There was a shriek of laughter that escaped the lips of a girl as her lover swept her up from the field and into his arms. The sun was warm, but the air has a crisp tang to it whenever it was breathed in by the occupants of France. It was peaceful enough that even those in the countryside could imagine that there was no war, only peace, and preparations for the coming season.
Henry staggered to the ground and Isabel shook her head with a chuckle as she sat up. "What are you laughing at?" He questioned, flipping her over and causing a noise of surprise to escape her lips. Bracing his forearms against the ground Henry looked down at her, their noses brushing as Isabel smiled.
"You're more clumsy than a baby horse," she teased as she cocked her head to the side. "Why you little-" "Sh, I don't want to get into an argument right now. It's not healthy for either of us," interrupted Isabel after she pressed a finger against his partially open lips. He paused for a moment before his head dropped by a fraction. "I wish it could just be like this," Henry whispered as his fingers grazed the surface of her jaw.
Isabel suppressed a series of shivers at his touch and she reached up, lacing her fingers together so they cupped the back of his neck. "A peasant and a king, sounds like something from a fairytale," she mused as her thumb ran across the nape of his neck.
"I wouldn't want it any other way. Although I could do without all the death," he said wryly before trailing kisses down to her collarbone. He paused for a moment, the warmth of his breath tickling Isabel before he grumbled with a hint of humor, "How is it that I let you wear clothes all day?"
"Because my dress has too many buttons and you're an impatient man," joked Isabel, causing Henry to snort.
"It'd be so much easier if you just didn't wear anything," he declared before pressing his lips against her own.
"What was that for?" Isabel asked as they pulled apart. "If I must have a reason, I'll just say that I'd prefer it right now if you enjoyed the moment and didn't make snide remarks," Henry said and Isabel stuck out her bottom lip, pouting.
"I thought you like that about me," she complained, making him smirk. "I do. Now hush or-" "Or wha- hmph!" Isabel cut him off only to squeak in surprise as Henry's lips collided with her's again. Her shock faded quickly and Isabel's body responded easily to the kiss. Her body molded and melted against Henry's own as his hands pulled him closer to her.
The two lay there in each other's embrace and after they had run out of breath, they remained hidden in the field. Isabel leaned her head against Henry's chest as their fingers tangled together. Her eyes were closed, taking in as much peace as she could before she would be called to the birthing bed.
"Your Majesty!" A voice called, snapping the two out of their peaceful silence. "Your Majesty!"
"He's calling for you," Isabel murmured, and Henry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before he untangled his fingers from her hair. "My men can wait. I have something of my own that I need to attend to," he said with a grin and pushing himself off the ground.
"But-" "I know," he said, cutting her off as his hand drifted up and down her leg, moving higher towards the inside of her thigh. His touch, the light graze of his fingers sent shivers up her back and Isabel arched slightly. "Beast," Isabel managed before her lips were captured by Henry's.
Hours later Isabel was sitting up, running her fingers through her hair, untangling it as much as possible, and pulling out an occasional leaf or unlucky flower.
"In England, what do the sunsets look like?" She asked curiously as she stared up at the sky. "Bright and rich," Henry said absentmindedly. Isabel rolled her eyes and looked over at him. "All sunsets are 'bright and rich'," she argued, "What makes them different from France? I've never seen anything outside of France."
"Mm, the sky is the color of bluebells, light, and dark at the same time. When the sun touches the horizon, it is like it catches fire. The sky lights up like your shining a flame through honey," Henry said as he watched Isabel braid her hair.
"No wonder why you look down on France's sunsets," Isabel exclaimed with a chuckle, "I wish I could go to England and see what you described."
"'Wish'? You can come," Henry said, a hint of confusion in his voice, making her smile. "It was a slip of the tongue. I wouldn't leave you and Arthur, but I also have a duty to my brother. He needs as many hands as possible," she argued, making Henry sigh.
"Isabel-" "Your Majesty," a knight said, walking briskly over to them. Isabel quickly adjusted her dress and made sure it wasn't revealing anything she didn't want that messenger to see. "What?" Henry snapped at him. "Pardon the intrusion, but your brothers wish to speak to you about our next target."
