I am so sorry for the long wait. I really don't think this chapter is very good and worked on it for a while. I really suck at writing marriages and sexual content and this is the evidence. I will not include more sexual encounters in the future chapters, it's just not my thing.

Anyway, here you go. As always, I am grateful for all comments, favs and follows. Also please feel free to criticise and make suggestions!

Catherine

~o~

She wore a gown of cream satin and cloth of gold, her hair cascaded down her back in lazy ringlets and she wore a headpiece of gold and diamonds the king had given her as a gift. She looked pretty today.

"You look very much like mother." On this special day, Elizabeth had apparently resolved to hold her tongue. Cat couldn't find much resemblance in all honesty but she appreciated the kindness. It wasn't easy for Elizabeth, that much was certain. Her young sister would surpass her and that had always been her greatest fear.

Thank you, Elizabeth."

Her sister did not look bad either in a fine new gown of red velvet with a jewelled gable hood that lent her figure an air of earnest dignity. Anne on the other hand, dressed in deep royal blue satin, looked French and capricious and extravagant.

The chapel bells rang. It was time.

While Anne and Elizabeth hurried to the chapel to take their seats in the first row, King Henry was in the hall, ready to escort her to the altar inher father's stead. The way to the chapel was lined by rose bushes and cheering servants and Catherine smiled at them brightly. Charles was waiting for her in the chapel, a ring for her in his pocket, ready to spend the rest of his life with her. The king's strong fingers guided her towards the oaken double doors, page boys in the Duke of Suffolk's livery pushed them open for her. everyone rose when she entered but she never saw them. An odd, bubbly feeling rose in her stomach, she wanted to run towards him and withdraw at the same time. She would marry him and there was no way out.
Unbidden, her father came to her mind. He wouldn't have approved. He was surely disappointed in her: Not only had she given up her pursuit of the lands and title that had been forfeited but were, according to his own distorted worldview, his by right and birth. No, she had also dared to marry a commoner, the son of a standard bearer who bore an absolutely undistinguished last name and spoke neither Latin nor Greek. A man whose ancestry consisted of merchants at best and beggars at worst, who had made his fortune with sports, drinking and gambling, according to Edward Stafford. She had abandoned every principle her father had indoctrinated into her. She had abandoned many of the values and views she had grown up with, like a snake shedding its skin would she now shed her old colours and heraldry and take her husband's for her own. As custom decreed, Catherine Brandon's official coat of arms would still show her father's colours, on one half at least, but they incorporated the royal lion and flleur de lis and it was definitely dangerous to still use them, even when they formed only one eighth of her coat of arms. Instead, Catherine Brandon would, unimportant as she was, use her husband's coat of arms, the elegant heraldry that did not hide his humble beginnings.

Catherine Stafford had entered the chapel, with all her baggage and insecurities, her remorse and guilt, Catherine Brandon would leave it again, with her head held high and a bright future in front of her.

"Charles is lucky," the king whispered and squeezed her hand. "I will make sure he doesn't forget it."

"I am lucky, too, Your Majesty." Her eyes were on Charles and he, breaching protocol, turned around to look at her, too, despite the whispered reprimands from the archbishop. Charles flashed her a quick smile and then turned back around unhurried.

"And I will never forget it."

They walked past Anne, and Henry, even after all these years of courting, couldn't take his eyes off her. And Anne, even after all these years of courting, pretended not to see him until the very last moment. Cat caught the elegant, knowing smile Anne offered him at last. She was forever the perfect mummer.

If the Lord was kind, they would soon celebrate another wedding. He had shown Cat kindness and she prayed with all her heart that He would show Anne the same soon.

They finally reached the altar.

"You look beautiful." Charles didn't even bother to lower his voice.

"Well, isn't that the reason why we're here?" she whispered.

"It definitely isn't your sense of humour." He squeezed her hand.

"Or your personailty."

Bishop Warham gave them a bewildered but warning look while Henry next to them chuckled before he retreated.

