Oh, I thank you so much for all the reviews! They really brightened my day! I was so motivated, I wrote a whole novel, I fear.

Near on 8,000 words. It won't be that much next time, I promise. I thought about splitting this up but it works better in one piece I think.

ChildofDreams: Carew (Nicholas Carew) was one of Henry's closest companions (one of the rakes from his youth) and a relative of Anne Boleyn. He was however secretly sympathising with Katherine and Princess Mary, although he only acted on this later when he did not agree with Anne's general behaviour and her treatment of Henry Guildford and the Duke of Suffolk. He played a crucial part in her downfall so I wanted to introduce him early on. He is not in the show and he won't make many appearances for now. Sorry, this is not a show-only fic, but I will try to briefly introduce non-show characters from now on.

Anyway, replies to the other reviews at the bottom, hope you enjoy!


December, Greenwich Palace / Westhorpe Hall

Catherine

~o~

"Come back soon!" Anne kissed her on both cheeks. "Christmas will be terrible without you."

It would be far from that. The Queen would preside over the official festivities at Greenwich but Anne would celebrate Christmas at her own London house surrounded by her own court.

"No doubt you will suffer terribly." Cat smiled. "All the feasts and dances and gifts."

"I knew you would understand." Anne grinned. "Henry has promised-"

"Lady Catherine, His Grace asks whether you are ready for departure." A servant lowered his head respectfully.

"Well, you will see when you come back." Anne handed her a little parcel. "For your nieces."

Cat felt a wave of affection for her friend. "That was not-" she started but Anne shushed her away.

The duke was already waiting with the horses.

"Are you ready?" He was smiling. Perhaps, he was just as excited to be alone with her as she was. Or perhaps he is just looking forward to seeing his daughters, fool.

He helped her onto her horse himself and for a brief moment, his hands were wrapped around her waist and hers around her neck.

"Thank you." She hoped he did not notice how breathless her voice sounded.

The morning was crisp and cold but not windy and Cat wore a fine cloak of sable fur and warm gloves.

It was not a long ride to Suffolk and the duke knew much about the countryside, the villages and stately homes. Her father had never been interested in those things. Hunting and fighting, that he had been good at. Never politics.

We will arrive after nightfall unless you want to stay the night? There is an abbey nearby."

Cat shook her head. "A kind offer, but I am not tired."

"As you wish. In summer, the ride takes not even half a day. But now, there is ice on the bridges and paths."

It was december after all, Cat had expected as much. The sky was so pale that she thought it might snow soon, too.

It did.

She had never been to Westhorpe Hall before and when she saw the building, vast and imposing but tasteful, she could not help but be impressed. It was already dark but the sky was clear and the stars bright, and golden light shone through the many windows. Lanterns shed their yellow light on the frozen path and bridge and Cat was careful to slow her mare down. An accident would be most inconvenient.

In the courtyard, the duke helped her off her horse. He did not downplay the charm of his house as most lords would, neither did he call his home modest or plain. He called it home though.

"I am glad to welcome you into my house and hope you will find it comfortable and homely."

She would. Westhorpe was the kind of house that made you feel at home immediately. No dusty portraits of ancestors lined the walls of the entrance hall. Instead, hangings and tapestries in warm colours gave the room a welcoming look.

"Your Grace." A housekeeper curtsied low. "Welcome back, if I may say so. The children are already in bed but if you wish-"

"I will see them in the morning. Betha, I trust you have prepared chambers for Lady Catherine Stafford?"

The plump woman curtsied again, this time to Catherine.

"I have, Your Grace, with sight over the gardens and ponds, as you said, Your Grace."

Was that a blush grazing his cheeks?

"Good. And the young Neville wards have arrived?"

"Sleeping soundly in the east wing, Your Grace, with the young ladies."

"Good. Thank you, your service will not be needed anymore tonight."

The woman hurried back into the dim hallway, though not without throwing a last curious glance at Catherine first.

"You must be tired. I will show you your chambers."

Actually, Cat was not tired at all. She would love to roam through the many rooms of this splendid home. She found no trace of Queen Mary's extravagant taste in the staircase or the halls they passed, instead the rooms were furnished elegantly but with focus on practicality and comfort, rather than on impressiveness.

"The house was redecorated after the Queen's death." The remark had escaped her lips without thinking.

The duke's expression showed a hint of indignance.

"Forgive me, it was thoughtless-" she started, but he interrupted her.

"I had it redecorated last year. For the children. Mary had an exquisite taste, but it was more befit a palace than a country home, in all truth."

He stopped in front of a door and opened it for her.

"I hope you find it comfortable enough."

