Chapter Eight

Colours and sensations were magnified in her moment of terror, as Catherine looked about her. Such a small piece of wood on such a vast ocean. Seized with an almost animalistic urge to protect her children, she clutched her youngest ones tightly to her sides as the waves lurched higher. She knew it was hopeless, but she could not accept it – surely there had to be something, some way to survive?! All the love she had for her children was doubled, quadrupled, more than she had ever felt before in her waking hours. The tears shining in her baby's eyes, her little girl's anxious gaze soft and pleading as she looked into her eyes.

"Everybody come close to me!" she shouted, over the crashing of the waves. "The raft is weaker near the edges!"

There were too many, too many for her to protect all by herself. Her arms could not surround them all. The first to break away was Clarissa. The raft cracked under her feet, and she flung a desperate arm towards her mother, screaming for help. Catherine grasped helplessly at her eldest daughter's hand.

"Hold on, Clarissa! Hold on to me!" she cried, but it was no use. Terrified of toppling some of her little children if she leaned any further, she was forced to let go, and Clarissa was swept away out of sight. Gasping, struggling to force down the raw emotion threatening to overwhelm her, Catherine turned to her remaining children.

"Hold tight to me, my darlings." She clutched them with shaking hands, filled with anguish at the sound of their frightened whimpers against her sides, almost inaudible over the roar of the angry ocean.

"Mama? Are we going to die?" came a little muffled voice.

"We are going to hold on tight. Perhaps Papa will come to rescue us very soon." She squeezed the little shoulders reassuringly.

"Mother!" A panicked cry from behind her. Catherine whipped her head round to see her precious Francis disappearing beneath the waves, his hands still reaching for her for a moment above the water.

"NO! FRANCIS!" she screeched out into the wild spray. All she could do was clutch her children tighter. She could not reach for him; she could not save him. Her children were being taken from her one by one, and the pain was excruciating. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the salty air stinging her raw chest as a wave of nausea assaulted her. Her Francis, her beautiful Francis, gone. And now her girls. With the swell of a wave and a crackle of brittle wood, Elisabeth and Claude fell screaming beneath the water. Just her little ones left.

"Be brave!" she gasped desperately, "Be brave my darlings. Never let go of me, never forget how much I love you. Mama loves you all so very much!"

She bent to hold them all closer to her, but only Margot remained, standing with her on a couple of square feet of wood.

"Ma-maa…" she whimpered in a shaky voice, "Is Papa nearly here? Wh-when will he r-rescue us?"

Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around the last part of her heart. "Very soon, my sweet love." she said soothingly, "I'm sure he's almost - " Breaking off suddenly, she saw beyond them a crown, Henry's crown, floating impossibly on the surface of the water. She knew he was gone, that he wasn't coming, that he never would come to their rescue. She knew they were doomed. And in that moment, distracted by her thoughts of her husband, her grip had loosened enough so that when the raft cracked in two, a strong wave swept her little girl away and into the distance over the surface of the sea, her tiny voice screaming for her mama, fading into the distance.

"NO!" screamed Catherine, distraught, "NO! PLEASE! PLEASE!" She fell to her knees on the tiny scrap of wood keeping her afloat, alone in the ocean and overwhelmed with utter anguish and despair, the grief spearing her heart agonizingly. She could barely breathe. Looking up, her mouth wide with her pained cries, she tried desperately to take a breath, but none would come. Harder and harder she fought, panicking at the suffocating feeling, until the largest wave she had ever seen swelled up above her and came crashing down over her head.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Henry was distracted. The voice of his advisor droned into background noise as the King allowed his thoughts to wander once more to his wife. Her beautiful face. Her amazing ability to mother their children so perfectly, with such love and devotion. The way she looked in that gown that she had worn to the most recent banquet. The way her hair felt, soft and silky as he ran his fingers through it. He sighed. Too much time had passed since they had given time to such luxuries as sifting her beautiful hair through his fingers. What had happened to them?

His advisor cleared his throat nervously, bringing the King's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Oh. Yes, Edward. I'm a little distracted by another matter that I need to attend to. Perhaps we could reconvene tomorrow at the same time."

The man nodded his agreement, and Henry stood and left the room immediately, with one thing on his mind. Catherine. He knew, or hoped, that she would be taking the nap that she had promised to take. It was almost four… He hoped that his timing would be suitable, and that she would be awake and refreshed. He couldn't think of anything else but seeing her. Thinking of how vulnerable she had looked earlier, he just had to be sure that she was feeling better. He knew she was hiding her heart from him, but perhaps that was his own fault? She may not love him, but he thought that she might still feel affection for him, if she could put her hurt and anger aside like he had done this morning. Perhaps he could even help her? He suddenly longed to help her. To make her feel more like herself again. To see her smile and relax, and lose this pained tension that seemed to cloak her at present. It made him uneasy to see his usually cool and radiant wife so troubled. It was not like Catherine.

