Chapter Four

Sweeping majestically down the hallway, Catherine made her usual inner preparations for the morning ahead. Servants and nobles alike stopped to bow or curtsey as she passed, but she barely noticed them as she made a mental list for the day. Preparations must be made for an upcoming banquet, she would need to join Henry for a royal audience to be held this morning, she wanted to review the children's activities and lessons with the governesses at some point, and most importantly, she must repress this ridiculous urge to hide somewhere - anywhere – and cry. Nobody, especially Henry, must see any sign of weakness in her, and she most definitely must conquer this instability and steel herself to present a regal, confident, and dignified front. She knew he would be at the gathering in the throne room this morning, perhaps even there already as there would be a table of light refreshments, and knowing Henry, he would likely make that his breakfast.

Turning swiftly on her heel into the entrance to the throne room, Catherine's demeanour altered as her internal mask slipped into place. Standing there, the picture of calm regal elegance and dignity, she surveyed the room briefly. As predicted, Henry and one of his advisors were present, discussing some matter of state, she presumed. Various pastries and fruits were piled generously on platters on the table to one side, and to her relief, there was her beloved Francis, talking with Mary and her ladies. How she had missed him while he and Mary had been on their honeymoon! They had been back barely a week, and she had yet to talk to him properly about his time away with his new wife.

Smiling, she watched them from across the room, as she pretended to consider selecting something to eat. Mary's ladies turned towards each other slightly, leaving Mary and Francis talking together. The girls giggled excitedly in hushed voices, and Catherine rolled her eyes at their childishness. Their attention was focused on Kenna, and that irked the Queen even more because of how she disliked her so. Having the audacity to stroll into the castle, fresh from Scotland - practically straight from the carriage, and set herself up in her husband's bed! It made her skin prickle, and there was nothing she could do about it. Biting back her rising emotions and mentally giving herself a little shake, she settled her attention on Mary and Francis. How in love they looked - Mary's smile as Francis said something in humour, and the way he looked back at her with such fondness. Catherine felt such joy in seeing her Francis so happy.

As she made her way over to kiss her son's cheek and bid him good morning, she nodded cordially, but disinterestedly, at Mary and her ladies. She would never have given the time of day to turning her eyes towards Kenna otherwise, but when she did, she stopped dead in her tracks as though she had been slapped. Her stomach felt tight and her throat burned. She fought with herself to breathe normally and slowly, and to keep her eyes and face neutral, but Francis, of course, had noticed her subtle efforts.

"Mother, is there something the matter?" His voice was full of concern.

Catherine didn't answer him. Chin held stiff and high, she addressed Kenna, her voice sounding colder and harsher than she intended, "Where did you get that necklace?"

Kenna's hand flew to her throat, protectively touching the coiled silver and glittering diamonds of the heartfelt token of love that Henry had once bestowed upon Catherine as a birthday gift, the same gift that Catherine had searched for that very morning in her chambers, only to find it missing. The girl looked anxious. Eyes averted, and fingers tapping the necklace nervously, she faltered, "Henry… King Henry gave it to me, your Grace."

"Mother?" Francis stepped forward and reached out to take the Queen's arm, but she was blind to him, already turning on her heel. Skirts rustling, she crossed the throne room swiftly to her husband, where the advisor, seeing the look on her face, made a hasty exit.

Sensing the ferocity and anger practically buzzing off the woman standing behind him, Henry heaved a gusty sigh and turned reluctantly to face his wife.

"Henry." Catherine spoke as steadily as she could force herself to, although her voice still sounded fierce and strained, even to her own ears.

"Catherine. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Henry's tone distinctly lacked sincerity. He was not in the mood for a showdown with his wife this morning.

Aware of the room becoming somewhat more hushed, as the nobles and royals present noticed the tense air surrounding their King and Queen, Catherine attempted to quieten her own tone, though she felt her control beginning to slip. She was trembling with anger, and if she could ever admit it, anguish. Her heart ached, almost more than she could bear, but she was thankful for the anger that overrode the more difficult emotion, for the time being.

"What is the meaning of the gift you gave to Kenna?! That necklace belongs to ME!"

"It's not like you have even looked at it in over a decade, Catherine. I didn't see the problem, since you weren't using it yourself. Someone ought to make use of the expense I paid for it to be commissioned."

Henry twisted his hands together behind the small of his back as he stood tall and broad-shouldered before his smouldering wife. It hurt him to talk about the necklace, and he had already questioned his sanity over taking it from Catherine's vanity and giving it to Kenna. Yes, it had been a mistake. But it was done now, and he had felt a rather grim satisfaction in removing it from his wife's ownership, painful though it had been to do so, because she obviously did not care about any of his heartfelt sentiments or the tokens that went along with them. The necklace he had once poured so much love into meant so little to her that she tossed it aside and ignored it, along with everything else about him. Though it stung to do so, he had enjoyed giving it to an exuberantly grateful recipient like his beautiful young mistress. He did not enjoy seeing her wearing it though. Every time he saw it, it reminded him of Catherine and her own delight in receiving it all those years ago, and something about that made it harder to breathe the air around him, and moving his arms and legs seemed a greater effort than before.

"Who are you to come into MY chambers, and go through MY belongings, and take an item that belongs to ME?!" she hissed at him angrily. "Who gives you the right to decide what I feel about my own belongings, and whether I wish to part with them or not?!"

Henry surveyed the woman standing before him. Even now, she seemed indifferent. Angry and insulted, but otherwise devoid of the feelings that she claimed to have. Her eyes locked onto his, cold and hard, with a snap of anger in them. Hurt that the only thing that bothered her was an issue of ownership, he lashed back, "Don't pretend it meant something to you, Catherine! Your actions speak differently. It's been years since I've seen you wear it. Kenna wears it with pride and joy. I'm not sure that you even know those feelings, or any feelings at all, except for cold and bitter ones. What do you need of the necklace any longer? I saw plenty of other fine pieces for you to choose from. It was I who had the necklace made, and it is I who have authority to do whatever I damn well please in my own castle!"

Uncaring of the nobles around him, he faced her down, his jaw tight, and his dark eyes flashing as he waited for her unfeeling response.

Catherine lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, standing tall and strong. Colour had risen to her cheeks in her anger, and her hazel eyes gleamed like daggers at him. In spite of himself, Henry was suddenly struck by her beauty. She was so fiery and colourful. Even at times like this, when she drove him to the brink of madness, other women still seemed to pale in comparison. All women were sunshine, with their warmth and light – sometimes gentle, sometimes overpowering. But Catherine at her fieriest made all other women seem like the pale winter noonday sun, while she was a blazing summer sunset.

Cursing himself for allowing his thoughts to wander in this heated moment, he realised that Catherine hadn't responded. Bringing his eyes back to hers, for a split second he thought he read… sadness, even heartache, in those eyes. Then the moment he thought he had recognised a sign of his wife feeling something, it was gone, and to his surprise she turned so briskly that her full skirts whipped against his shins, and bristled out of the room. After gazing at the empty entranceway for a moment, baffled at the complete lack of response from the woman who always had the words to finish an argument in her favour, he looked across the room in an attempt to break the moment. His eyes met with those of his son and heir, who gave him a hard, questioning look, and then abruptly left the throne room. Mary stared wide-eyed after her husband, but let him go, and turned back to her ladies.

Henry cleared his throat awkwardly, and to make for a clean start, he beckoned his advisor to him, and helped himself to another pastry from the table.