Chapter 12

"He's taking Diane to Paris," said Catherine flatly, as she and Richard took a slow walk of the vast castle grounds. They had crossed paths "accidentally" near the stables, and had been walking together ever since. Catherine seemed unhappy, and Richard was glad to be there for her.

"Oh, I see! That's why you've been out of sorts. I was beginning to wonder if it was me!" He gave a chuckle, hoping to cheer her a little.

She brushed her hand absently at the leaves of the bushes that ran close to the path they were walking, but said nothing.

"Catherine?"

"It's not just that. I… I had such high hopes for that night when Henry came to my chambers." She looked up at him regretfully, biting her bottom lip. "Oh – I'm sorry to mention it! I still feel terrible that you had to endure that." She blushed, one of Richard's favourite looks on her.

"Don't torment yourself over it on my account, please Catherine! It's in the past now, don't worry."

Catherine had sought him out the next morning, after that night in her chambers, with such embarrassment and apology. It was not her fault, of course, and nobody was to blame, not even Henry. He, Richard, was the only person at fault, he felt sure of it. Invading a marriage relationship – a rocky marriage relationship at that, but a marriage all the same – to seek to be adulterous with someone else's wife… Yes, the fault lay with him. And he had realised suddenly, how much risk he had put them both at. He had thought nothing of risking his own life to be close to Catherine, but it had not occurred to him that she herself would be at risk from Henry if they were discovered. He didn't want to stop being there for her, even intimately, if she needed him as he felt she did, but they would have to be so much more careful than before. He turned his attention back to his beautiful companion. She was shredding a glossy leaf in her fingers, tiny piece by tiny piece, as she walked.

"It was weeks ago, Richard." She plucked the stem from the leaf with a jerk. "And once again, I am not pregnant." She discarded the mangled leaf with a sigh. "I had such a good feeling about it… But now I begin to think it will never happen."

Richard couldn't bear the sorrow in her eyes, or the way her shoulders dropped forwards in her dejected state. He loved her so much that he simply felt her pain, and longed to take it from her. Moving round to stand in front of her, he halted her with his hands on her shoulders.

"Catherine, look at me. You mustn't give up hope. Don't let it crush you – I can never bear to see a beautiful flower crushed."

She smiled faintly, but the sorrow remained in her honey-brown eyes. "I can't help it, Richard. What is to become of me if I never bear a child? I can't help but to dwell on these things. It weighs upon me like you can't imagine."

"You wouldn't die for it."

"I might. At the very least Henry could divorce me, or banish me!"

"Plead for banishment! I'll meet you at the border and whisk you off to Spain, where we'll live without the grandeur of court, but sleep every night wrapped in each other's arms without fearing for our lives! We'll take our walks in the olive groves, and I'll feed you oranges on hot afternoons under the trees!" He picked up her hand and planted a sweet kiss on her knuckles.

"You're very sweet to me, Richard." She closed her hand around his. "I'm sorry to be such miserable company this afternoon."

"You're always wonderful company, my love." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

They walked a little further down the path to where it opened out in front of a small lake, framed by tall reeds and lush plants. Catherine let go of his hand. It would not do to be spotted holding hands. They moved in the direction of the little bench with a view across the lake, and sat together in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Catherine spoke again.

"I know this must be uncomfortable for you to hear, in view of your feelings for me, but…"

So it was these feelings again. No wonder she had seemed quiet and he had sensed she was holding back what truly bothered her this afternoon. He turned to face her, reassuring her as best he could without words, stroking her fingers gently as he held her hand in his own.

"Go on, Catherine. It's alright. I'd rather you have someone to pour out your heart to in times of need. I'm glad it's me."

His assurance was all she needed.

"Richard," her voice broke on his name, "he's actually going away, for recreation, for sheer indulgence! With her!" She sat bristling with tension, and brushed angrily at a tear that ran down her cheek. Her voice caught in a little sob as she added, "I'm so jealous that I can't think straight. That bitch! The number of ways I've plotted to take her life – you can't imagine! I am just so – so angry that she gets his affection and attention, and I – his own wife, who he swore to be faithful to! – get nothing, just the occasional visit and formal acknowledgement!" She sighed, looking out across the lake. "Mind you, I'm a fine one to talk about faithfulness…"

"That's not your doing, Catherine, it's mine," put in Richard, apologetically.

"He shares his body with her," she spat bitterly, "when it should be mine to have and desire, and mine alone. It sickens me to think about it."

"I know just how you feel…" thought Richard to himself, though he would never dare share such a thought with Catherine.

"I love him." Catherine dropped her head forwards and gave a little sob. "I love him, and this unrequitedness hurts so much."

Richard sat beside her, lost for words to say to give her comfort, the silence broken at intervals by soft catches in her breathing as she cried quietly. He traced her pearly fingernails one by one, and then took her hand warmly in his own.

"Oh I'm sorry…" Catherine took a deep breath, pushing her tears away from her cheeks with her free hand, and brushing the loose curls back from her face. "The last thing I want to do is to hurt you."

Richard shrugged good-naturedly. "It's just part of loving someone, and I'm always glad to love you."

She smiled, relieved at his remark. "I have grown to love you too, Richard," she admitted. "I know it sounds contradictory to say that, but it's true. I do love Henry, but your love for me, and your kindness… your friendship when I have most needed it... I love you too."

Richard was quite sure that the flock of birds that rose from the reeds at that moment must have been doves, and that the clouds parted to let the sun's rays shine upon their white wings precisely at that moment because of the words Catherine spoke from her beautiful lips. He felt immune to any sort of pain at that moment in time. She loved him. She may love Henry, and perhaps a good deal more than she loved Richard, but she loved him. She loved him. Nothing else mattered.