Chapter Twenty
After the discussion with Creston in the morning, Ophelia had gone up to rest as she had told him, but what she was really doing was plotting.
She needed a plan.
Too many men were in jeopardy because of her, because of what her grandfather had done, and the animosity she felt toward Oscar, something she’d managed to forget over the past six months, came roaring back to life.
That evil, bitter man was content with ruining everything that was good in her life, and she wasn’t going to let him.
She’d spent her entire existence being apathetic to him until the time between Cecil abandoning her and Creston marrying her.
She’d had to accept the cruelty, the starvation, and the emotional abuse because she had no choice.
Not until she married Creston did she have a choice.
And she was going to make the only choice she could.
She was going to stop him.
Short of murder, she wasn’t exactly sure what she could do to stop him, however.
That was the rub. She’d never killed anything larger than a spider in her life, but as she lay there in bed and felt the child in her belly move around, she was increasingly convinced that Oscar’s death was the only thing that would save Blackchurch.
She was damn protective over this life she’d built with Creston, and as she’d told her husband, it was worth more to her than flesh and blood.
Damn that old man.
Damn him to hell.
Creston hadn’t come back to the cottage the entire day.
Ophelia assumed that he’d gone off to teach his recruits, as he did every day, so she simply lay in bed until early afternoon, until her body was aching from lying around so much that she had to get up and stretch.
She wasn’t at the terribly uncomfortable stage in her pregnancy yet, but she was at a point where her body ached for strange and unknown reasons.
It was better to move around. Therefore, she stood up, put her shoes on, and went downstairs.
There were still dishes, unwashed, in the kitchen so she resumed cleaning up after the morning’s meal.
She had never actually had any of the egg dish that she’d given the men, and when she picked up the bowl to wipe it out, she could smell the garlic.
It was so strong that it had bled into the porous wood of the bowl, and no matter how much she wiped it, that garlic smell wouldn’t go away.
When she realized how she’d over-garlicked the eggs, it made her love Creston all the more, because she had fed the man a vile creation and his only reaction had been to suggest maybe a little less garlic next time.
That was it. No anger, no insults. If the bowl smelled like garlic, then the eggs must have been absolutely flaming with it.
That sweet, sweet man that her grandfather wanted to destroy.
Somehow, murder to protect her husband didn’t seem so outlandish anymore.
Her thoughts, her ideas, grew darker.
When Ophelia finished with the kitchen and opened the rear door to sweep out the floor, she happened to glance at the yard where her cats were playing in the grass.
She paused a moment, watching the felines as they chased bugs around, but then she saw one of the cats run to an outbuilding and disappear inside.
It was an outbuilding that was never really used for anything, just one of those structures left over from when the village was a bustling center of commerce many years ago, so she didn’t think much of it until she saw what she thought was a shoe.
Someone had left a shoe right outside the structure—and then the shoe moved.
It took her a moment to realize she was looking at a boot, and that boot belonged to her husband.
Puzzled, she went to the outbuilding.
Creston was there, sitting on the floor of the little structure with an empty bottle of wine in his hand and his head against the side of the building.
His eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and he just seemed to be sitting there, sleeping peacefully.
Ophelia wasn’t sure why he had been sitting there, drinking, but she was fairly certain it had something to do with her and the misery she had brought down upon Blackchurch.
The man had been forced to get drunk to deal with it.
And then it hit her.
She knew what she had to do.
Returning to their cottage, Ophelia flew upstairs and yanked open the doors of the wardrobe in the hunt for her traveling clothes.
She was going to Sidmouth. She was going to confront that bastard who called himself her grandfather and she was going to confront him on his plans for Blackchurch.
If he didn’t admit his nefarious scheme and promise to cease all aggression, then she was going to drive a dagger into his belly.
There was no other choice.
She was going to kill him before he killed the man she loved so well.
It had come down to that.
As she pulled forth clothing, all she could see was red. All she could feel was anger. Anger at her grandfather, anger at herself. She couldn’t believe what she had done to these people who had been nothing but kind to her, but she was going to rectify it.
