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Whitehall Palace

Catherine

~o~

Catherine understood several days later that Anne was right, and quite ironically, it were Lucy Talbot and Margery Horsham who served her the bitter truth. Cat had just been on her way to fetch the Queen some embroidery silk when she heard the two maids chatting in the empty reception chamber: "Serves her right that the duke ignores her now. God knows, she threw herself at him like a Smithfield whore." That was Margery's nasal voice.

"Oh, indeed. She is as much of a harlot as that sister of hers, I cannot remember her name." Cat's heart skipped a beat at Lucy's words. How dared she talk about Mary like that? She had half a mind to interfere, but what good would that do her? And they were right, weren't they? She had thrown herself at Brandon.

"What, that prim nun married to the Duke of Norfolk? She couldn't be a harlot even if she tried to, not with that nose," Marge sniggered. Oh, but look at your weak chin. No pearl necklace and prim collar will ever hide it.

"No, the other one. She's dead I think." Lucy's heartless tone made Cat shiver with anger. "Only the Mother Mary knows whom she has not bedded, rumour has it she has lain with her brother-in-law, too, no man was ever enough for her. She had a dozen children, all from different men, I heard from a friend in Yorkshire."

Catherine did not hear Margery's reply but retreated silently and sank down onto a window seat in the corridor, the embroidery silk all but forgotten.

'Only the Mother Mary knows whom she has not bedded'. Mary had been very unlike the Holy Mother, that much was certain. Cat had been only a child back then, but perhaps, her father's punishment for Mary had only been so severe because the fling with Brandon had not been her only misdeed. Perhaps he had sent her far away to stop her from shaming her family further. Cat could understand her father's decision without approving of it. If that was the case though...well, then Mary's death was not Brandon's fault, only her own and their father's. If that was the case- well, Leviticus did speak of brothers, not sisters, and perhaps Anne was right: She had only been looking for a way to make it complicated because marrying Brandon would be a final betrayal of the values her father had taught her. And look where his values got him. Look what kind of man he was. Look what he did to his daughters: One married to a despot twice her age, one banished to rot in a draughty manor, the youngest sent away to France all alone. His children were only pawns to him, even his son. That was not what Cat wanted. She remembered Brandon with his two young, royal daughters, girls that he protected from the politics of court and the game for power as well as he could. That was what she wanted for her future family, too.

Oh, Lord, have mercy, please. Hopefully it wasn't too late. She rushed to his chambers but found them empty and turned to the royal chambers with a terrible sense of foreboding.

"Lady Catherine?" It was the king, apparently on his way to the gardens.

"Your Majesty," she curtsied hastily. "I would like to talk to the Duke of Suffolk, do you know where he is?" She did not even care that both Boleyn men and a few other courtiers were within earshot. Henry raised a brow: "Well, you will have to send a letter. His Grace departed this morning to spent time with his daughters."

Her heart sank. "Your Majesty, do I have your leave to follow him? It is important-"

"I know what it is about."

Apparently, the shock was plain on her face because the king laughed heartily and pulled her over to the window, away from the others.

"Of course I do. And that is why I cannot allow you to follow him. You made your mind up now, my lady? Rather late, in all honesty. Yet, not all is lost and-" His deep blue eyes twinkled. They were not unlike the duke's, but more brilliant in colour, Catherine noticed with a touch of nostalgia. How often had she looked into those pale blue eyes, oblivious to the world around them?
"Charles does not have the self-restraint to stay away from you forever," the king continued in a hushed voice, "He is angry though, and hurt. Allow him some time to heal, my lady. I have never seen him as unwavering as in his affection for you and hopefully, you will finally cherish him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Anne has demonstrated that much to me." The king laughed again when he saw Cat's face. "She is playing games with me, I am aware, my lady. I am her willing partner in every game she has in mind. She plays with me because she loves me. I am not a lovesick fool although everyone seems to think I am." He threw a glance at Rochford and Wiltshire, both trying to appear as if they did not care for the two figures by the window at all. "Now, Lady Catherine, smile. Paradise is within reach."

