~Come Home to Me~

April 1471, The Tower of London....

Again it rained, again heavy droplets poured down from the sky unto the earth like a deluge, marring the line of the sky with an ashen blur. The sound became a melody, a pounding crescendo that rose above the evening before thunder rumbled in the sky and all fell to silence.

The air became still, coated with a thick layer of mist rising from the Thames, encasing the city in a murky cloud hardly any could see through. It swirled about the Tower, curving like floating fingers around the tall turrets and sturdy stone buildings, creeping over the walls in rolling waves.

By the time the sun set, all was trapped in a gauzy veil and when Catherine put her son to bed, the green below was barely visible from the garden tower window. Beneath the blankets of heavy linen and wool Henry's eyelids grew heavy with sleep, causing fair lashes to fan rosy cheeks as tiredness conquered his will to play.

He'd been eager for his Mother to read to him that night, cuddling close to her side while she told him the tales of dashing knights and heroic Kings. During his months in the Tower, he had become most enthralled by them, another trait he shared with his Father, and made Catherine grin each time little Henry begged for one more tale, one more story.

Three she had told him that night, promising to read until he fell asleep and he had fought the tide of tiredness that tried to claim him with the strength of a warrior! Rubbing his eyes, he'd tried to stay awake but his Mother's voice was gentle, her embrace tender and his battle had become a losing one.

Tucking the blankets of their bed more securely about him, Catherine finally lay the book she held aside, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his hair. He was soft and warm beneath her lips, so very real and she felt the urge to join him beneath the covers so that she could cuddle him close.

Her son, her boy. Richard's boy.

How long now would she have to wait for her love to return to her? It had been two weeks since King Henry's last visit and that told her more than the courtly gossip she once craved could. It told her his attentions had been taken elsewhere so that there was no longer room for a captive and her son in the long, drawn out days of hefty politics.

While he disliked them, she knew Henry would not sway from his duties as King when there was a rival upon England's shores. And what a rival he was. Beloved by the people with the speed of many men, the strength of an ox and the luck of the devil, Edward of York was no foe to be cast aside with one wave of the royal hand. Nor was the little brother who rode with him.

Did the second son of York accompany them, she wondered as Thomas had told her?

With one last lingering kiss to her son's forehead, Catherine slipped away to the second chamber of the garden tower to undress, her slow movements lit by the candles who's flames danced upon the stone mantelpiece. Deft fingers unlaced the cords of her heavy gown, allowing the material to pool with a rustle at her feet, closely followed by her kirtle and stockings so that she stood only in her shift.

Unbinding her hair from its braid, held to her head with metal pins, she let the heavy curls fall past her shoulders with a sigh.

She often compared her worries to her flaxen tresses; the soft strands she would wind around and around her fingers in thought. Like her worries, she would hide the spun gold during the day, pulling it tightly beneath veils and headdresses as she hid her worries in her heart; away from all prying eyes. Only at night could she allow her hair loose, only at night could she let her worries free, only at night could she release her heart from its guarded cage of armour.

"All my worries shall soon have fledged forever" She murmured as she took up her rosary that lay by the small alter she knelt at. Clasping her hands together, she bowed her head in prayer, sliding her fingers over the cool beads wrapped around them while her lips moved in trained silence.

Her nighttime prayers were like clockwork to her mind and mouth, as easy as dancing a saltarello or volta: long ago learnt, long since remembered. She prayed for her son, for his safety and hoped that he would be kept close in God's good grace, then her husband, for his love and safety and finally for Edward's return. For the return of York ruling to England.

"My Lady! My Lady you must wake!" Thomas' muffled voice called, loud and alert, through the garden tower door, his fist pounding hard upon the wood. Catherine's eyes flew open as the deafening din filled her ears and she stumbled to her feet, all but throwing her rosary aside as she ran back to the main chamber.

With a rattle of keys and the heavy turn of a rusty lock, the door burst open and little Henry shot from his covers, rushing to his Mother's skirts as their three guards ran over the threshold. Daggers drawn and eyes ablaze with panic, Catherine only needed to glance at them once to grab her bed robe and pull it tight around her. Henry grasped at the velvet, instantly wrapping his little arms around her neck when he was lifted and burying his face in the soft collar.

Thomas strode to the window, yanking aside the wooden shutter and peering down into the courtyard below. The sound of running soldiers, their armour clanking, could be heard through the glass and Catherine held her boy tighter.

"We are under attack" He muttered lowly, turning on his heels and striding back to the door where his two companions "Come, my Lady!" He ordered as Catherine slipped her shoes onto her feet and made to follow him, gently kissing the top of her son's head.

