Mary was using all of her inner strength to maintain her outward composure. She knew how she had to appear - strong, defiant, and with no regrets. She was not only Queen of Scotland, she was now also Queen of France, and she had a duty to protect the French people. It was the same duty Francis had - though he had chosen to ignore this, and so the responsibility fell to her.

Mary watched for as long as she could as Francis ran off - until he finally faded into the French countryside. He had shown little hesitation to go to Lola. Of course, it was at Mary's urgings that he do so, but she couldn't help feeling slightly hurt at his rush to go. And his adamance to go, even once the news of plague had come, hurt her the most. Francis was willing to risk his life, as the King of France, as well the lives of those around him, so that he could be with Lola.

Lola did need help - she was in the midst of a birth, which, by the tone of her letters, seemed difficult to say the least. Regardless of what had happened, Mary did not want her dear friend to die. But could Francis really prevent that from happening? He was not a midwife, nor a doctor. He had gone to her simply to be comforting, so that she would know the father of her child was close by as she struggled.

Finally, Mary turned her gaze, slowly making her way back into the castle. There was nothing further she could do for Francis - she had to focus on her people at Court. Once uttered, the word "plague" drove a fear like none other into men's hearts. Worse than war, everyone knew, plague came unexpected and quickly, and it spared no one.

She came upon Catherine first, who was waiting anxiously for news of what had transpired. Her face fell as soon as she saw Mary, walking back alone.

"I take it Francis has gone, then?" Catherine asked simply, wishing that she was wrong in her assumptions.

Mary took a breath, not wanting to admit that she could not convince him to stay. "Indeed, he has gone to Lola…" she trailed off, realizing Catherine did not know about Lola's predicament.

"Lola? Is she not with her new husband in the countryside?"

Mary shook her head, slowly. The last thing she wanted was for Catherine to find out about Francis and Lola. She thought Catherine was so far sympathetic to Mary's issues with conceiving, as Catherine herself had become pregnant immediately. But Mary could not help feeling anxious about the fact that Lola's womb had quickened with child on just one try, making her think that the problem was with her. And this was not a thought that Mary wanted to put into Catherine's mind.

Still, it had come to the point where she could not lie about it. Catherine had the right to know, just as she decided Francis had the right to know.

Mary gathered that inner strength once more, looking Catherine straight in the eye. "Francis is the father of Lola's child, a child that is being born - or trying to be born - this very moment, in the village. Sadly, her husband has died, so Lola is alone. Francis has gone to be with her, to help her through."

Catherine, clearly stunned, brought her hand to her chest to try to gather her composure. From the interactions within the castle, there was no reason to believe that Francis and Lola had ever had a relationship of any sort, let alone sleep together.

"I… don't know what to say," Catherine struggled, clearly unsure of how to proceed with the news. "I suppose I know how you feel, my dear. This seems to be quite the same thing I went through with Diane. She had her first child before I had mine, as well."

It was exactly what Mary did not want to hear. Her worst fear was that Lola would become a permanent fixture in Francis's life - and how could she not, bearing his first living child? Francis could become attached to her, as was only natural. And Mary could very well become just like Catherine.

Exhausted by these thoughts, Mary couldn't go on speaking any longer. "Please excuse me, your grace, I must prepare to address everyone shortly to let them know what has happened. I'd like to freshen up first."

It was her way of escaping the conversation, on a topic which she did not want to explore any further. She began by quickly walking back into the main halls of the castle, avoiding gazes by looking at her feet rather than ahead of her. She feared that her tears would spring forward at any moment, and the last thing she wanted was to betray her own weakness.

Though she tried to maintain a calm composure, her quick steps eventually turned to a run, as her impatience crept up. She wanted to be alone, and she cursed the large size of the castle which prevented her from getting to her chambers quickly. No doubt she was passing many concerned faces, but she didn't much care, as long as they did not see her completely break down.

She looked up for brief seconds at a time, in order to ensure she was headed in the right direction. Her heart leapt as she was about to turn the corner for her chambers, and she took the turn sharply, as a sort of race to the finish. As she was expecting to be within near seconds of thrusting open her door, she was completely unprepared for the collision that followed. She knocked straight into another person, sending her flying to the ground, a result of her speed upon impact.

She let out a small cry, more from the shock than as a consequence of any pain she felt on hitting the ground. She didn't have time to look up at the human obstacle before he bent down to her to check the damage.

"Mary! My god, you seemed to come out of nowhere. Are you all right?"

She sighed in relief at the voice she knew so well, thankful that it wasn't some lord who would run in alarm to Catherine that the newly Queen of France was acting rather strangely by running through the hallways in distress. She looked up and smiled weakly at Bash's concerned look.

"I am all right, Bash, just ashamed. I should not have rounded the corner so quickly," she replied, attempting to rise. She felt like a right idiot lying on the floor in front of him.

She winced slightly as she leaned on her elbow, which had apparently taken the brunt of the impact.

"Let me help you - I don't want you further injuring yourself," Bash said, offering an arm to help Mary back to her feet. Her cheeks went red, not remembering the last time they had touched. As she gripped his arm, she couldn't help the memories of their kisses from seeping into her consciousness.

Once they had both risen, she clung to him for a moment longer than necessary. It was her own vulnerability which was dictating her actions, she knew.

"Mary, is something wrong? You seem rather out of sorts. And why were you running through the halls? I could hear your approach even before you rounded the corner."

Mary hesitated - she was still clinging to his arm, though Bash did not seem at all bothered. She wanted to just shake it off, assuring him that she was just late for a meeting with someone of Francis's advisors, and move along into the solace of her chambers and her own thoughts. But her heart wanted comfort. She wanted to confide everything to Bash - to vent her frustrations, to seek his advice, and, above all, to gain some comfort.

As Mary looked up into his eyes, there seemed to be only one way forward. "I… I just locked the gates. And Francis rode off. He can't come back. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen. He just went to her. He can't come back!" she said hysterically, her voice rising with every admission.

Bash's face changed from one of concern to one of alarm, and he slowly ushered her toward to door of her chambers. "Come, let's sit down and get you some wine… and then we can talk."