Below them, Anne had mounted her fine red mare and was apparently japing with the steward.

"If you forgive me? My paradise is waiting as well." He kissed her hand. "I will see you at dinner. All those gentlemen that have only been waiting for Charles to give up- I wouldn't want to miss it for a hundred crowns."

He was still laughing as he made his way down the stairs. Catherine did not feel so elated. Brandon had left her all alone. Worse, she couldn't even blame him. She had ruined everything and the king thought it was a joke.

Cat was full of regret and good intentions in those first days. She would tell him what she felt right away. He wouldn't be long, she was certain. He loved her after all, he had said so himself. Of course he would return soon.

He didn't though and Cat started to feel far less rueful. Yes, she had been a fool. She admitted that much freely. She had behaved like an indecisive milkmaid. But he had simply left her and thereby destroyed all hope for a reconciliation. Because how should she tell him that she had come to realise her mistake now that he was gone? How should she try to remedy her mistake if he wasn't even there to listen? She was more than certain that he would burn her letters without reading them and anyway: It was not what should be expressed in a letter.

Yes, as the days passed by and summer came, Catherine was less and less inclined to play the role of the repentant sinner. Despite her now rebellious attitude, she couldn't stop thinking about him though. Whether he was enjoying his time in the countryside. Whether the two girls had grown much. Whether he played with them or read to them. Whether he thought about her at all.

She had been looking forward to the summer progress because it had promised the kind of distraction she had dire need of, yet, once again, she was disappointed.

The weather was terrible, grey clouds greeted her in the morning and the sound of violent cold rains lulled her to sleep. Henry did not seem to mind to much, he was occupied with refurnishing rooms for Anne and planning the expansion of several royal houses. There were the usual balls and masques that kept his mood cheerful and his courtiers occupied but that was not enough to distract Cat, quite the contrary: She only noticed that she missed Brandon even more. Everything was familiar, from the Great Hall to the music and her attire: She had worn the red gown when he had danced that daring volta with her, the musicians had played the same piece when he had nearly kissed her right there on the dancefloor.

There were several gentlemen trying to take Brandon's place and if she had not suffered so much, she might have actually found it amusing. None of them had Brandon's audacity or wit, his charm and empathy and they were all barely tolerable compared to the duke. Yet, they were the company she found herself in these days. Anne was often away with Henry, or at important political meetings and most of the other ladies in either Anne's or Katherine's chambers looked at Cat with different eyes. It was obvious to everyone that it had of course been Brandon who had spurned her. Had they not all seen how scandalously eagerly she had thrown herself at him, never even trying to resist his advances as a virtuous lady would have? She was not an outcast, her name was till too grand and her friendship with Anne too close for that. But there was a sort of smug complacency whenever she entered the room: They were as good as Buckingham's pretty daughter, even better after all, because they had no damaged reputation and no broken heart. She had aimed too high, many said. She was too forward, or he would have had her, others added.

The very open discussion about Catherine's now non-existent love life was one reason why she chose to serve Katherine more often these days. Whithout Anne, the elegant rooms at the far end of the palace had nothing inviting about them and in Katherine's chambers, there was usually a pious, if not peaceful silence. She prayed a lot, though silently, and yet, God seemed to have chosen not to hear her. Or perhaps this was the divine punishment for all her little sins. Rightly so, said the little voice inside her head that often sounded like her father. Sometimes, she heard Elizabeth, too, and rarely even her French governess. They all agreed though: Her behaviour was the sole reason for her misery. Had she behaved like a proper lady, she wouldn't have a reason to be so devastated now. Those upstarts know nothing about loyalty. Weathervanes, all of them. Cat tried to ignore them but the anger inside her rose steadily with every passing day without him.

She might actually have succeeded in blackguarding Brandon if it hadn't been for Anne.

"He fled like a coward, Nan," Cat pointed out during one of their now rare moments alone.