The candles were lit and it was warm and dry inside. A fire was crackling in the hearth. It was a suite of three rooms: the parlour they were now standing in, a bedchamber next door and a dressing room, Cat supposed. This was not a guest suite. Family members resided here.

"I am sure I will." She smiled. "Thank you, it is very kind of you to host me."

He replied nothing and Cat became suddenly aware of how close he was standing in front of her. She could not make out the colour of his eyes in the dim room but she definitely noticed the expression in them. Soft, warm, intense.

He brought his hand up to twirl back a few loose strands that had escaped her hairnet and riding hat. His warm fingers brushed against her cheek, still cold from the ride.

"Good night, my lady." He said, so softly that she had to lean over to him to understand.

Then he turned around, almost hastily, and left the room like a Lutheran fleeing from Rome.

"My lady?" The servants brought her things and her maidservant hurried after them.

"Shall I braid your hair for the night, my lady?"

Yes, she definitely needed some rest.

~o~

She woke early in the morning though, as always in an unfamiliar environment. The sky outside was still dark but the intricate clock on the pine dresser showed half five. She still had an hour until the whole house would rise.

Cat tried to read by candlelight but found that her eyes tired soon. Sighing, she got up, stepped into her shoes, rummaged for her robe, finally found it and left her quarters, candleholder in hand. Few things were more interesting than exploring a house when everyone was still asleep.
Servants bustled on the ground floor so she stayed on the upper floors, opening door after door with great caution. She had been right, her own chambers lay in the family wing. Cat opened a door to a little girl's bedchamber and after that stayed clear of the doors in that part of the house. The embarrassment would be hard to bear should she by accident open the door to the duke's bedchamber although his door was surely locked.

The corridor she entered seemed airy, only a few candles shed their light on it. There was a small but well stocked private library here that was surely the duke's study, a more spacious room that seemed to hold the duke's art collection. The pictures were well-painted but did not bear the signatures of great painters. A small frame contained a biblical scene, the annunciation to the blessed virgin Mary, apart from that, there were only landscapes, mostly forests with wild animals and fields full of summer flowers under a blue sky. The estate Westhorpe had been painted in all four seasons: Winter, spring, summer and autumn hung next to each other in matching frames. Cat was now quite content with her choice of Christmas gift.

She roamed the room, lingering here and there to take a closer look, always careful to keep her candle away from oil colour and parchment. There was only one portrait and Catherine recognised it immediately, although she had only seen the woman a few times as a girl: Princess Mary Tduor, Queen of France, Duchess of Suffolk.

She was beautiful, truly beautiful, forever young and radiant in this portrait hanging in a place of honour above all others. She looked down on her with cool grey eyes, unsmiling. Cat had always found that the princess wore frowns and cool expressions better than a smile. In fact, she had never seen her laugh. Sometimes, she had smiled,graciously, elegantly, arroagntly. But rarely laughed. She is more beautiful than I can ever hope to be.

Catherine tried to ignore the stab of jealousy in her chest and left the room hastily.

Her chest was still tight although she pretended not to know why when she entered the last room. These were rooms for private entertainment, the duke and his family spent much time here in their bedrobes and night attire, reading only one more pager, taking one last look at a painting- and apparently, listening to one last song. This was the music room and it was as different in style from the lother two as the sun from the moon. Or rather the other way round. Where the rest of the house had been more comfortable than elegant, this room had no wall hangings. White tapestries embroidered in gold and silver gave the room a cool but extravagant flair, there were pale rugs on the wooden floor and the furniture was dainty and elegantly curved. There was a clavichord in one corner, a harp, too, a lute, a few flutes and a shelf for song- and music books. The duke could not sing, neither could he read music very well. This was Queen Mary's music parlour, no doubt. Catherine had rarely felt more like an intruder.

The door behind her was opened. "Good morning. Have you not slept well, my lady?"

Now of all times. Brandon was fully dressed and there was no trace of sleep in his handsome face. She on the other hand surely looked terrible: Her hair was a mess and she was most indecently dressed. But it could not be helped, she had been so foolish and now she paid for it.

"Good morning, Your Grace. Forgive me, I shouldn't-"

"No, it is fine. This was Mary's room. She spent days in here, all alone." There was an underlying melancholy in his voice.

"She was as talented as the king, I suppose?"

"Definitely determined to be better than him." Suffolk smiled. He loved her, truly loved her. Cat had always thought that it had been ambition on his part, ambition and desire. Knowing that she had been wrong in this stung.

"You are not one for music?" He asked.

"I play the harp and the clavichord and I had singing lessons...but I prefer other activities." She had learnt to read music and play it but it had never been a passion.

"As do I." He grinned. "Hunting and hitting balls with rackets." Cat blushed. She had said that to him once.

