Chapter Twenty-Three #3
Creston was standing over her, his hand gently holding hers. “The physic says you broke some ribs in the fall,” he said. “That’s what you’re feeling.”
“Fall?” she said, puzzled. She rolled her head to the right and opened her eyes to look at him. “What fall?”
“Do you know where you are?”
She looked around, but she didn’t move her head. She didn’t recognize the room right away. “I am not certain,” she said. “Where am I?”
“Axen Castle.”
It took a moment for that information to sink in, but when it did, her eyes opened wide and she gasped. “My grandfather!” she said. “Where is he?”
Creston was standing by her right side, putting an arm across her torso to prevent her from moving around too much. “You needn’t worry about him,” he said. “He cannot hurt you anymore.”
“But—!”
“Trust me,” Creston insisted softly. “You do not need to worry about him any longer.”
She was still frightened, but he could see from her expression that she was trying to trust him. “Where is he?” she asked.
“Gone,” he said. “Lia, I know why you came here. Your mother says you were very brave.”
Ophelia didn’t even know why she’d come.
It took her a moment before her memory started returning.
The ride south, the inn where she was robbed, the confrontation with her grandfather.
All of it came flooding back. But as she became more lucid, she also remembered that she had fled Blackchurch without a word to her husband.
She’d run off and hadn’t told him where she was going.
Surely the man must be angry with her for it.
“Creston, I know you must be furious with me, and I am very sorry to have caused you any distress, but I am the reason Blackchurch is in danger,” she said, hoping to explain herself before he berated her.
“I brought that trouble with me when we married, and I had to speak to my grandfather and tell him—”
Creston silenced her by bending over and kissing her, very tenderly. “I know,” he murmured against her mouth. “I told you that I know why you came and I am not angry with you. You thought you could save us.”
“I did,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “I needed to save you because… because you saved me. In more ways than you will ever know, you and Blackchurch saved me. I had to return the favor.”
He kissed her again, wiping the tears that were beginning to fall from her face. “Nothing your grandfather did was your fault,” he whispered. “He made his own choices. You had nothing to do with it.”
Ophelia’s lower lip was trembling, her eyes closed as he continued to sweetly wipe away her tears. “I am sorry for what he’s done,” she sobbed. “I wanted to stop him. I tried to.”
“That is a very courageous thing to do.”
“Are you certain you are not angry with me?”
“Of course not,” he said. “But please, in the future, do not leave me again. I think I’ve aged twenty years in the past day or so, worrying over you.”
He was smiling as he said it, jesting lightly with her, but she was too emotional to play along. “For that, I am deeply sorry,” she said. “I truly am.”
He kissed her forehead. “Not to worry,” he said. “I will survive. But can you tell me what happened with de Bulverton? Your mother has told me a little, but I would like to hear it from you.”
She strained to think about it. “I came to talk to my grandfather, but we argued,” she said.
“He would not acknowledge what he’d done at first, but the more I pressed him, the more we argued.
I remember running from him because he was angry and trying to capture me.
But… I do not remember what happened after that. Did he beat me?”
“Nay,” Creston said, trying to be very gentle with her. “He did not beat you. You fell down a flight of stairs and your mother, fearing for your life, killed your grandfather before he could harm you further.”
Ophelia gasped in shock. “My mother killed him?”
Creston nodded. “Aye,” he said. “When I said he was gone, I meant it. You needn’t worry about him any longer. None of us will.”
Ophelia still wasn’t quite over the surprise of her mother having killed for her. “How astonishing,” she said. “My mother truly did that for me?”
“She did. She said she could not allow him to hurt you more than he had already.”
That statement made Ophelia see her mother in an entirely new light. Though they’d never been close, perhaps her mother cared for her more than she realized. It was heartening.
She was starting to feel a little better about the entire situation.
“That was brave of her,” she said. “I am grateful.”
“As am I.”
“Will I be able to return to Blackchurch soon?” she said. “When I am well?”
He nodded. “When you are well, but you must heal first.”
