This is a rather long chapter and it spans several years. This is still mostly prologue. I changed Mary "Rose" Tudor's date of death, and the ages of Charles Brandon and Henry.

I am sorry for this, truly. This is an AU, more or less. Anne was born around 1507, Catherine a little later. Henry was born 1491, I changed Charles' date of birth to 1493.

Edward Stafford was executed 1521, I made it 1522 so that the girls are a little older at that time. Again, I am sorry.

Charles Brandon did have a young, wealthy ward at some point (his later wife Katherine). Cat took her place in my story.

Thank you Light Filled City for your review!

I do appreciate feedback a lot, so please, tell me what you think.

Thank you.


One year later. The Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

~o~

Charles

The burial was a grave affair. Charles stood at his wife's coffin, oak wood with inlays of gold and silver.

"Forgive me." he muttered. "Forgive me. I have not been the husband I swore I would be. I have disappointed you. And me, too. I thought I could be better." He remembered his wife's last words. You are incapable of being faithful, Charles. No woman will ever be enough for you. And I will leave you now.

Frances and Katherine, their daughters stood in the empty church, silent. Their son was still too young. A boy in the cradle, no more. Charles would soon reach his thirtieth year. A widower, the king's good brother, a man in his prime with three children and a vault filled with gold. And yet, for once, he did not think about remarrying. He grieved. Not so much for her, he did not love her. He grieved for everything he should given her, he grieved for all the pain he had forced her to bear silently, jealousy, shame.

"It is not your fault, Charles." Henry had come in silently and put a hand on his friend's arm.

Maybe not. But I am still guilty.

February, another year later, Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Paris

~o~

Cathérine

"Will you write to me?" Catherine stood in the courtyard with Anne.

"Every day, Cat. Promise that you will reply to every single letter." Anne replied. Neither of them cried, they were made of tougher stuff. But they were both sad. Anne was ordered home. She was to marry a Piers Butler, an Irishman. And there was war in the air. French-English war. And Thomas Boleyn was a wiser man than Edward Stafford. Cat knew that her father still thought about a French wedding. Influence on the continent tempted him - although it were the French he was about to sell his daughter to. There were offers enough, she had Plantagenet blood after all, was the king's cousin through her father's bloodline.

But Cat was not so sure what she wanted. She thought she did not want to marry at all, she liked being on her own here in France.

"I will write to you every day." She promised solemnly and Anne laughed.

"My dearest friend." she whispered, squeezed Catherine's hand and then climbed onto her horse with elegance. Her father looked at them with eagle eyes.

"Farewell, Lady Catherine." he greeted her cordially but not warmly.

"Farewell, Sir Thomas."

May, the same year. Paris/ London

~o~

Cathérine

The days at court were long and lonely without Anne. Her letters were frequent though, and they discussed poetry, theology and politics in French, Latin, and English.

Anne seemed to find the English court far inferior to the French in splendour, comfort and wealth, but she wrote that Henry was just as intellectual and learned as Francis, but better looking. Catherine would have given her best dress to be able to go to England as well. She was tired of playing the Frenchwoman in France. She was reads to be the English lady at home. Home. She did not even know what she meant. Thornbury? Maybe not. Perhaps Penshurst, warm and airy. But maybe she meant something else entirely, something she could not quite put her finger on.

"Mademoiselle Cathérine? Cathérine de Stafford?" A page was looking for her.

"Ça c'est moi." Catherine got up from her window seat.

"There has been a letter for you." the boy said, blushing. Cat looked to Queen Claude and took the sealed scroll from the page.

"You can go and read it outside, Cathérine." Claude was a kind mistress.

The letter was from her father. She was ordered home. The ship would leave the day after the next. A Sir William Bride would accompany her home. That was not a very fitting and proper guard but it would have to serve.

Catherine told her Queen who seemed to be taken aback. But she gave her leave grudgingly.

"We will miss you, petite Cathérine." Catherine would miss them, too, surely.

The ship was not as grand as the first one had been, and at Dover, she was received only by a small party. Her father wasn't there. Her father's servant, old Tom Cricket was, though.

"Come, little lady." he only said and would not reply to one of Catherine's pressing questions. They had a horse saddled for her and a wagon for her things.

"Where are we going?" Catherine demanded to know, remembering that she was a Stafford after all.

"To London." Tom said but he spoke no other word.