"You refused him, Cat. He is only a man, after all." Anne was picking her attire for the evening, Henry had sent a few new gowns and jewels.

"You refuse the king a dozen times a day, and he is still here!"

Now, Anne turned around and arched an eyebrow: "We both know that it's not the same. Also, this is the royal palace of Whitehall- where else should the king go? No, Cat, you feel guilty for scaring Brandon away and try to blame it on him now."

That was harsh, rude and completely true.

"I really wish you weren't that sharp-sighted."

Now Anne smiled her very special wicked half smile that she had perfected in France: "You could just as well wish for a new friend then. I will always be truthful to you, even when you aren't truthful to yourself. Brandon is kind and clever, he has a good sense of humour and the right temper to match yours. He would swim the channel for you with a barrel of lead on his back and a host of enemy soldiers on the south bank. Not forgetting that he is wealthy, influential and the second man in the kingdom, right after the king himself."

Catherine sudenly loged for the soothing, albeit depressing silence of the Queen's chambers. It was vastly preferable to the bitter truths Anne served her today.

Anne was clever enough to never tell Cat what to do and offer her a solution. She didn't allow her to forget Brandon though. Every day, quite casually, she would drop a remark about him, about a letter he sent to the king, about a gift he had once given to Catherine, about his position on the council and how Norfolk hoped he would never return- It were only a few words and she never allowed Cat to reply to it, to start a conversation about the duke. She would brush over it, talk of other things and pretend she had never mentioned him in the first place.

"Oh, come on, Cat, I won't talk about Brandon again. Leave him in peace. What do you think about my new composition? His Majesty said he loves it, but I find it a tad too melancholic. There is too much longing in it- but His Majesty found it fitting."

Catherine knew very well what Anne was doing but she had no idea how to fight it. Everything in her wanted to think about him and no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she wasn't interested anymore, it did not work. Every day, when she walked down the step to the Great Hall to break her fast, she hoped that someone would tell her that Brandon had arrived at court surprisingly overnight or at least that he planned to return very soon. She was disappointed every morning, again and again, and that only made her more desperate. She had even considered trying to ride to Westhorpe on her own, just like she had once ridden to London from Kelmscott. But the king would not allow her and it was impossible to leave court and the city without his permission, especially as a woman. No guard would allow her to pass and no steward would saddle her horse in the dead of the night without informing his superior. Cat had tried to write to him but never found the words. She had tried to think of a meaningful gift, a poem to send to him, but her mind was as blank as the paper in front of her. All she could do was wait and hope and fear.

~o~

Westhorpe Hall

Charles

~o~

Normally, the days at Westhorpe brought him joy like nothing else. All alone with his daughters, free to do as he pleased, no political distractions or the busy courtly life. It was exactly those distractions that he missed now because, with nothing but the gardens and hunting grounds to occupy himself with, and no one but the servants and his daughters to talk to, he had far too much time to think about her. All letters from the king and most letters from his other acquaintances at court contained more or less subtle hints. Henry in particular seemed to have developed a fondness for her: Every day, it seemed, he spent time with her and his sweetheart, Catherine went riding with them, sat in the same barge, had picnics and danced at every ball and masque, always surrounded by a flock of drooling gentlemen, all willing to sell their mothers for her hand. It made Charles angry to read all that, even though he was aware that Henry wanted him to feel like that.

"... Lady Catherine finds it increasingly hard to ward off her many suitors, and although she never encourages anyone and seems to have eyes for no gentleman at court, I fear she might do something imprudent at some point. She is heartbroken, Anne says, and I can only hope that she does not try to mend her own heart by breaking someone else's. We will soon start our summer progress, as the cold and rainy days are finally over, and jolly times lie ahead. Dances and masques, hunting trips and a few very interesting and rather frivolous games Farylon devised. I do not command you to return but I beseech you to reconsider. You were not made for the lonely country life and you are dearly missed. I promise, I'll open my finest barrel of wine, if you return to court for the summer progress. If you choose not to, I fear I will have no other choice but give the position of President of the Council to old Norfolk. He is never absent from council meetings. But be assured that I accept whatever choice you make. Kiss my nieces and buy them a gift.