"Under attack?" She repeated, shoes clicking against the stone stairs, followed by the heavy boots of the two guards that followed. The air was cool, cold and still swirling with a thick veil of mist that caressed her skin with the icy kiss of death.

Only she was sure she had never felt so alive.

London was held by the Lancastrians and there was only one faction in the country that would dare attack the mighty Tower of London. There was only one man, one King who would, who could be at the gates, seeking entry.

Edward had returned.
He had taken the city.
He was here.

Still, she could not very well run to him and his men; throw herself over the Tower walls with Henry in her arms! And so she followed her guards, letting them march her across the green to the safety of the white tower while men clad in crimson and black rushed to their posts.

"For King Henry!" One cried drawing his sword and only then did Catherine feel the sun in her heart dim somewhat. It was only a matter of time before the Lancastrian King was caught, if he had not been already. Perhaps he had or perhaps Westminster still held strong. She did not know but she knew poor Henry's fate was sealed and as she climbed the white tower steps, she sent a silent prayer to the heavens for him.

"Come, my lady!" Thomas called, ushering her inside with a wave of his hand "Rupert, Harry, defend the gates. We'll all be damned if they fall!" The two other guards instantly obeyed and before the heavy tower door swung shut Catherine saw them rushing across the green, cries of loyalty to their King on their lips.

They would likely die that night.

The heavy metal bolt was drawn across the ancient door, followed by a thick plank of wood to bar against any would-be intruders. She could feel her fingers itching to draw them back, to throw open the door and call her husband's name into the darkness.

He was close. She knew he was.

"This way" Thomas instructed, voice thick with grim determination as he snatched a blazing torch from the wall and began to stride along the darkened passages "I will take you and the little Lord to safety" She could only nod, daring to cast one longing glance over her shoulder as her footsteps retreated from the Tower door and the raucous on the other side. It was growing louder, bloodier.

Her eyes followed the light that Thomas held, its flaming beacon dancing in the night as they all but ran through hallways; dashed up steps. Clutching to the iron rail as she mounted a spiral staircase, Catherine realised with a jolt that she knew this rout well! Much more than she would've liked, admittedly, but she knew it all the same. This was the rout to the Queen's chambers.

Her instinct proved true and soon she was ushered through familiar doors, the very doors from which she had fled six months before with Warwick in vengeful pursuit.

It was all the same, every piece of furniture, every cover on the bed. Not a single thing had changed and Catherine felt a sense of normality dare to prick at her heart; something she had not felt since the pervious year when her life had once again been turned upon its head. Long taught to hesitate when it came to hope, she did not grasp to the feeling like a child to a precious toy but simply let it linger a while, praying it would prove true.

Making sure the servants door was secure, Thomas turned to her, a dark determination in his eyes as he strode forward and placed one gloved hand on her shoulder.

"God keep you, my Lady" He said with a nod and then he was gone, striding through the door. He left only anticipation and the heavy sound of the Queen's door being bolted in his wake and as soon as his heavy footsteps faded, Catherine felt herself snap to life,

"Semper audax, semper liber" She heard herself whisper, placing little Henry on the Queen's bed before rushing to the nearest window and yanking back the bolted shutters. Her eyes were met with the bright gold of burning flame, the scorching man-made sun fastened to lanterns and torches that lit the night like angry fallen stars.

The yells of men filled the yard below, followed by the clash of metal upon metal and she knew the gates had fallen. By God they had fallen!

Like a child, she bounced upon the balls of her feet, fingernails drumming impatiently on the wooden shutter she clung to while staring down into the fray below. The glass that separated her from the world was blurred with a layer of grime and dust, causing the figures to warp into nothing more than moving dots of armour that either fought on or fell in crumpled heaps.

All she could define were the colours of their liveries and felt another jolt of adrenaline as she noticed those who fell mostly wore black and crimson. The colours of Lancaster.

The Yorks were winning.

"Of course they are" She murmured, watching a hoard of torches dance across the green, heading toward the formidable white tower. Did Edward bear one of them? Did Richard? Anxiously, her eyes searched for the mass of dark curls she knew so well but in the dark and through the dirt-covered glass she could see no distinction between men so could only wish him to be there.

He would be, she told herself. He would be the one to set her free.

The warmth that blossomed in her heart at the thought almost made her weep tears of joy and she turned back to the bed where Henry sat. Staring earnestly at his Mother, he had taken a pillow to hand, pressing it against his little body while he listened to the fighting below.

