~A Child Bound~

24th of May 1459....

For days upon days Catherine did not eat, she did not sleep, she did not move. She lay statuesque on her bed; tear stained face staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. In those days she lost the little life she still had, becoming a ghost who only lived because her heart continued to beat.

John coaxed her to eat little, managing to force pieces of bread past her chapped lips that bled when they moved. She did not speak to him. She did not speak a word. Her will to resist had waned until it was no more. In her heart she knew that she would be wed, a child bride to someone she did not know.

She had no choice.
If she did not comply her family would be murdered, her brother would be killed and then she truly would be alone in the world. Their blood would be on her hands.

When the clattering of arriving hooves upon cobble sounded one dawn she did not move, all she felt was her heart beat a little faster and tears begin to run down her cheeks. It was undeniable that that was her.... her husband, the man she was to be wed too. George Neville, Baron Bergavenny, the son of Edward Neville and three times her age, newly 18, John had told her.

He was a man and she was little more than a babe yet that morn they were to be bound together in a union before God neither could escape. Catherine was sure he would resent her, how could he not? He was being married to a child who needed a Father, not a husband! There was nothing he could do but resent her as she was sure she would resent him.

He was a Neville.....a scheming, evil Neville who was part of the same clan who had taken her from her home.

As the sun rose high into the sky, the far tower suddenly became unlocked and a hoard of women dressed in linen kirtles of red and white bustled into her chambers. They carried a bath and filled it with the water they had brought in great iron jugs, none of them speaking a word. When ready, they pulled the small girl from her bed, stripping her clothes from her before placing her in the wooden tub.

Their hands were surprisingly gentle as they scrubbed and washed every inch of her, pouring oils and ointments onto her golden curls; rubbing them in. They seemed to pass sympathetic glances between them, almost a remorse that was not theirs to have but they kept it all the same.

Catherine froze under their touch, unused to the gentleness they used when once she had expected it. Now it was foreign and aroused suspicion in the young girl's mind, proof of how her life and spirit had changed.

Once the women had cleaned every inch of dirt from her body, Catherine was lifted from the bath and patted dry by numerous towels that rubbed the cooling water from her body. In those moments she felt almost like a doll, one to be moved at will by unfamiliar hands. A clean shift was lifted over her head, one of pure silk and embroidered with delicate white roses upon the hem.

If she had not been so dazed, so defeated, Catherine would have torn the garment away from her in protest. But she was dazed and she was defeated and so it stayed. Next was a kirtle of the same fine material and also white, with tight sleeves fitting closely on her arms, and then a gown of red, deep ,crimson red.

Blood red.

Neville red.

Neville red against Neville white.

Her gut twisted uneasily.

Already they sought to turn her into their creature by dressing her in their family colours and claiming her as their own. Her Father would cry for shame if he could see her now, she knew, especially as the women straightened the hanging sleeves of the gown, each trimmed with white fur. They sought to capture her hair next, twisting and plaiting it into and intricate braid just like the ones she used to wear at Alnwick.

Still, it brought her no joy, especially when red and white ribbons were woven through it. By the time they finished their proddings and pokings, their tight tugs on the gown's laces that made sure the back stayed tightly shut and her waist was cinched in with a cream coloured sash, she was sure she was no longer herself. Stepping back, they admired her as children would a fine doll, looking her up and down with their scrutinising eyes before they left in the same silence they had arrived.

Catherine sunk down onto her bed, her limbs stiff and taught beneath the fine trappings of her garments that bound her to her captors. Even though there was no mirror, she knew there was not an element of her appearance that was her, that was Catherine Percy, daughter of the Earl of Northumberland.

She was a foreign soul on foreign soil.

There was only one thing that would claw her back to the realms of normality. Only one. Her hand crept beneath the covers of her bed, fingers feeling beneath the straw mattress until they touched cold metal. Hooking around the ring of gold found, Catherine drew the Queen's ring and its delicate chain into her sight, the emerald shining in the rays of sun that flooded through the open window.

Rolling it around in her fingers, she let a small sigh pass her lips, a sigh of resignation, a sigh of defeat. There was no way out now. She was garbed in the colours of the House of Neville, colours she knew she would despise forever, even once her last breath had passed her lips. This ring was the last remnant of her former life, the one thing she would carry to her next as the captive wife of a Neville man.

Eventually an unloved woman.

"That's pretty"

Catherine screamed as a young boy's voice called to her from the window, quickly closing her fingers over her precious jewel before she scrambled back against her bed. Her gaze shot up, meeting the startled one of the blue eyed boy that sat on her windowsill....the same boy from the hunt, she realised!

His dark curls were tousled, as she remembered, and once his alarmed expression had faded somewhat, a slight smile overtook his lips. She didn't need to ask who he was (not that she had the words too) for he introduced himself right away, hopping down from the windowsill as nimbly as a woodland sprite!