"Alright," he said with a sigh before shooting one last glance at Isabel as he stood and walked away. With that one look, she knew that they'd have this conversation again and again until they came to an understanding.
She sighed and turned away, placing a hand on her stomach, trying to find comfort in that. But instead, it only filled her with worry. Her child would be without a father if she chose to stay in France or it could be without a mother and Arthur would also be in the same predicament.
Isabel sat down near a fire and stared at it until a pattering of feet brought her attention away from the scarlet flames that licked at the air. "Mother! Mother!" Arthur cried, waving around a wreath of wildflowers.
"Look what I made," he said, presenting the crown of blossoms to his mother. "It is very beautiful," replied Isabel as a natural smile grew across her face. "Can I put it on you?" Arthur asked and she hesitated before nodding and ducking her head so her son could put it on her head.
"There!" Arthur declared, patting his mother's hair to flatten it before he stepped away and nodded confidently to himself, "Mother looks like a real lady from the leg...lejwnds?"
Isabel smiled and corrected him saying, "Leg-end." "Leg ands?" Arthur asked curiously, making her laugh and she held out her arms. "Come here, darling," she said and her son wasted no time in hugging her, careful to avoid her stomach.
"Why can't I get it right?" Arthur asked, his voice sad. "Don't cry, you will figure it out eventually," Isabel soothed, "You are still young and you are smart."
"Uncle Humphrey is reading me stories, so that helps," he said uncertainly. As long as they aren't lude and full of improper things, Isabel thought as she wrapped her arms around him. "Why can't Father teach me?" Arthur asked and Isabel sighed. "Because he is fighting a war," she reasoned and Arthur frowned. "Uncle Thomas, John, and Humphrey are fighting in a war too," he argued.
"They are not the king," said Isabel. "Then why am I not a prince?" Arthur asked curiously. "Because I am not married to your father and therefore you are not legally his son, you are a bastard."
Arthur looked at his mother's stomach and placed a small hand on it. "Will they be a bastard as well?" He questioned, his voice soft. "Yes they will be," she said, not feeling like it was right to lie about it.
"Enough about this, Arthur, let's go show me what you've learned," Isabel coaxed, standing up and Arthur scrambled up to his feet and he took her hand. "Come with me, Mama. I want to show you what I've drawn!" He said, suddenly every excited as he attempted to drag his mother towards the rows of tents.
"Slow down, Arthur, you'll trip," Isabel scolded with a laugh as her son dashed through the men, calling out, "Excuse me. Pardon! I'm sorry!" He led his mother to his own little cove that he had made in the back of the cart where he rode with his mother since he was a small child.
"Look!" He said excitedly, pulling away a ratty cloth and revealing the parchment he had stolen from his father and a piece of charcoal. He pulled out a stack and spread it out.
"I saw one of the men holding this. He said it was a tarot card. It was really pretty, there was gold everywhere. He said they weren't for playing though," Arthur said hurriedly, pointing to a vaguely humanoid-shaped line that was hanging upside down by what appeared to be by their foot. "I-I think he said it was Le Pendu?"
Isabel's eyebrows shot up and she muttered, "The hanged man? What an interesting name."
"Do you like the drawing, Mama?" Arthur asked, desperate for her approval. "I have never seen something so beautiful," she complimented which caused him to beam up at her.
"Can you show me more of your drawings?" Isabel asked, sitting down on the edge of the cart and Arthur perked up. "I can draw something for you!" He said excitedly, making the corners of her lips quirk up.
"Draw what you want your future sibling to look like," she said after a moment of thinking. "I want them to have dark hair, like Father's. It would be interesting," Arthur declared as he picked up his piece of charcoal and flipping the paper over.
Isabel watched her son intently. From the way his hand gripped the charcoal to the determined look on his small face and the streaks of black he got on his face as he rubbed his face. Arthur glanced up at her and tilted his face to the side. "Mother?" He asked curiously and she smiled. "Keep on drawing my boy. You are doing well," she said as she reached over and pulled out a strip of cloth woven from cotton and began to cut it.