Henricus Rex."

Charles would have very much liked to tell his king what he thought of his letter in person, and perhaps it was good he couldn't, for much of what he wanted to say would probably be classified as treason.
When he had cooled down a little, Charles reread the letter, focusing on the part about Catherine. Henry had coaxed him to propose to her, Charles would have never asked her had Henry not told him that she was in love. She is not indifferent. That much Charles was sure of. He knew, of course, that she did not love him like he loved her but she had been interested. She had smiled when he had proposed, he remembered. And for that brief moment, he had thought she would accept. But then her face had fallen and he had seen tears in her eyes and he had known the words before they had escaped her lips. It all came down to Mary Stafford. If only he could tell her- but he had given a promise to a dying man. It doesn't matter anyway, Charles, does it? You have broken every single promise you ever gave. 'I will never lie with that lady', 'I will protect Princess Mary and never marry her', 'I will never cheat on you', and, worst of all: 'I will love you forever'...The list was long. Why did it matter? He could just tell her, perhaps she would forgive him and he would finally find that overwhelming happiness the poets wrote about. But Charles did not want to begin their marriage with the breaking of a promise.

That was the irony of it: Break a promise just to give another. He was a different man now, one with morals and values. An unhappy man. What are morals and values for, if not to make you happy and lighten your conscience? It was true...He felt terribly about it. He had lied to her about her sister, back then when she had asked him. A lie that had come easy to him, because he had told it so often, yet not as easy as it should have. Henry, with his admirable ability to always turn a problem to his own advantage, would probably say 'You will not begin your marriage with a broken promise but with the truth, with trust and faith.' And he wouldn't be wrong, really, would he? Charles had given the promise to a friend, and wouldn't a friend wish him happiness, even if that meant that he would have to let only one person in on his secret? You are trying to deceive yourself. He was...and it was working.

"Betha!" He ran down the stairs from his study.

"Your Grace?"

"I will leave on the morrow. Make sure everything is ready for my departure."

If the housekeeper was surprised by his sudden decision, she did not show it: "As you wish, Your Grace."

"And there'll be wine for the servants tonight. And candied fruit for the children tomorrow."

Now, the round face did show a reaction: Betha frowned slightly. "That will not sweeten the day for them, I fear, Your Grace, but we will do our best. Thank you, Your Grace."

It was far harder to break it to his daughters. He had stayed for a while now, it was already June, and he knew the longer he stayed, the harder it was to say goodbye, for both him and the girls.

Frances and Mary were sitting in the east parlour together, a rare image of sisterly harmony, playing dice together.

"Ah, father. Good that you are here. Mary is cheating." Frances was smiling.

"I am not cheating! You are cheating!" Mary had one die in her little fist though and her protest was therefore not very convincing.

"Ah, now, Mary-" Charles said, very seriously, "-you know that you may not cheat!"

He lifted her up in the air (she was still light as a feather) and spun her around until she sqealed in excitement. "And if you cheat, you have to cheat so well that no one notices," he whispered very audibly before he set her down again. "Now, shall we play together?"

Frances had arched an eyebrow disapprovingly and once again reminded Charles of his wife. "Cheating is never allowed," she said.

"Look at you, sweetheart. Wise beyond your years." He kissed her on the forehead.

"Your uncle, the king, has ordered me to make you both a gift in his name. Now, what would you like?"

Mary got up as quickly as she could and tugged at Charles' doublet: "I want a pony! I want to ride like a real lady!"

"You are too young for a pony, Mary, but perhaps-"

But his younger daughter was not one to give up her dreams. She looked at him with angry grey blue eyes, her childish round face an image of defiance: "Not too young! I am almost seven. And Frannie and Bess have ponies, too. And Lady Catherine said she learnt riding when she was six- Lord Father," she added hastily when she saw his face.