“And the babe? He is well?”
Creston’s composure took a hit. He’d known she was going to ask, but he found that he was hardly ready to answer her. Still, he had to.
He took a deep breath.
“He is now an angel to watch over us,” he said, a lump in his throat. “He did not survive the fall. He was born sleeping, but I held him so he would not be alone. I have been holding him ever since. I only just put him down when you began to stir.”
Ophelia’s face crumpled and more tears came. “My God,” she sobbed. “My babe is dead?”
Tears came to Creston’s eyes, too. He was trying so hard to be brave for her, but the grief was too much. “He is,” he murmured soothingly, putting his arms around her as best he could without hurting her. “I know, my love. I know it hurts.”
Ophelia cried openly, feeling a pain that a mother hoped she would never feel. “I killed him,” she wept. “When I fell, I killed him!”
“Nay, sweetheart, you did not,” Creston insisted. “It was an accident. You could not help your fall. It was simply an accident. But he suffered no pain, I promise. And he has only known love since his birth. Even if his spirit is gone, his body has only known comfort. I made sure of it.”
Ophelia had her hand over her face, weeping painfully for her dead child. “It was a boy?”
“It was.”
“Did you name him?”
Creston blinked and tears streamed down his cheeks. “Not without consulting you,” he said. “I did not wish to name him something if you already had a name in mind.”
Ophelia’s hand came away from her face and she gazed up at him, her eyes overflowing. “Please,” she begged. “Let me hold him, please. I want to see him.”
Creston had known she was going to ask that at some point.
Truthfully, he and Ming Tang and the physic had inspected the child after it was born, and it was obvious from the start what had killed the child.
Somehow, when Ophelia fell, she must have fallen directly on her belly, because the infant’s head was crushed.
The bones of the skull were very soft for infants at birth, in any case, and the child’s head simply couldn’t withstand the pressure of a falling body.
Death had been instantaneous.
Ming Tang had tightly bound the infant’s skull and then swaddled him so that when Ophelia looked at her son, she would not be distressed by his injuries.
It had been such a kind thing to do. With a sigh, Creston stood up and went over to a nearby table where the infant was lying in a basket.
Gently, he scooped up the baby and brought him over to meet his mother.
Very carefully, he helped Ophelia sit up a little so she could take the baby from him.
Settled into his mother’s arms, the child looked as if he were simply sleeping.
“Oh… Creston,” she murmured, looking at that little face. “He is perfect. So perfect.”
Creston never knew he could feel such sorrow as he did when he watched Ophelia view their son for the first time. “He is,” he said. “He is quite beautiful, like his mother.”
Somehow, Ophelia had forgotten her tears as she inspected the pale little face.
He looked so peaceful, so it was both easier and more painful to accept the death.
Creston had already had time to come to terms with it, but Ophelia hadn’t.
She touched the little face, tracing her finger over the eyebrows, lovingly touching his lashes, and Creston lost his poise.
He had his arms around her, but he had to turn his head away so she wouldn’t see the tears that were streaming down his face.
Ophelia was so caught up in the vision of her son that she didn’t even notice.
All she could see before her was that life that had grown inside of her.
“How long ago was he born?” she asked.
Creston took a deep breath, composing himself. “About six hours ago.”
“I did not even feel a thing.”
“You were unconscious,” he said. “But your body knew what to do.”
She fell silent, but just for a moment. “I wish I remembered,” she said.
“Even if he did not draw breath when he was born, I would have liked to have seen his birth. We’ve spent every day for the past eight months together, he and I.
Mayhap if I had been awake, his spirit would still be lingering and I could tell him how much I loved him.
From the moment I knew he was growing in my belly, I loved him. I never felt any differently.”
Creston kissed her shoulder, getting his tears on the garment she was wearing. “He knew,” he said softly. “You are his mother. He knew he was loved. Would you like to bring him back to Blackchurch for burial? We can bury him at the church where we were married.”
Ophelia looked at him then. “You are the Earl of Sidbury now,” she said. “Would you not like to bury him here, at Axen? It is your property now that my grandfather is gone.”
