I have too many bittersweet high queen and loyal knight feelings

Two weeks. Two weeks of running. Two weeks of riding, of hiding her face while Bash bargained for food and clothing, of sleeping on the forest floor and in the haylofts of barns when they could get away with it. Two weeks of crying herself to sleep over her choices, missing her friends, missing her dog, missing Aylee, missing Francis….

Francis. She'd done what was right, it was the only way to save him, breaking his heart was the only way to save him. She told herself this over and over, but it never seemed to sink in and she spent her midnight hours consumed in guilt and regret, hoping against hope that Bash couldn't hear her muffled sobs.

But now the end was in sight, finally. The horses had taken them north and west to the long northern coast. Tonight they hid and slept and tomorrow Mary would barter her way onto a ship that would take her as far as Ireland and from there… Home to Scotland was the ultimate goal, but being out of France would suit her well for now.

Not that Mary had shared any of this with Bash. He'd been so helpful to her and had protected her at every sign of danger, but this was something that even she, the queen of scotland, couldn't ask of him.

Mary lay awake that night, staring at the rafters of the old barn, her head pillowed on her arms, the straw acting as her bed and blankets. the moonlight filtered through the gaps in the old walls and the wind followed it, chilling her to the bones. It had been worse at the abbey and it would be worse still in Scotland, and she would have to get used to it.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Bash stir, his dark form mere shadow in the darkness. "Mary," he murmured, "You need to sleep."

Mary shifted to her side, facing him and said, "Who says I'm not?"

She heard more than saw his grin. "I may be mistaken, but usually one tries to sleep with their eyes closed."

"Is that quite so?"

"As far as I have been told, I confess I hadn't thought it a subject worth consideration." He shifted in the straw, perhaps to become more comfortable. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. "Mary, may I ask what might seem a personal question?"

"After what we've endured together? Ask anything you like Bash."

"Where are we going?"

Although she knew it was coming, Mary felt the words catch in her throat all the same. She had hoped to delay this conversation at least until tomorrow, so that their goodbyes, if there were indeed going to be goodbyes, wouldn't be so tearful. Mary felt her eyes grow hot, but she blinked the tears away and answered briskly, "I am going home. And so are you."

"I think the nunnery you came from is further inland."

"Bash, honestly." Mary chastised. It couldn't be helped, she couldn't walk away from this, so Mary pushed herself up on her elbows to a sitting position, pulling her knees to her chest and looked at him sternly. "The only real option for me now is to return to Scotland and find a new match. I'm a queen and I have my country to think of. And all of Scotland is quite a tempting dowry, no matter what scandal I may have left in my wake."

Bash scowled at her words. "So you plan is to board a ship tomorrow and leave, with no warning to your mother and no protection to speak of?"

Mary bit the inside of her cheek. "It's not a perfect plan." she conceded after a pause. "But-"

"No, its a ridiculous plan." Bash cut her off, shifting over and crouching in front of her, his eyes bright in the darkness. "Mary, you can't believe that you'll get even one mile into open sea undetected, especially alone. You are a Queen, not some peasant girl."

"I'm perfectly aware of my station, thank you Bash." Mary snapped. "And anyway, what choice do I have?"

"Mary," Bash rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "Lord on high give me strength this night."

Mary watched him, watching the way the bands of moonlight dappled his torso, one thin streak crossing his face like a sword strike. And owl hooted. He had been her constant companion ever since they had ridden off together, and there was no doubt in her mind that she would've died without him. She owed him everything, and the least she could do was absolve him of his duties to her so that he may go where he wished.

Finally, Bash looked at her. "Mary, you cannot got to Scotland alone."

"Don't start." Mary sighed.

"The journey to Ireland alone will take six weeks, two months if the weather is foul,"

"Bash, I'm running out of time and choices!"

"And then you'll be a woman alone in Ireland. Ireland!"

"Well I don't see you coming up with any ideas!"

"Well if you had told me earlier-"

"I didn't tell you because I knew you would make a fuss!"

"What did you expect me to do Mary? Just allow you to go off and get yourself killed?"