In London, Catherine and her belongings were squeezed into a tiny chamber in Whitehall Palace, furnished with a simple wooden bed without hangings, a table and two plain wooden chairs. And there she stayed. Sometimes, someone came and brought her food but she was not allowed to leave.

An old crone came from time to time, a Mitress Browne.

"Where is my father? I demand to see him! He is the Duke of Buckingham, you cannot refuse me." Catherine shouted as Mistress Browne entered.

The crone looked at her with cool pity in her eyes.

"He is no Duke no longer, child. Dry your tears. Your father is a traitor."

"I am no child!" Cat screamed, but even she heard how childish she sounded.

Was her father a traitor? He isn't. It couldn't be. He was the Duke of Buckingham, as noble as the king himself, a direct descendant of Edward III. And has he not always boasted of this? a small voice asked at the back of her mind but she tried not to listen. Her lord father was very noble and the king's councillor. Surely it was all a misunderstanding.

It wasn't. Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham was removed from all offices, stripped of lands and titles. When his daughter was finally allowed to see him, he was a broken man, with frightened eyes. The former Duke was kept in relative comfort in one of the top cells of the Tower of London. Cat wrote to her brother, her sisters. But Henry was not in England, she was told, and none of her sisters replied.

Catherine tried to keep her head up when she entered through the main gate and fought the tears that just came coming. She was only a fourteen year old girl motherless and fatherless soon, too.

"Father." Edward Stafford wore a simple clean linen doublet but his hair was unwashed and his eyes were dead already. He had the Stafford eyes, dark and proud. Her sisters and brother all had the same eyes, an odd brown, a hint of red and a hint of gold. Catherine didn't. Hers were green.

"Catherine. Where is Henry?"

Cat bit her lip. Even now, all her lord father cared for was his son. She wanted to shout at him, tell him the truth. Henry has fled, Henry has deserted you, just like Elizabeth and Mary. I am all you have, father. But on the morrow, he would find his end on the tower green, and surely hurting a dying man was an unforgivable sin.

"Henry could not come. He is kept under close guard." she found herself saying. I have quite a lot to confess on sunday.

Her lord father nodded.

"Good. Catherine, my little Cat. You're still a child. But you can tell your brother something, can't you?"

Now it was her turn to nod.

Her lord father came closer.

"Tell him that ours is a proud family. Tell him that the Staffords of Buckingham shall never be threatened with extinction. Tell him that he shall forever strife to reunite our lands and estates, to take back the title that was taken from me. The Duke of Buckingham should always be a Stafford."

Catherine nodded again. She could never tell Henry for her brother had fled to Flanders to join all the other exiles. But she could do it herself.

"I will, Lord Father. I promise."

The former Duke of Buckingham nodded.

"Go now, Cat. Go home." Home. Had he lost his mind? She lived in a small chamber in Whitehall Palace. She had only just come home from France, after all. But Edward Stafford could not help her anymore. Neither could her brother. Elizabeth and her husband did not want her and Mary lived on some pig farm in Yorkshire. She would have to write to Wolsey. The butcher's boy.

When she came back to her cell, she saw that her things had been packed again. Mrs Browne waited for her.

"After your father's execution, you will be sent away to the countryside until the king has decided what to do with you. He does not want any traitors in his Castle." Mrs Browne had been so kind before...She is one of them. A spy. She would have to find out more about her. Maybe Anne would know...Anne had not been allowed to visit her and she would not risk her reputation by trying to sneak in. But she did write everyday, told her what happened around her chamber. She would know where Cat was sent, she would know what the king planned.

But no letter came.

Catherine wore her black velvet dress for the execution where she stood on a quickly erected gallery. She had chosen an English gable hood for this last opportunitything to please her father. He was half carried half pushed up to the scaffold. The last two steps, he took by himself. His eyes were red and raw, his skin pale, his hair unwashed and the doublet he wore was stained as well. He looks pitiful. Pity was never a sentiment her father had inspired in her.

Catherine watched with the dignity of a lady. This was not the first execution that she was present at but the first execution of a family member. Years, decades before, her grandfather had been executed for treason as well. Different times. A different king. Will I stand up there one day, too? Is treason in my blood? Edward Stafford was accused of treason for many reasons. One was that he had too many servants.

"To thee Lord I recomend my soul. Jesus, oh Lord, have mercy on my soul." The executioner signaled for him to kneel but her father wouldn't.

