The day started with tiredness, headache and slight nausea. This was all Henry's fault. He had wanted to get some food, but instead, he had let some girl sit on his lap. Catherine rolled off the bed to drink some water. Margot lay peacefully asleep, half on top of her father, who, along with her, almost took up the whole bed. Catherine's mood was downright bad, even for her, for the early morning. She felt dirty, cold, angry, and generally - all Catherine wanted was a hot bath and a decent meal. Her standards had dropped precipitously in the last two days, and Catherine grimaced sourly as she slipped into the uncomfortable shoes. Still, a part of her hoped she was only dreaming, a horribly real dream, but still only a dream.
Margot stirred for the first time as Catherine ran her fingers through her own tangled curls, trying to tame them at least a little. She watched her daughter rub her eyes and lift her head to check on Catherine. Henry slept like a rock and didn't even wake up as she lifted Margot from his chest and sat on the little stool to nurse her before the little one would get impatient.
Margot waited patiently until Catherine had half-exposed herself and leaned her head against the wall with her eyes closed. A burning pain made Catherine wince as Margot began to drink, but it subsided, and Catherine relaxed. After her many pregnancies, she was used to a particular sensitivity in her breasts, but this time it seemed worse than the usual feeling of pressure.
Catherine exhaled her held breath and tried to relax as Margot continued drinking. The longer her princess's breakfast dragged on, the more the pain intensified, and Catherine could stand it no longer - a displeased sound from Margot was the receipt for the decision to put her on her other side. She thought she was going mad when the pain didn't go away but now appeared on the other side too. The bed creaked, and Henry sat up with a speed that made Catherine look up, forgetting that she was presenting not just one but both of her naked breasts to her husband.
"And I thought you had left," he rubbed his head when he saw his wife sitting on the stool and relaxed a little. The tiredness and fatigue were more than evident on his face, but that didn't stop him from staring at Catherine. Overly irritated, she tried to cover herself adequately again, which was met with a grin from Henry's side.
"You'll have to be prepared for me to see you naked again sooner or later," he remarked, and Catherine gritted her teeth. She held back some reflexive tears that came with the pain. This effort prevented a spiteful remark, and Henry calmly got up to put his clothes back on.
It took Catherine a lot of self-control not to let her discomfort show, but she managed to satisfy Margot and get dressed again. It was surely just the stress of the last few hours, and Catherine was glad to leave the inn with Margot in her arms. She knew that the ride to their final destination could be more strenuous - at least the sun was shining, and the mist was slowly lifting over the sleeping village. Without starting another discussion, she left her husband to take Margot with him on his horse.
The following hours passed mainly in silence except for Margot's babbling, to which Catherine kept replying in Italian in protest. Her premonition had been confirmed; Henry also seemed to have difficulties towards the afternoon to hold himself properly on the horse. Catherine kept shifting her position slightly but was unwilling to ask Henry for a break. At least not more breaks than they needed to lead the horses to the river they were riding along.
What she did worry about, however, was the fact that he had not mentioned her slap with another word - perhaps his punishment had been to humiliate Catherine by making this girl sit on his lap. But even from that, his wife had almost fully recovered. It was a matter of habit, she found. The countless times she had been in just such a situation had hardened her.
Catherine exhaled a long, hissing breath, leaning lightly on her arm, only to be able to lift her sore bottom from the saddle for a moment. "We're nearly there," Henry informed her unbidden, joining her on the wide trail, "we've still got this valley to cross - the village is over there."
Though Henry pointed vaguely in the direction they would ride, Catherine could barely make out anything in the distance. The sun was now burning down on her almost uncomfortably, and it was warm, the coarse fabric sticking to her skin and the headache slowly returning. At least Margot had been content drinking some water and nibbling on a piece of bread rather than be nursed by Catherine, which had given her a few pain-free hours.
The rest of the way, Catherine rode in absolute silence and with the utmost self-discipline, keeping herself on the horse's back.
