Ophelia giggled. “He may not be of your blood, but he is of your spirit,” she said softly. “He has the fight of a de Royans.”
“He does,” Creston said, leaning forward to kiss her. “I hope you have it, too, because it will not be easy for you. We plan to abduct your grandfather and force him to face justice, but in order to do that, we must catch him off guard. He will not go willingly and we cannot bring an army to his door, so there will just be a small number of us to complete this objective. That is where you come in.”
“What shall I do?”
“Provide the bait,” he said quietly. “Your grandfather will not suspect you, in any way. While you distract him, we will capture him. That is as simple as I can put it.”
Ophelia nodded. “I can do that,” she said. “Iwilldo that. Thank you for trusting me. No one has ever trusted me with something so important before.”
He reached out, gently cupping her face with his right hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It will not be easy, sweetheart,” he said. “You must not let on that something is coming. You must make him think that your visit is completely normal. You can say that you simply want to visit your mother, or you can tell him that you wanted to see him before the child is born. We will come up with an excuse. But you must stick to that excuse no matter what. Never waver from it. Understood?”
She nodded seriously. “I understand,” she said. “But may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you truly believe King Henry would accept the validity of a missive from the King of France to Lord Exmoor?” she said. “Does it not seem far-fetched that a king would communicate with an English training guild?”
Creston shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “Blackchurch is quite prestigious, and a king could easily communicate with us directly. But to be clear, the issue is this—kings and lords over the decades have begged for Blackchurch’s support. They have offered us copious amounts of money for it, but the Lords of Exmoor always refuse. Remaining neutral is what we are known for—we train warriors to fight. We do not fight ourselves. That has saved us from the political winds that so often blow through this land—everyone will leave us alone rather than try to engage, knowing that we will always remain neutral. We are not a threat to anyone.”
She accepted his explanation. “And Henry would be insulted if he discovered you supported his enemy.”
Creston snorted. “Insulted is where he would start,” he said. “It would only end when he wiped Blackchurch from the earth and danced on our graves.”
Her brow rippled with concern. “Graves?” she repeated. “Yourgrave?”
Creston nodded. “I would be guilty by association,” he said. “All of us would be. We would all face the ax, so the threat against Blackchurch is a threat against us all.”
Ophelia hadn’t thought of it that way. The king’s anger with Blackchurch wouldn’t be at the institution itself, the walls, the fields, the lake, the castle.
It would be at the individuals.
Now the tides were turning.
Did she truly think her grandfather had done exactly what Creston was speculating? Without question. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that her grandfather had forged that royal dispatch, meaning for Henry to see it. But instead of simply destroying the buildings and cottages of Blackchurch’s property, that destruction would bleed into the trainers. The men who taught the warriors, the men who, in a crisis, would command Blackchurch’s substantial army.
Tay…
Fox…
Sinclair…
Payne…
Cruz…
Kristian…
Ming Tang…
Amir…
Creston.
They would be murdered because of a lie. Her happiness would be ended because of a lie, because of a spiteful, maliciousold man who didn’t care who or what he ruined in his quest to have his wants fulfilled.
My God… What have I done?
This was her fault, all of it. It became her fault when Cecil walked out on her and Oscar betrothed her to a man of his choosing. It became her fault when she married Creston and became a part of this living, breathing community within Blackchurch, the most wonderful community she’d ever been part of. She had friends that she liked and a husband she loved, and it was the most amazing world tucked deep into the Devon countryside. But in becoming part of Blackchurch, she’d brought the malignancy of Oscar de Bulverton with her.
