Author's Note: I'm playing pretty fast and loose with history here, particularly with several members of the Scottish Court for the sake of plot. We can't change that the real Francis died tragically because he was never really well and never made it back to Scotland with Mary. I can, however, imagine a different ending altogether to their story, so I've put into play some of the same people who were around for Mary's return and have attempted to build on some of the religious tension that made up the context for the time. (Does any of that make sense? It's late and this weekend has been long!) Regardless, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Only two more to go! Aren't you excited to see how it all ends? ;) Thanks for the reviews and Thanksgiving well-wishes - More than 50 reviews and 110 followers, and I still love seeing my review notifications!
Credit: A lot of my history has come from the first few chapters of Alison Weir's Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Murder of Lord Darnley. It is a thick read, but is really well-written and I'm excited to dig a little further into it.
TEN: Shift
A sliver of sunlight slipped through the drawn window coverings and woke Francis the next morning. He awakened, but he found he could not move for fear of rousing his sleeping wife. She was sprawled all over him, arm flung across his middle, ankle entwined with his leg, head resting on his shoulder. Freeing one arm, he traced with his finger the one simple ring she wore, reflecting on how he had been so afraid of the possibility of marrying this woman who now shared his bed and his life.
How I ever thought she could be anything but mine - that I could be anything but hers - is unfathomable. He smiled, grateful for her presence and her small frame pressed up against his own.
It was one of those quiet mornings in a marriage, a moment of subtle comfort that marks the marriages of those who truly love one another. He had no desire to move, thoroughly enjoying the first look of peace he had seen grace his wife's face in weeks.
Mary, however, began to stir ever so slowly, stretching each muscle and elongating her back in a catlike manner. She opened her eyes to find Francis staring at her, blushed and quickly buried her head beneath the bedcovers. He fished her out, laughing at the newness that still characterized their union.
"Good morning, wife," he spoke, his smile wide. "Can I interest you in staying here for a bit?"
Her response was to curl back into his side, weaving her fingers into his.
"How are you feeling today, my love?" he inquired hesitantly.
She sighed, nestling further into him. "For the first time, today does not seem so terrible."
He released his held breath and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. "I am glad to hear that, Mary. So very glad."
Francis prepared to enter Court for the day and to meet with Lord Darnley. On the way out of his and Mary's rooms, he remembered the letter Mary had mentioned the night before. He snatched it from its place upon the desk and hurried to the castle's library, hoping to take advantage of the time before others expected him elsewhere.
Sitting down, he flipped the letter over in his hand and spied the Medici seal of his mother. Unsure of what to expect, he carefully broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
"To my dear son, Francis, in care of the Scottish Court at Weymuss Castle -
"We have had word of your safe arrival in Scotland and hope all is well for you and Mary as you settle into your new roles. Little has happened since your departure, though your brother, Charles, has taken ill. He has been seeing things that are not there and we cannot but hope he will recover his sanity of mind."
He scanned the remainder of the first page, taking in bits of gossip from the Court and news of his father. His pace slowed considerably, however, upon reaching the last two sections of the letter.
"I am aware you know of the visions Nostradamus has seen in your regard. There are few ways to convey how sorry I am for the way in which I treated Mary, whom I know you love dearly. Nostradamus has had another vision, one which granted more understanding. He says he saw that your union with Mary would result in death through your line, rather than your death. Though I have behaved horridly, I ask for your forgiveness. I have only ever sought what is best for you.
"Nostradamus also shared of Mary's condition when you left. It is our sincere hope that she and your child are well but, in the case that they are not and something has happened, I do trust that your love for one another will help you withstand the pain. I, too, have lost children from my womb and I do not wish that heartache on anyone, especially the beautiful and kind wife of my favorite son. If it is as Nostradamus predicted, that she has lost the child, do not lose hope. You will be a great father someday, and a great king.
I miss you deeply, my son. Send word soon. -Mother"
Francis swiped at the wetness that appeared on his cheeks while reading his mother's words. He had been so focused on being sure of Mary's well-being that he had neglected his own sorrow. He had to mourn in his own way, ever so briefly, before embarking on the day's affairs.
