~My Baby~

When the sun dipped beneath the horizon, all had been well with nothing but a gentle summer's breeze to stir the flowers in the meadows surrounding the castle.

The Ladies of Catherine's confinement chamber sat cordially before the small fire and Roland happily slumbered at his mistresses' feet, his shaggy grey coat turned ashen in the light of the flames. In her solemn voice, the Duchess of York had read aloud from her Bible, the gilt lettering upon the leather shimmering and much more interesting to her young charge than the story of duty and fertility she told.

Catherine had never been more terrified than when her waters broke on the evening of the nineteenth of September. She would always remember it, the sudden surge of pain deep within her belly followed by a flow of warm water between her legs, trickling down her skin and soaking the skirt of her gown.

She'd thrown down her embroidery with a shout, staring at the sodden patch of carpet beneath her feet in horror while her Mother in law moved to action. Quickly stripped of her gown and kirtle, the young Duchess was carried to her bed a sheen of sweat blossoming onto her skin through pure fear that set her heart pounding into her ribs as painfully as a fist into flesh.

Trapped in a dazed world of unimaginable pain, Catherine had been able to do naught but cry out, the first of her blood curdling screams enough to melt a heart of stone.

Her body was not made for this, she was sure, the searing torture that sought to tear her limb from limb, her baby from her womb. Her hands clutched at her shift, at the swell of her belly, turning away from the fingers that prodded and poked her; the cold cloths they tried to place on her skin.

"Mother!" She'd screamed and Cecily was instantly by her side, pressing soft kisses to her forehead while she cried and fear consumed her. The seed of terror had been sown long before within her but now it grew, icy roots of horror twisting their way through her veins, warping her mind. She did not hear the voices that prayed for her or the fists of her husband that banged against the chamber door as he demanded to be let in, tormented by her cries.

All she knew was pain and as dusk turned to night, Catherine was sure she would never see the light of day again.

꧁꧂

20th of September 1468....

Catherine tried in vain to breathe as Cecily held her steady from behind, mopping at her brow with a cold cloth while she whispered encouragements into her ear.

"That's it, my dear, just push, just push"

A blood curdling scream erupted from her throat, and the young girl screwed her eyes shut, nails digging into the sheets beside her while she tried to push her babe from between her parted legs. Blood spattered the sheets and her hair lay tangled around her flushed, tear-stained face, lips picked clean of skin by her teeth when she bit fiercely into them.

She felt so tired, oh so tired. All she wanted was to sleep, to rest, to let her eyes flutter closed for one moment so God could grant her peace. But the women around her seemed the demons to prevent her from such a peaceful paradise, keeping her awake even when she almost fainted from exhaustion.

She must not rest, they told her firmly, lighting another stick of incense that made her feel nauseous, for the sake of her baby.

Rays of dawn slipped through the cracks in the shutters but still, Catherine's world was all darkness. All she remembered, all she knew was her own pain and screams, her desperation as she laboured through the night without her husband by her side. It had been too long, far too long she told herself. She'd expected to be holding her baby in her arms now but no, the squirming life within her stayed put and her panic rose.

A new fear gripped her, one that held her fast like heavy iron chains wrapped around her body. What if her fate was to be the same as her Mother's? What if she were to lose this child and almost her own life within the process? Even to that day she could remember the screams of the Countess of Northumberland, her desperate cries as she begged for her baby to be saved, to live.

Only with Henry and Catherine had her prayers been answered, the rest had been given to God.

'But I don't want my baby to go to God' Catherine thought with a whimper as her lungs clawed for breath and she writhed in Cecily's strong arms.
"Help me...." She whispered desperately "Please, I don't want to die! I don't want my baby to die!"

"You must push, your grace!" One of the midwives ordered, trying to hold her trembling legs steady and flinching when the young Duchess screamed; her once strong voice almost hoarse.