"I'm Dickon!" He said, sitting down next to her without any inhibitions and shuffling up until they were almost shoulder to shoulder "Dickon of York" Catherine's eyes widened in horror.
"York?" She repeated "York? You are a Yorkist?"

The boy laughed at that, carding a hand through his dark curls in a way that almost gave his boyish looks a sense of maturity.
"I am not just a Yorkist! I am a York! I'm the Duke of York's youngest son, my Lady"

'My Lady' She thought suspiciously. No one had called her such for four months, apart from to taunt her on the journey to Middleham. And who better to taunt her now than a York? A true York who was the spawn of the Lancaster nemesis.

"Are you here to mock me?"
Dickon frowned a little, shaking his head with a sincerity even Catherine's untrusting mind could not deny.

"No!" He protested stoutly, shuffling up a little more to assure her he was genuine "The other squires think you are a witch but I can see you are not!" Blue eyes looked her up and down "You're just a girl!" At that her indignation flared somewhat; Lancastrian education rearing its well trained head.

"I am not just any girl" She retorted, tilting up her chin defiantly "I am Lady Catherine Percy, daughter of the Earl of Northumberland"

"Soon to be a Neville!" Dickon added brightly, seemingly unaware how the words tore at her heart like a dagger "Did you know that shall make us cousins?" Pausing slightly, he looked at her "Actually, I believe we are already cousins of a sort! Your grandmother is my Mother's sister!"

Catherine stared back at him, tilting her head slightly as she did so to try and access this strange boy who had climbed through her window! There was no sense of danger about him nor falseness in his words. Upon his discovery that she was in fact not a witch he could have made good his escape....but he had not, he had stayed. And that puzzled her somewhat.

"George is a nice man" He suddenly said, snatching her from her thoughts to a reality where she suddenly found herself eager for his conversation. If he was so close with the Nevilles as he appeared to be he could tell her of her husband! He already had somewhat....

"Tell me more" She whispered, this time being the one to shuffle forward invitingly "of....of this man I am to marry this morn"

Dickon became pensive, visibly biting the inside of his cheek while he thought.
"Kind" He concluded at last "He's always been nice to me, Catherine and I believe that....that he will be kind to you. You will be happy"
"Happy?" She repeated with a small frown "I'm not sure I can ever be that wed to my enemy....Dickon"

The blue eyed boy smiled at his name, one delicate hand suddenly covering hers in a comforting gesture she did not pull away from, surprising herself. His hand was warm, safe, in a way....

"Content then" He ventured with a little hope "If not happy then you will be content with George!" His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile widened "Just give thanks you are not being wed to my brother George! Then you really would be...."

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted him and the children's eyes darted to the door, the safe haven they had momentarily built crashing down around them. Catherine's young heart sank and she reluctantly pulled her hand from Dickon's, brushing away his touch on the skirt of her gown as if to rub away any association with the York boy. He had provided solace to her in her time of need but that solace had only been momentary and reality yelled her name in the form of the footsteps behind closed doors.

"Under the bed" She commanded, her voice now cold as it had grown to be over the past months, without the warmth of youth to it "Do it, boy!" Dickon raised his dark eyebrows in surprise but he obeyed all the same, scrambling from the covers to under the narrow bed while she thrust the golden chain she held, over her head; tucking Marguerite's ring into her bodice as her door was pushed open.

Just as they had done the evening they returned from that cursed hunt, Warwick and John strode into her room, both finely dressed in their house colours with chains of office shining on their strong shoulders. They did not say hello, the eldest hardly even acknowledged her. He only looked her up and down coldly.

"Come" He said "Let's get this done"

Catherine had no choice but to obey, standing and walking shakily from her cell for the first time in four months, John behind her. It was a strange sensation to walk down that set of narrow wooden steps to the lower floor of the far tower after so long, it was like stepping into another world. The guards who stood by her prison opened the heavy door she had been carried through when she was clothed only in Warwick's cloak and her torn nightgown.

Now she emerged a fragment of herself but a far more regal one than before, garbed in silk and red ribbons.

Her golden ring remained cold against her chest as she stepped out into the courtyard, clasping her hands in front of her and holding her head high. No matter how afraid or reluctant she felt, no matter how nervous and scrutinised by the people that turned from their duties to look upon her like an strange curiosity, she would not show her fear. Her chin tilted higher, stubborn, trying to imagine that she was not dressed in Neville colours but her Percy ones, the beautiful red and yellow she treasured.

In her true wedding, she would wear a veil of sheer white silk and have her hair loose about her shoulders. Jewels of the greatest splendour would adorn her neck and hands, making her shine as she entered the chapel to wed her intended....

John's large hand closing around her small one broke her from her silent reverie and she found she did not want to pull away. She clung to him like a piece of driftwood in her vast ocean of uncertainty. The main keep of the castle was all a luxurious blur to Catherine as she wound her way through their twisting hallways, taking no notice of the sumptuous tapestries or fine furnishings.

