Misdirection
Mary's talents at play-acting were put to the test back at the castle. She wasn't worried about her own mother – Marie de Guise still thought of her daughter as a naïve innocent, and besides Marie didn't know her very well. Sadly enough, Mary was more worried about Catherine and Henry. They did know the young queen, unfortunately, and Henry in particular had seen her with Bash in those past weeks.
But for once, Mary was in luck. Catherine was elated to see that Mary had been talked out of the elopement (though Mary refused to admit that was what had been planned), and even more jubilant when she discovered that Bash had not returned to the castle. "Skulking in the shadows where he belongs, is he?" Catherine had said in her dry, clipped voice. "Well perhaps he should stay there, after all, he never belonged at court in the first place."
Catherine's comment touched a familiar nerve in Henry, but circumstances had vastly changed, and he seemed eager to throw off the mantle of the legitimization plot, as well. "Yes, we all know how you feel about Bash. But if Mary has decided on Francis, then it does seem best that Bash not return."
Henry's comment worried Mary. The French King seemed ready to write the Vatican that very night to call the whole thing off, and Mary decided maybe the royal family should be given some reason to hesitate, after all.
"I haven't decided," Mary insisted. "I want to see Nostradamus first."
"Nostradamus?" Henry cried indignantly. "That shabby fortune teller? Please don't tell me you are going to leave the decision of who will be the future king of France in his hand."
Catherine looked alarmed that Mary would suggest Nostradamus's influence in Henry's presence, but understood – or thought she understood – why Mary was asking the question. "Oh let her go Henry. Nostradamus is not going to interfere in the line of succession, he's smarter than that," the older queen lied easily. "If it makes her feel better, let her talk to him. He'll know Francis is her true love just as surely as we do."
"Fine," Henry said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was an intelligent man, and Mary's request had illuminated for him a possible reason why Mary might have left court the first time. "Let's hope for Nostradamus's sake that his visions do not suggest any reason why Mary should not stake her rightful claim to England."
"Yes, yes, we're all aware of your need to claim three kingdoms as your legacy in order to feel worthwhile as a man," Marie de Guise said dismissively. "Let's get this visit over with, shall we?"
Henry bristled, but there was little he could do about his royal guest's insults. Mary, for her part, was happy to see the three scheming monarchs sharpening their claws on each other. It made them pay less attention to her.
Mary was not play-acting when she grilled Nostradamus with questions on his visions, trying to understand what had changed. The young queen's actions were no longer going to be dictated by prophecy, either way, but Mary needed to understand if it was his visions which were false or only his interpretation of them. In the future, she intended to be much more cautious about the seer's fortune telling.
The intensity of Mary's questioning seemed to convince Catherine, and probably also Marie, that Mary put faith in the seer's words. He swore that Mary and Francis could wed without danger to the prince. Finally, Mary was convinced – and reading between the lines, she also understood how his vision had been misinterpreted in the first place. She felt silly for having allowed her actions to be so completely governed by a prophecy which, when it came down to it, was clearly subject to multiple interpretations. But it didn't matter now, anyway. Her mind was made up.
To the three gathered monarchs, however, she played a different tune. "I am glad to hear that the seer does not see obstacles to my life with Francis. But before I commit to this path for certain, I think I should engage in prayer. After all, it is God who must guide us in the end."
The two French royals looked like they wanted to roll their eyes, and the Dowager Queen of Scotland looked more amused than anything. "Ah yes, you can tell my daughter was raised in a convent. Well, why don't we give you all the time you need for prayer then? Perhaps a stint on your knees in the chapel?" Marie's tone was that of a mother humoring a rather silly child. Mary resented it, but at the moment, it served her purposes wonderfully, so she let it pass.
"Not the chapel. I find the pain of too much time on my knees distracts me from the thing I need to contemplate. When I was at the convent, my most prayerful moments came gazing at the stars or sitting by the fire. I think I shall retire to my chambers for some quiet contemplation," Mary said.
"First prophets, and now prayer," Henry groused. "How difficult can it be to choose to marry the man you love? Let's just be done with this."
"I will not be bullied by you," Mary drew herself up, a steely look in her eyes as she boldly stared down a king and two queens. "Leave me alone for the remainder of the day to my contemplations. Instruct the servants not to bring me food. I will fast to ensure my mind is focused on God's will." The nuns at the convent would have been proud of that – if she hadn't been lying through her teeth. Now there would be no servants bothering her with food trays, or wondering why she hadn't touched the dinner they left for her. She had told them all she was going to be engaged in fasting & prayer . . . and they all believed her, tolerating her piety with a little condescension. It made her all the more angry, but she reminded herself again that their own prejudices and misconceptions about her would serve her well tonight. Tonight, they would leave her alone – and she would be in Bash's arms.