𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙....
In a world of bloody war and misgivings that lead to treason, there is only one thing Catherine Percy can be sure of and that is danger.
Her life had not always been thus, f...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~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.