"And all I care for is flirting with noblemen for my own advantage." She replied, smiling too.

"Did I really say that?" To her surprise, he looked a little ashamed.

"Perhaps I do not recall correctly." she allowed but he shook his head.

"No, I fear I really said that. Forgive me. I would compose a song for you to make up for it but I fear my attempts would chase you away."

She only smiled at that. "Do your daughters learn music?"

"Yes." He swayed his head. "Everything a king's niece has to learn. But they are not very eager. They can read music by now, at least I think they can. I wouldn't notice if they didn't. Frances, the eldest, she plays the flute, and well I heard. Mary has no interest in playing music, she hides in the gardens whenever the music teacher tries to teach her. The man is a saint, in all truth."

The way he talked about his daughters was sweet. At court, there was always very little room for families and even less for children. Here in the countryside it was different though.

"I am sure they both do well."

She was eager to leave this room, leave this room that was a reminder that the man she did like far too much had had a beloved wife, a princess and a Queen, that Cat could never hope to eclipse.

"Why are you up so early?" Suffolk asked as they walked back to the staircase.

"I am an early riser. I never took you for one, in all truth." He was the kind of man that woke late in the morning to servants bustling around in the chamber.

"I am none. I -" He paused.

"I hope I haven't woken you?" Perhaps she had accidentally opened the door to his chamber.

"Ah, no, you haven't. At all. I slept badly, it must have been the moon."

There was always a different reason for sleeplessness but it was so much more elegant and private to blame it on the poor moon.

He left her on the stairs and Cat went back to her chamber where she almost slammed her head against a bedpost. What. a. terrible. fool. I. am. She looked terrible, too. Her hair looked as if a bird had nested in it and her face was flushed. She tugged at the neckline of her nightgown but now it was too late anyway.

"My lady?" The matronly housekeeper entered. "Are you satisfied with your lodgings?"

Cat had not even heard her knock.

"Yes, I am, thank you."

"Your little maids are still fast asleep, and what a night they had! So I thought I'd come to assist you, if it please you."

That was very considerate of her but Cat suspected that Brandon had sent her up. And this woman was fond of gossip, no doubt. She would fill the room with pleasant chatter and perhaps Cat could find out a little more about the duke and his family.

"That would be very kind of you, Mistress-"

"Betha is enough, young lady. Come now, sit down a bit, I'll brush your hair in a moment, I'll just quickly fill the tub."

Betha praised the softness and colour of her hair but Cat was sure, even if her hair was green, she would have said the same.

"How long have you been housekeeper here?" That question was all the woman needed.

"Oh, for decades, sweet lady. Well, I was His Grace's housekeeper in a different home first, when he was still a gentleman. But I moved here when His Grace was made a duke by our fine king, oh indeed, I was the first to set foot in this house! I was here too when he married that fine princess and now I am still here to serve his children, and him, whenever the king can spare him."

"When did His Grace marry the Queen of France again?" Cat asked, although of course she knew.

"Ah, that must have been- Yes, quite truly, that was twelve years ago. You were still half a child then. And His Grace, ah, I may not say it but you will not give me away, will you?"

Of course she would not but Betha did not even leave her time to reply.

"He was a very young man back then, wild as a young bull and just as fierce. Like the king, the two are like brothers, everyone says it, and so alike in many things. He had his head full of sports and wars and ladies, our young lord, His Grace, I mean. And he married the princess, the Queen, I mean, but it was her who persuaded him. The king never wanted their marriage, but young Princess Mary commanded it and His Grace was never one to resist. She was a beauty, the princess-"

Oh, I have seen her.

"Though you are just as pretty, my lady, no doubt. Ah, yes, that was a story after my fancy, I tell you, my lady. Everyone knew the king would forgive his friend, his favourite sister of course. She was mad in love with His Grace, I tell you. They came here, to Westhorpe and she made a right palace out of it. "Westhorpe Palace" some japed- never me of course. The princess, aye, she was never quite satisfied with being a Duchess. Later, she often complained. A Queen, she was, a Queen she should have stayed… She loved her husband though, until her death. The Lord took her early, the poor thing. She was not yet thirty but, alas, God moves in mysterious ways. His Grace was devastated, of course. Although, if you ask me, he was never quite as much in love as she was. Spent much time at court with the king and his wife here alone, angry at him and oh-so proud. She had the whole house redecorated like a Greek temple. But I ask you, are we in England here or in Rome? His Grace set it right a few years ago. Is it not very English in style?"

"You think His Grace did not love his wife?" Cat was both horrified and oddly pleased, to her own horror.