"God, I beg you, have mercy, Jesus, to thee I-" To servants forced her father to his knees while he still shouted prayers. The executioner lifted his axe - lowered it again. And Catherine was an orphan. The blood rushed out of her father's neck but she forced herself to look. Look long and hard. This is what happens to traitors. Father was the king's second cousin, his childhood friend and still, he sent him here to die.

It was treason to make Henry VIII jealous, treason to anger him, treason to say that he might not have a son...And her father had done all of that. He was proud and haughty and bitter. Her sisters were the same. Henry, too. But Catherine would not go down with them. She had recieved a reply from Elizabeth in which her sister told her toobey the king and be patient and that she could not help help her sister but that she would pray for her. Cat would like to believe that it was her husband, the Earl of Surrey, who had written these words but Elizabeth was perfectly capable of such cruelty as well. No, she had not expected Elizabeth to help her. Mary had replied, too, on paper spotted brown and red. She could not help Catherine, her small household did not allow her to take in her sister. She was pregnant with her third child by now. Her husband was quick, apparently. Mary asked her to sent her jewels and some velvet because her husband thought little of such finery but their Lord Father had taken everything from her and now upon his death, she thought it only fair and right that she should get back what he had taken. Cat ripped her letter into tiny pieces and fed them to the fire.

She had not managed to send a letter to Henry but he would not help her anyway. Catherine was alone, all alone. She wondered how her father did not notice that everything went downhill rapidly. Somehow, she had turned her back on England and suddenly everything she had ever been sure of was gone, had crumbled to dust.

"Mistress Stafford." No longer Lady Catherine.

She looked up to find the Duke of Suffolk standing in front of her, tall and handsome, with a face of feigned sympathy.

"My condolences, Mistress Stafford." I shouldn't have refused to dance with him. I was a fool, like father.

"I thank you, Mylord." she smiled sweetly but she could not bring herself to call him "Your Grace".

"It is always shocking when those of the purest blood show the foulest, most impure intentions and dispositions. But justice is served to all." His tone was sickening.

"At least those of the purer blood and those of good breeding and education show some signs of decency. Traitor or not, it was my father that died on that scaffold." Suddenly, the tears came, unbid and unwelcome. She blinked them away. Not in front of him.

"If you do not have heartfelt sympathy for me, do yourself and me the kindness and get out of my sight. Master Brandon."

For a moment, the man looked as if he wanted to make another remark but then he contented himself with a cool look and a stiff bow, and walked away.

"Lady Catherine." A tall man with dark hair, dressed in black linen decorated only by a simple chain of office walked towards her. Catherine did not know him.

"I am Thomas More." Sir. Sir Thomas More.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir." She curtsied. This was the king's friend and she was a traitor's daughter, parent- and penniless.

"This was ill done." the man said. "The court did not act - well, there is nothing I can do about it now. But if there is something I can do for you, Mylady, I would be pleased to help."

"I am no lady anymore, Sir. My father was no Duke, after all."

"Yet, you were not stripped of any courtesy title." He smiled. "Our Lord will judge your father justly."

"And he will be with my mother." Cat added. "God have mercy on their souls."

She hesitated. "What is - What will happen to me now?" she asked him.

He gave her a sympathetic look. "The cardinal and the king have decided." The butcher's boy and the ursuper. She thought, with some hatred and then scolded herself for it. She would not win like this.

"You will spend the summer on one of your father's estates." Sir Thomas continued. "A governess will accompany you and you will have servants to tend to your needs. The king will decide on your future later."

"When it pleases him." Catherine said, too sharply.

"Your Father's deeds - well, Henry is still young but he is righteous. He cannot tolerate treason."

"I understand." She didn't, really.

"The estate is in Oxfordshire, nothing grand, I fear, but surely good enough to live there for a while." Catherine had never been to Oxfordshire. She did not even know that her father had possessions there. Had had possessions there. Suddenly, the penny dropped. The Staffords were popular in Gloucestershire, in Kent, in the North and in Wales. In Oxfordshire, she knew no one and no one was like to help her there.

"I am sure the king has been very generous." she curtsied again. "My horse waits, Sir. I thank you for your kind words."

Thomas More gave her a wrapped parcel.

"I heard you are an avid reader." he smiled. "My Utopia is perhaps not new but-"

"I thank you. Whole-heartedly." Catherine smiled. She was indeed thankful for some kindness.