The next six weeks passed uneventfully, Francis growing well into his role as King of Scotland. The Crown Matrimonial had been opposed by only a handful of the peerage, the general public rejoicing over a capable and refined king for the first time since Mary's father's death. He made decisions for the benefit of the people, arranging new trade deals and securing stronger borders to prevent the English invasions that marked much of the last ten years. Easily garnering favor with the Catholic nobility, he found the Protestant nobility eager to submit to a male monarch, especially as his father's troops could crush any uprising without hesitation.
Mary found herself with freedom for the first time in her life as Francis skillfully governed Scotland into an age of religious tolerance and prosperity. She and her ladies wandered through the West Weymuss marketplace daily, dawdling among the vendors and scouring their wares - looking for any imaginable item that might make the castle a bit more homey and less cold. And, every day, she would stop at the village kirk to light a candle and pray in hope of another child. It became her only means of escaping her sadness, which still followed her wherever she went.
The two settled into a richly layered rhythm in their new home. Francis would appear in the evenings after his day's work and they would walk outside in the gardens, bundled against the cold but reveling once more in the tradition begun before they wed. He would discuss the day, including matters of state, hoping Mary would not be caught off-guard by any of his decisions. She would reiterate her full trust in him to lead Scotland and her respect for any decisions made in the temporary absence from her duties, but Francis still took into account every bit of opinion she proffered.
Supper would be served and enjoyed and often followed by Court events. Mary, though still mostly detached from Scotland, came to know each of the courtiers in turn. She thoroughly enjoyed watching Francis stand a little taller as he was announced and entered a room. He was born to be king, she told herself as she saw the admiration of the peerage and how he conducted himself with them. How wonderful it is not to have to do this alone.
At the end of each evening, they would retire to their rooms to read and talk for a spell before they slept. Night by night, Mary's joy in life returned.
One evening, Francis arrived to find Mary asleep on a couch near the fire, her father's plaid spread over her body. Tempted to wake her for their nightly walk, he opted to let her rest instead. He picked up a book and sat down to read in the firelight.
He had not been seated for long when a light rap sounded at the door. Glancing over to Mary, who hadn't wakened, he hurried to the door before the caller could knock again.
Opening the door, he found Leith, the kitchen boy from the French Court they had brought with them to Scotland. Leith appeared nervous, shifting his gaze up and down the corridor to ensure no one was around to see him at the rooms of the king and queen.
"Your Grace, I must speak with you, but we must speak somewhere safe. It's important." Francis sensed the earnestness in Leith's voice, but gave warning before he motioned him into his and Mary's rooms.
"All right, then. I suppose we can talk in here, but Mary is sleeping, so please be careful not to disturb her. We must speak quietly."
Leith nodded in silent agreement to the terms and Francis stepped aside to let him pass into the room.
The door shut and an eerie quiet settled. The two young men faced one another, each hoping the other would speak first. When Leith failed to say anything, his mouth shut with fear, Francis gave an exasperated sigh and demanded information.
"Well, Leith, what is it?"
Leith fidgeted and steeled his body. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. I ... I ... " He stammered a bit, trying to relocate the words he had rehearsed in his head. "I overheard a conversation between persons of the peerage, plotting an uprising of the Protestant faction in hopes that you and Mary might be removed from the throne. They plan to strike in three days, laying siege to the castle and taking you prisoner." Leith finished, his shoulders drooping defeatedly.
Francis' mind reeled with this information, attempting to gather his own thoughts while he stood there with this young man who had proven himself loyal to both France and to Scotland. As he grappled to find words, he heard the couch creak behind him. How much did she hear? he wondered. He did not have long to wait.
"Do you know who you overheard?" came Mary's voice, strong but trembling ever so slightly.
Leith's head nodded, terror flooding his eyes.
"Well, then, who was it?" Francis turned to face Mary as she spoke before looking back to Leith.
The kitchen boy gulped, his whisper barely audible. "It was your cousin, Your Grace - the Lord Darnley - and the Lord Lindsay."
Francis heard his wife's voice grow cold as she drew nearer to the two men, asserting her queenly nature for the first time since her arrival in Scotland. "Then we must find them, mustn't we?"