No Fury

Now: Seventy Two

The castle turns into a flurry of activity again, this time preparing for Harry's trip to Spain. I hardly see him over the rest of the day as he meets with the Council, selects guards to accompany him, and is caught up  on everything he needs to hear before he leaves again.

As much as I wanted to be at his side, hearing all of these things, too, I have a tiny newborn to care for. And Harry has instructed me that no one aside from my family and those who already know are to hear word of the quite-living newborn child. For the duration of his trip, I am all but sequestered to this spacious room.

Noise drifts up from downstairs as servants pack food, sew clothing, fill trunks with ale and wine and bread. Harry plans to be gone just over a fortnight, but this is assuming that the meeting lasts only a single day.

If the King of Spain requires Harry to stay longer, he will have to. We don't believe that the King knows Harry is aware Spain has betrayed him; instead he must pretend to be a husband broken by the loss of his wife and child. 

We are too small a country to capably face a full attack from a country the size of Spain; Harry must put on a very good show. Unfortunately, his every emotion has always appeared too plainly on his face.

While they pack, Mary comes to me, and after embracing and laughter through tears, we curl in the refurnished bedroom, in plush chairs in front of the hearth. She holds Anne, I hold the newborn, and I can feel her gazing at me.

"What are you thinking?" I ask her quietly, when the babe has fallen asleep in my arms.

"I am thinking that these two children came about by mistake, and look how loved they are." She bends, kissing Anne. "I am thinking how strange it is how things have turned out. I would never have expected any of this: you in the castle, your daughter the Princess . . ."

"None of this would have happened without your help," I tell her. "I am overwhelmed with gratitude."

She waves this off with a tiny flick of her wrist and smiles over at the newborn boy again. "What will you name him?"

I shake my head. In the past two days I've asked myself the same thing a hundred times, a thousand.

It simply does not feel like it is my place to give him a name.

"Nothing seems to fit," I admit. "Not Michael or Jonathan or Nicholas or Robert. Or maybe it feels strange to name Maria's child. It feels less presumptuous somehow to care for him — that feels like a debt repaid. But giving him a name seems like an ownership I cannot truly claim to want." I stare down at him, letting my darkest confession out in a whisper: "I do feel tenderly toward him, and I could someday love him, but he will never be my child."

Looking up, I meet my sister's eyes. "Anne is still my newborn, at least that is what my heart feels. He will always be hers, and if it ever came down to the choice between caring for him and caring for Anne in any given moment, I could not pretend that I would always be fair. He does not deserve that. He deserves to be cherished just the same. What if I cannot do that, Mary?"

She nods in understanding before she stands. Cradling Anne in her arms, she looks down at him more closely.  And then she laughs quietly. "He is so sweet, his little lips pushed out like that . . . he looks like a tiny bird." Meeting my eyes, she whispers, "Perhaps his name is Robin?"

I let the two syllables roll around in my thoughts. "Robin," I whisper. "What does Harry have planned for you?"

~~

We have one more night of sleep together in our grand bed before Harry rises at dawn, dressing in heavy clothes for travel.

He stands, facing the oblong mirror as he slowly fastens his sleeves, dons his coat.

It is silent between us. I do not want him to leave. He does not want to leave. But we are used to a life where we do not make all of our own choices.

He goes to Anne in her cradle, picking up her sagging, sleeping body and holding her to his chest before bringing her over, tucking her beneath the blankets and against me.

"Be good, little peach," he tells her.

I stare up at his face as he leans down to kiss me goodbye.

"I love you, Cath," he whispers, mindful of the sleeping child so close to us.

"I love you, too."

He nods, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to mine again.

"Come home to me," I whisper.

"I will."

"Let it not just be words. Mean it this time," I say, and he laughs humorlessly.

Harry pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "Do not take him out of the rooms."

"I've already promised this." I reach up, brushing a strand of his hair out of his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what you have planned? Or shall I stay here, ignorant while you are gone?"

Nodding, he bends very close, and whispers in my ear. His breath is warm, his words delivered like silk. With each sound, his lips brush against me and it feels right somehow that he should kiss this promise into my skin.

Tears spring to the surface of my eyes as I nod in understanding, and gratitude.

He has thought of things I have never considered.

He is good.
He is so good.

"Thank you, Harry."

He smiles, kissing me one more time, and then he takes my heart and my soul with him as he leaves for Spain.

~~