Pregnancy was hard. The more she grew, the more painful it was. The child constantly kicked and squirmed and attacked from the inside whilst his mother desperately tried to rest. Sleep was almost impossible, she ate all the time and regularly vomited it back up. Her legs hurt and her feet swelled, fatigue was constant and her moods swung on a pendulum. Back pain and hip pain and headaches wouldn't go away, her stomach was so large that Mary couldn't remember seeing her feet. It was all so hard.
Kick!
Mary winced, hissing in pain. As if hearing his mothers' internal complaints, the baby kicked again. And the baby had quite the strong kick. She made a noise of irritation, rubbing the lower part of her stomach. The swollen bump on her abdomen was obvious, even under the skirts of her white gown. Donned in slightly sparkled lace, her shoulders and arms bare, a sparkled line on the sweetheart neckline, the cut exposing a few inches of her swollen breast. Mary hunched over a little, trying to take in a deep breath, the pain of the latter part of pregnancy easily forgotten in her previous time, but quite overpowering now.
"Mary, are you all right?" Francis asked, rushing towards her. He placed an arm around her back, the other around the lower part of her stomach. He steadied her, eyes wide with alarm, fearful as always.
"No, no. He's just kicking." she said. But, Francis payed her no mind and picked her up anyway, placing her down on their bed. He untied the satin ties of her satin, flat shoes, starting to worriedly rub at her feet and ankles until the tension left her face and she relaxed underneath his fingers.
Fluttering her eyes open, Mary smiled softly at her husband, grateful for his comfort, one she hadn't had before. He took her hand, gently running his thumb over her knuckles. She inhaled softly, leaning up on her elbows.
"Thank you." she said, her voice soft, suddenly filled with sleep and fatigue.
"You've nothing to thank me for." he said, his own voice soft. "I don't deserve you, nor your forgiveness." he said, his voice dripping with awe and love. Mary's smile grew, a hand -slightly swollen fingers and all- reaching out to cup his cheek. His skin was soft, the small stands of his beard scraggly. Francis leaned his head into her hand, enjoying the heat and the softness of it.
Leaning down, Francis pressed a soft kiss to her gown, speaking to his child that lay within her.
"Je t'aime, ma chère." his voice gentle, the other hand pressing to her large stomach, feeling the child kick and squirm from under his mothers' skin. The parents looked down at her abdomen and shared a smile. Mary's eyes filled with tears of pure happiness, before they closed as Francis pressed a lingering kiss to Mary's lips. They'd been so happy over the last few months, especially now seeing as though Greer carried another child within her. It had been a nice surprise, seeing as though Mary had been getting restless in confinement over the last few months.
"I cannot believe it, another child! My dear, you are the grace of my life! I love you! I love you!" Castleroy had smiled wide, bringing his arms around her tightly. Everybody around them -the select few chosen to retire to the country with Mary- cheered the happy couple as much as possible, watching their happy embrace as Greer's announcement finished.
"I love you, too. I cannot wait." her voice was soft, dream like, almost. She smiled as he embraced her, feeling nothing but love and security in his arms, as she always had. It had been just after supper as they sipped their teas, coffees and wines as they watched the moon fully open up to them. Greer had stood in the middle of their small circle, giving the news to everybody and Castleroy himself. They had been so happy. They were so happy. And in seven months, they would be even happier.
It was silent and serene and perfect for a few sacred moments, before the door suddenly snapped open, banging against the wall.
"Francis!" a voice cried. Jumping, Francis broke the kiss and gripped her hand, trying to soothe her as she jumped underneath him, also feeling the child startle from underneath his mothers' stomach.
"Bash." he breathed. "What is it?" he asked, noticing the look on his elder half brothers' face.
"Lord Castleroy." he said. Mary frowned. What could Greer's husband have to do with anything? Sure, there was the issue of his religion, but that had been all but settled in France when she was pregnant with James.
"What of him?" Francis got up from the bed. Mary placed a hand on her stomach, trying to soothe her child within her.
"He was travelling east, to meet his young children. When he was on his way back after a few days with them-" Sebastian trialled a little.
"What?" Francis asked. "What happened to the man?"
"Spanish mercenaries paid for by Italian gold." Bash began.
"Catherine." Mary leaned up on her elbows. "It has to be Catherine."
"It probably is, but-"
"But what?"
"His carriage and guards were attacked by the Spaniards." he started.
This sounds familiar, Mary thought. Poor Aloysius and Greer had been attacked on their wedding tour by bandits. Of course, Mary had gotten most of their goods and gold back, but the poor man couldn't catch a break. He was such a good man, he didn't deserve this.