He decided to ignore the remark about Catherine. "You can ask for a pony for your birthday, Mary. Ask nicely. What about you Frances, is there something you want?"

"You are leaving, aren't you, Lord Father?"

She had always been clever.

"Yes," Charles admitted, "but I'll be back soon, I promise." Another promise you will probably not keep.

"When are you leaving?" Mary had all but forgotten about the pony. Even worse,neither of them tried to convince him to stay. They knew he wouldn't change his mind and they knew that when he had to go to court, nothing would hold him back. Somehow, that made him sad.

"Tomorrow morning." The elation he had felt at the prospect of seeing her again had died away but left him no less determined.

Their goodbye was hard, as always, and he consoled himself with the fact that they would be focusing on their studies more now, and that he would write every evening.

The ride was more strenuous that usually because of the sudden heat that had succeeded the rainy cold weather of the past weeks. Both riders and horses were constantly thirsty and Charles felt crushed and tired when they finally arrived at Whitehall in the evening but he was determined to go to the ball. She would be there and he had to make sure everyone saw he was back, not only because of her, he told himself, but also because of his council seat, of course.

He washed and changed quickly, and left for the Great Hall, still bone tired despite two goblets of wine. Henry had sent a barrel to his chambers without comment but Charles knew he was expecting him to be at the feast. Charles had not eaten since their quick cold meal at an abbey and he was loking forward to the extravagant dishes Henry's cooks served.

The tables were empty when he arrived though and the dancefloor crowded, and his empty stomach did nothing to lift his spirits. Charles found the king right away and forced himself to appear jolly and festive. Henry knew him too well to fall for it though. "A tough ride?"

"The heat almost killed my horse," Charles replied. He tried not to look for her but his eyes had a mind of their own it seemed.

"She's dancing." Henry was grinning. "Don't worry, we'll discuss everything tomorrow, Lord President."

He put a hand on his shoulder briefly: "Be patient, Charles." Whatever that means.

He stalked towards the dancers, looking for her. It took him a while to find her face in the crowd- But then he did and wished he hadn't. She wore a pale blue gown that went exceptionally well with her blonde hair. A strong hand with long fingers was buried in that blonde hair, another wrapped around her waist. Charles could not see the gentleman's face because the man had bent down to her, was whispering something into her ear. He thought he could hear her laugh.

They spun around so that Catherine faced Charles now and he knew he should go before she saw him and this turned into something embarrassing but he couldn't move. He had been looking forward to this moment and Henry and his brain had tricked him into believing that she had as well, when clearly, she had already found another distraction.

The man moved his hand from her waist to her neck and suddenly, a lot of things happened in very quick succession: Catherine turned her head away from her dance partner slightly, and met Charles' gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, then fear, colour rose to her cheeks and she pushed the man's arm away, struggled with his grip around her waist. She shouted something but Charles couldn't hear her over the music. He looked at her one last time, the arm still wrapped around her waist, her cheeks flushed, her hair tousled. Then he turned around and walked away, grabbed a goblet of wine on the way and found Henry, thankfully without Lady Anne, in a corner of the hall.

"Not the reunion you've been dreaming of, Charles? Well, you left without a word to her- Did you expect her to stay in her chambers crying her eyes out in your absence?"

That was definitely not what Charles wanted to hear.

"I had not expected her to turn her attentions to another so quickly. But I might have been misled."

Henry understood the jibe. "You are too angry and too rash to make accurate observations tonight. No one has misled you and neither has she had a change of heart. Perhaps you should go to bed, sleep on it. Get some rest."

There were quite a few other things Charles wanted to do, but most of them were illegal and none of them wise, so he nodded briskly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

"I see you in the morning. I have matters to discuss with you, Charles. It is good that you're back."

He forced himself to smile.

"Ah, nothing is as bad as it seems." Henry's face lit up as he caught sight of something behind Charles' back: "And where have you been hiding, my lady?"