Turning the corner into the hallway that led to her chambers, Henry was surprised to see the guards outside Catherine's doors admitting the favourite of her ladies, who seemed in an anxious hurry. Chest tightening and pulse quickening, Henry increased his pace, catching the woman just as she was about to slip inside.

"What is it?" Concern laced his voice.

"Oh, your Grace!" Charlotte was startled by the sudden appearance of her King, and dropped into a curtsey immediately, before explaining herself. "I was summoned with haste to the Queen. She is having one of her nightmares and I must attend her."

"I will go to her."

"Please, your Majesty," stammered the woman, "She may be startled. She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs. Please…"

Henry let go of her arm suddenly, his heart almost dropping out of his chest as she made her way quickly inside to attend to the Queen. One of her nightmares – so Catherine was known, by someone other than himself, to have frequent nightmares? Why didn't he know of it?! He thought of Charlotte's words – "She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs." How those words cut him to the core. "It should be me," he thought to himself bitterly, "It should be me, at her side, there when she needs me, knowing what to do for her." He hung his head in shame, snapping it up again suddenly at the sound coming from within his wife's chambers. Anguished sounds, those of panic and despair; pleading cries and mumbled words in that beautiful voice that belonged to the woman who seemed to matter to him more and more with each passing hour. Quickly stepping through the door, he pulled it closed behind him.

Charlotte seemed flustered, busily pouring a drink from a jug of water, and then removing a stopper from a small glass bottle, before tipping a little fragrant oil onto a cloth. Henry stood back in the shadows of the room, staying out of the line of sight if Catherine should wake, watching her writhing form in the bed beyond her bustling lady. His feet felt frozen in place, as though his whole body was as heavy as lead, and he was unable to move. He could only stand and observe his Catherine as she fought her demons. His sweet, brave wife. He couldn't even help her. He hated the way it felt.

Henry watched as Catherine arched her back, her gasps and whimpers increasing. He felt as though his heart would shatter when she screamed out, "NO! NO! PLEASE! PLEASE!" Such was her agony – how he wished he could reach inside her dream and come to her rescue, from whatever it was.

Charlotte was at her side now, placing the drink down on the small table beside Catherine's pillow, and laying the cloth next to it. His wife was making choking, guttural sounds and he wondered if she was crying in her dream. The sounds turned to strangled gasps, and in a panic, he took a step forward. Could she not breathe?! Charlotte sat down on the bed hastily, turning to help her Queen, and in a sudden sweeping movement, Catherine sat bolt upright, gasping, pulling air harshly into her lungs as she grabbed and clutched frantically before her, searching out something to hold onto. Charlotte's calm hands closed over Catherine's shaking ones, and she spoke soothingly. Henry stepped back quietly, even further into the shadowed corner of the room. He was suddenly unsure if his presence here was appropriate. His Queen was undone, completely unmasked and raw, and he thought that she would feel most uncomfortable if she knew he was there. It could not be helped now, though. Leaving would bring her attention to him even more unexpectedly, and perhaps startle her too much while she was in this state. He watched, his heart filled with pain for his wife's suffering. When had he become so hardened to her? He had caused her suffering not so long ago, and it didn't bother him then! He felt thankful that he was not so hard towards her now, but also filled with remorse for the pain he had put her through.

Down at the far end of his wife's chambers, Charlotte was speaking softly to her Queen. Henry could barely make out what was being said as he stood, a still and silent spectator, hidden in the shadows.

"There… it's over now, it's alright." The woman handed Catherine the drink, watching her sip it tremblingly before taking it from her and placing it back on the bedside table. Catherine's whole body shook. Henry could see it even from his distance.

"It was a particularly bad one, yes?" the soothing voice continued, as the fragrant cloth was wiped slowly over the Queen's sweaty forehead. "Would it help to talk about it?"

