Geoffrey Condit

by Band of Iron

  Peter swore. She turned red. Then he got back into bed, turned his back to her, and lay there aware of her silent stare until he finally fell asleep.

  Now Catharine shifted on her horse. “Last night wasn’t altogether unpleasant.” Her prim voice drew a smile from him.

  “How long have you known Sir Robert Brackenbury?” she asked. Surrounded by their five man escort, they moved out of the gate. The traffic of merchants, peddlers, and others flowed around them.

  “Six years,” Peter said. “Brackenbury knew my father.” The hawking voices of shopkeepers, peddlers lifted above the noisy traffic.

  “Have you met the King?”

  “Once.” Peter felt his stomach tighten and the unbidden memories flooded his mind.

  “Are you ill, my lord?”

  “No.” He dragged the word out. The Battle of Tewkesbury. May 1471. His father weeping, saying his uncle was to be executed for treason the next day. Peter forced the memory away.

  “You said you met the King?”

  “When I was sixteen. During Tewkesbury. I fought in the van of the army he commanded.”

  “You fought at Tewkesbury?” She focused her full attention on Peter. “You fought against your uncle?”

  He let out a harsh laugh. “We didn’t have much choice. King Edward made his summons, and we were too close to avoid joining the army. It was bloody.” He remembered the fear - long lines at the latrines the night before, shifting anxious men, and stomping horses sharing the half light of dawn. Finally, relief when the killing began.

  “Anthony Will told me King Edward knighted you,” Catharine said.

  “Aye. On Bloody Meadow. I’d saved his brother from a battle ax. Then he executed my uncle.”

  “But your uncle was sworn to Lancaster and the Duke of Somerset.”

  “True. He refused to deny his allegiance.” Peter turned away, tears fresh on his scarred face.

  “I am sorry, my lord. He was my intended.”

  Peter turned back, unashamed, his gaze locked with hers.

  “He meant a great deal to you,” she whispered, eyes wide, face serious.

  “We took him home with us. Edward allowed the right of honorable burial.” He wiped his eyes, and cursed the freshness of a memory twelve years old.

  “My lord?”

  “Thank you, John.” Peter took the note from his retainer, and opened it. Cursing silently, he chewed his lower lip. Rotten timing. But I have no choice. He put the note in the cuff of his sleeve.

  “What is it?” Catharine asked, voice curious.

  “We have to stop in the next courtyard to see an old friend. It shouldn’t take but a few minutes.”

  “You look troubled.” She shifted in the side saddle.

  “Troubled?” He reined in a restive Grey Harold. “I suppose I am. This friend doesn’t know I’m married.”

  Catharine gave him a curious look. “Your friend will be upset?” A double gate yawned open and they walked their horses into a wide courtyard before a two story manor house. Brown eddies of dust swirled around their horses hooves. Grooms took their reins. The creak of saddle leather, and clang of metal on metal sounded as they dismounted. Their armed retainers were ushered toward the kitchens for refreshment. The smell of fresh bread wafted across the courtyard. The chatter of servants, the nicker of horses mixed in the air. The gate closed.

  A tall graceful woman, her shining brown hair in coiled braids, walked to greet them. Her brown gown trimmed with fox fur kicked gently behind her with each step. Mischievous green eyes lighted with pleasure. “Peter.” She held out her hands.

  Peter took her hands, and bowed, kissing her creamy cheek. “Jane.” He swallowed, wanting to be away, but this had to be done. He schooled his face, uncertain feelings working in his chest.

  Jane turned to Catharine and took her hands. “And who is this enchanting creature?” Her fingers felt the iron wedding band, and she recoiled. Face pale, she glanced at Peter and recovered. Her smile, now like glass, returned. “I’m sorry,” she said graciously.

  “Lady Jane Beauchamps, this is my new wife, Catharine Clifford.”

  “By the King’s command,” Catharine added.

  “Richard did this?” Jane’s astonished gaze rested on Peter. She still held Catharine’s hands, and her face remained pale. He could see the frantic struggle for control taking place in her. Sick inside, he willed himself to control his face and voice.

