Chapter Two #2
Well, I’m glad old Catherine knew what she was doing, because I sure as hell don’t. We stop at a pair of heavily armed doors, and Bessie studies them before turning back to me. “I’m sure you’re right, though. What you have with the king is different.”
Famous last words.
A knock comes from inside the room, and one of the four guards swings a door open.
“I will visit you later,” Bessie whispers. “Have fun.”
She touches her arm to mine and leaves the same way we came. As she does, a group of men exit the king’s rooms, all in fancy Tudor attire. They greet me with cordial nods as they file past. Only the last one stops, and he’s the only one I recognize.
I look up to meet his warm green eyes just before he gives me a little bow. “Simon?”
He stands up tall. His gaze lingers on mine as a shadow of a smile crosses his face. “Lady Catherine. I’m glad to see you well.”
I give an awkward Downton Abbey curtsy in response before straightening back up, tugging on the cuff of my sleeve as I do. “As well as one can be, given the circumstances.”
Simon rests his hands behind his back, and I can’t help but notice how broad his arms are as they jut out to the side, even through the thick shirt he’s wearing. “What are the circumstances?” he asks.
Oh, you know. I’m in the wrong era. I’m in the wrong body. I’m the next historical bachelorette who’s going to be murdered in a crime of passion.
“It’s just been a long day,” I opt to answer.
Simon’s mouth pulls in a way that says he doesn’t entirely believe me.
“And are you restored to your usual self?” His gaze is calm, but I also see the underlying curiosity.
Whatever I said to him this morning was un-Catherine-like enough for him to notice.
I need to keep a close watch on him, which shouldn’t be too hard since I have yet to peel my eyes away from him.
“I was . . . confused. From my fall. Sorry if I seemed off. And for yelling at you.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I rather enjoyed it.” I angle my head at his response.
I don’t hate the thought of his enjoying our interaction, but I also can’t focus on that now.
Simon ducks his chin, like he’s trying to hide the laughter pulling at his lips as a silence falls between us.
“What I meant was, I liked talking to you. That’s all. ”
His admission catches me in a way I wish it didn’t.
Our eyes hold until he glances back into the king’s rooms, and his posture stiffens as he turns his gaze back to mine.
“I should get on,” he says. But he doesn’t get on.
He stays rooted in place, drawing me into the stillness with a look that’s charged with something I don’t quite understand.
My breath slows. I’m wondering if I should step closer or back when he suddenly gives me a small nod, like he’s regaining control, and bows. “Good evening, Lady Catherine.”
He straightens and walks past me. I’m determined not to say anything but can’t help the uneven “Bye, Simon” that slips out of my mouth when he’s a few feet away.
He looks back at me over his shoulder with the faintest curve of his lips and my stomach instinctively tightens.
As he disappears down an adjoining corridor, I have to mentally shake myself to remember the very real danger that I’m now in.
Still, no one in this murder castle should have such a devastating smile.
With Simon out of view, I turn back to the doors but make no move to step forward.
Several seconds pass, and the guard holding the door open gives me a confused get-in-there look.
I take a bracing breath and step inside.
I’m entering the lion’s den, but at least I know that I am.
I wonder if Henry’s other lady loves knew what they were walking into.
As I cross the threshold, my step falters as I take in the candlelit room.
I was expecting a medieval sex dungeon, but this feels more homey than anything else.
A breeze sweeps through the lavish stone space from the casement windows, and the logs snapping in the fireplace serve as a soundtrack.
A dining table is set on the far side of the room, and a smaller round table is on the side where I’m standing.
Two high-backed wooden chairs are positioned across from each other, and sitting in the one facing me is the king.
When his eyes meet mine, he smiles like he means it.
“Catherine. Praise God you’re well.” He stands to greet me, wearing a thick velvet brocade of red and silver.
It has huge padded sleeves, and he’s sporting thickly tailored britches.
I notice that his beard is on the thinner side as he takes my hand in both of his, once again kissing my knuckles as he steers me toward the small table.
“Come. Sit, my sweet, and tell me how you are.” I ease into my chair as he slides into the one across from me. “Would you like something to eat? Perhaps some wine? Just tell me what your heart desires and it will be yours. I care for nothing so much as your happiness.”
His attentive blue eyes stay on mine as I swivel to the left, trying to sit comfortably. “Thank you. I’m fine for now.”
“Of course,” he says, sitting back in his own chair. “Shall we play cards as we usually do? Or would you rather we just talk?”
There’s an almost physical twist of temptation in my gut.
The psychologist in me is frothing at the mouth to have a talk therapy session with Henry VIII.
The papers I could write! The case studies that could be developed!
But I shake the urge off. To him, I’m Catherine.
And talking is a two-way street. If I sound like me, he’ll get suspicious.
And what I need now is to fly under the royal radar.
“Let’s play cards,” I answer.
Henry smirks and scoops up the deck that’s set on the table. “My competitive girl. It brings me such joy to see you recovered. When I was told of your injury, the fear nearly overpowered me.”
His relaxed shoulders and calm demeanor don’t align with the body language of an overly stressed person.
I nudge my chair closer to the table. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
He holds the deck in one hand and reaches out to me with the other. “Never apologize, Catherine. Not to me. To me, you are all perfection.”
Intense flattery. I make a mental note of it as Henry begins to shuffle the cards. I really hope whatever game he usually plays with Catherine is in my repertoire, but something tells me that Go Fish wasn’t super popular in sixteenth-century England.
“Can I ask you something?” I venture, unable to resist.
“Anything, my heart.”
I sift through a catalog of questions, looking for the most telling one. I go with “What is your favorite memory of me?”
Henry leans back in his chair with contented ease.
“The night I first laid eyes you. You were dancing in the great hall. Many were there, but it was as though a light was shining down on you. You were the living embodiment of everything pure and beautiful. I fell in love with you in that very moment.”
Henry’s voice has a dreaminess to it, like he’s reliving the memory in his mind’s eye.
“Had we spoken at that point?” I ask.
Henry flashes me a knowing grin. “I didn’t have to hear you speak to know your soul. Our love transcends mere words.”
Idealization without knowing. Catherine is his fantasy. It’s not who she is that he loves; it’s who he wants to her to be. Who he’s decided she is.
“Your accident made me realize something,” Henry goes on to say. “Life is precious, Catherine. Everything can change in an instant, and my greatest desire is to live my life with you at my side.”
Oh, shit.
“I want you with me always. As a wife, as a companion, and as the queen of England.”
I swear to God, I almost laugh. This love-bombing bastard couldn’t give me ten minutes before shackling me to Catherine’s predetermined fate. I shouldn’t be surprised, yet somehow I am, and I try to look pleasantly speechless as I figure out how to answer.
“It’s decided, then,” Henry says, his voice chipper. “We will be married in two days’ time. I have already given the order, and preparations are underway.”
It seems an answer isn’t necessary. My “king” has happily decided, and I am now engaged. My mind takes off running in a million directions, but I take a breath to center myself.
Henry is still all smiles as he begins to shuffle the cards. “Now, sweet Catherine, shall we play? I have a new game I wish to teach you.”
I smile back at him because I know something he doesn’t. I am not Catherine Howard. I am Lily Whitaker. I am going to survive this, and him, and I am going to get back home no matter what it takes.
I lean in, resting my elbows on the surface of the table. “Deal me in.”