216 Days (Violent Delights Book 12)

Chapter 27: The siege according to Catherine of Valois, January 10, 1421

I have no idea what I'm doing. It is cold everyday here and rainy. And I can't stand anytime I hear the baby cry. I don't hold him for fear I'd just drop him. I don't want to do that. I don't want to do anything. It takes so much effort to want to do things. It's easier to lie in bed.
I do know what I want. I want to be away from here. I want to be home. I don't want to be a mother. I want my body back. I don't feel beautiful anymore. I want to. But I don't. I'm ruined. And I'm alone.
My ladies do what they can but they don't know why each day is darker than the next. John stays at Windsor though I rarely see him. He's cheerful, we have dinner once or twice. From him I get brief, precious news of home. I think Henry is stopping all my letters. For I've heard nothing from my mother even though we sent word the baby was born and she'd have written to me. But John does not shy about telling me the odd piece of news. That Meaux still has not fallen. I do not see how. It's been three months now. Melun fell after three months. Those poor boys must be nearing their end. I feel for them. And I can do nothing for them either.
Anne Stafford said get what you want. Take what you want. Except I don't know what I want. I have no idea what I want to do because everything is just painful. There's painful and then there's some numb parts and all I can hope for is to be numb.
I can go outside now, even if it's cold. It rains though, on top of the snow. I do not understand English weather and I do not want to. This afternoon, I leave my ladies and walk out onto the grounds. I tell them I won't be a minute. Then I keep on walking. I don't even care. I want to have everyone look for me. I want to be alone where it's quiet.
So I walk and walk. It starts to rain. I don't care. I used to walk for ages. At the convent, where I went to school. They would let us out into the fields and we'd run and play. I remember at home after the holidays. Charles and I would race through the grounds. He'd tackle me and I'd laugh. We had such fun then. And we're so far apart now. It's winter he could be dead if he was sick with his men. Our other brothers died. And no one would tell me anyway. I'm throughly a prisoner here.
It's storming. But I don't mind the rain. I'm not cold. It's probably been hours. Agnes and Jeanette will worry. But I'm cruel now I don't care. I don't even want to be found.
"My lady."
I turn at the sound of the voice. A man's. Owen stands fifty paces behind me, soaked to the skin, soft blonde hair sticking to his face in the rain. He bows a little when I turn to look at him.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself.
"Everyone is looking for you, my lady," he says, "Everyone. I just—found you. Can I show you back to the castle?"
"I know the way back to the castle," I say, blinking rainwater from my eyes.
"All right. It's very cold would you like me to show you to one of the hunting houses? On the grounds? Since you—know the way back and—aren't going that way? Are you getting all this? My french is terrible, Je suis désolé, that's all I've got at the moment."
"No, I'm getting all of it," I nod.
"So castle? You need to get warm, you'll be ill, your majesty," he ducks his head again,
"Why did you smile at me, on Christmas?" I ask.
He sighs, looking away.
"Answer me. I command you," I say.
"My lady. You looked like you ought to be smiled at. I thought, in my mind, I thought you smiled at me as well. So I did. Because I wanted to. I nearly died, at Agincourt. Yes, I fought the French. But I was nearly killed. And since, little causes me to feel fear. Nothing in fact. So I took a chance and I smiled at you. Because it would either mean nothing to you or everything because, your majesty—you are very beautiful. And I like it when you smile. So if you did not smile back I apologize," he says it all, face growing red again. And then he does not look at me, just looking out at the rain.
"I did. I smiled at you," I say.
He nods a little.
"You said there is somewhere—closer than Windsor, where I can wait for the rain to pass?" I ask.
"Yes, a hunting lodge, I can show you, and we can bring covers, a litter," he says, gesturing.
"I can walk once the rain passes. I'm quite well. Just show me, you, show me," I say.
"This way," he nods, blinking rain from his eyes.
I follow him to a small stone structure. Lodge was quite overdoing it. It's just a hunting shelter. I suppose the men go hunting here in the summer. Women go hunting though; my mother goes hunting. I'm sure Anne Stafford goes hunting.
Owen opens the door for me and lets me in. He goes to get a fire going while I sit down. There's a couple of chairs, nothing more. It's clearly meant for things like this. Waiting the rain out.
"I'll go and fetch the others, tell them I've found you," he says, awkwardly, still not looking at me.
"No. Don't leave," I say.
He does not move, still dripping rain water off those beautiful shoulders.
"Help me take my boots off. My feet hurt," I say.
"My lady," he kneels down at my feet, slowly, hand working through the strap. He fiddles with them a bit competently, then slips my left boot and sock off. His hand lingers on my foot for a brief moment. I do nothing to stop this, just watching as his fingers trace down my swollen foot. Then he moves to my other boot. This time his hands aren't shaking so much anymore. And he frees the lace and slides it off. Then he runs his rough fingers down the skin of my ankle as he slips the sock off as well.
I say nothing, just watching him. My stomach and thighs feel oddly warm and tense. And I can feel my heart beating.
He lifts my foot, just a little, and kisses my ankle. He looks up at me then, as he does it. No remorse in his eyes but accepting permission to love me as I should be. I smile, I think, I have no idea what I'm feeling but I also don't want it to stop. It's strange and oddly beautiful and raw, the fire that seems to rip through me.