Arthur's feet kicked in the air as he drew in the hair of his imaginary sibling as his mother sewed a sleeve to a shirt. "Mother, do grandfather's eyes look like?" He asked, his fingers pausing over the baby's face. Isabel paused before smiling as she slipped her needle through the fabric. "They were upturned and constantly filled with care and concern for his family. He had blue eyes that were like deep pools in the woods," she said, pulling from her memories.
"Like the ones we played in?" Arthur asked and Isabel nodded. "Huh, what if they were brown," he muttered, drawing a dark circle on the child's face, "I think brown eyes are pretty." Isabel smiled but shook her head when her son's opinions matched almost uncannily with Humphrey's own. "Looks are not as important as someone's kindness, Arthur," she chided, "A lady could be attracted to the most handsome man in the land, but it is his kindness that wins them over."
"Oh...then I will strive to be handsome and kind," he declared before he slapped his hand on the paper and pushed it towards his mother, "Look! I finished."
On the paper, thick dark lines connected to create a face. The child's lips were formed from an M and a curve at the bottom while its nose was a long triangle that stopped halfway up on the right side. Its eyes were large and the ends were tilted upward ever so slightly. It was not proportioned properly which expressed how young the artist was, but it did not diminish Arthur's attempt at drawing a human.
"You did very well, Arthur," Isabel complimented, wrapping an arm around her son as he pointed out details in the art that she had not seen before. "Henry seemed distracted today," Thomas said as he approached Isabel and his nephew, "He was much more grumpy and snappish."
"Is that so?" Isabel asked, feigning ignorance, "Truly, I did not notice." That caused Thomas to sigh and he shook his head.
"Angry peasants won't march up and try to assault and murder you, Isabel," Thomas said and she just let out a huff. "I'm still not so sure. I mean, England is not like France. Mistresses and mothers of bastards are not well respected anywhere," she argued, as she lifted Arthur onto her lap.
"I am simply worried about Arthur. When Henry marries, his wife will see him as a threat and his life will be at risk," whispered Isabel as her son grasped at her hair, "I don't want him to get hurt."
Thomas studied her as she looked down at Arthur. His nephew beamed up at his mother, his lips curling up into an innocent smile as he reached up to readjust the circlet of flowers on Isabel's head. "A little brother is growing here," she murmured, placing a hand on her stomach, "You'll be brave and strong for him right?"
Arthur nodded solemnly, his blonde hair glinting as he moved. Just like his mother's hair.
"I'll protect," he swore, making Isabel smile and kiss her son on the forehead.
"Now since we are traveling, you must remember to stay here," Isabel said and Arthur took his mother's hand. "I will, Mother. I won't get lost like last time," he replied, making his mother smile and press her lips against his forehead.
"You are good, Arthur," she murmured, a glint of happiness in her eyes as she pulled away and hugged her son. "I will take my leave then," Thomas muttered, turning on his heel and walking away to his own horse.
__________
The next four months later Isabel found it impossible to stop pacing. She knew the child was coming soon, but the exact date was unknown to her and it was driving her crazing. "Isabel, you must relax," a hired midwife said, eyeing the pacing French girl in front of her.
"I can't relax, I feel like I will give birth soon," Isabel snapped as she turned on her heel. Her eyes landed on Henry and their son. Arthur played with the little war pieces, fighting his own battle against an unknown opponent. Henry met her gaze and she smiled, making to step forward only to wince in pain. "Isabel-" "Get me to the bed," she commanded and the little girl nodded, taking her by one arm as the other was used to hold her stomach.
"What's wrong with Mother?" Arthur demanded as Isabel was led inside the tent. "Nothing, just stay with Richard," Henry commanded as he rushed forward to the tent. His brothers appeared slowly as word spread that Isabel was giving birth once again.
"Has it started?" He asked frantically and Humphrey rolled his eyes. "How am I supposed to know?" The younger man questioned sarcastically as there was a groan. "Shut up, Brother," John scolded, making Humphrey roll his eyes.
They could hear the women with Isabel trying to coax her onto the bed, but she refused to move as she leaned against the chair. "Please, you must do it. You cannot give birth while standing up," a girl protested as Isabel hissed in pain. "Fine, fine," she growled and there was a shuffling of footsteps and the sound of Isabel being lain down on the bed.