Warham cleared his throat: "We are gathered here in the sight of God to join Charles and Catherine in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, and is therefore not to be entered into lightly or inadvisably, but reverently, discreetly, and in the fear of God." The old Archbishop of Canterbury was concluding this mass, not Anne and Henry's favourite Cranmer, Charles had seen to that. Catherine was well aware that, despite his unwavering loyalty to his king, he was a Conservative at heart when it came to religion. Perhaps that was the only thing he had in common with her father.

Warham, now past eighty, leant heavily on a walking cane and a mass servant's shoulder but his voice had lost nothing of its dignity and weightiness. Despite his evident lack of humour, he was the priest Catherine would have chosen, too.

The ceremony seemed shorter now that she stood in front of the altar. Henry gave her away in her father's stead, Charles and she spoke their vows, he placed the wedding ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, a band of gold with an inscription that read I am the pledge of loyal marriage and tender love. It was plain English, not the fashionable French nor the intellectual Latin.

Warham concluded the ceremony by laying her hand in his: "So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate."

And they were married.

~o~

Charles

~o~

He waited for her in the chapel, he and half the court. He had been married thrice before. His first two weddings had been humble affairs, his last had been too pompous by half. This time, it would be different. He had waited years for this day and had to smile when he remembered their beginnings. He had loathed her, at least he had convinced himself that he did, while at the same time, he had ignored the spell she had cast on him. Charles remembered her demeanour in France, when she had behaved just like her father. He remembered the frightened, pale, defiant girl that had come back from France, the one that had not looked away at her father's execution although her lip had trembled and her eyes had had a horrified look. He remembered her as a young woman in an old-fashioned, threadbare dress that had done nothing to hide her elegance and dignity. Her arrogance, pride and feistiness and the way she had mocked him from the very first day of her time at court.
He on the other hand had been as annoying as a midget although he did remember that he had fancied himself both funny and irresistible and that her resistance against his charme had terribly annoyed him. Yes, they had had a rocky start, Charles summed their history up when the musicians started to play and the doors were opened.

She was there.

It would have been proper to wait for her. It was expected of him to just stare at old, sputtering Warham for half an eternity while she walked over to him. Charles was supposed to keep his eyes on Jesus- but even Jesus had a good view of her, just like everyone else in this chapel- everyone but him. And because Charles had never been one for traditions and customs, he turned around to look at her. Was she terrified? Would he find doubts in her green eyes? Or would she look happy?

She held her head high, walking at the king's side with slow, dignified strides but when she saw that he had turned around, she beamed at him. At Charles smiled back.

Her eyes darted from him to Warham and Charles heard the old man whisper some reprimand but he did not care. He took a long look at the rest of her, from the soles of her no doubt new shoes to the tip of her bejewelled headpiece. She had rarely looked more beautiful. The white made her glow and she looked even more innocent than usual. But her loose hair and the bodice that was as low cut as the church allowed spoke of something else too.

Charles was looking forward to the ceremony. He was looking forward to the reception. And he was definitely looking forward to the wedding night. Most of all though, he was looking for the years of marital bliss he could expect.

The Bishop said the same words that he had said all those years ago when it had been Mary at his side. Did she think about that now? He tried not to, and when he did, it was in Catherine's favour. She recited her vows not like a child would recite a poem but spoke the words as if she had invented them. She did not seem to care for the audience they had, not even for Warham. Catherine did vow to be bonny and buxom in bed and board but she did not promise to serve him, which was, according to the mumbled comments of the audience, a minor scandal. Charles wanted to tell her how much he liked that alteration but it was not the time nor the place. He would, later.

He himself spoke all the vows with more enthusiasm than ever and, as never before, he did not feel like someone just clipped his wings. Every single word was the truth.

He put the ring on her finger, a modest one in comparison to the one he had given Mary but the words in this one were different. Amour pour toujours, Mary had chosen for her wedding ring and the words still tasted bitter after all this time. The words engraved on Catherine's were I am the pledge of loyal marriage and tender love and he believed in this motto, although it was perhaps a little wordy. Charles had considered passionate instead of tender, because quite obviously, they both were far more passionate than they were tender. But his feelings for her were more than passion.