"My mother lost so many...." She gasped, collapsing back against Cecily to feel a cool rag against her burning face "there was so much blood....so much blood....help me, please! Don't let me die, please don't let me die"
"You won't die, sweet girl" Cecily whispered, squeezing her hands "You are doing so well, so very well"

"I want my baby!" Catherine demanded through her tears, whimpering as her body once more tried to push the child from her womb "I want Richard....bring me my husband, bring me him now!" Cecily shook her head, gently rocking her.
"You know we can't...."

"Then give me light!" The young girl commanded, looking desperately to the bolted windows of her chamber. If she was to die, she would not die in darkness, her last breaths would not be taken in such desolation. She could feel her body draining of energy, her gaze dimming and she wanted light, she needed light "Open the shutters! Do it now!"

Though they looked at one another warily, none of the midwives dare disobey the panicked command, throwing open the shutters so the light of the morning could flood the chamber. Catherine gasped as sunlight struck her eyes and she groaned, blindly tilting her head up for her Mother in law to gently cool.

Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and she was told to push again, crying out in desperation when she did so. Her pushes were becoming weaker, her resolve too. The lines between reality and death had begun to blur and her mind was slowly drifting away from the bloodied bed and the arms that held her.

All she wanted....all she truly wanted was for the pain to stop so she could sleep.

Again, she pushed.
Again, she screamed.

"I can see the head! I can see the head!"

A relived gasp went around the room and Catherine's eyes snapped open, her chest heaving with sudden breaths that had her looking around the room in confused surprise.
"What?" She murmured dizzily and Cecily squeezed her hands again.

"Baby is here, my dear" She whispered, gently propping the trembling body she held up a little firmer against her chest. This was it, the moment they had been waiting for and though she was tired, the young Duchess needed to push again. For her own sake and the sake of her baby "Come on, Cat. Not long now, see? Not long now"

"Not long now...." Catherine repeated, nodding weakly and grasping for the sheets below her, a small sob escaping her at the sight of the blood that covered them; coating the insides of her thighs "Not long now"

Leaning back, she forced her body to push, clenching her teeth so hard she feared they would break as she screamed. Her limbs trembled and fresh tears spilled from her eyes, streaming down her face when she pushed again, feeling the last of her strength drain from her.

"That's it!" Margery encouraged, spreading another sheet beneath her "That's it!"

One last time, Catherine pushed, letting out a shrill scream that filled the empty halls until her body finally collapsed back against the covers and a sob left her lips. Hearing cries of joy around her, the young girl closed her legs, cuddling close to Cecily who had begun to laugh, clutching her daughter in law as a baby's cry filled the air.

It was soft, but strong, a firm wail that filled the chamber and stirred something in Catherine's heart that she had not yet felt. A yearning, a need to place the sound of the small squeal and take its squirming owner into her arms.

"My baby...." She gasped, forcing her trembling body to turn, eyes searching desperately and widening at the sight of the tiny pink human that wriggled in one of the midwife's arms "My baby...."

"It's a boy! Her grace has given birth to a son!" The woman cried with a smile and sighs of joyful relief once more filled her ears while pride began to stir within her, despite her tiredness. She had done it. She had given Richard a son, an heir, thus completing the most prestigious task of any wife and Mother. In the eyes of the world she had fulfilled her sacred duty.

She had a boy.
Her boy, her baby.

"Oh, my dearest!" Cecily exclaimed, the happiest of tears clouding her eyes as she reached for the wailing babe, now wrapped in a blanket of white silk with all traces of blood wiped from his perfect skin. He squirmed, eyes tight shut and plump little mouth puckered, pouting in a way that was as comical as it was adorable. Taking the newborn into her arms, she kissed his wrinkled forehead with joy, taking delight in the sight of her first legitimate grandson.

The first York Prince.

Behind, her daughter in law craned her neck to see, suddenly filled with a new life and need to hold her baby in her arms. Her tiredness all but deserted her and she pushed herself back onto her pillows, expectantly stretching out her arms when Cecily turned to her.