"Perhaps I have just been waiting for you to look for me. But I was bitterly disappointed as -" Anne Boleyn had noticed Charles only now, the light was dim in their corner and she had apparently not expected him. Her dark eyes flew from him to the dancers, to Henry and back to him. She had a unique way of grasping a situation without explanation and apparently, she interpreted Charles' expression correctly.

"I wasn't aware you had returned, Your Grace. You should have announced your arrival, and your welcome might have been warmer."

"Oh, my welcome was quite satisfying as it was, my lady," he replied curtly, "very enlightening."

And with those words, he left Henry to his lady and Catherine to whomever it was.

He couldn't find sleep though and raised early and unrested.

Whitehall Palace

~o~

Catherine

There had been thunder and lighting in the night after the hot week and it was still raining when Cat got up. The ball had been an absolute disaster and she hoped that perhaps the duke was more susceptible to common sense and her reasoning by broad daylight. She dressed quickly but carefully and set out to surprise him in his chambers. It was early in the morning and most other noblemen broke their fast in their chambers or had not risen yet at all, but the duke had already left, as his guards told her. Business with the king.

Cat had a feeling of dejá vu when she climbed up the steps to the royal quarters, only to find the king alone once again.

"I think His Grace was planning on taking a walk." His Majesty was smiling. That was a joke, surely. The rain was running down the lead glass windows in thick streams and Catherine still heard faint thunder. The sky was dark grey and from time to time, lightning flashed across it.

"I think he was planning on leaving by the east portal." Henry smiled.

Cat lost no time. She could have kissed the king's hand but for obvious reasons, she limited herself to shouting "Thank you, Your Majesty" over her shoulder. There were many steps and corridors between the king's chambers and the east portal, and Cat had never run that fast.

She spied his tall figure at the end of the ground floor corridor and hurried even more, gathering her skirts no matter how it looked, no matter how much of her legs she revealed. He heard her steps, turned around, stared at her for a few precious seconds, then his jaws set.

"Leave me alone. Have you not ruined enough?" He shouted and stormed out of the door, across the yard, away from her through the thundering rain.

She did not consider for a moment and ran after him. He was fast but she was light footed and quicker on the muddy grass. Finally, she reached him, grabbed his arm, and to her surprise, he stopped walking. He did not look at her though, his gaze was directed at the low hanging clouds that hovered over the horizon.

"I love you." She shouted it over the rain and it felt so good to admit it that she said it again. "I love you." Now his gaze dropped to hers, he looked positively startled.

Tenderly, she reached out to trace his cheekbone with an ice cold finger. "Charles." His name rolled off her tongue. "And I curse my sister a hundred times every day-" she continued but he cut her off:

"Don't." She was not sure whether she had understood him and was about to repeat her words when he started speaking: "I gave my word to a dying man but I doubt he would curse me from his grave if he knew that this is my one chance at happiness. Catherine, I have never lain with your sister. It was Henry...and William Compton."

Compton?! And the king? But her father had said-

"Henry had started a short dalliance with her and I covered up for him, so that the queen would not find out. Compton fell in love with Mary though and Henry had already lost interest anyway, so they started a dallliance. But the rumour stuck and I continued the farce to save what was left of her reputation for Compton's sake and to protect him from your father's wrath. I was already quite influential back then but William was not even a knight, old Stafford would have crushed him like a beetle. William tried to work up the courage to ask her to marry him, to ask Buckingham for her hand, but he never did.

And then Buckingham discovered what he thought was the truth and sent Mary away. I was the man everyone believed to be her lover but perhaps the only man at court who has never bedded her." The remark stung, perhaps because it was not meant to.

"And why did you promise Compton to keep it a secret?"

Could it be true? That there was no impediment at all? Of course, Mary had always been secretive about this part of her past but Cat had always taken her silence for anger and embarrassment. Yes, this tale he was telling sounded so muddled that it could be true. Brandon would not lie to her, of that she was certain.