It took a few moments and the groans of pain and muffled screams that came after did not stop as the minutes ticked by. Every time Isabel screamed, her voice became weaker and Henry's fretting got worse.
The tent flap was opened, revealing a girl no younger than fourteen as she held a bucket. "Will she be alright?" Henry demanded, grabbing the girl by the wrist. "Your Majesty, Isabel-" "Tell me!" "Brother, calm down," John said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't tell me that," he hissed as Isabel's groan made it through the tent flap, "How are you so calm? Aren't you worried?" Humphrey crossed his arms and glared at Henry. "Of course, we are worried. That's our future niece or nephew that Isabel is giving birth to. We are just better at hiding it," he snapped, making Henry drive his foot into the ground. The girl that he had grabbed scurried away on the pretense of getting more water and relieved that she could get away from the woman who was bleeding out and the man who could have her head cut off.
Henry returned to pacing, walking back and forth, completely forgetting about the girl who was supposed to tell him what was happening to Isabel. The grass under his feet flattened into a green and brown mat, the little blossoms were swallowed by that disgusting mush and Henry seemed to take pleasure in it.
"Fighting and war is easy compared to this. When Isabel is giving birth, it feels like I'm trying to hold a river!" Henry complained to no one in particular as he threw his hands up into the air. There was a shriek and then a flurry of encouraging voices as the whines of pain faded before growing again into a long chain of screams.
"You there," Humphrey called to a squire. "Yes Your Grace?" He asked meekly, bowing his head as he shuffled over to the Lancasters, who towered over him. "Get me some wine," commanded Humphrey, "Childbirth is noisy."
John rolled his eyes while Thomas narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Seriously?" He questioned and Humphrey turned to look at them. "What, Brother?"
"Isabel is bleeding out and you want wine?" Thomas said in a disbelieving voice. Humphrey opened his mouth to argue as a ragged voice yelled out, "Shut up! Shut. Up!"
Henry stopped and stared at the closed tent flap as if he could see through it. "Isabel? Are you-"
"Stop hovering around like a bunch of milk nurses and be quiet!" She shrieked, her labor making her extremely snappish and ill-tempered. Thomas and Humphrey shared a look before shaking their heads as they grumbled, "Women."
"Damnit, I'm going to her," Henry said, marching inside before anyone could stop him. "Henry wait-" John started before he shut his mouth as the tent flap swished shut.
Henry stared at Isabel as she groaned and dropped her head back and strained. Her skin was chalky and beaded with sweat. Isabel already looked like a corpse and that worried him. "What's wrong?" He asked the nearest woman who pursed her eyes and watched Isabel.
"She is weak right now. The labor usually doesn't take this long...perhaps she has twins or maybe the babe is twisted all wrong," the woman whispered as Isabel let out a cry before dropping back against her pillows. Henry stepped forward and the woman held out a hand. "You mustn't-" she started and he cut her off saying, "Please, just let me be by her side."
The woman hesitated before stepping aside and allowing her king to move to his lover's side. Henry sat next to her on a stool and laced his hand through Isabel's.
"I am too frail," she sobbed as Henry gripped her hand, "Don't lie to me, not like these women, Hal. I can feel it."
"Sh, you are doing very well. You can get through this," Henry comforted as Isabel's chest heaved and her breaths came fast and short. "I don't want to die," she wept and he shook his head, pushing back the hair that stuck to her forehead.
"You won't," he swore as her eyes looked up at him. "Promise?" She asked like a child and Henry nodded. "I promise, you need to push through. Everything will be well and your child will be able to laugh and live after."
Isabel stared up at him before she closed her eyes and braced herself before she pushed again. Her hand tightened around Henry's hand as she let out a guttural noise that rose in volume as a woman cried out with delight, "I can see the head, Isabel!"
"You can do it, mon amour," he encouraged. Isabel paused for breath before pushing again. Henry's hand was receiving less and less blood as she struggled to push out her child. However he did not try to pull away, instead, he squeezed back gently.
All he could do was encourage Isabel. She was the one who had to do the work, so he could withstand the loss of blood in his right hand as she used it to anchor her to the earth. With one final ragged scream, she pushed out their child.
