No Fury

Now: Fifty Four

As soon as Mary leaves my cell, pressing close to the wall as she climbs back out of the dungeon, panic becomes a tight band around my heart.

What have I done? I could be walking out with her, into the air, into Da's arms and the warmth of our cottage. I could bring Anne into the ale house to meet her family. I could begin raising a daughter who is both commoner and royalty.

A sunshine princess who truly belongs to all of us.

But in my heart I know staying here was the right choice. If Mary is correct, I shall not suffer here much longer. This game I play is a complex one, not the simple toss of a stick. For my daughter, I must remain unimpeachable.

I look down to the blanket Mary brought, and wrap up the remaining bread, cheese and fruit into the basket, folding the blanket to use for Anne when needed.

And then, as my daughter stirs, I bring her to my breast, and close my eyes.

Harry is alive.
We are winning this war.
My child was born healthy.
Maria will hang for her crimes.

It is not the exact path I would have chosen my life to take, but I cannot deny, while nursing my baby daughter in the blank isolation of a prison cell, that I am getting everything I ever wanted.

~~

It is odd, the way one sense sharpens when another is removed. There is very little to see in the dank blackness of the dungeon, but my ears can recognize Zayn's footfalls without effort. I am woken by the sound of him coming down the stairs.

Pushing to sit, I watch as he wordlessly steps up to the cell, finds the right key and walks inside.

"Hallo, Catie." He sets down a large bundle wrapped in twine and a jug of water.

I skip the greeting, the words bursting from my lips. "Zayn. The sacrifice you made for me-"

"Please don't thank me," he whispers, stepping closer to help me stand with Anne in my arms. "It was absolute torture knowing you were down here, going hungry."

"But you risked your life for me."

He shakes his head, but says nothing, and instead nods to Anne. "May I hold her?"

On instinct, I hesitate.

"Not to take her away," he quickly adds. "To see her."

I hand my child to him, and marvel at the way his face lights up.

"Hello, little princess," he whispers.

"Anne," I tell him. "Her name is Anne."

"After Queen Anne?" he guesses.

"Aye." Pausing, I watch him tidy her blankets around her chin, before asking, "Tell me what has passed. What happens above?"

He looks surprised that I haven't already guessed. "They are releasing you today." My heart climbs into my throat. "I am to bring you to the front rooms."

The front rooms.

Where royalty and members of the court are received.

I pull at the hem of my dress - not out of modesty with Zayn, for in these past weeks he has seen nearly every bit of my skin but my backside - but to communicate to him that I cannot possibly go upstairs dressed like this.

"Oh." He startles, remembering the package on the floor. "Yes. Mary sent a dress," he says. "I brought some water so that you can wash."

I gaze up at him, the intensity of my gratitude making my words fall away.