Warham spoke a few concluding words and they were wed. Charles had not taken his eyes off her. Catherine Brandon. He felt an odd sort of pride that she was now sharing his last name, that she had parted from a name as noble as Stafford just to be with him. That she had tarnished her reputation, her claim and her blood to marry him. He also felt a twinge of guilt.

"I must say, husband," she said on their way out, looking on the ring on her finger, "that I would have expected weddings to be more of an ordeal."

He smiled. "As with every other sport, it depends on the partner, wife."

She laughed. "I will just ignore this remark. Have you just compared our wedding to a game of tennis?"

"I might have. Anyway, it is too late to give up now." It wasn't actually, their marriage hadn't be consumed yet- and she seemed to remember that right now as well, judging by her expression.

Her smile was a little dimmer now. "Well, then I have no choice it seems."

Charles shouldn't have reminded her. By now he knew that she was frightened of their wedding night, afraid to do something wrong and he knew he had to blame his reputation, his past and his great appetite for this. He shouldn't have pushed her but he had been so eager. She was too proud to share her fears with him and he could not fault her for that although he wished she would. Charles had made it all worse by trying not to push her because she had, in fact, felt pushed away. Tonight, they would have the chance to approach the matter in a way Charles knew better. He would not fail her tonight. He would make her feel good about this, he would give her pleasure and he would remove all her doubts. She would know that she was the only one for him and that no other woman, neither dead nor living, was her equal.

~o~

Catherine

~o~

The reception took place in Brandon's vast London house. The banqueting hall had been transformed into the scenery of a fairy tale, flowers hung from the high ceiling in garlands, they covered tables, walls, stairs, and hung over the doors in and there, she even found mistletoe.

"It is breathtaking."

"Nothing compared to you." He kissed her hand and she didn't even come up with a witty reply.

The food was excellent and the music was good. They danced every dance and for a few hours, Catherine could forget the mixture of anticipation, excitement and fear that was lodged deep inside her and resurfaced briefly everytime someone mentioned the bedding.

But then night came and with it the bedding.
It was intimate, nothing Cat had to be scared of. Their guests were still celebrating a floor below them when the maid helped her out of her wedding dress and into the nightgown and robe, brushed her hair and put the expensive wedding jewels back into the casket.

Cat's heart was pounding in her chest when she finally told her guards that she was ready. Normally, the bridegroom would visit the bride, but Brandon (Charles, now) had told her to come when she was ready and she loved him even more for that. There was nothing she had to be scared of, really. All women had gone through it and nothing bad had ever happened. It would hurt but not so badly. It would be fine. He knew what he was doing.

"Good evening."

"Good evening."

He sat in an armchair, a goblet of wine in one hand, the other one resting on the back of the neighboring chair. Charles did not get up but gestured for her to sit down next to him.

"Wine?"

Cat nodded. He was still fully dressed while she wore only the thin wedding nightgown and a robe and that made her feel uneasy once again. Everything makes you feel uneasy tonight, little coward that you are. The nasty voice was right, unfortunately. The wine did not help much. She did not want to be drunk on her wedding night but the wine was thin anyway and far too sweet. Honeyed and watered down probably.

He chatted to her casually and she tried to respond lightly, but actually, she would have liked to get over with it. The quicker the better. No woman had ever claimed that her wedding night had been exceptionally wonderful. It was something you did to legitmise your wedding. The pleasure came later, if it ever came. She had half a mind to tell him to just get started when he took her goblet from her, put his hands on both sides of her neck and kissed her. It was far easier to lose herself in this. After a while, he pulled her over to him, then rose, very slowly, until they were both standing. She knew he was preparing everything and was grateful for it. She was not capable of being in charge right now.
His hands moved from her neck to her shoulders, down her arms, he squeezed her hands, then rubbed idle circles on her back. Only when she had started to touch him too did he take it a step further. His hands opened the belt of her robe a tad too eagerly, his eyes dropped from her face to her body, barely hidden by the sheer silk.