Henry let out a sigh of relief as the woman took the child away so it could be cleaned. Then Isabel groaned and twisted slightly. "It hurts," she complained, "What's wrong!" The women glanced at one another before one turned to the pair and said, "You have another child."
Her voice trembled and her hands twisted together nervously as Isabel let out another groan and dropped her head back. "Get it out," Isabel hissed, "Get it out!"
"You must push, my lady!" Another woman cried and Isabel clenched her jaw and growled, "You think I'm not?" Isabel glared at her stomach before sucking in a breath and channeling her anger out of herself and used it to push her child out.
Another hour passed and the second baby was pushed into the world, practically shaking the earth with its cries as the woman cleaned and swaddled it before placing it next to its sibling.
"Twins, Your Majesty. A boy and a girl," the woman said and Henry's face lit up. "Let me see them," he said excitedly as Isabel flopped back onto the bed, her body going stiff.
"Henry and...Anne," Isabel said after a moment, looking up at the King of England who cradled his little daughter in his arms. "Do you wish to hold her?" Henry asked and Isabel let out a weak laugh, looking up at Henry.
"I could barely let go of your hand. I don't wish to move right now," she said, her body even aching painfully as she moved her lips. "When it is time to acknowledge them, then I shall stand and hold my children."
It took Isabel longer to recover from this pregnancy. Her body barely responded and if she attempted to move her legs, it felt like someone was stretching her muscles until they ripped. She was fighting back a fever and Isabel barely took in enough water and food to survive. Although Henry put up a happy face, she could see how he was fighting back worry as her eyes slipped closed so she could sleep and the relief when she opened them to wake up.
On the last day of the week, Isabel waved away a woman who was trying to get her to eat. She sat up despite her lower body complaining with sharp snaps of pain and aches. "Come Henry, it is time," she said, slipping her legs off the ground and forcing herself to stand. Isabel stumbled and he caught her. "Isabel, get some rest first," Henry insisted and she shook her head.
"I will not die in childbed, Henry. It is just my cramps, give me Anne," she commanded. With reluctance, one of the midwives handed her the little girl. Henry craddled his namesake in his arms before glancing up at Isabel who cooed at the sight of Anne. She felt him staring at her and she looked up before nodding her head.
He turned and walked outside, with Isabel following after him. The voices around the camp stopped when the men saw their king holding another child in his arms.
"My son and daughter," Henry declared, holding up Harry as Isabel rocked Anne in her arms, "Henry and Anne FitzRoy are my children and will be treated as such. Any offense against them is an offense against me and the crown."
"Long live the king," someone shouted and it was coursed through the ranks of men who had been drawn over by the command of their king.
"Mama!" Arthur dashed forward and wrapped his short arms around Isabel's legs. The force almost made her collapse, but she steadied herself. It did not go unnoticed by Arthur though. "Are you ok?" He asked, tilting his head to the side, "You are not round anymore."
John snorted and Isabel smiled. "Yes," she said kindly as she forced herself to kneel down despite the aching in her body, "You have two siblings. This is Anne and Harry is with your father."
"Why wasn't I named Harry after father?" Arthur pouted like any two year old and Isabel paused, thinking over her response. "Well, I suppose I didn't think of it at the time. Arthur is a good name though. You are named after one of the most powerful and legendary kings of England," Isabel replied and Arthur perked up.
"Uncle Humphrey told me that King Arthur was super strong and killed a dragon! He also had a wife named...uh Gwenivor?" Arthur paused before nodding to himself as he said with much confidence, "Gweny. I will have a Gweny in my life too."
"Is your uncle filling your head with nonsense?" Isabel asked, shooting a narrow-eyed look at the younger man who smiled as if he had nothing to lose. "And aren't you a little too young to be thinking about marriage?" Henry interrupted, looking down at his firstborn son, "You haven't even learned how to wield a sword."
Arthur stared at his two parents, feeling very angry at them. Couldn't they see that he wasn't a baby? He didn't wet the bed anymore, he was polite, and he was learning his letters from Uncle John. Uncle John, Arthur thought to himself, Uncle...I have uncles! Suddenly an idea popped into the two-year-old's head and he nodded at his mother.
