"You're really going back to Scotland?" Claude asks me. She sighs, shaking her head in disbelief. I give her a pointed look.
"Don't tell me Francis told you about my brother," I say. "Goddammit…but, yes, it's true. I'm returning to Scotland. I don't know if it's going to be a long-term visit or not, but I trust my brother. If my country needs me, then I'm not going to let anything stop me."
"Including my brother." It isn't a question, but rather a blunt statement. "I'm no expert on the politics of court, but I'm learning. Trust your gut, Mary, but don't just take Francis's worry for granted. You guys are king and queen over this country, and sometimes, it's not each other you have to trust. It's your instinct."
"Francis doesn't trust James," I tell her. "He doesn't want me to go to Scotland, and I just can't understand why. He claims that it's because of my pregnancy, but…there's something else going on."
"Maybe he has good reason, maybe he doesn't," says Claude. "Whatever it is that's going on between the two of you, I want no part of it." She pauses in her steps for a moment, turning to me. "I'm sorry, Mary, but I've been meaning to ask. What the hell is going on with you and Francis? Not this whole issue over your brother, but what are you two doing? Don't think that I haven't noticed, because I have. Are you guys conspiring together or something?"
No, actually. In fact, your brother murdered your father and someone is threatening him with the fact that they know. We're trying to find out who it is. "Nothing's going on, Claude," I say slowly and carefully. If there's anything my time at court has taught me, it is how to tell a convincing lie. "There are just some affairs that need to be kept between the king and queen, is all. It's nothing you need to worry about."
"Mary, I'm not stupid," she tells me. "I get that some things need to stay between you and my brother, I do, but…" She sighs. "Know what, just forget I said anything. Bottom line: Do what you think is right, but don't ignore Francis. You know he loves you."
"I know that, Claude. But, I have to wonder if he is as committed to Scotland as he is to me." I'm not sure what scares me most: the answer to that question, or what this means for us.
"Francis doesn't want you to go." It is more of a statement than a question. James heaves a sigh, shaking his head. "Mary, there is no time to lose. England will attack, and they're attacking Scotland. Not France. Scotland. Our country needs its queen, I don't know how much more I can stress that. With France's armies, Mary, you might be able to save Scotland. Come home, take your husband's armies with you, and bring down the English before it's too late."
"James, there's no way Francis is going to agree to this," I point out. "I'm not just going to take his men behind his back!"
"You've been here at court for months," he says, "and more often than not, you have been nothing but a pawn in the political games of the Valois and the nobles. Do you want to continue to be a pawn, or do you want to become a player? Are you ready to become the queen you were born to be?"
"I'm going to Scotland," I tell him. "All else be damned, I'm going…but I need some time. I have some loose ends that need to be tied and I need to speak with Francis. I realize you're leaving tonight, but please, just give me a little bit more time."
"These Frenchmen have their claws so deep in you, sister." My brother shakes his head in disgust. "Tell me, if it wasn't for your marriage to Francis, would you be so hesitant?"
"James, what is your problem?" I snap. "I'm going to Scotland with you, alright? Don't be so difficult. The French are just as much my people as the Scots are. I'm the Queen of France now that Catherine is dead. Do you expect me to just shrug off my responsibilities here?"
"No, of course not! You're missing the point, Mary. I'm just concerned that you've become more French than Scot," insists James. "You even speak with a French accent!"
"I assure you that while I may live in France, I have the heart and blood of a Scot," I say resolutely. "If anyone tries to take my country from me, I will rain blood down on them. I intend to leave with you tonight, so the matter is settled. Is there anything else I should be aware of?"
"Yes," he says. "Mary, don't be so trusting of these French you're living with. You're merely a guest here at court because you're married to the king. Without Francis's support, you're nothing. In Scotland, it's different. You are her sovereign queen."
"I'm well aware of this fact, James."
"Just…be careful. There's no telling who you can trust these days." I watch as James takes his leave of me. I don't know who to trust. I trust Francis with my life, but it seems as though he is hell-bent on keeping me from being Scotland's queen—and I want to believe that he supports me in my reign of Scotland. He's my husband—why wouldn't he support me? I have no reason to doubt my brother's word either. He has always stood by my mother while she has governed Scotland in my stead. Why would he suddenly turn on me now? I won't turn my back on France, but I also won't allow Scotland to fall.
