. Sitting down on a three-legged stool to watch the cats play, he drained the bottles.
Needless to say, he didn’t make it to his training class that day.