AN: After last chapter, I had a review that wondered if I had forgotten about Richard (from Henry's point of view), and in truth, yes I had! I was busy focusing on Catherine's emotional experience, not so much on Henry's, and I could choose not to go that route if I didn't feel like it. But I was intrigued about digging into that a little further, so that is what this chapter is. I am changing the rating of my story to T for this chapter. More to follow with some Henry and Catherine dialogue next chapter! Thanks so much for the very encouraging and supportive reviews, folks! I so appreciate each and every one! :)

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Chapter Nine

Henry sank heavily back into his pillows, a gusty sigh escaping his lips. He felt bone tired. Uneasy and troubled by what he had witnessed of his Queen's raw emotion that afternoon, he had struggled through the duties of the early evening. Her lady Charlotte's words still haunted him, "She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs." He envied the woman her closeness to Catherine. Twisting the gold ring that he never removed even to sleep or bathe, Henry pondered further. Trust must be earned… He knew she could not trust him, and he chastised himself for the reputation he had given himself, which now prevented him getting closer to his wife when he most longed to. On the other hand, trust had to run both ways. He did not feel quite settled in his own feeling of trust towards his wife either. She was so closed to him, and had been for so many years – yes, that might have been his own doing, but still. He did not really know her, if she had hidden herself from him all these years. And then there was her own act of betrayal towards him. Henry pushed the sting away that had arisen with that memory. He turned on his side, a physical change of position to help him focus on something else. He had hoped to see Catherine that evening, but he had been informed that the Queen had taken supper in her chambers, and he had been too nervous at the prospect of going to see her again that same day. It was so unlike him to feel nervous and fidgety – an attribute that he always found so irritating in others. Henry felt as though an earthquake had shaken his foundations, and left him unstable and unsure, all of a sudden. Tomorrow, perhaps. He needed a good night's sleep, and then tomorrow he would talk to Catherine again, when she was less on-edge, and more receptive to him. Soothed by the thought, Henry dozed off.

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Stirring gradually, Henry's sleepy senses were aware of only a few things. Golden light – flickering candles and crackling firelight. Comfort – the soft support of a mattress fit for royalty, the silk sheets luxuriously smooth under his skin, and the coverlet the perfect cozy weight to keep him drowsy. Warmth and softness – his bare body curled against the smooth supple skin of his wife's naked back, his knees tucked up behind her bent legs, and their calves and ankles entwined. His arms encircled her. The lower of his arms curled under her neck, acting as part of the pillow that supported her as she slept, her delicate hands wrapped lightly around his forearm in front of her collar bone. His top arm, heavy with sleep, draped over her waist, her delightfully soft belly under the palm of his hand. His arm rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm with her breathing as she slept. His face was buried in the softest bouquet of sweet-smelling curls, fanned out behind her over his neck and chest. Henry lay in his blissful, drowsy state, and breathed his Catherine in. He loved the protective curl of his body around hers, and how small she seemed against him. He drew her into himself a little tighter, loving the feel of her skin against his. She shifted a little, sleepy sounds escaping her lips which Henry found so endearing.

Smiling into her hair, Henry lifted his head slightly to kiss the edge of her ear.

"Catherine…" he whispered.

"Mmmhh."

He kissed her earlobe.

"Catherine…"

"Uhm?" Her voice sounded a little stronger now, but she was still dozing. Henry kissed her neck, shifting his hand from its position on her belly to graze the tips of his fingers in a low sweeping arc, down from the crest of her hip towards the juncture of her thighs, and upwards again to the other hip. He felt her abdomen tense slightly as she slid the soft calf of her leg against his, yielding to his touch. She was definitely waking up now.

"I love you…" he growled seductively into her ear, his lips tickling her with their proximity so that she couldn't help but let out a sleepy giggle, shrugging her shoulder up instinctively to protect her ear. Catherine pressed her body back into Henry's, sliding a lazy arm behind her to smooth her hand over his hip and backside.

"Mmmm…" she murmured happily, "I like those words." Henry could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke with slow sleepiness. How glorious she felt against him! She could slide those hands over him any time she wanted. Her touch was languid and heavy, influenced by her drowsy state, but she was waking up, and Henry could sense her desire for him, mirroring his own for her.

Shifting slightly as she reached behind her for him, she spoke again, her voice filled with longing and lust.

"I love you too, Richard."