There's no telling who you can trust these days. I almost laugh aloud humorlessly at the thought. Who can I trust? Who should I trust? My brother or my husband? My brother, who wants what's best for Scotland, or my husband, the King of France, who will always put his country's needs above me?
"Mary." Francis's voice startles me out of my thoughts, and I jump slightly. "Hey, I wanted to talk to you about Scotland."
"You've made yourself quite clear," I say curtly. "You don't want me to go."
"I've given it some thought, Mary," he tells me, "and I'm coming with you. It'll be better for Scotland to see her queen and her king. Your people will see for themselves that our union is strong, and together, we can put a stop to the English attack."
"You're serious?" I ask in disbelief. My husband closes the distance between us, combing a hand through my hair. "Francis…"
"I'm sure that France can go a few days without her king and queen," he says. "I just want to make sure that you will make it to Scotland safely. I don't trust James, but I do trust you."
"Oh my god, Francis, thank you!" I exclaim. "But…but what if something goes wrong here? What if the Bourbons come back? What if—"
"What if my wife doesn't realize that I love her?" my husband says. "What if she doesn't see that I put her first?" He smiles softly at me.
"Thank you so much! Trust me, you'll be glad we went," I say. "I've already packed my things." I grab Francis's face, kissing him hard. Francis deepens the kiss, his arms sliding intimately around my waist.
"Scotland will be meeting her queen and her king," he tells me. I let out a squeal as I jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, kissing him once again. Francis carries me to our bed, laying me down gently, and we make love tenderly and slowly.
"What made you change your mind?" I ask, breaking the silence between us. Our naked bodies are entwined with one another, the sheets wrapped around us.
"When are you going to realize that I love you? And I'll do anything for you?" my husband asks. He kisses my hair as he strokes it with his hand. I melt into his touch and the warmth of his body, humming in contentment. I raise myself up upon one elbow, gently and playfully scratching his bare torso with my fingernails.
"Darling, let me be grateful for what you've done without making promises you can't keep," I murmur. "I…I don't know what to say."
"You needn't say anything, my love," says Francis. "I've only kept my promise…as a king and a husband."
"I love you, you know that?" I ask, rubbing our noses together. Francis smiles devilishly at me and his mouth is suddenly hard on mine as he rolls, his body heavy upon mine.
"We have plenty of time before we have to go," he says.
"Yes, we do," I giggle.
Needless to say, neither of us leave the bedroom.
When I wake up, my body is lame and sore from the urgency of Francis's lovemaking. My mind is foggy with sleep. I roll over, lazily reaching a hand out for my husband. I only find an empty space, an impression on the mattress where he should be. Where is he? Why did he leave? I know my husband; he would never and has never left me after making love. It isn't like him to just take off without so much as a warning. I look outside to see dark clouds looming; a storm is coming. James is leaving for Scotland in a matter of hours, and I need to be ready. I climb out of bed and get dressed, brushing my hair out, before I reassess my suitcases and bags. Everything is set.
I head out, bumping into my brother in the hallway. "James!" I exclaim. "James, hey! Have you seen Francis by any chance?"
"No, but last I heard, he was heading for the dungeons for some interrogation?" My brother's tone is highly skeptical as he speaks. "I don't know what Francis thinks he's doing, Mary, but I have reason to believe that he's been meddling in my own affairs."
"He wouldn't…"
"Yes, he would," he says harshly. "Face it. He doesn't want you to come with me to Scotland, so he's trying everything in his power to—"
"James, he told me that he's coming with me!"
"Yeah? That's also what he told me right before he pulled this disappearing act. Mary, I'm not waiting any longer. The private jet should be here soon. Meet me outside the castle, and then we can go." My brother doesn't wait for me to respond as he takes his leave of me. I swear to myself under my breath. Fuck. What the hell does Francis think he's doing? He's supposed to trust me! I run to the dungeons, my heels slamming into the ground. Already, I can hear the screams of agony echoing off the dungeon walls.
"Francis, what the hell are you doing?" I demand. Francis looks up towards me, shocked and startled by my appearance. "What the hell? James told me what you've been doing. Did you really have to lie to me, Francis? Did you have to play on my hopes like that?"
"Mary, it's not like that," he insists, making his way towards me. "Just hear me out. I got a confession from his mercenary. He said that he was hired by your brother to plant a bomb on the jet when you leave! A suicide bomber, Mary, working for James!" I stare at him, fury and disgust and disbelief rising within me.