"I am sorry, Mother," Arthur said apologetically before turning and dashing over towards the uncles who could refuse him nothing. All he had to learn was how to swing a sword around. How hard could that be?
Isabel stood and Henry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as Anne squirmed. "Why do I feel like I will regret telling our son to learn how to fight?" She asked and he chuckled as Arthur rushed through the crowd of men to Thomas.
"It is required of royal bastards is it not? He is a boy and must learn how to fight. Arthur can be bookish, but he must go to battle eventually," Henry reasoned with a roll of his shoulders.
"He is only two," Isabel argued and he nodded his head.
"And soon he will be ten and then fifteen and then thirty in a blink of any eye," Isabel said wistfully. "And we'll be there to watch and guide him every step of the way. We only have one life," Henry responded and she smiled.
"We have one death, but many days to live," corrected Isabel and Henry turned to her. "And do you want to spend the rest of your days with me? He asked curiously, making her stiffen.
"I..." she trailed off and looked down at Anne, "Maybe. A part of me wishes to stay in France."
Maybe? Henry thought. We've had three children! How could she say 'maybe'?
He reigned in himself and he just sighed, forcing his indignation into the escaping air. "You should rest," Henry said curtly as he walked back inside the tent and put his secondborn son into the cradle. Isabel followed him inside and put Anne to bed before Henry kissed her on the forehead.
"You know that I only care about you," he whispered, taking her hand and Isabel found herself leaning towards him. Henry pulled away from her and his fingers slipped past her own when she didn't say anything. "You had a hard birth, get some rest," he all but commanded, his shoulders stiff. "Henry," Isabel tried, but he was gone.
She could feel his anger swirling around him as he slunk away and she felt like it was her fault. Isabel never wanted to make him unhappy, but all of this sudden talk about leaving was pulling her around like a ragdoll. It felt so sudden, like a wave crashing over the deck of a ship and trying to wash her off. Composing herself, she picked up Harry and cradled him in her arms. He looked like his twin, dark-haired just like his namesake. Her second son had blue eyes, like all babies, but Isabel was sure that as he grew, his eyes would go brown like his father.
The sun fell past the horizon, lighting up the land with flaming golds, oranges, and reds before melting into obscurity and the darkness of the night. Hours past and Isabel moved only to tuck Arthur in and feed Anne and Harry. She felt like time was slipping away too quickly and she wanted to spend every minute with her three children, even if they were asleep. Isabel put Anne to bed and walked over to where Arthur slept, his little chest rising and falling. She could see his eyes twitching under his eyelids and Isabel wondered what her son was dreaming about.
"Sweet dreams, my little boy. May you wake up stronger than you did the day before," she whispered, kissing his forehead. Isabel straightened and walked over to the bowl of water that sat on a table.
She could hear the sounds of men talking, laughing, arguing, and playing pranks on one another. Isabel smiled to herself. Over the last two years, she had patched up the majority of them and in return they treated her with a semblance of respect.
Isabel quickly cupped the water in her hands and trickled it onto her hair as the tent flap opened. Henry entered, taking his sword off and she made a point of not turning around. They remained in silence as he took off his armor and changed into a shirt made from cotton. The light splash of water and shift of fabric was all that could be heard in their tent and soon the silence became unbearable.
Suddenly there was a huff and she felt Henry's gaze on her. "When you said you wanted to stay in France," he started, looking at Isabel as she washed her hair, "Was it because you're afraid of how you will be received or is it because you don't want to leave France?"
Isabel paused, her hands freezing halfway up in the air as if she was offering some pagan god a sacrifice to make sure she didn't screw anything up. She recovered quickly and poured it on her head, letting the cool droplets roll down her skin, taking dust and dirt from weeks of work with it. Only then when she had dried her hands did she look up.
"I suppose it is a little bit of both," she said with a heavy sigh, "I have never been out of France before and only on rare occasions do I actually leave my home. Henry, you must understand that I have seen things. Men and women being carted off by the church because they studied medicine, little girls being beaten by their husbands because some rich lord came by and had his way with her. Every time, our society rejected them. It is a natural instinct to sneer at those who do not fit in or do wrong. I was lucky because I kept my head down most of the time."