"Is he alright?" Francis asked. "Where is he?"
"He's dead, Francis."
The shock of the woman before her's words burned through her very soul. No. How? How could this have happened? He was meant to be there for security reasons, to bring the people he loved home. But, that happened? How? How could this have happened? He was too important to his country to be just gone.
No. No, this couldn't be real. This simply couldn't be. This was all a dream, one she'd wake up from as she'd woken up from all else that they'd endured together. It had to be a dream, didn't it?
Tears filled her eyes. She touched her growing bump, trying to be comforted as much as she was comforting the life within her, forever altered. Barely eleven weeks gone, she barely showed, but this child would never know his or her father. That thought burned her.
One slipped down her cheek. Then another. Then another. Before she knew it, her cheeks were soaked with the flaming hot water that burned her skin. But she didn't care. She didn't care.
He was gone.
He was actually gone.
This time, he wasn't coming back.
Greer cried loudly on her knees, Kenna embracing her tightly. The pregnant Baroness clutched her dear friend to her chest, holding her as she screamed in pain. Greer gasped for breath against Kenna's collarbone, gripping the light pink material of her gown, turned dark because of her tears.
"My children." Greer sobbed. "I have to go to my children."
"Not like this." Kenna said, her voice quiet. "You must tell them, but prepare yourself to. You can't distress them with your own tears."
"He's dead, Kenna! He's dead!"
"I know, sweet Greer. I know."
"Mary, please. You have to rest." Francis repeated for what felt like the thousandth time, pushing his wife's shoulders back on the pillows -gently- only for her to resist once again.
"This is your mothers' doing! Francis, this is your mothers doing!" Mary cried, fishing his arms from her body.
"I know, my love. But you must calm yourself, this isn't good for the baby." Francis tried to soothe her, holding her face in his warm hands. But, she shook him off.
"No, Francis! This is wrong! We can't let Catherine get away with this, hurting Greer like this! She's my most loyal lady, she doesn't deserve this! Because of your mother, Rose and George will have to grow up without a father! And Greer's unborn child! This is wrong!" Mary cried, wiping her own cheeks clean of her tears.
"I know, my love. I know." he wiped her cheeks himself. "She won't get away with this, okay? We'll make sure she doesn't. But you have to take care of yourself and our child, you've only a few weeks left before he'll arrive. You must make sure he arrives healthy." his voice was soothing and soft, and she had to listen.
"I know," her voice was soft. She reached for his left wrist, bringing it from her face, starting to play with his signet ring. "Promise me, Francis. Promise me she won't get away with this pain she's caused them."
"I promise, love."
"Mother, what are you doing now?" Elisabeth asked, coming into her chambers, seeing her mother meddling in the corner. "Felipe tells me you've met with him. But he says not what you talk about. What are you plotting?"
"Nothing that concerns you, my dear." Catherine smiled, walking from the corner to her daughter, arms outstretched. Elisabeth frowned deeply.
"You're not like this. You hate me, me and Claude always more than Margot. Why?"
"I love all of you, Elisabeth. You know that." she smiled. Elisabeth frowned deeper.
"I do not. And nobody more than Francis." she hissed. "Stop this false nice act. You may fool my husband, but not me. Why are you doing this?"
"Is it a crime to assist my daughter in the act of conception? I helped your sister," Catherine hissed the last word. "with creating the Crown Prince of France and England. And now I will help you."
"No. You conspire against my sister and my brother. Why? Tell me, now."
"I do what I do because I know what is best for both of them, all of you!" Catherine suddenly exclaimed. "I do what I do because Francis is ruining France with his judgement, picking Stéphane Narcisse of all people," she hissed. "to rule as regent instead of me, your mother! The Queen who ruled for over a decade! I do what I do because he picks his Scottish wife over his mother! He picks his Scottish wife over France! He picks his Scottish wife's country over his own! Elisabeth, that boy picked his bastard over his country, his unborn heir! that boy ruined years of his reign playing house with a whore! And now he focuses his attentions on his little family over his country! Your father was awful to you, but he was a damned good King! He threw away over a decade and a half of knowledge that was passed down to him in an instant! He doesn't care that I am not in his life anymore, the person who loves him the most! He always picked Scotland over France, his wife over France! His bastard over France! He is so naive and easily manipulated that it takes this much deception to put it right! He must act like your father, a King! And he is not! He is ruining France with his bad choices! He could loose France! I must take it and protect it until he can!"
