Work Text:
Catherine could have given her everything.
It pained her – as much as she would hate to admit it (and she never would) – to watch Mary run back and forth between her son and the bastard. It was an endless loop of bliss and pain, the three of them seeking constant validation, recognition, attention. The boys were confused, let alone the girl herself. Mary needed stability, and a guiding hand. Catherine could have given her that.
It wouldn’t have been hard. It wasn’t as if either of them had had a heart to betray. With her own husband traipsing around the castle with his mistress and his whore; Francis running back to his slut of an ex-girlfriend; the bastard with the threat of treason and an alleged involvement with the pagans hanging over his head; at the time, Catherine and Mary had had no one else to belong to. They could have had each other. Catherine could have given her that.
But she and Francis just couldn’t stay away from each other… She couldn’t keep her legs closed, and her own damn son couldn’t keep his cock to himself. And that made everything so much more difficult than it could have been. Because it could have been easy. Catherine could have given her that.
If only the circumstances weren’t so… unfortunate. It’s true that perhaps there isn’t any more space in her heart for anyone other than her son. But she had loved Mary, once. And now she can’t give her that.
Now, standing at the stone window and gazing down at the tree-lined lane, she watches as Mary rides off with the bastard child, and feels a pang of something other than sweet satisfaction deep within her gut.
(Perhaps there was more to her animosity towards Mary than the mere protection of her son… And if Catherine were honest with herself – which she just might be – she thinks she could have given her that.)