Her hands braced against the makeshift table as she heard the squeak of Henry getting off the bed and his light footsteps before his arms circled around her waist, pulling her closer to him. "No one will hurt you, Isabel. The only thing that matters is us - you, me, Arthur, Harry, and Anne," he swore, pressing his lips against the skin under her ear.
She smiled and warmth bubbled up in her stomach before spreading through the rest of her body. "You'll have to better if you want me to come with you," Isabel teased as she looked over her shoulder at Henry, breaking the awkwardness between them. "I thought after giving birth to twins, you'd want a break," he said wryly and she snorted.
"Not sex you dolt. Use your words," chided Isabel, making Henry roll his eyes. He paused to think before he met Isabel's gaze.
He could tell that she wanted to be with him. Isabel had given everything to Henry and if she left, it would be a waste. But she was still unsure and it was up to him. What was more important than their love for one another? He thought as he pushed her hair to the side.
"Arthur," Henry said abruptly, making Isabel jump. "What?" She asked in confusion as she turned around in his arms to face him.
"Arthur, what would happen to him, Harry, and Anne? Who would love them like a mother should?" He asked lifting a hand up and brushing a stray strand of hair away from Isabel's face. "I suppose I could take them with me," she said uncertainly. "And would your future husband care for them? Or would he try to wipe clean the dark spots that he sees on his white cloth?" Henry whispered, tilting his head to the side.
"Even if I tired of you in England, which will never happen, our son is an acknowledged bastard. He will always have an allowance from the crown. So would Anne and Henry when they grow up. They could have their own estates, they would have money and power. They would be safe from harm," said Henry before cupping Isabel's face in his hands.
He held her gently, letting her know that she could step away and never look back. His touch was like a feather brushing against her skin. "Henry," she breathed as she pressed her cheek against his hand and closed her eyes, "If only you couldn't keep your promises. This would be so much easier."
Tears welled in her eyes and Henry panicked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I-" He started, but Isabel placed a hand over his mouth. "No, no, you didn't hurt me. I'm just sad. Either way, I feel like a part of me will be gone," she explained as she looked down at their feet.
"My family is in France. My father's legacy, his son, my nieces, and nephews, cousins, the farm...everything I had before I met you. But now I have our three wonderful children and you. I can't pick one." Her voice cracked at the end and she shook her head as Henry hugged her.
"You can stay, I'll make sure of that. Once I conquer France, you'll never have to leave your home and fear never seeing me again. You can leave whenever you feel like it because you should know that I will always find my way back," swore Henry. Isabel sniffed, wiping away the water in her eyes before it could fall as she regained her composure.
"Who knew that when you helped me cut off another man's leg that we'd end up with three little chaotic balls of energy?" Isabel asked before laughing with Henry. When their laughter died away, they remained where they were and she lay her head on his shoulder.
Henry held her as her breathing slowed and he opened his mouth to say something, but when he heard Isabel snore, he stopped. Looking down at Isabel, she seemed younger. She was relaxed and in a world of her own creation with no worry where everything was perfect.
That brought a smile to his face. If only he could create such a world for her and their children. Henry picked her up, slipping one arm under her knees and supporting Isabel's back with the other and walked over to their bed.
He lay her down and pulled the blankets over her. There was a small smile on her face and Henry kissed her temple before moving to Arthur who's lips were parted slightly. "My son, you'll have France in the palm of your hand when you're all grown. I promise," he whispered before turning to his twin children and smiling down at them. His eyes closed an he swayed slightly. Henry steadied himself and shook his head. When was the last time he had actually had a proper night of sleep?
Shuffling over to the shared bed that Isabel slept on, he slipped next to her and closed his eyes as his arm wrapped around her waist. She turned in his arms and snuggled closer to him, her back facing the cool wind from the night that slipped through the fabric of the tent.
Perhaps everything would be just fine.
Author's Note:
...
I was planning on making this much shorter, but whatever. Anyways, TWINS!
Hope you've enjoyed this chapter and stay safe in ye'old plague times.