"This is bullshit," I insist. "It has to be. Francis, why the hell should I trust your word over my brother's?" I shake my head, storming out of the cell. My husband follows. "James has no reason to want me dead! He's my brother, for god's sake! Why the hell don't you trust me?" I take a breath before I approach him, closing the distance between us. "Look, Francis. I need to take this chance. I have to. For Scotland and for my people. I'll be home soon. Please trust me." I reach out for him, stroking his cheek and running a hand down his chest. Francis encloses my hand in his, his expression unreadable. I nod slightly as I turn away, my hand leaving his.
"I can't," I hear him say under his breath. "Guards, surround the queen!" In an instant, I am encircled by the guards. I whip around towards Francis.
"What are you doing?" I demand.
"Locked in the tower?" I screech. "Did you think I would try to slink out of my rooms like a rat in the passageways?" Lightning flashes outside as thunder claps loudly, almost drowning out my words. Francis stands in the doorway solemnly. My fury gives way to hatred as I pace the length of my cell, giving my husband my most dangerous and venomous of glares.
"Not like a rat," Francis says calmly, "like a defiant queen. You will be released as soon as your brother has cast off. I told him we'd follow as soon as we could." How the fuck can he be so calm about this? Scotland is in danger and he has taken it upon himself to lock me in a tower like some damsel in distress!
"So you lied!"
"It is not a lie! Mary, when I know it is safe to travel—" I clench my fists at my side. It takes all the effort in the world not to slap him. Why couldn't he see what was at stake? Scotland is in danger now and I have to go now!
"It'll be too late!" I shout. "We both know that day will never come!" Francis draws towards me, meeting my eyes intently. I meet his stare, daring him to say whatever it is he means to say. After all, what more could he say that could possibly justify this bullshit? What could possibly justify locking me in a tower, knowing full well that my country is at risk?
"You may hate me right now, but I'm doing this for you!" he insists earnestly. "I love you and I've put you first!"
"You love a girl!" I scream. "You don't love a queen or you'd allow me to be one! You are putting yourself and your country first, just as you always have!"
"That is not true, and you know it!" Francis roars. We are nose to nose, screaming in each other's faces. Hot rage burns through me like a wildfire, destroying all in its path.
"IF SCOTLAND FALLS, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!" I bellow. "YOU WILL LOSE MY COUNTRY AND YOU WILL LOSE ME! I WARNED YOU, FRANCIS. WE ARE ONE AND THE SAME!"
"Scotland won't fall, and neither will we!" he shouts. "Why can't you just trust me and believe that I'm doing this for you?"
"HAVE YOU EVER GIVEN A DAMN FOR SCOTLAND?" I challenge. "HAVE YOU? YOU CAN'T ANSWER THAT, BECAUSE—OH, RIGHT—YOU HAVEN'T! YOU'RE ALWAYS GOING TO PUT FRANCE ABOVE ME, ABOVE SCOTLAND!" I don't know what comes over me, but I make for the door hurriedly. Francis blocks my path as he grabs me, pushing me up against the stone wall. His grip is hard and firm, but not enough to hurt me. I fight and struggle against him, screaming all possible obscenities and even making up new ones at the top of my lungs. I beat at his chest with my fists and slap him across the face, but he makes no move against me. My husband's glare is colder than the wall at my back. Several minutes pass until I finally relent, and he steps away from me, releasing me.
"Are you done?" he asks testily. He turns away from me and leaves the cell, shutting the door on his way out. "I'll be back when you've had a chance to calm down."
"Oh, so that's it?" I challenge. "You're just going to leave me here? You just can't leave me locked in here!" Even as I say the words, there is the audible jolt of the door being locked from the outside. Francis's expression is no longer cold nor angry, but filled with remorse but also a firm decisiveness. "Francis! Francis! FRANCIS!" I can do nothing but watch as he turns his back to me and walks away. Not once does he look back.
I'm not sure how long I'm in the cell, but I know that a few hours have passed. All I can think of is Scotland. My mother is in danger—my country is in danger, and I can't do anything about it. I am the Queen of Scotland and I need to protect my people. At the very core of my being, I am Queen of Scots. My husband has just doomed my country. Scotland will fall—probably has fallen—and I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it.