Kelmscott Manor, Oxfordshire

~o~

Catherine

The manor house was not at all grand. It was a former farm house, no more. There was a kitchen, a brewery and some other service rooms in an added wing that extended from the back of the house. Apart from that, there was a dining room just off the central passageway through which cattle had been driven in earlier days. The huge fireplace showed that this had been the kitchen once. But now there were leaded windows and thin tapestries, upholstered chairs and an oaken table. The entry hall was small but the formal parlour was well furnished and of a good size. The windows went out to the street. There was also a tiny library to the back, with windows that looked over the garden and orchards. It was almost empty though, but for a few prayer books and mouldy paper. Catherine had brought only two books with her, a French theological work recommended by Marguerite of Navarre, and More's Utopia. She also had her own prayer book with her.

On the first floor of the main house were three bed chambers and a dressing chamber. Unceremoniously, Catherine took the Lord's bedchamber. Mistress Browne moved into one of the smaller chambers grudgingly.

With them, Old Tom Cricket, her father's servant, had come. There was a cook, a serving wench called Madge, another maid called Kitty, and a boy from the village, Harry. Catherine had a yearly allowance of 25£ and had wondered why exactly she had a yearly allowance if she was to stay only until autumn. Those 25£ were not enough to pay a gardener, a groom, and washerwomen, so her few servants had to suffice. There were fields and a woodland behind the manor house that belonged to her, too. It was not grand, it was not London, but it was hers.

The first weeks were bad. She was bored and angry, read through the same books again and again, did needlework and wrote pleading letters to the King, Sir Thomas More, her brother-in-law, even to the Cardinal. But she spent far more time writing letters than reading some, few replies came back, and those that she read were not at all encouraging. The Cardinal had replied that patience was a lady's virtue. Sir Thomas had been kinder but his letter had the same message. Her brother-in-law and the king did not reply at all. After a few months, Cat stopped waiting. Instead, she went out for walks in her shabbiest dress, picked flowers and strawberries, rode her mare across the fields without supervision. It was not what she wanted but it was better than death.

She sometimes rode into the village, too, where her popularity was growing, and she gave alms to beggars and young mothers. She skipped her meat course on most days for that. Her table was simple, vegetables, mostly, some fish and poultry. Fruit for dessert, not more than two goblets of wine. She had drunk a whole flagon on one of the first evenings and then, she had retched it all up. She was careful with wine since then. The servants made ale in the brewhouse, as well as mead and cider from her own apples and Catherine gave some bottles to the village people.

When September came, she was more tense than usual but no rider came, no letter asked her to go to court, and she waited. Winter came, and it went again, a cold, dreadful winter. Mabel, the serving wench, died of a cold. Catherine still waited.

Spring came but no letters apart from a few hastily scribbled notes from Anne that a friend of hers at court had smuggled to her under Thomas Boleyn's long nose. Anne was not allowed to write to Cat anymore but she did it anyway and risked much with it.

No notes had made it through in winter and now, Cat had many short letters at once.

She watched the flowers bloom around her and when the trees wore leaves again, Cat decided that it was time for a final move. She would ride to Whitehall during the May festivities, exactly one year after her father's imprisonment, and ask the king to show her some favour as her good cousin and Lord Sovereign on earth. She was almost five and ten now. She was a young woman, old enough to marry, old enough to inherit. And old enough to take her fate into her hands. No one else would, after all.

May came and Cat put on her finest gown of red velvet. It was too short now and not so fashionable anymore but she had sewn some black velvet from her mourning gown onto the hem and the sleeves and it was not so bad anymore. She decided against the English hood. The French one was prettier, and she had her fair hair to show off. The king had left her only a few jewels, some of them she had hidden. The pearl necklace with the ruby from her mother, a rope of emeralds set in gold from her father for the Field of Cloth of Gold three years ago, and a golden chain with a stone that had the colour of her eyes, a French courtier had claimed. It was grey jade, dull but not unpretty. She chose the modest necklace. It was modest but pretty enough. She would not win the King the same way her father had lost him. Where Edward had been loud, demanding and boasting, she would be sweet, courteous, and soft-spoken.