"Here" The Duchess whispered, gently lowering the baby into her embrace and when Catherine gazed down upon her son, her heart filled with infinite love.

He was perfect.
Her son, her boy was perfect, all the way from the downy dusting of golden hair crowning his head to the little toes that wriggled beneath his blanket.

"Oh, my boy...." A pair of dark blue eyes looked up at her, Richard's eyes, she realised and a smile curved the corners of her lips, her son's cries quieting to peaceful silence "He knows me" She whispered, feeling two happy tears roll down her cheeks.

Her whole body ached, her head pounded but she did not care. All she cared about was the boy she held safely in her arms, the boy who's little arms wriggled free of their confinement. Perfect fingers uncurled from one plump fist, stretching as they weakly tried to reach for the locks of golden hair above him. Catherine smiled, offering him one of her own fingers and feeling her breath hitch when his small ones wrapped around it.

So tender. So perfect.

And all hers.

"Bring me Dickon" She breathed, looking up to see Cecily beaming down upon her with such love it was as if she were her own daughter "Bring me my husband" The proud Duchess nodded, waving away the midwives to fetch fresh linen and rose water while she began to untangle Catherine's hair from its wild braid.

"Let us have you clean" She murmured gently, brushing one finger affectionately across her cheek "Then we shall bring Richard for I have a feeling he will faint when he hears the news! Really, my nephew has already had to bar both he and my son in the chapel to keep them from going mad with worry!"

꧁꧂

His skin was like silk to touch, perfectly soft and smelt as sweet as buttermilk. His soft body was tiny yet warm, a plump-cheeked bundle of joy that was cradled with infinite adoration by his young Mother.

The morning light cascaded through the windows, surrounding the bed in a golden glow that made it seem as if even God himself was welcoming the new Prince into the world. 'Which is just as it should be' Catherine thought with a small smile adorning her lips. Gazing down at her son, she could not envision a child more perfect nor could imagine a greater blessing God could give her.

He had crafted him with his own hand, she was sure, made him her very own golden-haired angel on earth. Her boy. 

The covers beneath her were clean and smelt pleasantly of rosemary, the soiled ones having been stripped away while she bathed, allowing her aching limbs to relax in the warm water. Margery had been unable to refrain from smiling for more than a second, her pink lips curved into a permanent grin from which came strings of congratulations one after the other!

Catherine had not let her son be parted from her for one moment, tugging away his blankets and laying him atop her chest. It was the most exquisite feeling, his soft, gentle breaths blowing against her skin while he curled into himself. Surrounded by the warmth of the water, he slept soundly, allowing for his Mother to watch him drowse at her breast, realising with delight that his plump lips would soon pucker for his first feed.

She would feed him, she would feed her boy, no wet nurse nor maid would take her place in that. It was of little matter to her that to do such a thing as one so high was considered lowly. He was hers and hers alone and she would nurture him with her own milk; make him strong as only a Mother could.

Her, a Mother.

She was tempted to believe that such a thing could not be true but, sitting beneath the clean sheets in a pristine nightgown, golden hair neatly braided and her baby in her arms, it could not be a lie. Leaning down, she kissed the soft dusting of hair so like her own and smiled at the golden lashes fanning plump cheeks.

"My boy" She whispered, brushing her nose against his own button one "My Hen...."

"Cate...."

Her eyes darted up, filling with joy as she saw her husband lingering in the doorway of her chamber, his strong chest heaving with laboured breaths. He looked more disheveled than she had ever seen him, dark hair tousled and a dazed look in his eyes that resembled childish belief. It was almost like he did not believe her existence for a moment....no, it was that he did not believe the existence of the babe in her arms.

His son and heir.

Catherine smiled, her heart swelling with love for the boy before her; veins rushing with a sense of pride in her achievement. She had made him proud, she was certain of it.