"I had no choice Bash!"

"What does that mean, Mary? I don't understand."

"Because I can't take everything away from you!" Mary yelled in frustration, tears coming unbidden to her eyes.

Bash blinked. The wind whispered outside in the night. The straw rustled as Bash finally shifted to sitting, crossing his legs and never taking his light eyes from her face. "Mary," he murmured.

Mary shook her head and wiped the tears away. There was a time and place for her tears, and this wasn't it. Finally, she cleared her throat. "I cannot ask you to leave your country Bash."

Bash shrugged, "I have already left my home, the hardest part is behind me."

"Leaving your home and leaving your country are completely different things Bash, trust me. I know."

"I'm not afraid." Bash said, his old easy smile back where it belonged. It calmed Mary somewhat, but not much.

"Bash, please. I've made up my mind."

"Well, what if I swore fealty to your country and your crown?"

Mary blinked. And blinked again. "What?" she whispered, looking up at him, confusion coloring her tone.

Bash grinned at her fondly. "Well, I've seen soldiers do it for my father, it seems simple enough."

"But, but," Mary's head was reeling. "But you're a frenchman! France is your home."

"Ah Mary, you forget. I am a bastard, technically I belong to no one."

"A bastard son of the king of France! When your father find out what you have done-"

"He'll be disappointed," Bash interrupted her. "It's a good thing Mary, it'll be a learning experience for him. Now," he reached out and took her hands in his, clasping them together. "How does this go?"

"Bash."

"Sssshhh." He smiled at her and closed his eyes. "Ah yes, now I remember. I, Bash of nowhere and nothing, do hereby pledge my service to Scotland, to the crown, to the queen. Here I do swear fealty to the kingdom. In peace and in war. In living or dying. From this hour henceforth until Your Grace release me, or death takes me."

Mary sat there in the hayloft, suddenly thankful for the darkness to mask the sudden wetness of her eyes.

An owl hooted outside.

After a moment, Mary took a breath and said, "Where's your sword?"

Bash blinked. "I… think you may be overreacting just slightly."

"Hush." She told him, carefully getting to her feet and picking her way towards his bag and the sheath that stood against the wall.

"Mary,"

There was a cool ring of steel as she pulled the sword from the sheath. The moonlight glinted off the long thin blade, casting rippling reflections across the walls before disappearing in the blink of an eye. She shuffled over in the straw, carefully holding the sword in both hands.

In the darkness of the barn, Mary carefully got to her feet. "Bash, kneel." she ordered.

"Mary," Bash raised his hands warily. "If you're going to kill me now, please tell me so I can brace myself."

"Just kneel." Mary's voice was firm and commanding, but there was a sparkle of mirth in her eyes.

Bash knelt in the straw. Thin bands of moonlight filtered through the gaps in the barn wall.

"Sebastian, bastard born of Henri, King of France," Mary began, the moonlight painting her in silver, shining on the tear tracks on her face. "Do you solemnly swear your life to the Scottish crown?"

Bash blinked, and when he answered it sounded like question. "Yes?"

"Say I do." She whispered.

"I do."

"Do you swear to protect your Queen and Country?"

"I do." he repeated, stronger and more sure now.

"Do you renounce Satan?"

Bash blinked. "Is this a trick question?"

Mary smiled.

"I do." He said, grinning now.

"Then by the honor vested in me by the Lord Almighty," Mary took the hilt of the sword in both hands and touched the flat of the blade to Bash's shoulders ever so gently, first one side then the other. "I dub thee Sir Sebastian of The Order of the Lion. Arise, knight of the Scottish crown."

Bash raised his head to look at her, and his eyes were bright with tears. "Mary, I," his words stuck in his throat, and he swallowed with difficultly.

Mary smiled at him, carefully sliding the blade back into its sheath. "That was an order Sir Sebastian." She told him, trying and failing to hold back her giggles.

Suddenly Bash was laughing, and he jumped to his feet and swept her up into his arms, spinning her around and around as Mary laughed in delight.