There is a jolt by the door, and I know that it is Francis. The door swings open and my husband's voice is quiet and sincere when he speaks. I refuse to meet his eyes. Scotland has fallen because of his actions—because he took it upon himself to keep me from returning to my country.
"You're free to go," he says. "The jet has just taken off."
"Are you happy now?" I snarl. "You've just made sure that Scotland will fall." Francis takes several steps towards me and I step back until my back hits the wall. Our faces are only inches apart, the air pulsing with tension. I am suddenly very much aware of the pounding of my own heart. Only a few inches more, and his lips would be on mine.
"I hate you," I growl, "and I will never forgive you for this." I push past him, but he grabs me by the arm, pulling me back towards him. I slap him hard with so much force that he staggers back a few steps. We glare at each other for a few heated moments…and then the fuse is lit, as we come together, our lips coming together in a furious storm of passion and anger and hatred.
"Fuck you," I hiss between searing kisses. "You fucking son of a bitch." I bite down on his lower lip, pulling aggressively as we begin to undress each other. Francis's hands are all over my body: fondling my breasts, groping my ass and even reaching between my legs. We shed each other's clothes until there is nothing left, all our clothes and layers of fabric falling away from our bodies into a growing pile of clothes along with our shoes. Francis kisses me again, his mouth hard on mine, before he lifts me up into his arms and pins me up against the wall. I lock my legs around his waist, my hands moving to grip his shoulders, as he begins to thrust. His thrusts are hard and powerful, each one bringing me closer to orgasm. Pleasure surges through me and I scream in rapture, wrapping my arms around him. My scream is drowned out by the booms of thunder outside. I hide my face in Francis's shoulder, biting and kissing at his neck. I rake a hand through his hair, growling viciously in his ear. I take his face in my hands as I kiss him again. Francis's tongue parts my lips and pushes forcefully inside my mouth, and I rise to the challenge as our tongues dance against one another. His powerful hands roam up and down my bare back as he breaks our kiss. I shudder in ecstasy as he trails hot open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck.
"Fuck, Mary!" he groans between kisses. He carries me away from the wall, gently setting me down on the ground. Fire burns throughout my very being at his every kiss, his every touch, his every caress. I arch my back, grinding against him as our hips rock together in a sensual, carnal tempo. Francis thrusts vigorously in swift, hard strokes as he fucks deeper inside me. I rub up against him, my breasts pressing against his chest, and he growls in approval. I tilt my head back and moan, enjoying the delicious friction we are creating for one another. Francis breaks our kiss as he adorns kisses across my body. Intense pleasure courses through me as he worships me with his mouth. I writhe and moan at his touch, my back arching up. He runs his hands up my legs, trailing them up to my thighs as he slithers himself down my body, peppering searing open-mouthed kisses to each and every bit of skin he finds. I continue to rub against him, already beginning to feel the buildup to orgasm rise inside me. He kisses the valley between my breasts, nuzzling, his soft curls brushing against my bare skin. Pleasure storms throughout me in hot flashes of lightning, cutting across the sky.
"I still hate you," I growl. Slowly and deliberately, Francis kisses the inside of my thigh before he plucks my secret flower with his tongue. "Don't think that this changes any—oh! Francis! Francis! Francis!" My words are lost as the sensation of orgasm takes over. A scream slips past my lips as he delivers a new thrust, hard and deep. My fingernails claw at his chest as our lips come together hungrily. Our tongues clash, entangling with one another in a familiar and furious dance. I wrap my legs around Francis's back, drawing our entangled bodies closer together, if possible.
"Damn you, Mary!" Francis rasps. "Damn you!" He takes my lower lip between his teeth and pulls as he thrusts, sending another orgasm sweeping over me.
"Fuck me, Francis," I moan. "Fuck me now." The fire in my loins spreads throughout my body as his thrusts become harder, faster and deeper. I meet his sharp thrusts with my own, my fingernails digging into his back. Lightning blazes outside, accompanied by several cracks of thunder. Our moans mix together, sweat pouring down our bodies. I cradle his face between my hands as he tears his mouth away from mine, making for my neck as he plunges deeper and harder into my heat. I open my mouth to whisper his name but instead, a string of incoherent random vowels comes out instead. Francis worships me at my very altar, cupping one breast in his hand while he ravishes the other with his mouth. I shudder and gasp as he fucks deeper into me, rounding my hands around his back and gripping tight. Our bodies move together as one with a growing need. Passion. Anger. The two are not so different. I cry out as another orgasm rocks me, but Francis silences me with a kiss. He brushes against that sweet spot deep within me and I tug at another fistful of his hair, turning my head to the side as I cry out his name. I'm addicted to this, to him, to his lovemaking. The air is filled with the musky scent of sex; the insides of my thighs are wet and warm with his hot seed.