Margot had fallen asleep on Henry's arm when they finally reached the small village, the sun colouring the sky blood red and orange - just as Catherine had always imagined hellfire.
It was not a good omen, but there was no one here to confirm her suspicions or reassure her. Who would have thought that Catherine missed the court seer and his advice the most after her children?
Henry rode ahead, and Catherine let the suspicious glances wash over her, but they always lingered only briefly before the curious pairs of eyes turned back to their work. At the edge of the village, Henry stopped at a small house. It did not make a run-down impression; on the contrary, it looked well-kept. The garden was neatly laid out, and the place was small, probably just one room, but made of stone, with a window in front of which a red piece of cloth had been hung.
"Does the house belong to the crown?" she asked quietly so as not to attract attention, and Henry nodded curtly. Catherine wondered who she had driven out of this house, but the longer she thought about it, the sooner she realised that the family had probably been richly rewarded. Henry dismounted his horse and kept Margot in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather. He led the animal around the house, behind which was a fenced-in orchard with a shed for the horses. A barn could be made out some distance away, which Catherine guessed was used to store hay and straw.
Just the thought of owning sheep, cows or even pigs made her feel uncomfortable - she was definitely not up to the whole thing; she wanted to get back to the castle.
"Catherine?" called Henry, and she looked up after trying to identify the vegetables growing in a neatly arranged garden bed. She clicked her tongue slightly and followed the sound of Henry's voice around the house. Only when Catherine stopped beside him, she got off her horse. Her legs trembled slightly, and she had to hold on to her saddle for a moment.
"Go into the house, I'll take care of the horses," it was a tone that tolerated no contradiction, but she would have agreed with him anyway. Margot woke as Catherine took her in her arms. However, contrary to her mother's fears that she would start crying, the little girl merely rested her chin on Catherine's shoulder and played with her loose hair. She followed the little path through the knee-high grass that led to the wooden front door. Cautiously, Catherine opened it and peered inside. Three windows let some rays of sunlight into the darkroom, and she squinted to get used to the twilight more quickly.
Directly opposite the door was the hearth; Catherine took only three steps and was already standing in the middle of the room. To her right was a bed, which suddenly seemed so infinitely inviting to her. As soon as Catherine could safely put Margot down there, she continued her inspection. At the end of the bed was a wooden chest, which she did not open quite yet. There was a second chest next to the hearth and a wobbly table, and two chairs. Catherine rubbed her face with a sigh and had to pull herself together not to scream in frustration. A few seconds later, Henry also entered the room.
"The horses are taken care of," he had to duck slightly to even enter. Catherine looked at him, mentally hurling every insult she had ever known at him. This was his fault - it was incredible how quickly her anger took over again.
"We need water," she replied curtly and looked around for a vessel. A few moments later, she pressed a bucket into Henry's hand, and he actually resigned himself. Fatigue seemed to have rendered them both almost will-less. He left the hut again, and Catherine gave her daughter an uncertain look. What if the pain returned? There was obviously only one way to find out. She sat down on the bed with a sigh, and Margot climbed onto her lap, watching Catherine as she untied the strings of her dress.
The night passed relatively uneventfully after Catherine had nursed her daughter in slight, if present, pain. She, Henry and Margot had fallen asleep almost immediately. Henry had managed to make a fire, so at least none of them were cold.
The numbing tiredness had given her a more or less restful sleep, at least until the early hours of the morning when Margot climbed off the bed to play with her stuffed lamb.
Naturally, Catherine woke up from this but was content to keep an eye on her daughter from her bed. After only a few minutes, the little girl had had enough and moved towards the warm hearth to curl up on the straw sack in front of it.
Catherine slowly realised that she was far too close to Henry for her liking. He had one arm around her, and she could feel his body close to her back; no sheet of paper would have fit between them; Catherine was sure of that. While she was thinking about how and if she would change her position, Margot had fallen asleep again, clutching her stuffed lamb.