"Ah, he did, he did. At first. married her there and then, not thinking twice, not thinking at all, young and carefree as he was. But later, only the two of them, and far away from court...She had her music and hated outdoors, he loved to hunt and to ride and hated music. They had very little in common in all truth and it had been a whirlwind romance, a quick marriage. She was a princess by birth, a queen then, and he was a knight's son, a newly-made duke. She was too high above him and liked to remind everyone of that. 'Your Majesty', we had to address her, but he was only 'Your Grace'. He needs a lady that is his equal. Don't we all? But he grieved for her, terribly oh yes."

They were estranged, she here, he at court. And there were other women for him. One of them my own sister. Suddenly, Cat felt sick.

"He never brought a lady home, until now that is-"

"I am his ward." That was the only reason why she was here.

"Of course you are, my lady, of course. And you have your wards here, too. Sweet little children,all of them. Solemn sometimes, but orphans often are- hush, the bath is ready."

Betha was a jolly servant and she distracted Cat with her chatter so that she could forget about Brandon and his Marys for a while.

"Ah, a beautiful dress. For Christmas, I assume? Yes, red's the colour for you. And this one, such a pretty pale blue, radiant, my lady, truly."

She helped her into the dress, laced the bodice tightly and fastened the elegant necklace around her neck. The aquamarine rested just above her breasts.

Cat hid her hair under a hood. She had looked like a milkmaid this morning but now, she wanted to look like a lady.

A servant entered: "My lady? Your wards have asked for you. They are downstairs in the morning room."

Cat had not seen her sister's children since September, when she had visited them at Sudbury Place. The eldest, George, Baron of Bergavenny at seven, stood tall and straight when she entered but Bessie, the elder girl stormed over to her for an embrace.

"Lady Aunt. We have missed you dearly."

The youngest, Kitty, named for Cat and the Queen, was still a babe, and in her cradle where her wetnurse would take care of her.

"You have grown much, Bess. How are the teachers? How are the lessons?"

Bess looked to George. Then back.

"We do our best, I promise. George is not good at Algebra at all and my teacher said I am not very gifted in music. But we try and work more now-"

"Why, I was never very good at geography. Till this day, I do not know where Augsburg is. It does not matter, Bess. Do your best, that is enough. How is the house? Are you feeling at home?"

"It is very beautiful and I have three chambers and twelve dolls! I have names for them all. One is called Philippa and one Mary, for our lady mother. One Isabella, for the Queen, and one Alice-"

Cat made a mental note to remind the governess not to give Bess more dolls. Twelve were surely enough.

"Madam. I mean, Aunt Catherine. I- I still have not learnt how to ride a horse. Properly I mean. Perhaps, I mean, could I-" George's face had reddened.

"Of course. I will ask the Master of Horse later. A proper Baron should know how to ride, I agree."

"My lady." Brandon had appeared behind her. Cat was still kneeling in front of Bess and quickly rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts.

"Your Grace. My wards, George and Bess Neville."

Brandon greeted them kindly.

"My daughters, Frances and Mary. I think the children already know each other."

Apparently they did for they left the breakfast table soon after to play in the snow.

"They seem to like each other." Brandon and Cat stood in front of a window together, watching the children play.

"Indeed."

George was just helping Brandon's younger daughter Mary up after the girl had stumbled in the deep snow.

"I have half a mind to join them." Cat laughed.

"Why don't we? It has been years since my last snowball fight."

"Snowball fight?" Cat had never heard about that.

"Throw snowballs at each other? Have you never done it with your siblings? I had two elder sisters and in winter, I coughed snow all the time."

No, Cat had never played outdoors with her siblings. Mary had been much older already and considered everything that involved running a 'boyish game' and Elizabeth had only wrinkled her nose at Cat whenever she had asked her.

"I am certain I will learn the game quickly."

And she did. It took her a while though, and the merciless children had bombarded them both with snowballs in the meantime. Although Brandon had selflessly offered himself as a shield, her winter cloak was wet and half frozen by the time she finally hit the first time.

They returned to the house before dark after Brandon had pointed out that they all had blue lips and pink cheeks.

"I wish I had learnt of snowball fights as a child! My winters would have been infinitely more fun."

"Did your siblings never play with you?" The duke seemed surprised.

"Henry and Elizabeth were adults by the time I was able to walk properly and Mary… well, she was older than me too and not interested in something like snowball fights."

"No." Brandon replied. "I didn't think so."

And suddenly, it was all back. Her sister's disgrace and banishment, Brandon's arrogance, her sister's poor health that was only rendered worse by the time in cold, wet Yorkshire.