In a sudden shock of cold, Henry could barely breathe as he recoiled from the words his wife had just spoken. No longer bathed in golden light or clothed in warmth, he stood aside in a grey corner, an outsider looking in. The candles between him and the delightful creature in the bed obscured his view, blurring and spotting his vision with their brightness, as he craned his neck to see what was happening. He could only make out the slow writhing movements of the supple skin amongst the covers that he had been pressed up against just moments before – or had he? Confusion marred his thinking. Had he been there? Was he even here right now?

His focus was jerked back suddenly at the sounds coming from the softly lit bedchamber before him. Sighs, gentle laughter, pleasured moans muffled a little by something – or someone? Henry felt hot and cold all at once. The place where he stood was devoid of warmth and he was still unclothed. His skin crinkled into goosebumps in the chilled air, but fire burned beneath his flesh. Somebody was with Catherine. And she had spoken that name, she had answered his profession of love with her own, but for him. Henry seethed inside, hating his one-time friend for the depth of his betrayal.

Wanting to be anywhere but here, Henry turned to leave, but his feet would not obey. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to prevent himself hearing what was taking place beyond the candlelight. Tears of rage blurred his vision as the sounds he loved most from Catherine's lips came more frequently and more fervently, arousing him despite his anguish. When she finally cried out the name of the man he hated more than any other, the man he had once trusted more than any other, Henry's rage had disintegrated into hollow despair. He hung his head, his heart aching too much to bear. Suddenly becoming aware of somebody standing before him, he looked up to see Richard. He knew the man could not be real, for he had had him beheaded the same day that he had learned of his affair with his wife. But there he stood, his calm, steady gaze bearing far too deeply into Henry's troubled eyes, and then he spoke.

"She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs."

Gasping harshly, pulling sustaining air into his lungs, Henry flung himself over onto his back in his wide bed. Breathing hard, he stared into the darkness of his chambers, willing himself to calm down. His skin was cold and clammy, and his heart raced. Sitting up, he reached for his robe at the foot of his bed and slung it around his broad shoulders.

"Just a dream," he assured himself in his head, "Just a dream. It's not real. Not really true. You killed the bastard, and it was years ago anyway." Henry heaved a shaky sigh and rubbed his face with his hands.

His body calming down, he lay back again into the pillows. Unable to think about sleep, he found his mind consumed with thoughts of his dream. He felt raw and angry. Angry with Richard, but less so with Catherine. Henry considered… No, he wasn't angry with Catherine. He knew he had probably driven her into the arms of another man by his own repeated infidelity, but he hadn't expected it all the same. His anger was not directed at her, but she had hurt him; humiliated him. Seeing her in his dream – his wife, the woman whose body he, and he alone should delight in – hearing her take pleasure in another man's arms, willingly… Listening as he had evidently pleased her… And she had spoken with such feeling when she said she loved him. Henry sighed again. Of course she loved him. There must have been great love between them for Richard to sacrifice his life for her, after all these years apart too. He wondered if Catherine had ever loved him like she had loved Richard. Feeling slightly nauseated, he shook himself mentally. He could hardly bear to think of it. Unconsciously, he rubbed at his chest below his collar bone, absently attempting to soothe the ache that such a thought had created within him.

Tossing and turning, and dozing fitfully until the cold light of a new dawn filled his chambers, Henry finally flung his covers aside in angry frustration. He dressed quickly, thrusting his legs aggressively into his leather trousers, not caring to wait for servants to attend him. Kicking over his bedside table for good measure, he relished in the crash resounding off the walls of his room, and the sound of the cold candle cracking on the hard stone floor, the holder ringing with the hard impact as it rolled nearby.

A guard entered almost immediately, accompanied by a flustered servant.

"Your Majesty!" the guard looked concerned, "Are you in need of assistance?"

Henry waved him off without words, and seeing the table upturned on the floor, he retreated. The servant remained, nervous and hurried, seeing his King half-dressed already.

"Apologies, your Grace, I didn't realise you had risen for the day." The man fumbled with two decorative broad-chested doublets, trying to arrange them for the King to choose from.

Henry's bad mood intensified – he had no patience for bumbling fools with their fidgeting ways. He addressed his servant with bad grace and a raised voice, bellowing to be left alone to ready himself for the day, and then adding as a sudden afterthought, "Prepare my riding habit, and have my horse made ready immediately. I am going for a ride."