Catherine still toyed with the idea of getting up but decided against it. This bed was warm, Margot was content, and, in general, she desperately needed the rest. Henry's chest brushed her back with every breath, and when he drew back his arm to touch her hair, wrapping a curl around his finger, her silent suspicions were confirmed. Henry wasn't asleep. He was awake. And he knew exactly what he was doing.
Maybe if she lay still, he would let her be, after all, Catherine didn't feel much desire to enlighten him about her physical condition. Her whole body ached from the long ride, and even if she would never admit it, she needed a few hours of rest to recover. Contrary to her hopes, Henry seemed to have decided to test her limits. His hand slowly travelled from her hair down her spine. She lost close contact with his body, and the only memory she had was of him lying beside her, his hand now resting on her hip and his warm breath on the back of her neck.
Catherine didn't know what to say. She didn't even know if she really wanted to stop him. Henry brought his hand back up over her side, and she had to try hard not to just close her eyes and enjoy his attention and closeness.
"Henry, stop it," she murmured inarticulately, almost flinching as he touched her breast. The pain was definitely back, and she hadn't expected him to actually go that far.
"Why?" he asked, his deep voice triggering a typical reaction in her, "I know you're enjoying it." She relaxed instantly, and her thoughts sank into a fog; it was almost hypnotic the way he spoke to her. Catherine had nearly given in, she could still have slowed him down if she had wanted to, but his firm grip on her left breast made her whimper. The fog suddenly lifted, Henry loosened his grasp and leaned on his forearm to observe her from above.
"Let me be, Henry, please," the last time she had seriously uttered that word to him must have been years ago. She deliberately did not turn on her back so that she could see him but continued to stare into the dim room.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked demandingly, taking hold of her chin and turning her face in his direction.
"Nothing. I just don't want to," Catherine replied, beginning to fall back into her stubborn pattern, nothing more left for him than contempt and anger.
"Well, I'm your husband," this reply came far too quickly for him to have given it any serious thought, and Catherine looked at him in disbelief. What was he up to? Was he simply going to override her and her will?
"And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked, trying not to squirm under his gaze and the tense silence that followed his sentence.
He was silent for a moment, looking at her appraisingly as Catherine tried to escape him and his weight half on top of her. His grip tightened, and Catherine dug her fingernails into the sheet - she would not cry in front of him under any circumstances, even if she really felt like it at that moment.
"There you go," she said quietly, quivering with anger at herself, at him, at the whole situation, "do it. You wouldn't even shy away from that..."
Henry let go of her chin, and Catherine was on her feet faster than she had expected. "You know very well that would never be an option for me," he cut her off angrily and rose from the bed as well.
"Oh no?" the constant pain, exhaustion and his failure as a husband, which had brought them to this situation in the first place, drove Catherine to the brink of a rage of unprecedented proportions. "What exactly was that on Thanksgiving?" she crossed her arms in front of her chest but quickly realised that position was too uncomfortable and dissolved her stance, turning away from him to maintain her composure.
"You know very well that you started this whole thing," Henry reared back angrily, "I've had a lot of things foisted on me, but I've never raped you or done anything without your consent!"
The harshness in his voice caught Catherine off guard, and she pressed her lips together, weighing her following words carefully. "You used me," she finally replied, almost dangerously calm, "Diane wasn't there, and I was drunk."
"No, you weren't drunk. At least you were lucid enough to tell me how much you wanted Diane gone," Henry corrected her, sitting down on one of the chairs that looked far too small under him.
"Don't I have every right?" Catherine sneered, propping her palms on the tabletop, glaring at him in anger, "The stupid whore destroyed our marriage."
"Oh no, she didn't," Henry laughed joylessly, "you played a big part in it yourself. With your heart of stone and that damned Medici blood..."
"I was scared to death", Catherine pressed out between clenched teeth but didn't move an inch. "I threw myself at your father's feet in public because I feared you would want to get rid of me, maybe even kill me, while she made my life a living hell-"
"And that was your reason for using me as a stud?" Catherine saw that Henry was genuinely hurt under his angry façade, "you've never loved me, Catherine, don't pretend you did."