"You are so beautiful, Catherine," he said hoarsely with his hands in her hair, his lips near her ear. Then his fingers slowly descended, kneaded the tense muscles of her shoulders. His lips explored the tender flesh of her neck, nibbled at her earlobe. When he kissed the sensitive spot just under it, she sucked in her breath.

Something began to blossom in her stomach, something warm that spread through her body and concentrated between her thighs.

Her inexpert fingers moved to the hooks of his doublet opening one after the other, then he shrugged it off. He wore only a loose shirt underneath. She pulled at the hem and accidently brushed over the crotch of his breeches. A bulge had formed there and he groaned after her quick touch. The shirt went next and he was half-naked now. Broad shouldered he was and Cat could see the muscles working underneath the skin when he pulled the shirt over his head . There was a thin scar on his side, almost ten inches long. He saw that her gaze had dropped to it and explained: "Someone tried to scratch me there in my first battle. He never tried again." Carefully, she traced the smooth tissue with a finger, then she looked up at him again. There was unconcealed hunger in his eyes, but also tenderness and his movements were soft and slow. He still did not try to undress her. Neither did he open his breeches. Should she do it? He embraced her again and her fingers found their way to the waistband, undid the laces. Again, she brushed against his manhood and this time, he moaned against her lips before he quickly got rid of his breeches. He was fully nude now and she tried not to look at him below the waist, found it rude to stare and was afraid of what she might see. He still did not try to undress her but gently guided her to the huge bed, his bed, but with a new mattress stuffed with downs and feathers and covered with silky sheets. The drapings were made of bright red velvet with rich embroidery but the sheets were white. There were several blankets and coverlets piled on top, even sleeping furs for colder nights.

She laid down on the bed, still in her nightgown, insecure what he wanted her to do.

Apparently nothing. He crawled on top of her but did nothing but kiss her until her lips were swollen and the heat between her legs was burning. She tugged at the neckline of her nightgown, then at the hem and pulled it over her head. Charles looked at her as if she was a picture he wanted to remember. Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out to touch her, his hand hovered over her chest for a moment, he looked at her to see whether she was afraid. In reply, she reached up and pulled him close, kissed him and allowed her hands to wander from his waist to his neck, entangle in his hair. His fingers gently squeezed her breast. He knew where to touch her, that much was certain. His hands were everywhere at the same time, at some point, he started kissing her body too and she was beginning to feel a longing, though for what, she was not sure. Finally, his fingers moved between her legs and stayed there. She had never known that the consummation could be this pleasurable. A strange sensation took hold of her and she gasped out in surprise, threw her head back as the feeling washed over her in waves.

Afterwards, he kissed her with new fervour but still, he was waiting. For what? Had they not waited long enough? She was scared of the pain it would bring, yes. But she wanted it. It would seal their bond, make them one in the eyes of God and law. She spread her legs a little as one of the French ladies had once told her. He seemed to take the hint.

"Do you want this?" He brushed a few loose curls from her face. "I do not want to hurt you."

He would, there was no denying that. But yes, she wanted it anyway. She was his wife, he was her husband. And somehow, her body wanted it too, she thought.

"I want this." She smiled. "Husband."

The word alone sufficed to make him smile.

"Little Wildcat." He kissed her neck. "My wife."

It did hurt, yes. Not much, not long, but it was a stab of pain. Not as bad as she had imagined it and soon forgotten. He said her name in all variations as he thrust into her, kissed every inch of skin within his reach. When he spent his seed inside her, he groaned louder than before, was panting heavily, his eyes were closed. Perhaps, he had planted a child in her womb.

"How are you feeling?" He lay next to her now, staring at her face, trying to find out what she was thinking. Cat smiled. "I'm feeling better than I ever have." That was true. Never before had she felt so light, exhilarated, satisfied.

"I love you." He said as he kissed her forehead.

She had to laugh. "I think you are rather agreeable, too."

"Remind me why I married you again."