Catherine's shoulders hunched over, and her head dipped down into her arms as they came up to cradle it. In an anguished voice that Henry had never heard his wife use before, she whimpered, "I can't… I can't…" Almost pressing her own head down into her lap with her arms on top of it, Catherine began to sob. Henry forced a swallow past the painful lump in his throat as his eyes blurred with tears, unable to bear his wife's anguish, and equally unable to go to her side at this moment. He watched as Charlotte wordlessly leaned over Catherine's form and wrapped her arms around her, rocking her gently into her chest as she wept. He could not believe what he was seeing. He had never seen Catherine like this before, not ever. He wanted to run, to run far away from her pain and the fear that overwhelmed him. It frightened him to see Catherine in such a way. He hadn't realised how much of a steadying influence she had always been in his life, and how he had taken for granted that she was a perpetual source of strength and confidence. She radiated both, no matter what the circumstance, and no matter what difficulty she might be facing. But now, to see her like this… If his Catherine was broken, and if he was the one who broke her? How could he face her? How could he face himself? Running from himself would never be the answer, and Catherine needed him. But she didn't love him. She wouldn't want him. Perhaps she wouldn't even let him in? She might even resent his interest in getting closer to her. Henry began to feel suffocated with anxiety over the whole situation. He needed some air, some time to think how to approach Catherine after her trauma, and right now he did not have any idea what to say to her, let alone help her or meet her needs. Seeing the opportunity, he quietly opened the door to her chambers and, stricken with guilt and aching for his wife, he left, under the cover of the sound of her crying.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Half an hour later, Henry hovered awkwardly outside his Queen's chambers, until finally Charlotte emerged. Taking her arm impatiently, Henry led the woman away from the doors, before stopping to question her.

"How is she? Is she alright?"

Charlotte smiled, dipping her head respectfully. "Yes, your Majesty. The Queen has taken a bath and she is resting. She is feeling much better, I believe. I am going to fetch her some light refreshments."

Henry breathed a sigh of relief. Nodding his thanks, he watched Charlotte disappear down the hallway, and turned to face the doors of his wife's chambers. He had had time to walk the grounds and calm down, and to gain a little perspective. He felt better, and was glad to hear that Catherine did too. He hesitated momentarily, and then knocked, hoping that Catherine would appreciate the gesture. Usually he just entered any room he felt like entering. Hearing her bid him come in, he went.

Catherine's breath caught in her chest as she saw her husband's figure appear through the open door. She had not been expecting him, though she knew from Charlotte that he had known of her nightmare a short while earlier. And he had knocked!

"Henry!" she exclaimed in surprise. "What brings you here?"

Closing the door behind him, Henry beheld his wife. Curled in the window seat wearing a soft, comfortable dress of dark velvet, her hair still damp and loose over her shoulders from her bath, she looked like an angel in the warm afternoon light. Devoid of make-up, and the evidence of her emotions still visible in the slight soft swelling around her eyes, lips and nose; her cheeks flushed more pink than usual from her pained exertions, she looked an absolute wonder to Henry. She seemed younger, almost childlike in her beauty and the purity of her skin and eyes. Those exquisite eyes. They sparkled – never mind the slight puffiness around them – the deep honey tone that Henry had never seen in any other pair of eyes. She took his breath away, and he did not know how to form words to answer her, in that moment.

Catherine surveyed her husband quizzically. He was oddly quiet, and why was he looking at her like that? At length, he spoke.

"I hope you're feeling better, Catherine."

"Much better, thank you Henry." She paused, unsure how much he had been told of her state that afternoon. "My sleep was not as restful as I had expected it to be, but - " she straightened her shoulders, tossing her hair slightly so that it slipped off a shoulder and down her back, and offered her husband what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "I am fine."

He folded his hands behind his back, his gaze restlessly straying to the surfaces in his wife's chambers, taking in the papers neatly stacked on her desk, the shelf heavy with the books that she loved, her perfume bottles on her vanity. Catherine waited, watching him inquiringly, the silence between them as deep and still as the stone walls of the room.

Startling slightly at the return of her lady Charlotte, who broke the silence as she entered with a tray of tea and the Queen's favourite raspberry tartlets, Catherine closed her eyes for the briefest moment, a steadying hand on the cushion of the window seat. It pained Henry to see her so on edge, even as she declared herself quite recovered. Her voice was smooth and even as she thanked the woman, who poured the tea and left the Royal couple to themselves. Watching his wife carefully pick a plump raspberry from the top of one of the tartlets and pop it into her mouth, and catching a glimpse of her tongue curling around it to pull it in, Henry was mesmerized. How she affected him! She didn't even know she was doing it. He licked his lips, unconsciously. Catherine paused, offering her apparently hungry husband a tartlet. He crossed the room and sat beside her, accepting the sweet pastry. She looked down at a raspberry she was holding, rolling it in her fingertips thoughtfully.

"Why are you here, Henry?" she asked softly.

"I know that you're struggling, Catherine." His answer was blunt and to the point, though he hadn't meant it to sound as hard as it seemed to.