  “His Grace gave me the former Clifford Barony of Westmorland.” Peter accepted the goblet of watered wine, and sipped.

  “A Lancaster stronghold. He secures it with you since you’re known to bind your people to you with love and justice. What more could a King want?” She nodded, restoring Catharine’s hand, and accepted a goblet of Renish wine. It trembled in her hands. “A wise move. Your family is known to be free of treachery and ambition. Good for the Realm.”

  They stepped into the manor house. Peter wanted to take Jane in his arms and drive the desolation away. He glanced at Catharine. Her face, though largely masked, betrayed a mixture of anger and wariness. Sunlight splashed onto the polished wood floor, and lit the colors of the tapestries, giving life to the people and animals frolicking there. Peter touched the wool. “We think the Lord Constable is responsible,” he said.

  Jane cocked her head. “Why Buckingham? What interest does he have in creating this marriage?” The heiress of the Beauchamps bit a honey cake, her masterful nose dominating her pleasing features. She must be devastated inside, Peter thought. Poor Jane.

  “We aren’t sure, ” Catharine said. “I was a Ward of the Crown in his custody. He brought me to Trevor’s Mist for the marriage pretending we were out on a hunting trip.” She breathed a ragged breath. “Privately, he vowed to obliterate my House from the face of the earth.”

  Jane said, “He’s made many enemies since attaching his natural arrogance to his high offices. You must ever keep your wits about you with men like that in high places.” She frowned. “Revenge is a petty man’s vice, but it drives people like the duke. You have much to lose, Peter.” She surveyed them, still unnaturally pale. “I will send my good servants to find information that might be useful.”

  “Thank you, Jane, ” Peter said, beginning to relax.

  She turned to Catharine. “You are the most fortunate of women. You’ve been given every opportunity.”

  Catharine swallowed and said, voice tight, “I’m not sure of that.”

  Jane gave a short laugh. “Once you’ve gotten over that silly idea, you’ll see what I say is true.” She locked gazes with Catharine. “Don’t wait too long. You haven’t the luxury with Buckingham interested in your lives.”

  Later, in the saddle after their leave taking, Catharine turned to Peer, her eyes hard, lips tight. Her voice sounded strained. “She was one of ... ”

  “My wives-to-be?” Peter stared at her. “Yes. To be blunt, she headed the list. I was ... ”

  “Hoping?“ She finished, venom in her voice.

  “At one time, yes. We hoped to be married.” Mother of God. Difficult woman. Can’t she see Jane has nothing to do with her? “Look, Catharine, let’s not pursue the hurt. It’s mine. Not yours. We’ve both been damaged by the events of the last few days. Let’s not compound them.” He glanced over at her tight face, light revealing the fine sculptured planes.

  “They’re already compounded,” she replied, staring straight ahead.

  Exasperated, he swore under his breath. Jealous creature. “You ... ”

  “My lord! The Duke of Buckingham approaches.”

  The Stafford banner floated red and black against the blue morning sky. Twelve armed retainers preceded the duke, who was wearing black edged with gold. He halted his black gelding in front of Peter. “I see marriage agrees with you. Your expressions could compete with a thunderstorm. How pleasant to see that my efforts bear fruit.”

  “Good day to you, my lord of Buckingham,” Peter said. “We were just saying our marriage might have been
God-sent.” He smiled.

  The duke’s face drained of color and his eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat. “Pray enlighten me.”

  “In your hast to marry us, you forgot that Catharine’s mother was a Neville cousin. One of the most influential families in the realm.”

  “Ha. Traitors to a man.” The duke sneered. “The Neville’s played both sides, Lancaster and York, until King Edward killed them.”

  “But the Neville women still have the King’s ear,” Peter said, “Remember his Queen and mother. Be careful, my lord, less you offend them.”

  “You threaten the Lord Constable?” Buckingham asked, astounded.

  “No one threatens anyone, my lord,” Peter said, his voice cool.