"Forgive me-" Brandon started but they had reached the house. The feeling of guilt that had overcome Cat was hardly bearable. This was the man Edward Stafford had loathed, this was the man that had brought Edward Stafford to an early grave and her sister to shame. The man who had ignored his wife until she had died, alone and afraid and angry, far away from everyone. And yet, I cannot dislike him, and yet, I think he is a good man, an upright man, honest at least, despite all his flaws.

"Have you lain with my sister?" she lowered her voice but the children around them were so loud that no one but him would have heard her anyway.

"I-" He started, opened his mouth again to say something, then closed it. He seemed to weigh his options, then opened his mouth again-"

"Lord father! Look, Frances has a lake at her feet!"

He held Cat's gaze a moment longer, then lowered it and turned to his daughter.

That is reply enough.

She felt devastated. He was too much a coward to admit the truth straight to her face.

~o~

Night had already fallen but she still sat in the great library, a beautiful room on the ground floor, and wrote a long letter to Anne. It would surely take her friend the greater part of a week to read it.

"May I?" Brandon stood in the doorway almost shily, like a little boy.

"It is your library after all." Cat could not help but smile.

"Catherine- Whatever happened with your sister… you must know that I sorely regret it."

So it had happened. He admitted it. And in Leviticus, it says...

"I wish I had been wiser then, I wish I had refused, especially now - A thousand times have I cursed myself, the ki-"

"Why the king? What did he have to do with it?" That was odd. Brandon paused a little too long before he finally replied:

"He was present. He was…The court was worse in those days, Her Majesty had withdrawn, she was in childbed and we were all-"

"I can imagine." She tried not to sound judgemental. "I thank you for your honesty."

He still looked forlorn, desperate.

"I did not know back then- or I wouldn't have-"

"No one did. Not even I would have thought that Father could be so cruel."

Now he looked confused.

"Excuse me?"

"Mary's health was fragile, he knew. He still sent her away to Yorkshire. Was that not what you meant? That he sent her away because of that... affair?"

What else could he have meant?

"No. Yes. That was exactly what I meant. Good night, my lady."

And with those words, he left the library.

~o~

The next morning, a letter from Anne arrived that took Cat's mind off things for a while.

It was written in French and full of Anne's discontentment, praise for the king, who was surely reading her letters, and court gossip.

"Dearest Cat,

Court life is lusterless and dull without you. I spend much time with Lady Margaret Lee now, Wyatt's sister, and she never tires of talking about her brother. Come back soon or I might be guilty of manslaughter. Wyatt is now lovesick in Italy, though he does not know for whom. I wish I had a man's fickleness, just for one day. It must be quite refreshing to feel so many passions for so many people in so short a time. You must remind me to write a poem about Weathervane, the knight of constancy.

His Majesty on the other hand is as constant as the sun, a more constant lover has no woman ever had. His gifts are generous and his mood so jolly that I cannot help but smile in his presence.

My sister is at court now, too, and although I have secured her a good pension of 100 pounds, she is still unhappy. Widowhood does not become her I fear, or perhaps it is celibacy. My aunt, your sister, is now a creature of the Queen and His Majesty saw it fit that she spends Christmas far away from court. I cannot say I miss her much.

Sir Francis Bryan is a true pirate, and I am certain you would find great delight in him had you not already given your affections to another. There is a new singer at court, Mark Smeaton, with a voice like an angel and he is the only light in my dark days without you when His Majesty is away with his gentlemen.

Campeggio has still not made a decision and if he does not hurry, I fear he might die before he can do what he was bought for. He does not find the English weather agreeable, he said, well, who does? Shall we all move to Italy now, I wonder? There is room enough now that the Emperor has cleared the streets.

His Majesty is often away, too often, and I am deprived of both my sun and my moon. I have reason to look forward to Christmas Eve though, for His Majesty and I will enjoy a splendid private feast with our closest friends while Wolsey will host Campeggio at Hampton Court and Katherine will spend a quiet night of prayer in her rooms.

She will precede over the official festivities though and I will spend long days in my new London home, Durham House, with only Mary and a few insipid maids as companions. No doubt they will bore me spitless.

I hope you enjoy your quiet festivities with the Duke...but do not enjoy them too much, I need you here! Tell His Grace that I wish him a merry Christmas, for your sake, not for his.

Je te prie de ne jamais douter les tendre sentiments de ta fidéle amie

Anne de Boullans"

The tone of Anne's letter spoke volumes. She was bored and distempered, with no one to challenge her wits and keep her occupied. The king was less jolly in winter, too, that was well-known, but feasts and indoor tennis kept him in good humour.

Cat was slightly annoyed that Anne had hinted at possible feelings she might have for Brandon. The king's men read these letters, she was certain, and what if one of them understood the hint?

"News from court?" His Grace had entered the morning room quietly.