Cat fastened her dusty travel cloak around her shoulders and left the manor under Mistress Browne's loud cries. Tom, her father's old servant, accompanied her. There were only two horses and unless she would take one of the pigs, there was no way Mistress Browne would be able to follow them. She was a convenient woman anyway, domestic and lazy with a taste for wine and sugar. Anne had told her that she was the Duke of Suffolk's maternal aunt and Cat had made sure to guard her tongue in the presence of the old woman and the servants.

The ride was long and exhausted her greatly. The stopped by an abbey on the way where the ate well, and they reached Whitehall in the afternoon.

"The king hears no petitions anymore." she was told but she took off her cloak and revealed herself as the daughter of Buckingham.

"I ask you, good man, please, let me in." she begged the guard. But to no avail. She was about to despair when she heard a voice behind her.

"Lady Catherine!" She turned around in her old gown.

"Sir Thomas." Would he help her?

"You want to speak to the king?" he asked.

"Indeed. I am not admitted though-"

"I want to speak to him, too. Come. He will receive you." It sounded almost like a threat.

Catherine waited in the antechamber of the Great Hall until she was called in.

"Mistress Catherine Stafford, daughter of Edward Stafford, former Duke of Buckingham." she was announced and she heard the whispers of the courtiers, saw the fingers that pointed at her old, unfashionable gown, the dusty hem. But they were like ghosts, clouds in the room. It was Henry that mattered, no one else.

"Your Majesty." She kneeled before her king.

"Mistress Catherine." he nodded. "I remember you only as a child." he looked at her.

"Why have you come. Do you want to complain?" he asked, with a mocking undertone.

"I do not seek to appear ungrateful." Cat said, words that she had laid out carefully. "Everything I am, everything I have comes from Your Majesty's good grace and generosity."

"And yet, you have something to beg of me." he said sharply. "Your Father was a traitor and he forfeited all his goods. I was merciful, and still, you want more."

"Your Majesty, my father was a traitor but I was never. I swear it, I vow it, I was always faithful to my king."

"You admit there is treason in your blood? Your Grandfather was a traitor, too."

"My grandfather died for your father, Your Majesty." she said, softly and precisely. "I am a woman, I can fight no wars. All I ask for is an opportunity to prove my loyalty."

The king looked at her with scrutinising pale eyes.

"How?"

"I want to serve Her Majesty, Queen Katherine." Catherine took a deep breath. Would he allow her to?

The king got up from his seat.

"Stand, Mistress Catherine." She did as she was bid. The king looked at her.

"Your father was a proud and haughty person. But it appears to me, his daughter is not. I will ask my Lady Wife whether she has need of a maid-of-honour. Return to your estate, mylady. I will send word after the summer when the court has returned to London."

Catherine curtsied again. He had called her "mylady".

She left the audience chamber of the king. Some of her father's former friends took that as an opportunity to welcome her back. She replied to their whispered words only with smiles. She would never trust these people. Never.

"Mistress Catherine." The Duke of Suffolk called from behind her.

"The life in the countryside seems to become you." he mocked her. "I think it is brave of you not to follow the fast-changing fashions of the court."

"I am quite grateful that you think so-" Say it. Two words. "Your Grace. I always find that excessive preoccupation with fashion only dulls the senses and slows down the mind. May I compliment you on your doublet? A fine creation, surely second to none." She curtsied again. The Duke smiled a dangerous, wolfish smile. He was handsome, Catherine had to admit.

"You are very kind to say Catherine. I wish you a safe ride home." He bowed slightly and walked away - but turned around again before he disappeared behind a corner.

Anne ws allowed to write to her again. Apparently, Catherine was held in high esteem at court now. Her bravery was venerated, her beauty admired, and everyone had noted her composure and obedience. Without her father as a potential threat to his throne, the king could become fond of her, her blood was pure and noble and she was predestined to be a Queen's companion. She knew Spanish and French, Latin and some Italian as well and would serve her Queen well. Anne was certain that Henry would call for her. That Katherine would make her one of her maids.

Catherine did not dare to hope.

September, Greenwich Palace, London

"Charles!" The king welcomed his former brother in law.

"I have an offer." Charles' interest was piqued.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" he sat down after Henry offered him a chair.

"I have decided. On that matter with Buckingham's girl. She will remain Lady Catherine Stafford, the title of a Duke's daughter. She will retain some of his lands and estates. Thornbury, maybe. And some others, manor houses and farms. Her income will amount to some 800 £ a year, more or less. Katherine will take her in as her maid-of-honour but she will also be lady of a part of the former Buckingham estate."