"And how would you know this?" Catherine fought down rising panic at the way he made her feel. Vulnerable, too vulnerable. The very idea that her husband might know how unanchored she was… Fear clutched at her, fear of being exposed, of having no ability to control the situation, no ability to guard her battered heart and protect it from further pain. She raised her head, looking at him with feigned confidence as her well-practiced walls went up.

"You haven't been yourself lately. I've noticed." His wife lifted her chin further, almost in defiance of his accusation. "I know that Francis is concerned about you. I know you're not sleeping well. Your ladies tell me that you have nightmares, that your sleep is disturbed often."

"And this news interests you, Henry? You've sought out a weakness in me, and now you're enjoying having it to hold over me?"

"No, Catherine, you misunderstand me. I want to help you. I care about you."

His words hit her like a blow to the chest. Standing abruptly, she put distance between them to calm herself, crossing the room and pacing the long rug near the fire. Clenching her fists, she could barely contain the bitterness and anger that threatened to unleash itself in her husband's direction.

The King tried again, "I was here when you woke from your nightmare this afternoon. I – I didn't want to startle you…. I wanted so much to be by your side." Oblivious to his wife now shaking with anger and indignation, he continued, "I had no idea how much you were suffering." He looked up at her urgently. "Catherine. When you – when I heard you cry out like that…" He trailed off, seeing the state of her.

"And you think that having seen this… this display of anguish, this vulnerability that you had no right to be privy to – you think that you can come here and tell me now of your great love for me, of your concern and care?!" The Queen's voice shook with feeling, and sarcasm dripped from every word as she finished her sentence. Her anger rising, she crossed the room to stand bristling before him.

"What do you know of my feelings?! What do you care?!" She huffed scornfully, her eyes slanting sideways away from her silent husband. "The irony! You care so gallantly for me over the suffering that you yourself have inflicted! My nightmares revolve around loss – loss that YOU have caused, Henry! You really expect me to unburden myself to you, to let down my guard, and invite you to see the darkest parts of my heart?" Her voice broke on the last word, and she dropped her chin to her chest, arms stiff by her sides and fists clenched, fighting for control. Having gained it a moment later, she lifted her head and spoke again, in a softer voice; calmer, although Henry could hear the slight tremor that it held.

"I can't trust you, Henry. You've given me every reason to be on my guard against you."

"Because I've hurt you?" Henry spoke up at last, "Because I haven't shown concern for your feelings in the past? I want to change that, Catherine. I regret having caused you pain by my actions."

His wife gave a dry laugh, and shook her head, casting her gaze to the windows beyond him.

"You regret it?" Her tone was bitter and edged with sadness. "If only your actions spoke louder than your words."

Stepping forward suddenly, catching Catherine by surprise, Henry decided to speak with actions. Lifting her chin with his forefinger, he gave his wife no time to respond before leaning down and brushing her lips with his in a tender kiss. He kissed her with feeling and with love, with all his care and all his concern for her. Breaking the contact just barely, he caressed her lips with soft little kisses over and over, letting them last longer and become more heated as he felt her begin to relax into him. Suddenly, Catherine stiffened and pulled back sharply. Breathing heavily, she cast her eyes upwards to meet his, dark with hurt and resentment, and shining with unshed tears. Henry lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, but with lightning reflexes, Catherine's small hand slapped his arm away.

Confused, Henry stepped back a pace. "I just wanted to show you…" he began.

"… how much you love me," finished his wife, bitterly. "Of course you did, Henry. It's the only language you know, isn't it?"

She turned away from him, walking back to the fireplace and gripping the mantle tightly. Head bowing, she spoke in a low voice, "Leave Henry. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of overcoming my difficulties without your help."

His heart sinking, Henry hesitated. He couldn't leave like this! Everything was worse, not better, and he'd wanted so much to let Catherine know how much he still cared for her. He couldn't bear the thought of her left alone with her struggles. It pained him to see her fight so hard not to show how she was feeling – now that he had realised she did feel. He wanted to protect her and love her back to normal again. He hated seeing her so fragile and hurt, and it filled him with uncomfortable guilt that he was responsible. Watching her shoulders rise and fall as she kept her back to him, her breathing the only sign of movement that she made, Henry let out a regretful sigh, and left his wife's chambers.

/

AN: So, very long chapter! Hopefully not too long. Thanks as always, dear readers, for the encouraging reviews!

Chelseall83: We are on the same wavelength! :) I wrote this chapter before your Ch. 7 review - I am so excited to explore loss for Catherine. I know she's had so much, and I would have so loved to see that played out on the show, but oh well. I hope this meets with your approval, and I hope it's not too much, too fast for Henry with his feelings for Catherine. That's the one thing I wasn't sure I had done right this chapter...