"Mistress Anne wishes you a merry Christmas, Your Grace, and is looking forward to our return to court."

He raised an eyebrow. "I am certain Mistress Boleyn worded it differently. But thank her for her kind words."

"Has His Majesty sent word?"

"A few lines. It is not going well with the Cardinal and Campeggio. The Queen is still refusing to agree to his terms. Mistress Boleyn is his constant companion in everything he does outside of the privy chamber." His tone was somewhere between humourous and bitter, and once again, Cat wondered whether Brandon was truly supporting his old friend in his great matter. Suffolk was conservative in many ways and truly admired the Queen.

But he would never tell her the truth.

"Excuse me, if you will, Your Grace. I have promised the children to play."

He smiled.

"I know, Mary told me thrice already. I will not keep you."

For Christmas, the girls dressed up their dolls in their finest attire. Cat sewed a cape of satin crepe for Bessie's doll Alice and a long coat of velvet for Mary's favourite doll Princess.

"Princess will go to bed now, she is tired and excited for tomorrow. Say 'Good night'." The doll waved and was then stuffed into her bed rather unceremoniously.

"Will you tell us a story?" The girl asked. "No one ever tells us stories. Betha tries sometimes, but hers are always boring, never stories about knights and ladies."

Because those rarely end well in real life, sweetheart.

"I do not know many stories about knights and ladies." As a child, she had preferred stories about witches in dark forests and pirates and adventurers that discovered new worlds.

"But I know one. The story of Beauty and the Bear. Do you know it?"

Mary shook her head. "Is she a lady?"

"As fair a lady as you can imagine. And brave and daring as well."

"Oh, I love stories about brave ladies! I'll tell Frances, shall I? We can all sit in the parlour in front of the fireplace and you tell your story."

She jumped to her feet and darted out of the room.

Charles

~o~

Mary was jumping down the stairs and bounced into him in the hall.

"Father! Catherine -"

"Lady Catherine, Mary." he scolded his younger daughter gently.

"Yes, father. Lady Catherine will tell us the story of the beauty and the bear!"

That sounded ..different.

"Then I will not stop you."

Catherine appeared behind his daughter.

"There you are. We are waiting for you, young lady." She was smiling.

As Mary ran into the parlour to join her sister and Bessie, Brandon turned to Catherine.

"The beauty and the bear?" he asked.

"The bear will later turn into a prince. But do not tell!"

He had rarely seen her so relaxed and happy. Her skin was glowing, her eyes were shining.

She sat down in an armchair by the fire, young Mary on her lap. She had never known her mother, Charles thought with a touch of melancholy. His Mary had died not a year after giving birth. Frances was ten already, too old for dolls but apparently not too old for stories. She sat on her chair like a proper little lady. Her hair had the same amber hue as her mother's but her eyes were not grey but blue. Not long and she will go to court. He was not ready for it but no father ever was, he supposed.

Catherine's ward stood in the room forlornly and he offered her to sit down next to him. She was a shy girl, had nothing of his daughters' wildness.

He helped her onto the upholstered bench and shily, lightly, she leant against his arm.

"There was a fair maiden once, her name was Beauty and she was the daughter of a great lord who wanted to marry a prince from a far away kingdom so that she could travel across the world.

'He must have monkeys,' she told her mother one morning, 'and a fine black lioness.'

Her mother was confused. 'A lioness, love? What would you do with a lioness?'

'Why, she would be my friend. I would ride her across the desert. Do you not know deserts, mother? They are far away, in the South, in -' She had forgotten the name of the kingdom, but it did not matter.

As the maiden grew up and became a lady, she forgot about the beasts. Beasts were for children, ladies wanted embroidery and dances and handsome princes.

Beauty was to marry a prince, that much was determined by her parents, and although they did not know which prince, they were certain that he would own neither a monkey nor a black lioness.

Men came to ask for her hand every day and she sat in her bright little reception room with her mother at her side and received them gracefully.

'I offer you a monkey-' The bear roared, 'And a black lioness. We will travel for three weeks and you will see everything the world has to offer.'

But the girl refused him. 'You are a bear!' she said. 'Only a bear. I am to marry a prince for I am beautiful!'

And her mother nodded at her side, too scared to say anything.

The bear became angry. 'Only a bear! Why, and you are only a girl.' And the bear carried her off to his cave and all her father's soldiers could not save Beauty.

For a long time, the girl cried and cried until the cave was damp and salty. But there was no use in it. The bear had taken her and she did not know how to go back to her father's keep. 'Make the best of it.' she thought and slowly, she started to be more friendly. The bear cared for Beauty, although he could not give her the lioness and the monkey. 'Not yet', he always said. Instead he made her fine dresses of flowers and colourful leaves, caught fish for her and picked berries, for he knew she was fond of them. She brushed his fur and built a fire, so that it was always warm in the cave.

