No Fury

Now: Sixty Six

Oh, it is strange to be having this conversation here, with James at the head of the table, and Harry sitting across from me, holding Anne as she bangs a spoon on the oak tabletop in front of her.

This is where we have laughed together for over a month. This is where we have taken every morning meal, and every evening meal, and nearly all of the words spoken here have been happy ones.

"Son," James says, "you must stop and imagine the consequences. If you go home today, and hang Maria tomorrow, how do you think the King will react? Mildly?" He turns his mouth down at the corners, looking dubious. "Spain did not fully enter the war because he do not care so much to risk soldiers' lives. But if you kill the youngest of his children, I imagine he may react a bit more strongly."

Harry clears his throat, jaw tight, saying nothing.

James leans in, putting his hand over his son's. "I'm only asking you to be deliberate in your reaction."

Harry nods stiffly as he considers this, watching Anne lift the spoon. He dodges nimbly when she whips it back, gently redirecting her hand so that she brings it back to the table rather than against his forehead.

"You and Cath have a bit of distance from this," he says at length. "I envy you that. But I implore you to remember how you felt in those first days." He looks at me. "When you did not know where I was. When you wondered whether Maria's betrayal resulted in my death."

My gut twists, sour now.

"I am not sure distance is a good thing," he says, gentler now. "I think the fire is critical. What Maria has done is unforgivable."

"Without question," I say, leaning forward. "But there must be a trial of some sort, do you not agree?"

He shakes his head. "Not if the proof is infallible." He looks at me. "Did you perhaps imagine her ordering you to the dungeons?"

I catch the sarcasm in his words and blink down to the table, biting back a defensive reaction. Taking a breath, I reply, "No, I did not imagine it, Harry. But just because it is the crime that causes you the most grief does not make it the one she should hang for. Imprisoning a pregnant commoner who has lain with the king is not treason. It is simply heartless."

I stare at him, hoping he will meet my eyes but he does not. So I continue, "The proof of her treason is known to Douglas from her confiding in him. It is known to the soldiers who heard word of it on the battlefield. No doubt the Council has gathered all of this, but you need to hear it, Harry. Her trial needs to be based only on what she has done to the kingdom. Not to me."

Still, Harry does not meet my eyes. Instead, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of Anne's head, inhaling her soft baby smell as he closes his eyes in thought.

It is because of this that he doesn't react in time when Anne smacks him in the head with the spoon.

Wincing, he gently pries it from her hand. "Easy, Peach," he murmurs, "Be careful."

When he takes it from her, she begins to cry, angrily, and he turns her, bouncing her on his knee, trying to sooth her. The conflict on his face — juggling all of this: father, king, lover — is too much for me to bear. Standing, I come around the table, gesturing that I will take her from his arms.

"I am fine," he grumbles, standing and walking to the living room to fetch one of her dolls.

James averts his eyes, glancing out the window.

I pause, watching Harry from where he has left me near his chair.

I know how overwhelmed he must be.