He kisses my ankle again, slowly moving up my leg. So slowly. Just letting his face brush the soft hairs of my leg. He kisses the side of my knee. Then plants the first kiss on my thigh. The feeling is almost like pain yet it's wonderful. He kisses my thigh again, moving on up. I move to slide my own hand between my legs. He gently reaches up, twisting his hand in my own, moving my dress fully out of his way as he kisses up my leg, slow and sure. I have to anchor my other hand in his hair, as he finishes me, his fingers twisted with mine. I'm sure he grips my hand tightly. I feel myself breathing in and out heavily but I don't know how to do anything else.
I tangle my hand in his, just breathing, as he moves to put his face, head bent, against my stomach. Just breathing now. I bring his wet face up to mine and I bring a shaking hand to his cheek. He kisses my fingers, eyes half closed as though he's had as much pleasure as I did.
I have no idea how long we remain like that in the dim room. Then I slowly lower myself to the floor beside him.
"My lady," he shakes his head quietly.
"Shh, let me do this," I say, and kiss his warm mouth. He drinks me in readily, tongue soft on my teeth as I press my hands into the back of his head. I've forgotten every art my mother ever taught me. Not one of her lessons prepared me for this. I feel insane. But it's beautiful.
"Why?" I ask, tracing the curve of his ear.
"I fell in love with you the first time I saw you laugh. And I know that I may die for this. But what a beautiful death. What a beautiful, beautiful death," he says.
"They won't know, I'll tell no one," I say, frowning. My husband will never know. He knows nothing.
"I don't care. Do what you like to me. In fact do whatever you'd like to me. It looks like I'm ready to die for loving you," he says, like he's more in shock now about what he's doing.
"I will not let that happen," I say, rising and trying to straighten my dress. My thighs are still wet and I feel like I'm flushed and shaking. Like a teenager. God is this what it's supposed to feel like? When someone loves you?
Owen says nothing, he rises too though, fiddling with his shirt.
"Come here," I say. He's taller than I now that he's standing but not enormously, "Here," I wipe his face with his shirt and then tuck his hair back. "Go and tell the others you found me and left me here. Then they will come to walk back."
"My lady," he nods.
"Please," I say, feeling tears in my eyes, "Call me my name."
"Catherine. Cat, Cat?" He asks, almost smiling now.
"Thank you, Owen," I say, smiling as well.
He smiles his stupid, lovely, beautiful smile, "Cat."
I nod.
He goes.
Okay. That was, something. Never had that happen before. Never. Very embarrassing it took this long. But god. God. He looked in my eyes and said he'd die for loving me. He gave me what I didn't know I needed with no way of knowing if the price he'd pay was death or not. He gave his love freely ready to die for it just so I could know somebody loved me like that. Loved me enough to make me feel real, feel passion. I don't care if he's done this before. I don't care about anything. I needed that right now apparently. And I can be happy again. I can feel happiness other people can love me.
And I am not letting Henry destroy me. He and his child damn near have. But no more.
Everyone else comes. I insist I am fine walking. I'm pleased to learn Owen is not doing this other places or with other people because he is not that good a liar. He is still not looking at me or breathing properly or stopping blushing. So, an honest man. He's very bad at this so that's an issue, but he may actually be honest. That's so sweet and also not at all good for our situation.
But I can control this. I'm the queen.
I get inside and changed. My ladies help change me. I don't know if they think I'm laughing because of the rain or something else. I feel his kisses still on my thigh and I feel the crawling underneath my skin, just thinking of it.
I get changed and neat. And ready. I need to make my first move. I'm tired of waiting.
John is in this afternoon, and I tell the staff I need to see him and I'm escorted right up. I'm the queen he's a duke. But he's the king's brother and I'm essentially a prisoner. So it's odd. But I get to see him.
"My lady," he hops up and bows, smiling merrily. Such merriment compared to his brother.
"I wanted to let you know. I am writing to the king to tell him I miss him. I understand he cannot come home. But I must see him," I say, pressing a hand to my belly, to imply I wish him to give me another child. That is not what I wish. But I would pay the price of a night in his bed if it gets me home. The horrible price of another year of misery bearing his child. "I miss him; it has been so long. When you go to France, may I accompany you?"
"You—miss Henry?" John asks, frowning.
"Yes, my husband."
"Our Henry the king you miss him and want to see him? I mean—yes if he agrees, write to him. Of course you may sail with us if that's what you wish," John says, clearly confused. Oh, so he knows what his brother is.
"Yes. I miss him dearly," I say, sadly. My mother trained me well I am no fool. "Of course, I must pick my own staff to accompany me. Many of them here at Windsor have become quite precious to my ladies, you understand."
"Yes, whatever pleases you. Just get me the names of whomever it is," he says, shrugging a little, "If the king approves of course it's his budget."
"Yes, of course. Thank you, brother," I say, curtseying.
"Gladly. Oh, they said you were out walking earlier and couldn't find you? Were you lost?"
"No, no," I say, shaking my head. I'm quite found.