And all of a sudden, Beauty noticed that she did not want to escape anymore, for she had grown to love the bear.

One day, when the bear was away catching fish, a young man came, handsome to behold, tall and strong with a black lioness at his side and a monkey on his shoulder.

'Who are you, girl?' he said to the maid.

'I am Beauty.' She replied. 'And who are you?'

'Oh, I am a prince.' He said. 'And I have quite fallen in love with you!'

In the past, that would have moved her heart but now, she only laughed.

'How can you love me when you do not know me?' she said.

'Oh, I know you well enough. Come with me and I'll make you a queen. Stay here in this cave and you will be nothing but the princess of the forest.'

Beauty was tempted. She wanted to sleep in soft beds again and wear dresses of silk, play with the monkey and admire the lioness...but she loved the bear and she would not leave him, not for the finest silk dresses, not even for the black lioness.

'I cannot go with you', she said. 'I love the bear and I will never leave him.'

And in that moment, the prince turned into the bear.

'I love you too, Beauty. Forgive me my ruse, but I had to be certain that you truly love me.'

Then he changed back into the prince.

'I spoke true. I am a prince, son of the king of a great kingdom and I will make you my wife and queen if you accept.'"

Catherine paused.

"And, did she accept?" Frances had leapt to her feet. "You must tell me, you must!"

Charles put a hand on his eldest daughter's arm, but she did not notice.

"Of course she accepted. She travelled half the world with her prince and then, there was a wedding on the prince's castle to which Beauty's family was invited and Beauty wore a wedding gown of lily-of-the-valley and snowdrops in her hair. She rode to the altar on the black lioness with the monkey on her shoulder. And she and her prince lived happily ever after."

She was good at telling stories, he noticed. And his daughters had taken a liking to her with alarming speed. Yesterday, Mary had asked him quietly whether Lady Cat would come to visit them again after Christmas. He had not known the answer.

"Oh, another story. Just one!" Mary tugged at Catherine's sleeve.

But night had already fallen and the next day was Christmas Eve. The girls needed rest and he did not want them to grow too fond of her. Perhaps, they would never see her again.

"To bed, young lady. And you, too, Bess, Frances!" Charles said firmly.

It was a sign of their tiredness that they hardly objected. Cat left with them, still too nervous to be in the same room with him after he had made his confession yesterday...or rather what she had taken for a confession. Charles had given his word to keep quiet...given his word to a friend and he would never break it. And yet, he was tempted. Would she look at him with different eyes then?

I still cannot unmake my past, who I am. He could not deny that he had been, to a certain degree still was, a terrible skirt chaser. Women fascinated him, they always had and he had never learnt to resist temptations. Rarely even tried. And why should he have? Court was for him like a flowerbed for a bee...only that now, it was only the thistle that interested him and her petals were closed to him forever.

I have changed since Mary's death. They say she tamed me but it was guilt more than her. Never had Charles regretted anything as much as his marriage. It was his fault, not Mary's. He should have resisted, he should have stayed here with her...but he had not loved her enough for that. The truth was a bitter draught but he had swallowed it a while ago, standing next to her body, still beautiful in death, her face still proud.

Yet, not two months later, he had already pursued the next lady...and so forth, often together with the king. Henry always seemed to have conveniently forgotten about their farce of a marriage. He had dared Charles to chase after this lady, had challenged him for a duel to win a lady's favour,knowing that the king would almost certainly be the winner. And Charles had loved it. Now, though, Henry was as celibate as a monk, chasing after Anne Boleyn like a dog. And Charles... well, he was just as bad. Worse even, for Catherine had never even hinted that she returned his feelings. It does make it a lot more difficult that I treated her terribly for the most part and that she thinks I have lain with her sister and sent her father to the scaffold. He had tried to be interested in other ladies, especially when Catherine had still spent much time with that terrible Talbot. But no other lady could keep his attention, they paled in comparison to her.

In all objectivity, Catherine was not the most beautiful lady at court. But somehow, to him, she was by far the most intriguing. No, this would not help. He would have to stop thinking about it. Her changed demeanour meant nothing. She was grateful, not more.

And I might just join the Benedictine monks.

~o~

On Christmas Eve, there was a lavish dinner with a huge roasted turkey, roast venison, pork chops and a selection of seasonal vegetables. For Catherine, Brandon had also ordered a selection of cakes for dessert: Frnech pastries and puddings, cakes baked with sweet winter apples and little artworks of marzipan and spun sugar that had taken the cook the greater part of the week, as the man had stressed nearly ten times.