  “I have the power to determine treason, and to pass judgment on the guilty.” Buckingham’s nostrils flared, genuine anger in his voice.

  “No one is questioning your office, Your Grace. I simply offer a word of caution. If a hunter seeks a mighty prey, he should take care to insure the prey doesn’t hunt him in return.”

  Catharine sucked in her breath. The air stood charged with his veiled threat and insult.

  The duke’s face went red. He strangled on his words. “By God, man ... ”

  “Your Grace, ” Peter said, still smiling. “We but pass the day in sweet conversation.” Catharine touched his arm, plainly alarmed.

  “Your words reek of carelessness, Sir Peter. You are one of the great barons in the land. I thought better of you.” Buckingham’s knuckles went white on his reins. “I see you arranged with the Attorney General to have the charges dropped and your warehouse restored to you.”

  Peter reined in a restive Grey Harold. The duke’s gelding back stepped. “It was plainly a false charge, Your Grace.”

  The duke smile thinned. “No matter. It served its purpose.”

  “You would do well to remember who knighted Peter and why, Your Grace.” Catharine’s soft voice lit the air dangerously.

  “The lady dares instruct me,” the duke said acidly. “Sir Peter, you’d do well to control your wife. I suggest beating her twice a day.” He nodded curtly to his retainers to move off. “We will meet again. The play is not over.”

  “Indeed. It’s only the beginning, my lord duke,” Peter said, tasting bile. The duke spurred his gelding and rode on.

  “How did you know my mother was a Neville?”

  “I make it my business to know a great many things,” Peter said. “One of my grandmother’s was a Neville.” He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What was that?” she asked, face very white.

  “Because we are distantly related, you’re thinking we could get our marriage annulled.”

  “It did cross my mind.”

  Her open challenging stare made him grimace. Difficult wench. Mother of God. What did I do to deserve this? “The King has decreed our marriage, Catharine. He doesn’t command lightly.”

  “You know the King. You have great friends in the Church.”

  “I haven’t seen the King since that day in Tewkesbury. Yes, I do have high friends in the Church. Even to the Throne of Peter in Rome, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to try to get the marriage annulled. One doesn’t insult one’s monarch.”

  “What are your other objections?”

  He could feel her barely submerged anger, grief for a future dying before it could be born. “You forget the bloody sheet which the servants paraded around the castle and town after our wedding night. We used it as a tool to give us space. But it may be the very thing that keeps us married.”

  “Servants can be kept silent.”

  “A whole town? Not likely.” As their horses threaded through the traffic, the swish of Catharine’s silk cloak seemed to distract her. “Where did you get this cloak? I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “It’s lined with fine Persian chain mail. Please wear it in London. I have enemies here.”

  Catharine’s lip’s thinned. “Getting back to your objections, my lord.”

  Peter arched his eyebrows. “You still can’t stomach my name?”

  “You said not to use it until it comes easily to my tongue.”

  “I did, stubborn creature.” He pursed his lips. “My other objection? I don’t know any archbishop or cardinal who would go against the King’s wishes. Nor would I willingly put their lives and careers at risk to further our plans. I’m not willing to have our good servants well-being damaged either.”

  “No one would dare.”

  Peter snorted. “How little you know of politics. You think I don’t have enemies? Everything I do is examined to see how it may be twisted to someone’s advantage. I am not a fool. I’ve lived through too many intrigues and attempts on my titles and wealth not to understand what would happen if we tried to end this marriage.”

  Her angry eyes and stony face mirrored the heavy resentment he felt. He wanted to shake her, to get her to admit what he said was true. Her uncompromising attitudes and selfish behavior infuriated him while her beauty and desirability drew him like a magnet. But there was no place to go.

  “Lord Kendall!” Catharine blurted. At the edge of the street stood a wretched man, startled, with new agony in his eyes. His hose, shirt, and doublet, once fine, but now little more than rags, draped a hungry frame. A plain woman in a tattered gown, and a girl nearing adolescence, stood next to him in uncomfortable silence.

