Chapter 1: Attempts, and Confusion

Bash wiped his sweaty palms on his doublet, took a steadying breath and raised a fisted hand to the large door. He stopped just before knocking. He already knocked. Yet, he hadn't seen her anywhere on the castle grounds so maybe she just didn't hear him. She was a queen, so no way she was sleeping at this hour. Or was she? No, perhaps she didn't hear him. Perhaps he should knock again - no, perhaps not.

Bash let out a frustrated breath and swore quietly to himself. Why was it so nerve-racking to ask someone out on a date? Or was it so hard because it was Mary whose attentions he was seeking?

Mary made her way to the door, opening it and pausing when she saw Bash standing there. "Bash, is something the matter?" She asked, taking a step aside should he wish to enter her room. She tilted her head to the side, curious as to why he seemed so, nervous was it? She placed her arms in front of her, neatly folding her hands before her as she waited to see what was going on. She had heard the knocking, but been occupied at the moment.

"I apologize for taking so long to answer, I was writing a letter." She clarified to him, letting him know she hadn't been ignoring him.

"Don't worry, its fine." He smiled slightly, but with his nerves it faded quickly. He watched her step aside to let him enter - he eyed what he saw of Mary's room but decided against it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been in her room, but - he was asking her on a date, man - entering didn't feel appropriate.

He licked his suddenly dry lips. He should just go for it. Just ask. What are you doing Saturday? Let's grab a bite to eat and see a movie.It sounded so simple in his head. And really, sure, she could not be interested and she probably wasn't interested but they were somewhat amiable with one another so maybe she wouldn't say no and he could finally stand on equal footing with her and maybe even gether interested...

He opened his mouth. After three seconds he closed it, then opened it again. He let out a nervous chuckle. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. His voice wasn't coming out. He wasn't speaking. His voice box was broken, the words teetering on his tongue and refusing to stumble out. He swallowed. Fuck, why did he swallow? The words, man, the words - swallowed with the lump in his throat, his throat so suddenly dry now that it'd be impossible to get them back, and - was she wearing the black and white blouse her mother sent last Christmas? Was it just him or did it accentuate her curves rather nicely? - The fuck was he thinking now and at a time like this? He had zero point three seconds to get his shit together.

"Your Grace," he cleared his throat a bit. "How are you feeling?"

Mission accomplished, he spoke. But, come on, man - how are you feeling? That was definitely not what he rehearsed.

Mary found a hand rising to cover her mouth, a soft chuckle escaping past her lips as she saw the evidence of nerves written all about him. "Bash, I'm feeling fine. Are you feeling alright? You seem, nervous." She said, noting how he didn't enter, or make to enter her room. But he had come in before, was there something keeping him from coming in this time? She shook her head, unsure of what to think of this presently.

She found herself lowering her hand to her side, tilting her head as she looked at him again. Something was definitely off about him, and she suddenly wondered if she was the cause of his nervousness at present. "Bash, why don't you come in and sit down? You look like you could use it." She said, reaching out and placing a soft hand upon his shoulder.

Sure things were good between the two of them, and yet she suddenly wondered if something had occurred to make him lose his speech for that moment in time, was there something seriously bothering him. She shook the thought away, her eyes drifting to his lips and stopping there for a moment. She blinked, not now Mary, you must be the queen your mother expects you to be. Not proper behavior for a woman in your standing. She shook the thoughts away and focused her gaze upon his eyes once more.

"Please, I insist you come in and have a seat."

Bash was wearing his standard - black T shirt that cut at his biceps. Black slacks. He called it his, formal attire, as he wore it only when within the castle grounds and only when he was on duty.

It occurred to him suddenly that if he we're trying to ask the young queen out on a date, perhaps he should have worn something that didn't remind them both that he was her security detail (guardian and knight sounded way too sixteenth century), however, he quickly dismissed the thought when he suddenly felt the heat of her palm premeditating through his shirt sleeve. As if instinct, he felt the muscles in his upper arm tense and - dare he say it - flex beneath her hand. Some sort of second hand nature imprinted into his male testosterone, he was sure. He kept a straight face and flattened his lips to a thin line and hoped to God Mary hadn't noticed.

"I'm fine," he said smoothly, and almost said out loud the victory cry that resounded in his head when his voice didn't waver. Or change pitch. "I..." He forgot the words had escaped him already. "The King told me that you passed those school try outs you were telling me about. Congratulations."

Mary felt herself smile, having felt the flexing of his muscles beneath her hand. "Well if you're so fine, then why don't we go someplace else?" She asked, looking towards the small bag upon her desk that she carried when she went places. She blinked some, hearing what he said about her try outs and she nodded her head.

"Thank you, it wasn't what I thought it would be." She said, lowering her arm down to her side as she smiled a bit. She wasn't sure what it was that was going on, but she could tell that through his flexing he had seemed somewhat excited about it. She kept the smile in place though, knowing that things weren't that bad between the two of them.

She moved towards her desk, picking up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder as she slid her feet into the small ballet flats next to her desk. She grabbed her long coat, throwing it over her shoulders as she walked back over to him. "So, shall we?" She asked him, offering that sweet smile towards him.

Bash blinked twice, then nodded. "Of course. Let me get my coat." He stepped away from her door, and turned without a word, heading down the steps and turning a corner towards his own room. Never mind the irregular beats of his heart or buzz in his nerve endings by the smile she'd given him.

Damn it. It was poor timing, attempting to ask her out when she was wanting to run errands. Or maybe the poor timing was the fact that he froze up and emptied his damn head.

At least he was going to be able to spend a few hours in her company and away from prying eyes. Maybe he would still have a chance this way. But, man, how unprofessional was it to mix business with pleasure?

If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his professionalism. The fact that at twenty two - freshly turned, if he may say - he was head of the security detail for King Henry - not omitting the fact that this title had been given to him when he was nineteen - and also the guardian - no, security detail - of the queen of Scotland, spoke volumes. Modesty be damned, Bash thought he did one hell of a job. And a good majority of that was due to his professionalism. It was a trait given (for better or for worse) directly from the king himself.

But, to mix business and pleasure with Mary?- Bash didn't think he'd dislike that one bit.

Man, sometimes being the very best at what you did, really blowed.

He laced up, attaching his gun holster to the straps of his suspenders, and attached one hunting knife, then one utility. On his utility belt he placed a second gun - also concealed carry (being head of security for the king of a country was a special circumstance which gave him a license to kill, regardless his young age) - and placed a stun gun and can of mace in their prospective holders (he'd give them to Mary as an extra precautionary measure, just in case the need may arise). He grabbed his long coat, black and suede, with what felt like (to him) a hundred buttons and with an added tying belt around the waist, his black leather gloves (a trademark), and finished the ensemble by wrapping his grey and black, two toned acrylic scarf around his neck. He grabbed his car keys off his desk as he left his room and with long, purposeful strides met Mary quickly near the foyer.

His eyes quickly took her in - from the warm glow on her porcelain skin and ebony hair, to the small frame of her body which beheld gentle, feminine curves now hidden by her coat.

He straightened his back and regarded her respectfully, "Are you ready, Your Grace?"