"Oh, look father, I have a swan!" Mary was delighted by the shape of her desert. Frances's dessert was a fox, Catherine's a cat and Charles's, by pure coincidence, a bear.

"They are very beautiful."

Catherine was more beautiful. She had chosen red for the day, a deep, rich hue that looked particularly good on her. She wore rubies on ears, neck and wrists and a wreath of holly in her dark blonde hair. No Christmas angel could be more beautiful. He was happy that they were not at court where every man present would undress her with his eyes. Charles admited freely that he was a jealous man, a jealous man who had no reason for his jealousy.

After dinner, they retreated to the main parlour. "Oh, I love the decorations! Is that mistletoe? And all these red ribbons." Mary danced through the room.

"Indeed. Betha has done well."

Brandon glanced nervously at the mistletoe. It was a fashion at court: All ladies hungry for affection would wait under a mistletoe for some young gentleman to kiss her. Often, the old and greedy lords found them instead. As of lately, some lords had started waiting under the mistletoe, too, forcing the next lady that went by to allow them a quick kiss. Wise ladies evaded these spots during the twelve days of Christmas.

Hopefully, Catherine did not think that he had some immoral intentions. He had definitely not told Betha to use mistletoe in her decorations...but the woman did have a plan, Charles feared. She thought he was a widower for too long.

Gifts were exchanged, and the children danced around merrily and fell asleep on the cushions after Catherine had suggested to read the nativity story.

The servants carried them to their bedrooms but Charles and Catherine stayed behind.

"I thank you for the gift." She smiled nevously. "It is very beautiful. And special."

He had given her a rare copy of the Greek Illiad with a Latin translation, and a pendant with pearls and a huge ruby. Ruby is the stone of love. It was said that sorcerers made love potions with tiny rubies, that lovers wore them round their necks to strengthen their bond.

She had presented him with a painting of Penshurst, the great manor house Charles had been granted after Buckingham's fall. The painting was stunning, the artist's skill remarkable. The scene showed Penshurst and its sprawling grounds, dark woods, a pond and a meadow of summer flowers.

She knew him better than he had thought.

Charles took a step towards her, and another.

"I thank y-" He started but her gaze was directed at something green above his head. Damn you, Betha.

She would never believe him that he had not seen it.

Confused, he took another step towards her, starting to apologise at the same time until her fingers brushed over his cheek lightly.

"It is tradition." She smiled and he did not quite understand what she meant at first- And suddenly, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, merely grazing his lips with hers in truth but that short touch was intoxicating. He forced himself to stay focused, to hold back, fearing he would otherwise lose complete control- and he knew what that would lead to.

She took a step backwards. Her green eyes were full of surprise, perhaps at her own boldness, but there was something else too.

"Merry Christmas, Your Grace." Her voice was husky.

"Merry Christmas, Catherine." His own was weak and breathy.

He watched her disappear through the main door and sank down into an armchair. The room was cooling but he never noticed. I am lost, completely and utterly lost and there is no way out of this madness but one. Charles had never understood Henry's obsessive affections. Of course, Charles himself had had many amorous adventures but those had been different. It had not been his head that was in love but his body. And he had never longed for a woman like he longed for her. He wanted her, body and soul, yes, but more soul than body. Not even Mary had stirred feelings like these in him.

He finally admitted it to himself now: The reason why he had not stumbled into a quick liaison with some beauty at court in the last years was not his advancing age but her, and only her. And she thinks I have seduced her sister and sent her father to the block. His chances were not good. But even if he was fighting a losing battle, he could do nothing but fight it. There was no giving up here, he would fight until the bitter end. And she had kissed him, so perhaps there was hope after all.

"Your Grace! You should have called! The fire is out and there is mist in the air, you will catch a cold-" Betha's face was flushed and she smelled of ale. Catherine had smelled of spices and wine and her own sublte sweet perfume.

"Merry Christmas, Betha." He rose from his chair. "And wonderful decorations."

"Ah, eh, merry Christmas, Your Grace-"

He felt her eyes on his back as he left the cold room. Charles felt like whistling some carol, felt like dancing and singing. Yes, there was hope.

He still felt her phantom lips on his.


I thank you all whole-heartedly for your reviews! They bring a smile to my face and I am always far more motivated to write.

I have decided what to do about Anne now, thank you all for your feedback!

Although I do think that the reasons why she was executed are quite complex and I think that no friend could have convinced Henry to spare Anne/ convinced him of Anne's innocence once the thought had been planted in his mind. I think it is a bit like Othello and Desdemona.

I thank you all for your ideas, especially ShinyRedPenny and Akewataru for your elaborate suggestions!