Chapter Twenty

Anne took a step back.

She hadn't expected to see Henry here, in the midst of Charles's camp. Although she knew that Henry had had a slight altercation with the previous French king, she hadn't imagined that he would come today, of all days.

"Still as lovely as ever," Henry commented, stepping out from the shadows.

Anne's eyes widened. Although Henry was still handsome, his body was rounder...healthier. She had carried the memory of a fit and athletic Henry Tudor in her mind, and the image of an aging king shocked her.

George murmured sleepily on her shoulder, and Henry's eyes rested on him. "Is he your son?"

"Yes," Anne answered, her voice breaking slightly.

You won't touch him, she thought desperately, placing a protective arm over her beloved son.

"Perhaps if I have waited..." Henry's voice trailed away wistfully, obviously thinking of the happier times that they had shared.

But those times were gone, especially in Anne's eyes. She had let go of all of her love for Henry and had given it to her two sons - and Cesare.

"Perhaps."

But you didn't, Anne thought bitterly.

Henry looked like he wanted to say more, but he was interrupted by the sound of horse hooves. Anne saw Juan alight from a chestnut horse.

"Anne." Juan took off his helmet and strode past Henry, whose expression had darkened.

"Juan," Anne said softly, grateful for his timely arrival. George stirred at the sound of Juan's voice, and he raised his head sleepily.

"Father," George called, and Juan smiled thinly at his nephew. The pope had instructed Juan not to reveal George's true parentage; regardless of who his father was in the Borgia family, George was the firstborn grandson of the pope, and thus the immediate heir to the Borgia wealth.

Juan ruffled George's hair and the child giggled. "I missed you Father!"

"And I've missed you both." Juan slid an arm around Anne's waist and pulled her closer to him. It was then when he noticed Henry standing a few feet from them. "Who are you?"

Henry bristled. "I should ask the same of you. Who the blazes are you?"

Juan smirked. "Only one person could be that tempestuous. Henry Tudor."

Henry's eyes narrowed, and for a moment the two men simply stared at each other. Anne leaned forward to whisper something in Juan's ear, but her husband clamped his hand on her wrist and pulled her away from the scene. He shouted orders at his men - who had all watched the unfolding drama with a keen interest - and ushered Anne into one of the side tents.

"Were you planning to meet with your former husband?" Juan demanded, ignoring George. The little boy squirmed in Anne's arms, and she set him down on the ground.

"No, Juan, I assure you I didn't know he would be here!" Anne laid a comforting hand on her husband's cheek, but he flinched. "I hate him, Juan. I admit that I still loved him when I first came to the Vatican, but now all I feel is hate and indifference. He cast me aside, just because I couldn't give him a son!"

Juan eyed her suspiciously, but Anne was earnest. Finally Juan nodded, believing her. George waddled over to Juan and wrapped his chubby arms around his "father's" leg. Juan looked down at the boy, resisting the urge to scream at him. Although Juan was once fond of George, the revelation that George was his older brother's son repelled him. Juan was only glad that he had a legitimate son - Antonio - with whom he could carry on his legacy.

Bloodline be damned, Antonio, not George, will carry my mantle as Gonfaloniere of the papal army, Juan decided fiercely, as he held his wife in his arms.

Author's Note: Contrary to "popular" belief, I don't plan on having George and Antonio as rivals. There's too much of that going on already; let's have some brotherly love for once. ;) Some of the events in these chapters came from my lovely reviewers, and I don't claim ownership of them. They just gave me great ideas. :bd