Free Geoffrey Condit by Band of Iron Page B

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