Epiphany

Mary was tense until she cleared the castle grounds. Her heart was beating rapidly but she had to trot her horse at a gentle gait. No-one could suspect she was running away again – and just like the last time, with Bash. But still, it was all so different than the last time.

When she finally cleared the grounds and entered onto the wooded path, she immediately spurred her horse into a gallop. The racing horse seemed to sense her mood, and as she leaned forward into the wind, both of them striving toward what lay in front of them. Mary felt some of the tension melting away. Bash was waiting for her at the little church.

When she rounded the side of the hill and the little graveyard came into view, she experienced a pang of disappointment. Where was he? But she quickly registered that there were two horses there – and then saw the brothers squabbling on the ground. All the tension dropped back on her shoulders like a load of cannonballs.

"Stop, stop!" she cried. And then there she was, literally as well as figuratively standing between them, and there was a hint of desperation on both men's faces. Her heart sunk even more. Her heart was still pounding from the ride and from the adrenaline of breaking up the fight, and it was hard to hear through the ringing in her ears from the blood pumping through them. Francis was telling her something – telling her that the prophecy was false – and she couldn't believe it – but his face told her that he wasn't lying. The prophecy . . . she could marry Francis.

And suddenly, just like that, the ringing cleared, and certainty fell on her like a blanket. All the weight of worry on her shoulders lifted. She knew. She knew what she wanted.

As her mind slowly focused outwardly on the two men before her, she realized that this needed to be handled carefully. The man she was going to reject was dangerous, and wounded, and was about to be more wounded. And wounded, trapped animals could be the biggest threat.

"Everything is different now," she said suddenly, and both men stopped in surprise. Bash looked crushed, and Francis looked elated.

"Yes," Francis said, coming toward her, seeming ready to take her arm – but the look on Mary's face stopped him. She was still processing the shock. He decided to give her some space. "Yes, you can come back to court, we can be wed, we can put all of this behind us."

"Mary, please, we can still go through with this," Bash whispered, and the heartbreak in his eyes spurred her into action. She had to act.

"No. No, I'm not going through with this now." She turned to Francis. "Francis, I need to speak to Bash. Please, give us some space."

Francis narrowed his eyes. "No, Mary you need to come back with me now."

"Francis," Mary said gently, though a part of her wanted to scream, "I need a few minutes with Bash. Please, take your horse, and wait over by the church. I will come back with you to the castle, but you have to give me time to speak with Bash."

Francis frowned, and glared at Bash. The arrogance returned to his eyes at he looked at his older brother. "I suppose since I will have you for the rest of our lives, I can allow the loser in this game of thrones a few minutes."

Mary watched him until he was safely out of earshot, and then turned to Bash. He was staring at her as if he knew what was coming but didn't want to believe it. Only he didn't know.

Flicking her eyes once more to Francis to be sure where he was, Mary said softly, "Bash, if I come back at sunset, can the priest marry us then?"

Hope flew into Bash's eyes. "What?" he gasped, as if not sure he had heard her correctly. "Mary what are you saying?"

Mary took his hand in both of hers, and he grasped it like it was a lifeline in a flood. "I'm saying I want to marry you Bash. I want you, my protector, my lion, my love. Everything has changed Bash, because I realized it was you. You're the one I want at my side, to face England and Protestants and pagan blood cults and anything else that stands in my way. Because if I have you I can face anything."

"So you weren't just marrying me because of the prophecy?" Bash said warily, his head still reeling from the change of pace. "You don't love Francis?"

"I thought I did, and maybe I did, in a way. But you have taught me about a stronger type of love. When I heard the prophecy was no longer in the way, and I thought about marrying Francis, I was terrified. I was terrified of losing you."

Bash smiled a little, and then glanced back over his shoulder at where Francis was waiting, glaring at them. "But why did you tell Francis you were going back to the castle with him?"

Mary glanced past Bash too at where Francis stood, and worry crossed her face. "He wouldn't let us go Bash. If I said I was eloping with you, I think he would have tried to cut you down."

"Let him try," Bash growled.

Mary shook her head firmly. "No. That is not something I want on my conscience on my wedding day. Besides, we need time. We thought we were being careful, but apparently not careful enough, since Francis knew where to find us. No one is in favor of this marriage now Bash – its not just Catherine – its my mother and I think your father as well now. Henry is regretting the deal he made."

Bash nodded, his face growing hard. "Yes. But he will have little to say about it when the Pope agrees to legitimize me. And this will force the pope's hand – I will be king."

A ghost of a smile came onto Mary's face. "That is a certainty – the king of Scotland, if not of France." Her face grew serious again. "But first I must put to rest all suspicions. We must not be found out until the morning, and then it will be too late." A hint of a blush creeped over her face, and for a brief moment she saw a flash of mischief in Bash's eyes in return. But a movement in the distance caught her eye. Looking past Bash, she saw that Francis was growing impatient. Their time was running out.

"I'll return at dusk. Wait for me, and have the priest ready to marry us immediately."

"Mary, it's dangerous for you to travel alone at that time of night."

"Alec will help me. Then he can be one of our witnesses. There's no time to discuss this further, Francis is coming back," Mary said in a rush. She squeezed his hand. "I will see you tonight."

Bash looked at her longingly, the desire to wrap her in his arms all too apparent. But that would not do while Francis was watching. He had to satisfy himself with gripping her hand tightly for a moment before stepping away. "Be careful, Mary," he said in parting. The dark-haired man brushed past Francis, slamming into his shoulder on the way past, and leapt onto his horse and was gone.

Mary watched her wild hearted love as he rode away, and there was worry in her eyes. Francis mistook the look for guilt at breaking Bash's heart however. "Shall we return Mary?" he said, and it was obvious that his false façade of pleasantness was masking deep irritation. The fair prince had hated every minute Mary spoke with his brother. "Everyone will no doubt be happy to know that you've come to your senses at last."

Months ago when Mary had first arrived at court, she would have been unable to stop the sharp retort that was right on the edge of her tongue. But her time at French court had schooled the Scottish Queen in deception, and she arranged her features in a passing imitation of happiness. "Yes, please – I need to speak to Nostradamus, and I need to reflect I think. Everything has changed so quickly."

Pleased with his conquest, Francis was oblivious to the fact that Mary's smile didn't reach her eyes.