The Boar (Violent Delights Book 16)

Chapter 3 - "I know what you did"

Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham

It all starts so simply. A simple letter.

I know what you did, that night in the dark.

Signed by some french priest. Fonce Taureau I don't know the name. But he knows who I am. I mean I presume he does. I've lead a moderately sinful life there's a significant number of events he could be referring to.
I think I'm fairly logical. I ask him how he knows. That should tell me if he's lying or not.
And the answer makes my blood run cold.

Richard told me. I only write to warn you. He confessed all, professing that he no longer trusts you, and plans to expose you for what you really are. As a good Christian I assume you have taken confession so all your sins are washed clean? If so you have nothing to fear.

That breaks me. I can't have it. I can't have Richard throw me over not for this. Her? He'd side with her over me? That sniveling, stupid woman? He would. That's the problem I already have my answer. And now Richard holds all the power in the world. What could he do to me? Strip my titles? He would. He'd do it. He has always valued his precious chivalry. And the problem isn't even if it's true. It's that I believe it could be true. A chance I'm not willing to take.
To hedge my bets I reply that Richard it wrong. That I did nothing wrong. I don't know if it'll matter. The mysterious priest never replies.
And I have a decision to make. Go forward trusting Richard, and believing that he'll continue to protect me? No, I can't do that. What's more I can't look at him now. Not now that he betrayed me to some priest? I've always known he didn't care for me. Not as I do him. Well this is proof.
And so here I am.
"I know for a fact you've found the latest uprising to join. So I want in," I say, standing in the doorway of Peter Courtenay's lodging in Oxford. Not at all simple where ever did the man get his money?
"Ah yes, come in Harry, I've been expecting you," Peter smirks.
"Nothing else?" I ask.
"No nothing. You love him. Love curdles to hate. It's an old old story won't you join me? We have much to discuss," Peter says.
"Yes," I sigh, "It seems like we do."

Thomas Stanley, 1st Earl of Derby

I don't mind clandestine messages in fact they usually improve the atmosphere. However I've recently been freed from prison and my position as a steward of Richard's household is precarious at best. I'm attempting to remain out of the way and increase my fortunes quietly, through other men's deaths, as is my usual occupation when such little, regime changes, occur.
That's why this communication disturbs me greatly.

Trying to stay out of the way Stanley? Have Richard forget your enchanting habit of changing sides when it most suits you? Never fear. I haven't forgotten you, love. And I don't intend to. I don't intend to trust you. You're a wonderful liar but a couple of decades in taverns in the south of England and that brawl well, I'm sure the widow hasn't forgotten even if I paid the bar keep.
Richard may have forgotten about Blore-Heath, but I haven't forgotten the price that you'll pay if it's discovered you've murdered a member of the royal family. No, I'm not telling you which one you're going to murder what fun would that be? Everything is in place somebody shall die and it shall be on your head. Have a good time proving this wasn't written by you when I've been able to copy your hand since we were fourteen. Ever since you broke your right thumb in that unfortunate brawl the waver is quite distinct.
I know you're not afraid of losing your life, Tommy. But you are afraid of losing your fortune. So we're very much the same. Keep your life. Keep your fortune. Stick close to the crown. I'll live long enough to ruin you. Await further instruction. Don't pout. We both know you're fond of games.

"I'm fond of winning games, Jasper, damn you," I breath. Most of the indiscretions of my youth wouldn't cause too much of a scandal. But I know damn well his threats hold weight. He's not telling me enough information in advance to prevent whoever is going to die. Fine, I don't much care. But he'll have the evidence to make me look responsible which ties my bloody hands. And if that were to fail he was quick to point out that brawl in Devon. A double sided threat. Not only is a murder that admittedly could be drudged back up. But also a not at all subtle reminder that he will gladly beat a man to the death with his fists.
This wasn't even a proper threat. Just a reminder that it's his game I'm playing. All right, fine. I'll play at the disadvantage on your side.
"You miserable, rat, stupid, bare footed, bugger Welshman," I growl, as I pen my reply.