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps you did not think."

"Why did you marry me?"

"I thought too much," she grinned.

"Will you always have the last word?" He pulled the blankets up to cover them both and brushed against her skin far more often than necessary.

"Only if you don't come up with something cleve- Oh." His touch was expertly.

"I think I have found a way to shut you up." He said before he kissed her again.

It was true what they said about the wedding night: If it was good, no one actually slept before dawn.

Catherine awoke when the sun was already high at the sky, panicking because she feared she might have missed her duty, then remembering her wedding when she felt someone stirring next to her.

"Good morning, Mistress Brandon." Charles placed kisses on her shoulder blade.

"It is "Your Grace" for you, Your Grace."

"Good morning, my grace," he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes so that he could see it.

"When are we leaving for Penshurst?" She wanted to depart as soon as possible, was looking forward to days she would spent only with him...and nights, too.

"The children are not there yet." He reminded her, his hands on her waist.

"I know." She turned around, suddenly feeling wicked. She ran a hand down his smooth chest.

"Oh." His breathing quickened. "I should have known, you ladies from France are all- Ouch!"

"You better be nice to me, Your Grace."

"How come you remember my title better now that you are not supposed to use it anymore?"

"Because now it is mine own, too. Your Grace."

"Charles." He corrected her.

"Master Brandon." She kissed his collarbone as her hands travelled over his body.

"Charles."

"My lord Suffolk."

She kissed his neck, her hands wandered.

"Catherine," he groaned. Catherine decided that she liked this part of matrimony.

"No, you got it all wrong." She smiled as she kissed him again. "I am Catherine."

"You are the devil." He cursed her.

"No, I do not think that hell is a particularly wonderful place."

She placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"I will show you." He grinned, and within moments, he had changed the game. He was a more experienced player, after all. She did say his name then.

"See, was that so hard, little wildcat?"

"Stop calling me that, I am not the most recent addition to your menagerie."

"I don't have a menagerie yet, only a cat. I could get a parrot, or perhaps a bear?"

"I know a dozen parrots but I won't share you with any of them." She said rather harshly. He had spoken in jest but his past was there, all written over her body. He was an experienced lover, that much was obvious.

He smiled uncomfortably now. "I could never revert to drinking water after trying wine."

She had to laugh despite herself. "I never understood why they call you charming. First you compare me to a pet, now to a beverage. You are everything but charming."

He pushed himself up a bit so that he could look at her better: "Only with you, Cat. You make a fool out of me."

He seemed self-conscious for a moment and that was all it took. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down crashing upon herself.

They left in the afternoon, later than originally planned, and quickly because neither of them cared to hear more bawdy remarks.

Next chapter will be longer and have the children, Anne and a bit of drama! We are in summer 1532 now (events-wise, I seem to have abolished time and concrete dates along the way for which I'm sorry), so we all know what's coming soon!

Review Replies:

Xenocanaan: Thank you! You never fail to cheer me up :)

Unique16: That's so sweet! I am smiling like the donkey from Shrek right now. I am double-majoring in English and German (to become a teacher) and have writing, linguistics and literature classes. As many others, I'd like to be a writer and have already completed a novel- but in German. My command of the English lanugage is not good enough for a 'proper' story. Thank you!

QueenAnneTudor: I agree, he was really immature. Anne was not without flaws of course but she did not deserve her fate. I do blame Henry and Cromwell most, though, her enemies had nothing on her as long as those two were on her side. But yes, Charles is very judgemental and unfair and perhaps Cat can make him see sense. Thak you for your comment.

Dear Guest, I thank you! I wanted to create a character that goes well with Anne but is neither her shadow nor a poor copy but compliments her- while also having chemistry with Brandon. I'm glad I seem to have achieved that at least partly!
And I am so happy you like my Anne, she is such a wonderful real life character and I really want to do her justice.

Dear Guest, thank you for your review! Here you have the wedding (night), sorry if it didn't meet your expectations. But I am certain I can offer you a dose of drama in the future! ;)