Chapter 3

As soon as Henry was alone, he plunked down onto the only chair available and buried his face in his hands.
"This woman can't possibly be Catherine," he muttered, feeling upset about this recent development. Why should she seek refuge in a convent when half of Italy and due to the marriage of her eldest daughter even the Spanish court lay at her feet?

And yet, the prospect that he might have found his wife was finally getting to him. He had already imagined several scenarios months ago about how to react to a possible return of his wife. Anything from screaming, ranting, arresting her wordless and exiling Catherine to the tower. Or embracing and kissing her passionately to remind her to whom she damn well belonged.

Waiting for Cedric's return felt like an eternity to Henry. An eternity where he ran a swath in the mossy underground.

When at last the tarpaulin at the entrance of the tent was torn open, the king of France intently spun around, staring spellbound at the woman in a nun's habit who was gently being pushed into the tent by Cedric.

She was small, terribly thin and stood there before him with her head down, staring impassively at the ground. His first impulse was to breathe a sigh of relief and send the woman away without a second glance. That nun couldn't be his feisty wife on any account. She was far too slim and slender for that. And too quiet.
"My king?" Cedric looked in his direction questioningly, his hands still resting on the nun's shoulder to keep her from running away.

Before he paid any more attention to that woman, Henry went to his table, poured himself a goblet of wine and started to slowly circle his female visitor.
He paused in front of the woman, took a sip, then he reached for her chin to direct her lowered head upward.

Expressive hazel and well-known eyes stared back at him. A sound of surprise escaped his lips and the goblet slid from his hand.
Taking advantage of this moment of confusion, the nun spun around and tried to run towards the exit of his tent. But Henry reacted with lightning speed and grabbed her by her slender wrist.

"Where are you going, Catherine?!" Henry hollered and dragged her back to the center of the tent. "Thank you, Cedric, that would be all for now. Place two guards in front of my tent. For now, I will have a serious word with my wife, and as we both know, she has recently developed a distinctive flight instinct. And now leave."

Henry kept his eyes fixed on Catherine who scowled at him accusingly.
"Don't you have anything to say to me, woman?" He asked with a threatening undertone.
But Catherine remained silent and after a few seconds she turned her head to the side so that her husband could only stare at her profile.
He had forgotten how beautiful her face was - especially her profile - even though her cheeks looked worryingly sunken in.

"What is there to say?" She hissed defensively, raising her hands as if wanting to cross them over her chest, only to let them sink again with an undefinable expression on her face and without having achieved her task.

But Henry refused to be provoked by her, instead he circled her once again unhurried.
"For example the reason for your hasty escape six months ago," he whispered irritably into her ear and prevented her from putting some distance between them by wrapping his hand around her upper arm.

"My absence should have been very convenient for you. After all, you couldn't get rid of me fast enough. Tell me Henry, are we acutually divorced by now or did you manage to annul our marriage?" Her tone was sharp and aggressive.
"Au contraire, my darling, you're still my wife!" He answered and was surprised at how complacent his words sounded.

At that Catherine rolled with her eyes which annoyed the hell out of him, so he grabbed her arm again and yanked her towards the candles to look at her more closely.
His rude treatment provoked his queen to cry out in a low voice. A scream she couldn't suppress in time.
"You're hurting me!" She whispered so softly that it nearly excaped his attention.
Henry did not let go of her, but he loosened his grip.
"Since when are you so squeamish?" His words dripped with irony. "Let me look at you."

In the pale candlelight his eyes wandered over her petite form and got stuck on the white veil. This unusual sight elicited a joyless laugh.
"This habit doesn't suit you," he said. "Take off the veil, it looks ridiculous."

To give more expression to his demand, Henry began to pull on the heavy cloth in eagerness.
"Henry! Don't!" She slapped his fingers away with one hand and fumbled around with her veil. The king took a step back and watched Catherine trying to release the taut wrapping while using only one hand.

It took him a moment before he realized what was bothering him about this scene. It was Catherine's left hand that was hanging limp and motionless at her side. He even thought he saw a slight tremor she wasn't able to control.

Even though Henry could barely grant her any patience, he let her carry on and stared at her carefully braided hair instead, that slowly came to light under the veil. With a tug he untied the ribbon that held her braid together and unraveled her strawberry blonde curls.

"Why a monastery?" He asked her suddenly.
"A convent is not better or worse than any other place," Catherine replied cryptically, and the way she held her left arm irritated Henry more and more.
Did she get hurt?

He decided to put his theory to a practical test. Henry poured his wife a cup of wine. Then he stepped around her and placed himself on her left side. This way she could only reach for the goblet he handed her with her left hand. At least without having to turn around.
"Surely not better than returning to the fold of your Medici family," he replied, watching her vigilantly. Catherine shrugged her shoulders and reached for the wine. With her right hand.

Before his wife could even react, Henry grabbed her left arm and pulled her sleeve up determinedly. He deliberately ignored Catherine's startled outcry, as well as her desperate attempt to free her arm.
What he saw shocked him. Her upper arm was adorned with a bright red and jagged scar whose margin seemed infected. A veritable web of many smaller scars stretched out on her forearm. They also looked anything but healed.

"You were hurt," he stated unnecessarily and carefully ran his other hand over the scarred area.
"Mind your own business, would you?" hissed his wife, taking her uninjured hand to free her left arm from his grip.
"How did that happen?" He demanded to know as if he hadn't heard her previous words. But Catherine remained silent.

After a few minutes, however, she broke the self-imposed silence.
"What happens to me now?" She wanted to know and looked at him questioningly with big, dark eyes.
"I haven't decided yet," was Henry's answer and it wasn't even a lie. He did not know what to do yet, now that he had found her.

The only thing he knew was that he needed to bring some distance between them in order to think more clearly.
"But if you do not want to impair your situation, my darling wife, I hope you won't cause any more difficulties."
With these words, Henry went to the exit of his tent and assessed Catherine one last time with an imperious look. "When I come back, you'd better still be here, awaiting me, amicable and obedient."

Then he was gone.

I'm very happy that you guys are out there and that you are still interested in reading my Reign fanfics.
So thank you so much for sticking with me and for leaving your wonderful reviews.

What do you think will happen now? Did you like or didn't like their reunion?