Unfamiliar as it was, if she had taken a moment to look, she would have seen Middleham bore a fragment of resemblance to her beloved Alnwick...

When they stepped into the chapel, Catherine was dazed with light. The cold chamber carpet, lined by wooden pews, was a mystical mural of multicoloured beauty, created by the rays of light that shone on the stained glass windows. Each depicted a scene from the bible, Old Testament and New but the young girl did not register them once her sight settled, all she saw was the man that stood before the alter and the Bishop in front of him.

George Neville had his back turned to her but it was clear that he was a strong man, his muscles apparent though the burgundy velvet of his doublet. Tousled brown hair like Warwick's dusted his shoulders and he held his head high, a certain pride in his stance. Neville pride. The Bishop was much the same, dressed in his fine clerical robes with a ring on every finger; an aura of arrogance about him.

His scraggly beard of black was streaked with silver and his eyes green, piercing, just like his elder brother's was. Warwick strode up to him with familiar warmth, clasping the younger man on the arm with an almost boyish grin on his lips.

"Thank you" He said firmly and the bishop's eyes twinkled with mirth.

"We are brothers" Was his reply "we do what we can for one another and I don't think this shall be too taxing" Tearing his gaze from Warwick's, his cunning eyes found the girl who walked slowly bedside John, once more beginning to tremble beneath her gown. The Bishop of Exeter sniffed slightly "Not taxing at all" She heard him murmur and his bother raised his eyebrows.

"You'd be surprised. She's a wilful little vixen"

Step after step, Catherine approached the alter, her free hand fisted within the folds of her gown as John placed an arm around her waist and delivered her like a prized parcel to her husband. With one last gentle squeeze to her hand, he let go and joined his brothers, standing amongst them an equal and her enemy.

She dared not peer up at the man beside her for fear he would be a monster, an evil Neville who would despise her as she despised his kin. 'Kind' the York boy had described him as, a kind man who would be kind to her....but how far could she trust this blue eyed boy? She had learnt by now that the appearance of innocence did not always mean the presence of it and Dickon.....if anyone was her enemy, he was.

But he was all she had to put her faith in.

And she had no choice after all. Not if she wanted her family alive, the steely gaze that Warwick set on her reminded her of that.

When the Bishop made the sign of the cross, she forced herself to do the same, crossing herself with practiced precision. He took her hand in his cold one, lifting it as he lifted George Neville's and placed them together. Surprisingly, the man's fingers curled softly around hers, pulling her hand towards him in an almost protective manner.

It was then Catherine mustered the courage to look up, to meet the face of her fate.....and her mouth formed a small O when she saw what a face it was. Shining brown eyes twinkled with kindness as they looked down upon her and a kind smile graced kind lips. His face was gentle, not harsh unlike those of his kin and there was something welcoming about it that even she could not deny.

George squeezed her hand and she surprised herself by squeezing back, finding comfort in those brown eyes that reminded her of her Father's. She wondered if they would crinkle when he smiled fully, just as his did.

Oh how she longed to see her family again; feel her Mother's arms around her, hear Hal's laugh....

"We are gathered here today, in the sight of our one true God, to bind together Lord George Neville and Lady Catherine Percy" The Bishop's voice startled her somewhat and she looked up to him, watching as he opened his arms; palms turned upwards to God "Do you, George Neville, son of Edward Neville, take this" He hesitated slightly "....this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

George nodded, also looking to the Bishop.
"I do" His voice was filled with an authority that was decidedly Neville, held the strength of a warrior and Catherine trembled slightly, even as she made the sign of the cross again.
"Very well. Now, say your vows as you have learnt them"

The younger man nodded, once more turning to his young bride with a smile that proved to soothe her. No monster could possess a smile as kind as his.

"I, George Neville, take this woman to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forth, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health till death do us part, if the holy church it will ordain and hence, I plight thee my troth" He spoke without hesitance or guile, his words holding a practice to them that she did not have.

She did not know her vows and almost blessed herself for her lack of knowledge. If she did not know them perhaps she would not have to speak them and one day the marriage could be undone?

That theory was proved hollow as soon as the Bishop turned to her and her whole body froze. It truly was time.

"Repeat after me" He told her sternly and all she could do was nod, silently, stoically while she bit the inside of her cheek; hand still in George's "I, Catherine Percy, take this man to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forth, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. To be meek and obedient till death do us part, if the holy church it will ordain and hence I plight thee my troth"

He gave a slight nod and the little girl swallowed, glancing to John who only nodded encouragingly.
"Say it, girl" Warwick ordered, earning a rough elbow to the ribs from his brother which made him huff in discomfort.
"Give her time, Richard"
"We don't have time!"

Looking up at the man beside her, George squeezed Catherine's hand again and she smiled at him, keeping her gaze locked within his as her lips began to move, slowly repeating the words told to her. He grinned when she finished, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. She noticed that his hands were hard as all warriors were, the skin made rough by the handling of swords but it did not scare her.

She found she could not be scared of him.