Seated in the luxurious solar of Exmoor Castle’s keep, a structure in the heart of the Blackchurch compound, Creston nodded his head to the man standing before him.
“Aye, my lord,” he said. “I have a feeling my brother is going to try to use you as leverage to force me into this marriage, so I came to tell you before he did.”
St. Denis de Bottreaux couldn’t help but appear both surprised and dubious. He was a short man, with graying, curly hair that hung to his shoulders and a better-than-average talent for swinging a sword. His true strengths lay in his judgment and wisdom, and in his unerring ability to command a battle. He was brilliant in that respect and he, more than any of his ancestors, had built Blackchurch into what it was today. When he had inherited the guild from his father, it was half the size, but he’d built it into something grand and powerful.
The man seated before him had helped him achieve that, and he didn’t like what he was hearing from him.
“My God,” St. Denis said, awed by what he’d just been told. “Your brother managed to broker a betrothal between you and Sidbury’s granddaughter? How astonishing.”
“He has,” Creston said. “And he is determined that I should accept it, but I wanted you to know about this, my lord. It is a… complicated situation.”
St. Denis grunted. “To say the least,” he said. “You explained to your brother that Sidbury is a great enemy of Triton’s Hellions?”
“I did, my lord.”
“And he is still insisting?”
“He is, my lord.”
St. Denis shook his head sadly. “Then I do not know what to say,” he said. “I know this will be a great opportunity for you, Creston, and—”
Creston cut him off quietly. “God’s Bones, not you, too.”
St. Denis held up a hand to quiet him. “Let me finish,” he said. “What I was going to say is that sometimes even the best opportunity is not without its battles. Of course, selfishly, I do not want to lose you as a Blackchurch trainer. You are one of our very best. But as the Earl of Sidbury, you will be in a position of great power. We could use that to our advantage.”
Creston could hear the hope in St. Denis’ voice. “But what if I want to remain a simple trainer with a simple life?” he said. “What if I do not want to become a man of great power?”
There was angst in his tone. A man facing a great decision usually had that kind of torment in his heart and St. Denis wasn’t oblivious to it. But he simply didn’t think this was the horrible situation that Creston thought it was. He went over to an elaborately carved oak table and picked up the pitcher of wine, pouring some into two cups.
“Let’s think about this a little, shall we?” he said, setting the pitcher down and picking up the cups. “Start from the beginning. How does your brother know Sidbury? How did this come about?”
Creston accepted the offered cup of wine gratefully. “Sidbury is a distant cousin to my father,” he said before taking a gulp of the ruby-red liquid. “My father and Sidbury shared the same great-grandfather, I think. In any case, he is kin and an ally. He and my father were raised together. He recently sent word to my brother, asking if I were married and suggesting a marriage between me and his granddaughter to strengthen the family alliance.”
“That makes sense,” St. Denis said. “Do you know the man personally?”
Creston nodded. “Years ago,” he said. “He was a follower of King John and we would see each other from time to time, but we did not have a relationship to speak of. He knew when I came to Blackchurch, however.”
“How did he know that?”
“My father told him,” he said. “You know that my father was not particularly thrilled that I left the king’s service to serve at Blackchurch, and he complained to anyone who would listen. I think half of England knew I came to Blackchurch those years ago.”
St. Denis shrugged. “Sidbury must not have thought it was shameful if he sought you out as a husband for his granddaughter,” he said. “Have you never met the girl?”
“Never.”
St. Denis fell silent for a moment, sipping his wine and contemplating the situation. “Is there any reason that you should be opposed to a marriage, Creston?” he asked. “Do you have your eye on someone else as a wife?”
Creston shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “There is no one else. There hasn’t been since my time with John.”
St. Denis looked at him then. “You had a lady you were fond of, then?”
Creston sighed heavily. “Aye,” he said, averting his gaze. “Long ago.”
“What happened?”
Creston snorted, a bitter sound. “It is not something I like to speak of,” he said. “I haven’t spoken of it in years, I don’t think.”
“Please. I’d like to know.”