She was going to end it.
Unfortunately, due to her pregnancy, the traveling dress wouldn’t fit her.
Frustrated, she began to hunt for anything that would fit her and would be hardy enough to travel in, but she couldn’t find anything that was suitable.
That had her digging into her husband’s clothing, and she found a tunic and breeches that served her well enough because she could get the breeches up over her belly and the tunic hung down to her knees.
She still had the heavy traveling cloak that she could wear, and she had a pair of doeskin boots that Creston had purchased for her a few months ago, so she pulled those sturdy boots on.
She felt as if she were dressing in a frenzy, and perhaps she was.
There was a sense of urgency in her heart that she’d never felt before, even more so when she thought of her grandfather’s reaction to her accusations.
She knew that he would laugh at her, or perhaps he wouldn’t even be angry at her.
He might even become violent. Therefore, she went to the big chest where Creston kept his possessions and dug around until she found a large and rather nasty-looking dagger.
For a moment, she simply stared at it.
A weapon. Something that could kill. It underscored the seriousness of what she was about to undertake, but she had to push aside any doubt or fear.
She was fully prepared to use the weapon if she were threatened or if her grandfather refused her demands.
Even as she thought of that moment, the very moment that she was risking everything for, she knew it was a foolish expectation.
Oscar had never surrendered to anyone, least of all a woman, and least of all her.
But she was going to force this.
He was going to listen.
Ophelia had a small satchel in the wardrobe that had a drawstring closure and long cloth handles, something that she could easily put over her shoulders and carry without having to use her hands.
Dressed in her husband’s oversized clothing, she rushed back down the stairs and peered from the window to make sure he had not moved, and he hadn’t.
She could still see his booted foot. Quickly, she put the remainder of the bread from the morning’s meal and a piece of white cheese from the previous day into the satchel.
That was the only food she could find that would be easily transportable, and once she had it stashed away, she went back upstairs and proceeded to carefully put the big dagger into the satchel as well.
She also took her coin purse so she could pay for food and lodgings if she needed to.
And with that, she was ready to depart.
The one thing that would work to Ophelia’s benefit was the fact that at this time of day, anyone who knew her would be either training recruits or, in the case of the trainer’s wives, be tending to their napping children.
There wouldn’t be anybody to stop her as she made her way out to the stables where Creston had a couple of fine horses and one small palfrey that he had purchased for her a few months ago when they traveled into the village of Minehead.
She didn’t like riding on the big horses behind him and preferred to ride alone, so he’d bought the little white mare for her to ride whenever she pleased.
Daisy was her name.
Daisy the mare was very fat and happy because Ophelia didn’t ride much these days.
She was very glad to see her mistress, however, and Ophelia paid a young stable boy to saddle her horse, giving the lad a silver coin and instructing him not to tell anyone he had seen her leave.
The coin was to ensure his silence. The boy agreed, saddled her horse, and even escorted her to the smaller east gatehouse.
There were soldiers there, but only a couple, and they didn’t pay any attention to her as she rode through.
After that, it was simply a matter of skirting the eastern wall of Blackchurch’s perimeter so she could get on the road that led south through the village, past The Black Cock, and then straight to Sidmouth.
Ophelia remembered the road they’d taken north from Sidmouth when they came to Blackchurch.
There was literally only one main road between Sidmouth and Blackchurch, so all she had to do was stay to the road and she’d make Sidmouth in a day and a half if she was fortunate.
She would try to make it as far as she could tonight before finding an inn to sleep, but she was determined to do it.
She was blinded by it. It didn’t really occur to her that this was foolish, and even dangerous, and that she shouldn’t be traveling in her condition.
All she could think of was confronting her grandfather and demanding he stop his foolishness… or else.
It was that “or else” that had her worried.
But she wasn’t worried enough to turn back.
She kicked her mare in the ribs, and the little horse began to lope southward.