He could tell that de Bulverton most definitely controlled hers.
“I am not trying to incite a riot, my lady,” he said quietly. “I am simply asking you where you stand on the subject of our marriage.”
“I have told you,” she said, daring to meet his eye. “I am forced to obey, as you are.”
He regarded her a moment, rubbing his chin in thought. “So you were not looking forward to this?” he said. “You did not demand your grandfather find you a husband?”
She looked at him strangely. “Nay, I did not demand my grandfather find me a husband,” she said. “My lord, let me be plain, as you are clearly not at all enthused about this contract. I am doing as I am told. I could just as easily commit myself tothe cloisters, but my grandfather seems to think that he wants an heir to inherit his earldom. I am the means by which that will be accomplished. I’m nothing more than chattel in this case, a means to an end, so do not think I hold any romantic notions about marriage. It is a chore, like any other chore. Is that enough of an answer for you?”
So she has a spine,Creston thought. He rather liked that she spoke plainly, if not strongly, to him. He knew he’d pushed her a little and she’d reacted in kind.
“It’s a good answer,” he said. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“You are welcome.”
“You should know that I don’t have any romantic notions about marriage, either.”
“Then we understand one another.”
“I think we are coming to.”
“Then you can tell me what you expect out of this marriage and I will do my best to comply,” she said, somewhat stiffly. “After we are married, do you wish for me to return with my grandfather and live in Sidmouth? Or shall I live with you?”
“If you are my wife, you should probably live with me.”
“I will not impede your life in any way,” she said. “You can continue your life as if you are not married.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I do not wish to interfere with your life and the way you live it,” she said. “You must be unhappy enough being forced into this. I will make it as easy as possible for you.”
He still wasn’t sure what she meant. “What do you think I do that you would be impeding?”
She shrugged. “I do not know, really,” she said. “I do not know you at all, or what you do, or even what a Blackchurch is. I simply want you to know that I will be agreeable with whatever you wish to do and the life you wish to lead.”
He sat back in his chair, studying her. He couldn’t get a good feel for her, whether she was kind and warm, or stiff and unfeeling. It would be a pity for a woman of such beauty to be cold.
Nay, that wasn’t what he wanted.
Perhaps he needed to try another tactic.
“I do not lead an exciting life,” he told her. “But I lead a fulfilling one. Has no one told you what the Blackchurch Guild is?”
She lifted her slender shoulders. “I was told that you train warriors,” she said. “But I do not know more than that.”
The serving wench brought a pitcher of wine and two cups. She set them on the table and Creston poured a cup for Ophelia first and then one for himself. As he took a sip, she took her cup and gulped it down. He was coming to think he might have upset her with his pressing questions.
“It is a training guild for the most elite warriors in the world,” he told her, his voice a little softer, a little kinder. “It has been for well over one hundred years. It is owned and operated by the Earls of Exmoor.”
“And that’s whom you serve?”
“Aye,” he said. “I have been a trainer for close to fifteen years. There are ten of us, all highly skilled knights ourselves. We each teach a different aspect of warfare, something we are particularly knowledgeable about.”
“What is it you teach?”
He sat back, cup in hand. “Interrogation tactics,” he said. “Treatment of an enemy, spying, covert operations. I also teach a man how to deal with torture and survive it.”
For the first time since their meeting, she seemed to show some interest in what he was saying. “That sounds terribly difficult,” she said. “Where did you learn such things?”