That was far too kind for the little thistle.

"Your Majesty, is that not too lenient? Her father was a -"

"She is not her father. Young, pliable, loyal. Her sons might bear the title Earl of Buckingham. She will be grateful. And loyal. There is grumbling in Gloucester and amongst the noble families of old. They will be surprised and content when they see how I treat Buckingham's girl."

"She is pretty, too." Charles said, grinning.

"That most of all." Henry laughed. "Although I am satisfied for now…"

The Boleyn girl was still his preferred bedwarmer.

"What about you, Charles? You are a widower for more than two years now."

He was. And there had been some women...but none of them had been a potential wife.

"I enjoy my freedom." he said. "And the girl is as wayward as a cat."

"Her charm has not swayed you?"

"She never wastes it on me. I am a standard bearer's son,Your Majesty."

"A duke." Henry corrected. "Well, you will love my plan then, I am certain." He grinned devilishly.

"She is a young heiress...too young." There was mischief in the king's voice

"I do not want to marry-" Charles said but Henry interrupted him.

"She is still young, fifteen only. I do not intend to marry her off for a while. But a ward needs a warden. She is ward to the crown now but ….- A game of dice, Charles." Henry took the dice shaker.

"Ten." he announced.

Charles took the dice and the shaker.

"Eleven." he said. Henry slapped his shoulder.

"Congratulations, Charles. You are now Catherine Stafford's guardian. All her lands and incomes are yours. Until she marries."

She will hate that. Somehow, Charles was looking forward to telling her.

"Buckingham will curse us from his grave." Henry grinned. He wants to spite the father...and I want to spite the daughter.

"And she will curse her warden every day." Charles grinned back.

Catherine, October, Kelmscott Manor in Oxfordshire

She was outside in the front garden where the trees with the winter apples stood. She picked some, too. All the sitting in the dining room or the parlour was tedious, the air inside was stuffy. Outside, the days smelled of fermenting apple cider and fallen leaves. A good smell.

"I see you have become a perfect farmer, Mistress Catherine."

The rider that greeted her so mockingly was Charles Brandon, and he had six men in his retinue.

"I would be a far better courtier." she gave back.

The duke climbed off his horse and strode over to her.

"Why, but you shine like a diamond embedded in green velvet." He took one of the apples out of her basket and bit into it.

"Sour." he remarked but took another bite.

"The fermenting makes the cider sweeter." she replied. "You have surely not come to taste my apples." He grinned at her.

"Why not?" then he shook his head. "No, of course not. I have come to see my aunt, first and foremost. There she is."

Mistress Browne hurried towards them with surprising speed and agility.

"Your Grace." She greeted her nephew. "What an honour to have you here." She turned to Catherine.

"You should offer the Duke a refreshment, child. Him and his men."

Catherine smiled at her. "Of course. It was only the joy to see you again so soon, Your Grace. Can I offer you wine?"

"I would like the sweet cider." The duke said. "And wine for the men."

They walked into the house and Catherine ordered Kitty, the maid, to bring the refreshments.

The Duke made a great play of his reunion with his aunt. Once they were done and once he had drunk two goblets of cider and eaten a pear and some plums, he addressed her again.

"Mistress Stafford, the king also sends me to inform you that you are now a lady in Queen Katherine's household."

He got up.

"I need to leave. Stay here, good aunt. Mistress Stafford, if you would be so good-?" Catherine followed him outside to his horse.

"Is that all?" she asked now.

"You will furthermore receive some of your father's former lands and houses. Thornbury, I think, and some others. Worth 800 pounds."

All mine? That cannot be.

"Does His Majesty intend for me to marry?" she wanted to know.

"No. Not for a while. You are granted the courtesy title of a Duke's daughter, Lady Catherine Stafford."

"I am no duke's daughter, though-" Cat objected but the duke did not listen. He sat high on his horse now and looked down at her.

"No duke's daughter...but a duke's ward." he grinned.

Not him, no. Of all men the king could have chosen…

"You have my leave to commission some new gowns, buy some jewels. You have some money for your person but I will pay for your household, I will manage your finances and lands for you. Until you marry."

He wheeled his horse around. "Come to court in two weeks." he shouted as he and his men raised dust on the dirty road.

Suddenly, she was not sure whether life at court would be better.