"Papa come to us?" He asked quietly and Catherine nodded, finding herself breathless, as if she had run a thousand miles. Her heart pounded, the beat rushing in her ears and she ran to the bed, clutching her boy close, oh so close.

"He is here, Henry" She whispered into his hair "I am sure of it" a sudden bang from below made him squeak and he wrapped his small arms around her, nuzzling into her neck in his search for safety. Catherine could only watch the door with keen eyes, looking for any slight movement, any budge of the heavy lock while her ears pricked upwards; listening intently.

Another bang sounded, louder than the first and she knew men were trying to break down the Tower door. Edward's men. Richard's men. Sitting down upon the bed, her knee jittered beneath her robe, refusing to still as adrenaline continued to course through her veins, almost willing her to take up a sword and join the fight.

How she would reach the green to draw her first blood she did not know but the new life that filled her made her feel higher than an angel, higher than God even. Though she was a prisoner, she felt free and the will to fight stirred hot in her heart.

A loud crash tore through the halls of the Tower, a deafening crash that was only muffled by the thick walls and floors. Her heart jumped in her chest and she pressed a kiss to Henry's hair, letting him scramble back onto the bed while one little hand clung to the fur lining his Mother's bed robe.

And then, a call, a cry, a shouted whisper. It floated through the Tower like a ghost, gliding through passageways and cracks in doors to reach her ears. Soft, gentle yet fierce it made her gaze dart up once more, the nervous knots tied in her belly tightening with every syllable she heard.

It was a name, she was sure of it.
Her name.
Her name spoken on the lips of her love.

"Cate? Catherine where are you?"

"Richard!"
She sprang from the bed, almost tripping over her own feet as she dashed towards the chamber door and grasped at the heavy handle. With one twist, she was reminded it was locked and curled her fist, bringing it against the wood with a harsh bang "Richard!" She yelled again "I'm here!"

"Catherine!"
He was closer now and her heart quickened it's incessant pounding as the sound of his leather boots came closer and closer, faster and faster. Behind her, Henry bounced on the bed, watching his Mother with wide eyes as she all but clung to the door before her, willing it to open, to let her to her husband.

"He's here Henry" She whispered "He's here for us"

"Catherine? Henry?"

"We are here!" She yelled, twisting the unyielding door handle once again as Richard's voice echoed to her from the other side of the thick sheet of oak separating them. He was only a breath away, only a moment and yet she could not reach him; a torture she thought worse than the rack in that moment "Dickon" She called and heard his fist land against the wood, making her jump slightly.

"Catherine? Cate, ma belle" His voice was almost desperate, made hoarse with the breaths his burning lungs tried to claw from the air. He'd never run so fast in all his life, not even when he'd been a lad at Middleham, and the weight of his armour certainly didn't help matters "Is it truly you?"

Even though he could not see her, she nodded.

"Yes. Yes it's me, Dickon....Henry too"
"He's safe?"
Again, she nodded, again his fist landed hard upon the door, frustrated, searching for a way through.
"Yes, my love....he's safe! He's grown so much!"

The clatter of metal was muffled but clear to her ear and she recognised the sound of a weapon being slid from its leather trappings.
"Stand back, Cate!"

She did as she was bade, looking to her little boy on the bed and smiling at him. He beamed back, his young eyes alight with excitement that almost had him flying from the covers. He was not afraid, not one bit.

Catherine jumped as she heard the slam of metal against metal and realised Richard was attempting to hack the lock away. The clang of rusted iron on the stone floor a moment later told him of her victory but when the door was thrust open she found she was frozen to the spot. Just feet away stood her husband, her tall, strong, beloved husband, clad in muddied armour, smeared with the blood of dead men and blue eyes wild with panic when they settled on her.

She'd expected to fling herself into his arms, to laugh, to smile and hold him with all her strength but all that Catherine found was a sob tearing from her throat and the cold of the floor beneath as her legs gave way.

Not a moment later, a pair of familiar arms wrapped around her body, pressing her against icy metal and despite her tear-blurred vision, she knew her husband was kneeling beside her. She was in his arms again, and never ever wanted to leave. Winding her arms around his neck, she clung to him, finding his tears joined her own, dripping hot and heavy onto the shoulder of her bed robe.

"Richard...." She whispered against his neck, letting her hands delve into the soft curls of his hair "Oh my love" He held her tighter, a wave of relief and love encasing them, drawing them into a world that was all their own. They had been parted too long, far too long. For six months they had waited, longed, thought, dreamt, stared out into the distance in the hope that the other would come into view only to have their hopes dashed each sunset.

Never again, they both swore in their minds. Never again would they be parted.