"He was ashamed that he had not stood up to your father. Buckingham found me in her chamber, escorting her to Compton's and assumed what everyone assumed. William knew that he had no reason to hope for his approval but Mary might have eloped with him-"

"But he was a coward." Cat did not like cowards and Mary wouldn't have either.

"Only once in his life. He cursed himself on his deathbed, meant to bequeath everything he had to her-"

"But she was dead already."

"Not yet, no, Compton died before we went to Suffolk." Their escape from the Sweat seemed a lifetime ago. "But she was married and Compton had ruined her life before...I found it unfair to allow him to ruin it again from his deathbed as she seemed to have detached herself from him."

"I never knew she loved him." She had never regarded her sister capable of feeling strongly for someone that was not herself. Perhaps she had never known her sister at all.

"I am not sure she did. She said so, certainly. But she did not mention him to Buckingham with a word. She allowed him to believe that it was me. Made you believe it was me." His tone was bitter now but Cat could understand her sister.

"You never had to justify yourself to my father. Well, perhaps back then, but with a king in your back and a title and lands that were your own. Mary was his daughter, without friends or family to support her. Father often threatened to send us to a nunnery. Mary would have said everything to appease him. And you were an upstart but at least one with a grand title. Compton had nothing. My father might have thrown her out to live in the streets had he known that she had had an affair with a man like him."

"Am I supposed to be grateful now that you consider me a better match than a dead man who had nothing but a few coins and a plot of land?" he smiled. Rain water dripped from his dark hair onto his broad shoulders and ran down his chin but he did not seem to notice.

"You better be thankful that I don't have high standards or I would never consider a standard bearer's son." She gave back. A silly smile formed on her lips.

"So you do consider a standard bearer's son, now?" He arched an eyebrow mockingly.

"I would if he asked me but he seems to like teasing me more." She said with feigned distaste.

"Perhaps he has asked you already and thinks once is enough."

"If he thinks I am not worthy of a second proposal, he is not worthy of me."

"You are terrible." He said as he bent down to her, kissing her forehead, her brow, her temples.

"And you are so very charming."

Brandon kissed her softly on the lips, then he dropped to his knees, bravely ignoring the squishy cold mud around his shins: "Catherine Stafford, you most annoying woman. You are intelligent and witty, compassionate and fierce. You drive me mad and I love every moment of it. You intrigue me, you complete me. You make me happier than anyone ever has. Please marry me. Be my wife. My companion and my confidant. I would be so grateful that I would allow you to tease me until the end of my days. I will write you a poem every day so that you have another reason to make fun of me." He grinned. "Say yes now or we will both die of a cold."

"Yes." She smiled and offered him a hand to help him up. He pulled her into a kiss that lasted long enough to make her forget the cold rain running down her cheeks and back. "But only if you do not write me poems. There is only so much my love can endure." She whispered breathlessly after she had broken the kiss.

"I wish your tongue was not as sharp as an executioner's axe." His hand had crept up to her neck, his fingers were pleasantly warm on her wet, cold skin.

"You know you don't." She smiled against his lips.

"No, but I like to pretend that you have some weakness." He kissed her again. "For all I care you can cut me to slices with your tongue."

This time she kissed him and his lips parted for her tongue after he let out a gasp of surprise.

"I have never been happier in my entire life than right here, with mud in my boots and water in my smallclothes." He said afterwards and that brought her back to her senses. The Armageddon could have taken place around them, they would not have noticed, but now she felt the rain getting even worse, the wind howled and lighting and thunder chased each other across the leaden sky.

"It was absolutely foolish to storm outside in this rain." She said as they hurried back to the warmth of palace as quickly as possible, but they interrupted their steps every five yards for a kiss.

"Do you have any idea how maddening you are?" He said before a kiss.

"Do you know how infuriating I find you?" She replied after it.

"I have a vague idea."

They finally reached the warm dryness of the palace.

