Henry walked into the room, bringing with him all the authority and regal bearing I recalled from the past. Assured, proud, supremely powerful: that was the Henry I remembered. And I stood there, wishing John and James would leave us alone together, terrified that they would. Eleven months since I had last seen him, and I had only spent a little longer than that with him as his wife. Even that had been interrupted by siege and royal progresses. Now, in the wake of such distancing, I was seized by terrible uncertainty. Predictably, my confidence drained away as he strode in, his eyes taking in every detail of who was there to meet with him. They moved to me, then over my face to John and James.
Keeping my own face carefully welcoming, I watched his expression, searching for pleasure or disinterest. Or—my belly clenched—would he castigate me for disobeying his express order to remain in England? All I could do was to sink down into a deep obeisance. I was here. I would not retreat. I rose to my full height, spine firm. Henry and John embraced, smiling, exchanging words of greeting. He clipped James on the shoulder in warm acknowledgement.
Henry walked slowly to where I stood. I said, before he could speak to me, to forestall any reprimand, foolishly, as a child might, ‘I persuaded John to bring me.’
Henry’s reply was light and cool. ‘You shouldn’t have come. And he should have known better.’
‘I wanted to see you. It is well nigh a year since…’ I said precisely. And then my mind was seized by something quite different. Fear of rejection was wiped entirely from my thoughts.
‘There were no dangers, Hal,’ his brother interposed. ‘We travelled via Rouen—the peace seems to be holding there.’
‘It is, thank God.’
Now, at last, Henry took my hands in his and, with a strained smile, saluted my cheeks.
‘You look well, Katherine.’
I stopped myself from saying it, but the impulse was strong. He looked immensely tired, the lines at the corners of his eyes a mesh of crow’s feet, his skin pulled taut over cheekbone and jaw, and a line between his brows did not smooth away, even when he smiled at me at last. I thought he had lost weight. Always tall and slender rather than heavily muscled, his frame could ill-afford to lose flesh. His hands around mine looked as finely boned as a woman’s.
‘We got tired of waiting,’ explained John, and when Henry turned his head to respond I was horrified by the translucence of his skin at his temple. He looked stretched and weary to the bone, with an uncomfortable pallor beneath his campaigning bronze.
He kept hold of my hands. ‘How is my son?’
I dragged my mind from Henry’s appearance to reply with a smile, ‘He thrives. He is safe at home. Look—I have brought this for you.’ I released myself from his hold to draw from my sleeve a screw of parchment that I gave to him, explaining as he opened it, ‘It’s Young Henry’s. His hair will be like yours.’
Henry smoothed his thumb over the curl of hair and, to my relief, laughed softly. ‘Thank you.’ He tucked it into his tunic.
‘When will you come back to England to see him?’ I asked, before I could stop myself.
And there was the bleak lack of emotion that I so feared. ‘I don’t know. You should know better than to ask.’
‘What are your plans?’ John added with the slide of an apologetic eye in my direction.
Henry turned his head as if to reply. Took a breath. Then frowned.
‘Later, I think,’ he responded curtly. ‘We’ll talk later.’
‘Of course. Shall we share a flagon of good Bordeaux?’
Henry shook his head. ‘In an hour. I’ll find you.’ And strode swiftly from the room. We heard him shouting for his squire to order the disposal of his baggage—and then silence. With a little shrug, James followed him.
John and I looked at each other.
‘He worries me,’ I said simply.
‘He is weary. Long campaigns—particularly sieges—take it out of the best of soldiers. A rest will restore his good humour.’
I thought that Henry had little humour at the best of times. ‘I thought he looked ill.’
‘Lack of food, lack of sleep, that’s all.’
That was what Alice had said. I supposed she was right.
‘He was pleased to see you.’
‘Was he?’
‘It will all work out well. You’ll see. Give him time to settle in here. His victory at Meaux was a great one but draining. Sieges always are. Give him time.’
I was not convinced, and thought that John’s repetitions were an attempt to allay his own fears. I walked in front of him from the room so that he would not see the threat of tears.