"I can't let you go" He murmured and for the first time he felt her smile, a soft grin gracing her lips that gave him all the joy in the world.
"Then don't, Dickon! Lord knows I do not want you to"

Still with his arms clasped tightly around her lithe body, Richard drew away, ever so slightly, just enough so that he could see her face. Though her cheeks were flushed and tear stained and her hair was almost wild about her, he was sure he'd never seen a more beautiful sight. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was as desperate as it was passionate and eagerly returned by its recipient.

A long sought for warmth flooded through Catherine's veins, drying her tears and mending her heart as she melted into Richard's loving embrace. This was where she belonged, this was where she would always stay. "I've missed you"
His deep chuckle answered her and he nodded against her neck, his gauntleted fingers dancing delicate patterns across her back.

"God knows I've missed you too, ma belle. More than anything...."

The Duke and Duchess blinked in surprise as a little body suddenly sought to push its way between them. Little feet clambered onto their knees and small hands pushed at their chests forcibly making room before Henry set himself happily on his Mother's lap.

Immediately Richard's eyes went wide when he saw how much his son and had grown, now more a small child than the toddling babe he'd left. The softness in his cheeks had ebbed somewhat and his eyes were more alert, more knowledgeable, watching him with slight hesitance. Almost as if he didn't believe his Father was there, a phantom conjured from his imagination.

"I have been away too long....." Richard whispered, slowly reaching out a hand which Henry caught in both of his small ones, taking to studying the intricate metal work of the gauntlet with childish curiosity.

So he still had that, Richard thought with a smile before exclaiming in surprise when Henry discarded any interest his hand and scrambled up into his arms, now fully assured he was real.

"Papa!" He squealed excitedly and Catherine was delighted to hear Richard laugh, beaming as he embraced their son with all the love in the world. It was nothing less than the sweetest melody to her ears.

Henry quickly anchored himself into his Father's embrace, just like he had done since birth and clasped firmly to the leather straps of his armour "Papa!" He cried again and Richard nodded, smoothing a hand over the flaxen curls that bobbed about his little face, framing the dark blue eyes that were the mirror image of his own.

"My little knight!"
"Little knight" Henry repeated perfectly, puffing out his little chest with pride "Me!"
"Yes you!" Richard said with a nod and his son giggled, once more wrapping his arms around his neck "my God he has grown, Catherine!" He exclaimed over Henry's shoulder and Catherine grinned, nodding.

She could hardly speak for excitement, the sheer relief filling every fibre of her body. The only time when she had felt as happy was when she'd held her son in her arms for the first time and her heart had been so full of love she'd been sure it would burst! That was how she felt now and shuffled closer to her little family, encircling them as best she could with her arms.

"He has!" She murmured "He truly has, my love! But what of Edward's son? The Prince of Wales?" Richard grinned at the mention of his little nephew. Though he was yet to lay eyes on him, that baby boy was one of the sole reasons he and his brother had set foot on English soil again.

"Ned has gone to see him" He answered, unable to resist pressing another kiss to her lips. Those rosy lips of hers, how he had missed them and the adorable surprised O they curved into at his words.
"You stormed the Tower of London? By yourself?"

"For you" He affirmed with a nod, chuckling when Catherine threw herself into his arms, trying not to crush little Henry between them "For our son"

"Henry!" The young boy called proudly and his Mother brushed a kiss to his cheek.
"You, my perfect boy"
"Our perfect boy" Richard murmured and she nodded.
"You're home, my love....and home you shall stay"

꧁꧂

Smoothing the flaxen curls away from his delicate face, Richard was unable to tear his gaze from the little boy sleeping beneath the covers of the small bed he stood by. His son and heir. His Henry of Gloucester. Truly, he had been away too long and there and then he swore that he would never see his little family separated again.

For the first time in six months, he had been the one to see his son to bed. He'd read him a story from The Canterbury Tales, a book Henry had presented almost shyly to his Father when asked what he wanted to hear before he slept. Richard had smiled, removed his heavy armour, and allowed his son to take his hand, watching him, almost entranced, as Henry tugged him through to the little room next to the Queen's chambers where his bed waited.

The boy seemed rather in awe of him and after his initial burst of excitement fell quiet, keeping to simply staring at his Father with wide eyes. When Richard sat down on the bed, Henry snuggled close, tucking himself sweetly against his side and listening intently to each word that was spoken.

Catherine had watched them from the doorway, head tilted and gaze captured by the sight before her. Her husband and her son.

When the time came for Henry to sleep, both of his parents kissed him goodnight and made to move away but one little hand freed itself from the covers. Reaching out, it caught his Father's, gently tugging him back to his side.