"Mary!" he groans. "Fuck!"
"I hate you," I rasp. "I hate you so fucking much." Francis pushes into me and pulls out slightly before plunging back inside me, harder. Hard, sensual, and delicious. He kisses me fully and, keeping my fist in his hair, I dig my nails into his shoulders with my other hand. He growls in both pain and pleasure, still keeping our lips together. Our hips snap together erratically and of their own accord as we ride out the wave of pleasure. We finish together, screaming in unison, our bodies sheened in sweat. Francis gently sinks down on me, burying his face lazily and sleepily in my neck as our orgasms ebb away. I close my eyes, putting my arms around him. All of our fury dissipates as we hold each other tenderly for several long moments. Francis pulls himself out of me, removing himself from my arms, and rolls onto his side. I remain lying on my back as I try to catch my breath. I bring a hand to my brow, turning my head to look towards my husband.
"I'm sorry, Mary," he says quietly. Not for fucking me, but for locking me in this tower against my will. I shake my head sadly as I rub my hands through my hair in frustration. Fuck! How am I supposed to rule a nation – two nations – if I can't even control myself?
"This was a mistake," I say quickly, propping myself upright.
"Maybe we should keep making mistakes," Francis suggests. I throw his clothes at him, my anger rejuvenating me.
"Get out."
Scotland has indeed fallen, and it's Francis's fault. I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it – but he had taken it upon himself to lock me in the tower, knowing full well what was at stake. And now my country has lost its freedom because of him.
"Mary, I'm sorry." Francis's voice comes from behind me, but I don't turn around to face him. Tears streak down my cheeks as I stare desolately out the window from our quarters. "I honestly didn't know. If I had—"
"If you had known, you would have let me go?" I challenge. "Don't give me that bullshit, Francis. You still would have done what you did. It would've changed nothing."
"I did what I did because I love you!"
"Right. Because you love me," I say coldly. I chuckle humorlessly, shaking my head as I turn to face him. My vision is a film of tears. "Maybe that's the problem, Francis. You love me and because you love me, you just cost my country her freedom!" I've seen the footage. I've seen the footage on the news of England's military storming through Scotland, killing those who fight back and setting people's homes and businesses on fire all while the Tudor rose is held above them all. "I've made an awful mistake. Our marriage was an awful mistake!"
"Please don't say that!" Francis pleads. His azure eyes glisten with unshed tears as he approaches me.
"There were a thousand moments where I could've done something," I say. "Made secret treaties, sold favors…even snuck away to Scotland to be with those people who need me. Do you know why I didn't? Because I love you…because I'm your wife." I brush my hands under my eyes, wiping my tears. I shake my head sadly. "But it doesn't matter anymore now, does it? My people have lost their freedom because of your choice, Francis. Blood will be spilled because of the choice you have made." I'm crying openly now as I make no more effort to conceal my tears.
"Mary, please. If I could take it back—"
"What? You would?" I interject. "We are rulers, Francis, not schoolchildren! I told you that my country and I are one and the same, but you didn't listen. This marriage….this marriage is over. I will remain here in France and we will continue to work together as king and queen, but I will be your wife in name only. I will book a flight to Scotland as soon as I can and I will fight to regain my country's freedom."
"I can't do that!" he cries. "I won't." A single tear creeps down his cheek, but his voice is steady. "We are not my parents, and I refuse to be them. And in the end, my father killed my mother." His voice breaks at the end, tears steadily sliding from his eyes.
"We wouldn't be the first rulers to do so, Francis."
"No! Mary, please. Don't do this, I am begging you. Please. I would do anything for you! Do you hear me? I love you…and you love me." I can hear his despair, his desperation of losing someone else…of losing me. His voice catches as he speaks and my heart breaks in my breast. This is no easier on me as it is on him. It's like two parts of me are tearing themselves apart as they pull away, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake.
"And look where that love has brought us."