  “Lady Catharine,” Kendall choked out. “I am sorry you see me in these straits. We have very little.” Shame lay plain in his thin face, but uneasy hope claimed his eyes.

  “What happened?” Catharine’s shocked voice pulled Peter to a stop next to her.

  “We lost our manor after hiding Sir Alfred Wentworth. He came back to test the waters for Tudor, but we didn’t know.”

  “How long ago?”

  “A year ago.” Kendall’s empty voice broke. His wife and daughter shuffled their feet in embarrassment.

  “Then you shall have something.” Catharine took off her emerald ring, and the gold necklace with the ruby stone. She put them into her purse and handed it down to the man.

  “Bless you, Lady Catharine.” Kendall face lighted with disbelief, then hope. “I don’t know what to say. We will husband the wealth well and pay you back one day.”

  “No, Lord Kendall. I am Lady Trobridge now. Married to a great lord who counts these as trifles.” She smiled. “I hope we will see each other under better circumstances.”

  Kendall shifted uneasily at her words. “The House of Trevor. You have made a great marriage, Lady Catharine.”

  “A Yorkist, Lord Kendall.”

  “He is your husband,” Kendall admonished, eying Peter edgily. The clamor of angry voices from milling traffic rose behind them, and Peter grabbed Catharine’s reins and urged Grey Harold forward. A block down the cobbled road, Peter handed back her reins. Catharine furious, grabbed them and turned away.

  Peter clenched his fists in rage. The girl is mad. How can anyone not see ... He felt the blood rush to his face. “Don’t you ever do such a stupid, fool-hardy thing like that again. Kendall is a well-known Lancaster noble. You compromise us by behaving in open sympathy with their cause.”

  Catharine’s cold eyes stared back at him with open disdain. “You want me to let them starve on the street? What sort of man are you? Kendall was a close friend of my father’s. I, at least, feel for his circumstances. You, my lord, feel only for your position.”

  Peter cast his voice low and intent. “I feel for all of my people, my lady. If I hesitate to make an exhibition of myself, it is for their protection. When I act, I must consider not only myself, but all those I represent. You had better do the same.” He caught her haughty gaze, and swore under his breath, then said, “Willing or not, when you took my name, you inherited this cross. Get your emotions under control, and rule your actions. To hell with your delicate outrage. There are many ways to handle a situation.”

  “My delicate outrage, at le
ast, has a conscience behind it, my lord.” Her defiant eyes gave nothing, and her voice held only scorn.

  He ground his teeth, the muscles cording in his neck. She’s a complete idiot. No, a complete innocent. Just as dangerous, but far different. “I applaud your sensibilities, Catharine. Many would have let them starve.”

  “Like you, my lord?”

  When is she going to quit? He wanted to drive the sweet anger from her lips, and then kiss them, but he turned away. “There are less overt ways of helping people in need. Especially those who can compromise you.”

  “I was not raised that way, my lord.”

  “You also do not have several thousand people depending on you, my lady. Rest assured this incident will reach the welcoming ears of my lord of Buckingham, and he will sent his agents to investigate.” Catharine’s face went white.

  “Do you want several thousand Kendall’s walking the roads of England,” he went on. “Displaced and turned out because their lord had his lands forfeit? Your actions are their safety, my lady.”

  Catharine remained silent, but her face had lost its anger.

  “As Lady Trobridge, your are more than expensive gowns, rare jewels and endless wealth. You are the acting conscience of all those men, women, and children who live on our lands, and work for us, and our trading houses. They are your family.” He caught her gaze, and held it with brutal intensity. “Remember this when your fine conscience is wounded, and you’re tempted to act as you did today. Trusted agents can be sent in the night to accomplish what we cannot do in the day.”

  Catharine swallowed, her cheeks stained red. “I stand reproved, my lord. I did not know I had a position beyond that of a broodmare and ornamental curiosity.”

  “The women of Trobridge are picked for their brains, my lady. But they may have to be taught to use them. To think on their feet. As for a broodmare, we haven’t even gotten to the touching stage, or it would seem, beyond insulting each other in public.”