Oscar moved closer to him. “Have they returned yet from France?”
“Some.”
“Then listen to me,” Oscar said, lowering his voice. “What if Louis sent a dispatch to St. Denis, thanking him and Blackchurch for providing men and money for him to take Gascony from Henry? Only it would be a forged dispatch and I would send it to London, straight into the hands of the king, with the news that I intercepted it from a French messenger bound for Blackchurch. I could say that I happened to be at Blackchurch because my granddaughter married a trainer, which is not a lie. My presence, and my connection to Blackchurch, gives a forged missive validity. I can say that I saw Blackchurch’s support of Louis for myself. And if you were to confirm my information because your brother is a Blackchurch trainer, then…”
Royston caught on quickly. “It would be two affirmations of Blackchurch’s loyalty to France.”
“Exactly.”
Royston could see precisely what the man was planning. “The fact that Blackchurch is neutral in any conflict would be destroyed,” he said. “Henry would send his army to Blackchurch and wipe it from the earth.”
“Of course, he would,” Oscar said. “Blackchurch does not have royal permission to train knights. They do not even have a license. Anyone training knights, for profit, must have one of those things, and Blackchurch has neither because it was started so long ago, back in the days when William of Normandy was battling the Saxons upon these lands. Because of this, the Crownof England has long overlooked the fact that Blackchurch does not have license or permission, but the only reason it does is that Blackchurch, itself, remains neutral in all things. Imagine if they were not only no longer neutral, but siding with the French? Henry would destroy it, indeed.”
Royston could see that consequence as clear as day. He could also see his family’s honor restored once his brother ceased to be a Blackchurch trainer and assumed his rightful role as the next Earl of Sidbury.
Restoration, indeed.
“Very well,” he finally said. “What do you want me to do?”
“For now, nothing,” Oscar said, pleased that he had a cohort in crime. He inhaled the last of his blue smoke as the embers in his fingers nearly burned away. “I know a cleric in Sidmouth who is from France. The man will do anything for coin and I will have him draft a dispatch from Louis to St. Denis.”
“Is that not complicated?” Royston asked. “What about a royal seal?”
Oscar waved him off. “I have a royal dispatch addressed to the Septum Port Alliance from Louis requesting permission for French ships to trade in our ports,” Oscar said. “Believe me, the writing, and seal, can be replicated based on that royal dispatch, and once the missive is drafted, I will send it to London and let nature take its course. But you must be prepared to say that you, too, witnessed St. Denis’ loyalty to France. Mayhap through something your brother said.”
“But he’s said nothing.”
“And there is no missive from Louis. It is all a lie. You must learn tolie.”
Royston understood. God help him, he did, and he actually felt good about it.
“As you wish,” he said. “Then I’ll return home and wait to hear from you.”
“Good,” Oscar said, putting an uncharacteristically friendly hand on Royston’s shoulder. “Vengeance for your family’s honor. Vengeance for my town. And in the end, Creston and my granddaughter will come to live with me, and I will ensure he is most worthy of being the next Earl of Sidbury.”
With that, he patted Royston on the shoulder and headed back into the tavern where he would sleep for the rest of the day. The blue smoke always made him sleepy. Royston simply remained in the yard of the tavern, mulling over their conversation, wondering how he went from pledging his brother to an earl’s granddaughter to plotting the fall of Blackchurch.
Now, he was part of it.
But he didn’t feel any remorse. What Oscar had said was true—if Blackchurch no longer existed, then Creston would no longer be an embarrassment to his family. Quinton de Royans’ spirit might even rest in piece thanks to his heir. Perhaps itwasup to Royston to bring Creston back into the fold and forget about the stain of Blackchurch.
The situation, he was certain, was about to become very interesting.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ophelia remembered thiscottage.
It was the same cottage where she had confessed her pregnancy to Creston, where he’d made the decision to marry her anyway. It was such a cold, dirty cave of a hovel, but it was his, and it had a special memory for her, life-changing as it had been.
Now she was standing there with five women she didn’t know, but five women who were quite serious about helping her prepare the cottage for her newlywed life. Standing at the rear door of the cottage, they evidently already had a small army of servants waiting to help, because Elisiana opened the door, and people with buckets and brushes, chairs and fabric began to pour through. As Ophelia stood by the hearth, rather flabbergasted, the gang went to work.
Under Elisiana’s supervision, floors and walls were scrubbed and dusted of cobwebs. Astria was in charge of furniture, so she was standing by the back door, calling to servants to bring things in or take things out. Gisele had charge of what were to be curtains on the windows, while Athdara was in charge of the second floor. She made sure beds were assembled and mattresses were stuffed. There was even a small alcove on thatlevel for dressing or bathing, so she had basins put in that small room as well as a dented copper pot that could be used for bathing. It wasn’t exactly a tub, but one could sit in it, legs folded, and bathe.
It was more than Ophelia could have asked for.
“I feel rather useless,” she said as she stood in the master chamber, watching Athdara direct servants to stuff the mattress with straw and moss, which made it very soft. “You all are doing so much for my home. Is there something I can do to help?”
Athdara smiled. “You are not supposed to help, Lady de Royans,” she said. “This is our wedding gift to you. You are supposed to stand by and enjoy it.”