"Stay, Papa?" He asked quietly and Richard had not hesitated to grant his request, sitting by his son's side, one little hand kept safe in his, until Henry slept soundly.

Only then did he move and with every step he paused to linger, to look, to watch the boy he'd prayed for each night in exile.
"I have been away too long" He murmured to himself again, picking up the lone candle that cast the room in an amber glow and blowing out its flickering flame.

Padding carefully from the chamber, he drew the door shut with a sigh and shook his head. Edward had marched through England gathering men and when they'd reached the gates of London, they had been let through without resistance. The people of the capital still held strong for York and the Lancastrian Lords fled to gather their armies; ready their soldiers.

Still, the true King's men, led by Rob and Georgie, had managed to capture King Henry and now he was held in his royal rooms at Westminster, waiting to be taken to the Tower.

"Dickon!"
He was swept swiftly from his thought as his wife came before him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. It was a kiss forged in lust-driven desperation, of a soul starved too long of the touch of another.

Both were such souls and the warmth of her body pressing through his shirt set Richard's blood aflame. Feeling his cock harden in his breeches, he clung to her, letting her draw him further into the Queen's chamber. His hands did not hesitate to roam and she moaned sweetly into his mouth as they ran over the curves of her body, eliciting a groan from him.

They burned for one another and had done for six months. Six, long months. Catherine had never doubted Richard's fidelity to her and she knew instantly that her faith had not been misplaced. His touches were the touches of a man starved of warm embraces for many months, his kisses hot and desperate, tasting her lips as if they were the sweetest wine.

The longing was not only his though and she felt herself grow wet between her legs, the burning ache of lust swirling in the pit of her stomach. She needed him, she needed him inside of her. Grasping the backs of her thighs, Richard lifted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist while their lips pressed messily together.

Instinctively, her hips rocked into his and he groaned, his legs almost buckling under the slight friction he'd craved for months on end. He knew neither of them could wait one moment longer and practically stumbled to the nearest wall, pressing her back against the cold stone. Reaching upwards, he grasped the front of her shift and yanked it away.

Catherine gasped as the material tore, but her gasp turned into a groan as she felt her husband's lips on her breast, circling her nipple which had hardened with desire. Releasing one arm from around his neck, she reached down, hiking her shift up above her knees, over the soft skin of her thighs. She'd waited so long for this.

"Christ" She breathed, her fingers finding purchase in Richard's dark curls as she spread her legs wider, letting him move more securely between them. Her eyes fluttered shut in bliss and her head fell back against the wall. Just from him gently suckling the tip of her breast, she felt as if she would explode and reached down to try and grasp at his breeches.

"I need...." Richard gasped, releasing her breast to free himself and pushed his breeches over his hips. Finding his breaths ragged, his voice trailed away but Catherine understood, nodding and smirked at his gasp when she reached down again and took his cock in her hand, guiding it beneath her shift; between her legs.

"I know what you need" She whispered, arching her back against the wall as she felt him at her entrance. It was almost enough to push her over the edge there and then "I need it too" Coaxing his lips back to hers, her pleasured cry was muffled as he thrust hard into her. His hands grasped her hips, pressing into her flesh so fiercely she was sure he would leave her skin marked but she did not care.

There was no hesitation, no waiting, and Catherine immediately began to move her hips in time with his, almost blinded by pleasure. Neither would last long, that became apparent but neither cared. Breaking their kiss, Richard brought his head down to her chest again, wrapping his lips around her nipple and almost finishing at her moan.

Again, her hands wove into his hair, tugging and that final sensation was enough to push him over the edge. Pressing her hard against the wall, he spilled hot inside of her and Catherine moaned, her legs trembling around his waist as she fell over the peak of pleasure. Almost immediately, Richard's legs buckled beneath him, his body overwhelmed with the tidal wave of pleasure that flooded his veins.

He felt he'd passed through the gates of heaven.

Collapsing onto the rug by the fire he stared at his wife who straddled his waist, chest heaving, and her cheeks flushed with heat. Her golden hair tumbled freely over her shoulders and in the light of the fire, her pale skin was turned to burnished gold. One breast lay exposed, ready for him to return to but as Richard gazed upon her he felt a burning need to tear the rest of her shift away.

He needed her bare for him and the heated look that swirled in her eyes when they finally opened told him she needed the same. Skimming his fingers over her thighs, the white linen bunched in his hands and he raised it, revelling in the sight of her body as it was revealed.

It didn't take her long to help him and she pulled the torn nightgown over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side before she reached for Richard's shirt and stripped it quickly from him.

He doubted they would sleep that night.