Chapter Six
The day over at last, Catherine sat at her vanity once more, quietly, thoughtfully, as her ladies finished preparing her for bed. Gentle hands unpinned and combed her hair as she absently traced the lace on the cuff of her nightgown sleeve with a finger.
"Would you like it tied back tonight, your Grace?"
"No. That will be all, thank you."
The Queen looked up as the door to her chambers opened, glad of the sight of one of her ladies bearing a bowl containing the requested herb-soaked linen cloth.
"Thank you, Elise." Her tone was grateful as she accepted it. Her ladies bid her goodnight and left her to retire to bed. Catherine inhaled the scent of lavender and various decongestive herbs mixed together, sweet and sharp all at once, but refreshing and soothing. Her head ached. It always did after crying the way she had that morning, even if it had been hours earlier. It always brought about these headaches, and she had passed the evening with difficulty, longing for the moment she could escape to her chambers to soothe her aching head and rest for the night.
She climbed between smooth sheets, arranging the cloth carefully on the little table beside her bed and extinguishing the candle. She lay back slowly onto soft pillows. Closing her eyes gratefully, she breathed the soothing fragrance and fell into an exhausted sleep almost immediately.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Henry paused outside the doors to his wife's chambers. He wasn't even sure why he was there, or what he would say to Catherine when he saw her, but he was too troubled by his conversation with Francis to retire to bed just yet. He wanted to see his wife for himself, to assess her situation – to see for himself if it were possible that he had been deceived by her cold exterior, and perhaps… perhaps find out if he would be able to see through to the real Catherine again, if she was actually in there, and discover the truth about what she held in her heart. He raised his hand to knock at her door, and became suddenly apprehensive. Surprised at the butterflies in his stomach, he decided to steady himself with a bolder approach. With a brief glance at her guards standing to the side of the entrance to her chambers, Henry stepped forward and opened the door.
It was apparent almost at once that the Queen had already retired to bed. The room was in quiet darkness except for the low fire in the hearth, which flickered and crackled intermittently. Henry's eyes strained to make out the shape of his wife's bed at the darkest end of the room. No sound came from there at all, and he took a few cautious steps in that direction. The scent of something both sweet and pungent filled his nostrils as he moved closer. Something with lavender, perhaps? His eyes began to adjust to the dark, and he could make out the image of Catherine's small shape in her bed. Even approaching her quietly, he knew she must be exhausted if he had made it that far without waking her. She looked almost childlike, sleeping there. Her covers were pulled up to her chest, with an arm folded over the top. Unexpected tenderness swelled within him as he watched her sleep, her curls fanned out over the pillow that she was resting on. One of her hands lay amongst them, fingers slightly entwined in the silky locks, curved and relaxed. Her chest rose and fell slowly and steadily as she slept. Looking down at his wife with affection, Henry noticed how pale she looked in the dim light, and how drawn and tense her features seemed. He thought back to his conversation with Francis, and the unhappy tightness in his stomach reminded him again how much Catherine meant to him, and why he'd had to see her tonight.
Had he known she had feelings… How could he not have known? Of course she must have feelings! All people feel. But all these years, she had seemed indifferent – cold, almost. Colder as the years went by. Henry loved her, but burying his feelings and seeking comfort elsewhere seemed like the best thing to do, and then it became the only way to manage things. He had stopped thinking about it, but he supposed that he had really forgotten how to approach the difficulties in his marriage in any other way.
Perhaps he was wrong, though. Perhaps Francis had been wrong. Perhaps it wasn't about feelings at all. Henry was sure he recognized the aroma pervading the air around his wife's bed. Some sort of decongestant? So she was unwell, then? That would account for her apparent instability today, and of course Francis couldn't have known of it. Strengthened by the comfort of this rational explanation, Henry decided to leave Catherine to sleep, and inquire as to her health tomorrow. Stifling the slight ache as he looked at her beautiful sleeping form one last time, hoping that she was not going to be too unwell, Henry impulsively reached out and touched his wife's face tenderly, skimming her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. He stooped and kissed her forehead, so softly that his lips barely brushed her skin. Pausing for the briefest moment to inhale her light, sweet scent, he straightened, turned, and left her chambers, ready to retire to bed for the night.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Catherine sat bolt upright, her breath fast and ragged, her heart pounding. Shifting slightly against the sheets, she glanced about her as she attempted to wet her mouth with her dry tongue. Familiar movement in the dim light of her chambers flooded her with relief. One of her ladies approached her bed, candle in hand, bearing a drink of water.
"Another nightmare, your Majesty?"
"Yes." The Queen drank gratefully and handed the cup back.
"Will you rest a while longer, or would it please your Majesty to be brought a diversion – a book, perhaps?"
"If you would bring me my robe. I think I will sit by the window for a while before returning to bed."
Accepting her lady's help in draping her shoulders with her thick velvet robe, Catherine dismissed her with a nod and a grateful smile, and swung her legs out of bed. Alone with her thoughts once more, she crossed the room to the windows, wrapping the luxurious fabric snugly around her. Outside the castle, dawn was approaching. Over the dark trees of the woods, the sky was a silvery blue – the first glimmer of a new day. A flock of birds, silhouetted against the lightening sky, scattered up from the woods, their distant calls echoing in the stillness of the new morning.
Catherine curled up in the window seat. Her thoughts turned to the reason for her waking – another dream about loss. She had relived the events of recent months once again. The loving sacrifice that Richard had made for her. The last time she saw him, as they led him away to be executed, even then apologizing for not having saved her, as they did so. He was so selfless, always. She loved him for the way he loved her, although it had never compared to the way she felt for Henry. Richard had been beheaded within the hour; his life ended. Just like that. Catherine had not allowed herself to think of it. She had been preoccupied with other things, as it happened, which helped – although ironically, those things involved more loss for her. Clarissa. The guilt stung at her eyes even as she formed the girl's name in her mind. If only she had known… If only she could have spared her the dreadful existence she had had, and the fact that it was Catherine's own choices that had caused it – she could hardly bear to think about it. Her own daughter. The sweet, helpless babe she had held in her arms for the first time, that chilly morning at around this same hour. Eyelashes fluttering closed, the Queen pressed her palm to her chest through the thick fabric, breathing deep, steady breaths for a few moments, distancing herself from her troubled thoughts before they overwhelmed her.
Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes again and gazed out across the landscape, watching the colours of dawn begin to play out across the sky as silvery gold dominated the horizon, and reflected off the lakes and ponds in the grounds.
Her dream had continued on its path, her family disowning her for shame – for shame! – and leaving her alone to her fate. Her own life nearly lost, and then learning of the kidnapping of her darling boys. She had almost lost them too. And their eventual safety had been brought about by the loss of her own daughter, before her very eyes. If Mary hadn't acted so quickly… Catherine winced as a sharp pain brought her out of her anguished recollection. She straightened her fingers stiffly, reprimanding herself silently for her anxious habit of picking her cuticles. Shaking her head in frustration, she bemoaned the fact that her anguish and pain seemed to force its way through no matter how efficiently she squashed it down in her waking hours. She could not control her dreams.
Suddenly feeling exhausted, Catherine lay her head against the soft window seat cushion. As the sun's edge rose over the woods, her eyes fluttered closed, and she slept, more restfully this time.
/
AN: So there isn't much dialogue in this chapter, but more is coming! I want Henry beginning to realise Catherine's situation, and to remember how much he loves her first! :) Thank you all so much for the lovely comments that have kept me motivated. I haven't had so much time to write, but I am continuing!