"I will tell Henry now. When shall we marry? Is this afternoon too early?" He laughed, then kissed her again. "Oh, I will keep quiet now before you reconsider." And he walked away from her, looking back every two steps, leaving muddy traces on the stone tiles.

She would marry him. No, this afternoon was not too early. She would do it right now, in a gown that looked as if she had fished it out of the river Thames.

The way to her chambers was long and she had much to think about. Lost in thoughts, she noticed neither Lucy Talbot and Margery Horsman laughing at her state, nor Anne, who was shocked by her appearance.

"Cat!" She exclaimed and touched her shoulder to rouse her from her thoughts. "Heavens, what happened to you?"

"Oh, I was outside."

"Well, I can see that. Did you go for a swim in the lake?"

Cat ignored her sarcastic comment. "I was outside with Brandon. Nan, we will marry. He and Mary never- you know. He covered up for William Compton. Right now, he is talking to the king."

Anne had started whirling her around after the first few words, now she stopped.

"Oh Cat." She kissed her on both cheeks. "Finally! And I thought you would be united only in your graves, so long did it take you. When is the wedding? What did he say?" Nan looked at her gown. "No, tell me later. First you need to change out of this dress or you will die before you're wed."

Cat walked in a cloud of happiness, felt neither the cold nor the wetness. Only in the warmth of her chamber, when Anne had called the maid to run her a bath, she noticed how cold she had been.

The maid scrubbed her skin until it was bright red but Anne did not have the decency to leave, instead she was showering her with more or less subtle questions. Only when the maid had left did Cat, now wrapped in furs and woolen blankets, have the chance to tell her friend what had happened.

Anne shrieked at the right passages, squeezed her hand, and the pleased smile never left her lips.

" 'Catherine Brandon.' That sounds good. 'Catherine Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk.' His daughters will be over the moon, don't you think? And your wards. And no doubt you two will have children too. Heavens, your house will be an outright nursery! Good that you are both so wealthy."

Cat nudged her in the side.

"I just wish I could find a way to make you that happy, too, Nan." And to her surprise, Anne smiled mischievously.

"Oh, I think I will very soon become very happy. We will both be. And who knows, perhaps one day, your daughter could marry my son and become a Queen of England. Would you like that?"

Cat had to smile. "Oh, not at all."

Anne giggled.

"So I might soon get used to calling you Your Majesty?" Cat asked. "I cannot say you look very majestic right now." Anne had thrown her hood aside and her dark hair hung down in a long, messy braid.

"Nothing is so hard as a friend's ingratitude." Anne sighed and flashed a smile. "I want to be there when Margery and Lucy Talbot find out that they'll soon have to call you "Your Grace"."

"I want someone to paint their faces when I tell them," Catherine grinned, "Your Majesty."

It was Anne's turn to nudge her in the side now but she did not object. Becoming Her Majesty was what she had been working on for all those years. She would wear the crown soon enough, Catherine did not doubt it.


The stuff with William Compton and Henry really happened early in Henry's reign, only that it was Buckingham's sister, Anne, who had an affair with Compton and COmpton really left her property in his will, something quite unusal. I totally made up the Brandon part (or rather, Michael Hirst did and I stole it from The Tudors). Sorry if it's a bit confusing, I just had to find a way to move that Mary Stafford/ Leviticus obstacle out of the way.

xenocanaan: Thank you for your review! Yes, they really deserve some happiness after all the drama I thrust upon them^^

Guest: I thank you so much, that's really reassuring! I feel the same, which is weird considering I'm not a native speaker. But bad writing really puts me off which sounds terribly arrogant as I am writing myself. But stlye is a matter of taste I think and that's good. Thank you for your comment!

Unique16: So much more fluff to come! (Although I cannot promise that I'll find the Stop button for drama) thank you :)

princess07890: Thank you for reviewing! Yep, she is a bit complicated but she's not completely daft thankfully^^. Ah, that's my tendency to use elliptical constructions that make no sense. I'll take care of it, thank you!

ChildofDreams: Definitely not my intention! Better now? ;)