"Come in, Dickon!" She invited happily, making sure there was room enough in the bed for him to sit. "Come and see your son!"
"My son...." Richard breathed, an exuberant grin appearing on his face at two such simple words. Words he'd waited so long to speak. He was a Father, he thought, as he softly closed the chamber door behind him, approaching where his wife lay.

His beautiful wife, his beautiful, darling Cate, whom appeared the most beautiful woman in England even in her tiredness. Eyes flicking to the little bundle in her arms, Richard cautiously sank down beside her, taking care not to jolt the mattress for fear of jostling the slowly waking babe "Here" Cate whispered, helping him settle beside her and tilting up the tiny boy in her arms so he might look upon him.

Richard sighed in wonder, peering down at the little face that stared up at him with eyes of deep, tender blue. His eyes he realised with pride and finally dared to reach out a hand, brushing a finger across his son's rounded face as if his skin were as delicate as glass. He was perfect, every inch of him and his Father could not help but marvel in awestruck wonder.

"My son...."
"Your son" Catherine confirmed, chuckling at his look of surprise when she made to pass their babe to him, gently manoeuvring his arms about the bundle of blankets "What? Do you not want to hold him?"
"Oh, more than anything!" Richard exclaimed, gathering the small child to his chest and grinning at the immediate warmth he felt press through the linen of his shirt.

His shirt, breeches and boots were all he wore, no rings or shining pins, he did not have time for that. Nor did he care. All that mattered in this world of bloodshed was his beloved wife and the tiny human made from their love "Thank you, ma belle" He murmured, staring, wide eyed, as his son's little mouth opened and closed, gently sucking on air while his little face began to crumple.

"Ah" Catherine murmured "I think baby is hungry" Once again she chuckled at Richard's look of surprise when she took their son back into her arms, her heart stinging at his little discontented mewl.
"Shall I not call for a wet nurse, Cate?"

"And why should you do that?" She returned, gently tugging at the laces of her nightgown until she could gently lower the linen over her right breast. The tender flesh was swelled with milk, achingly so and as she guided her boy to suckle, she could not help the small sigh of relief that passed her lips when he latched on "I will feed our boy, my love. I will make him strong. My Mother nursed both my brother and I! Did yours not?"

Richard could not help but smile at that and shook his head, cradling her tired one on his shoulder while their boy happily fed, one of his tiny hands reaching up to support himself against her.

"Nay, sweetheart" He admitted, carding a free hand through his hair "Proud Cis always thought to leave things such as that to our maids. She was far more content to send for us when needed and send us away when we were not!" Catherine chuckled to herself, more than able to believe his words. While she was kind, outside of the confinement chamber Duchess Cecily never gave the impression of the most intimate Motherly figure.

"Well I shall feed our boy, Richard, I will make him strong. You will not deny me will you?"
He shook his head, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Of course not" He replied "I don't think I could deny you the very crown of England at this moment! I would wrestle it free from Ned's hands just to place it on your head and not care how many limbs I broke in the process!"

A soft smile lit her lips and she peered up at him, a tentative question in her eyes that she longed to ask. He'd told her he would not deny her a crown, so why would he deny the words she delicately balanced on the tip of her tongue "What is it?" He queried, catching her look of quiet longing and she shifted, helping their boy suckle as he pleased.

"I want you to let me bestow a name upon our son" She said quietly and he arched an eyebrow, glancing down at the feeding babe at her breast.
"Oh? And what might it be? A name seems a small reward after all of your labours to bring such an angel into this world"

A pretty blush stained her cheeks and she looked down, breathing in the pleasing scent of lavender that rested on him, something she had missed beyond belief.

"For some perhaps" She replied "But it is all I need!"
"Then you shall have it!" He declared, waiting curiously as she parted her soft lips, hesitating slightly "What shall our boy be named?"

Catherine took a steady breath; heart pounding in her chest.

"Henry"