That fact hadn’t occurred to Creston until that very moment. To hear it at this tender moment felt rather jarring. He realized that he didn’t want to think about it, or talk about it. There were too many other important things to deal with, not an earldom he felt no connection to.
He was only concerned with his wife and child at the moment.
“We can discuss that later,” he said. “It is not relevant to our situation at the moment. Since we do not intend to live here, at least not at the moment, mayhap you would consider burying the baby where we were married. We can visit him often there.”
Ophelia nodded, gazing down at the child’s face once more. “I would like that,” she said. “He needs to have his parents close by.”
“I agree.”
“You asked me if I had a name for him. I do, but I need your approval.”
“You do not need my approval, but what is it?”
“Quinton.”
Creston couldn’t help it. He drew in a sharp breath and looked at her. “After my father?”
“Does that displease you?”
Tears stung his eyes again. “Nay, of course not,” he said. “You… you truly want to name him after my father?”
“Unless you wish to save the name for a living son.”
He put a big hand on the top of the infant’s head in a tender gesture. “I can think of no greater honor for my father than for our firstborn to carry his name,” he said. “Thank you, my love. That is very considerate of you.”
She watched his face as he looked at the baby and her mood changed into something timid, yet hopeful. There was so much emotion going on in that room that it was difficult for her to put it into words.
“You know that I came here to confront my grandfather because I thought… I hoped… that I could make a difference,” she said, meeting his eyes when he looked up at her.
“I wanted to do this because you have made such a difference in my own life, Creston. I do not think you understand just how much of a difference. Before I met you, I was searching for… something. I do not even know what it is, but I was searching so hard that I tried to force poor Cecil to provide it. I did not even stop to realize that he couldn’t.
It was not his fault what happened, you know.
I was blinded in my quest to find something I could be part of, someone I could love, a belonging I needed deep in my heart.
I found that—all of that—at a training guild for warriors.
Who knew that was where I would discover the true meaning of joy? ”
He smiled. “And who knew I needed you as much as you needed me?”
She met his smile as her tears for her son were forgotten for the moment.
“Do you realize how truly fortunate we are?” she said.
“So many people speak of love and romance, and there are stories from ages past about great lovers and how they could never be separated. We have that sort of love that people dream of, and I had to protect it at all costs. Even at the risk of a great tragedy.”
She meant the child. They both turned to look at the infant with his perfect lips and perfect nose. Creston kissed the child on the forehead before kissing Ophelia on the lips.
“Sometimes happiness does not come without risk,” he said. “In our case, you met the danger, at great cost. But your bravery will not be forgotten, nor will Quinton’s death be in vain. I promise you that he will continue to be part of our lives, for as long as we live.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do,” he said, nodding. “It was because of Quinton that you and I shared our first true test of trust. Remember? You told me of your grandfather’s plan and were willing to sacrifice your future just to save me.
And just now, you did it again. You were willing to sacrifice yourself to save me and all of Blackchurch.
They call me The Avenger because of my dedication to justice in all things, but I think you deserve that name more than I do.
I have never met a braver woman in my life and I am incredibly fortunate to call you my wife. You and I, my love, are meant to be.”
She smiled at him, adoringly, and he kissed her sweetly.
It was a kiss of love, of trust, and of the beauty of two lives that were so connected that the bond could never be broken.
It was also a kiss of appreciation in a situation that had come to a conclusion.
Perhaps not one Creston had hoped for, but at least he still had Ophelia.
As long as he had her, he was a content men.
If I cannot be close to her, then I will settle for the ghost of her.
He’d once told Cruz that when it came to being with his wife, in this life or in the next, he would take any form of her that he could get.
He would love her ghost, love her spirit, love her heart, living or dead.
Perhaps they had only been married a short time, but one didn’t need a lifetime to know that what they had was special.
A relationship that bled into the realm of legend.
For The Avenger and his protector, what they shared would always be powerful.
Legends always are.