"Bye, papa!" young James' voice smiled, as his nanny closed the door. He'd finished his morning cuddles with his mother, whom was still on bed rest, always having been so attached. Francis did his work in the corner, constantly taking glances at his wife and heir all the while.
As the door closed, Francis turned his head to his wife, watching the way her face contorted with discomfort as she slept in their bed. It had been three days since Castleroy's death, Greer sent off to a neighbouring country house to grieve whilst her children stayed at court, oblivious to the true horrors of their parents true whereabouts. Mary had taken to her bed -upon physician's instructions- as they awaited the imminent birth of the royal heir. She was barely allowed to leave for fear of endangering the baby. Mary obeyed, but she got restless doing nothing all day, trying her best not to worry for her dearest friend and about her mother in law, who had been suspiciously quiet over the last few days.
The calm before the storm, Francis thought to himself, listening to the slightly laboured breaths his wife gave out, congestion being a cruel symptom of pregnancy. He knew, from his childhood and adolescence, that a silent Catherine de Medici was more frightening than a present Catherine de Medici. And knew that her revenge would be harsher should she be left to stew for too long.
We know where she is, Francis could see in his elder, half brothers' eyes as they spoke to Leith and James, so why can't we take her?
The truth was, Francis wondered that, too.
Gentle Elisabeth -a loyal Frenchwoman who obeyed her King- had been feeding them information from both their letters and Mary and Greer's working girls. He wondered if Catherine knew that her daughter was betraying her. He also knew that there would be no confrontation between Elisabeth and Catherine should the latter discover of the former's justified betrayal. Catherine de Medici would never harm her children, even her resented daughters. They would always be safe from her wrath.
But, if that is so, he reasoned. Why does she betray me? he asked his half brother, their words silent but conversation clear. Her favourite, the one who she pulled two countries apart for. Why does she threaten to destroy once more?
I don't know, brother. Sebastian said. But I promised you and I promised your sons, I will defend you from any threat. Even from Catherine de Medici.
She really was a fascinating woman, one whom deluded herself into thinking her actions were justified and true. Anybody could see that she was doing the wrong thing. Anybody could see that these actions were wrong and would eventually lead to conflict and bloodshed. But, what nobody could really see was why? Why Catherine de Medici was betraying them so, again? What could possibly justify such treason, the almost sealed suffering of young James and the unborn child Mary grew in her womb?
Not wanting to be away from Mary -as she was so far along in her pregnancy- Francis stayed in the room, but not wanting to awake her from the sleep she so deserved but so rarely attained, they stayed at the corner of the room, their voices quiet. Francis regularly looked over at his wife, observing every minute detail of her. The way she winced in her sleep, the variation of her breath, the paleness of her skin and the redness of her nose, the way she cupped her stomach and tried to get more comfortable as the Queen rested. His heart ached to see her suffer so, and he hated how he could do nothing to stop her suffering.
"We can't simply send French guards to pluck the woman from Spanish court." James huffed. "King Phillip would take it as an act of war." he said.
"So, what?" Leith asked, his face glum, somewhat older than usual. Francis sympathised with his friend. Tiny little Princess Odette had been caught down with fever for a few days, coughing into a tiny fist and clinging to her father through all the hours of the night. And, with so many ladies of the court growing with child -Mary and both her ladies were pregnant, including almost a dozen court nobles- he knew that Leith pined for the long dead Princess Claude, who had died a few weeks before Francis' return. "We just let Phillip attack France?" he said, repeating the information Princess Elisabeth had gotten to them that morning.
Plus, with so many midwives and physicians and nannies taking refuge in the Palace, the Duke of Langress was constantly reminded of Princess Claude's death. The mere thought of childbirth would always bring a chill to his spine, his wife and son forever in the ground because of it. With midwives and physicians taking refuge in their secluded palace -who would stay until Kenna and Bash's baby was stable and a few weeks old- and nannies being chosen from all across the Empire for the young future Prince or Princess, it sent a horrid pain through his chest.
Young, vibrant, wild, beautiful Claude. Forever gone and wilting in the dirt, far away in French soil. And the young Prince Nikolai, gone without the chance of even being on this earth. It hurt, it hurt so much. They had dreamed of children, a family, for so long. Even before being wed, and as they found out Claude was with child. And the birth of Odette had been a miracle. Claude matured and was so maternal to her little girl. But, ice cold reality burned when her heart stopped forever more.
And the pain was just as bad as that fateful day in northern France.
Alone with their daughter, being forced to watch Greer, this first real love, suffer how she was was maddening. Three children of her own, widowed and alone and unsure of her future. Castleroy's money was shaky at best, the estate he owned being granted to his eldest son, who was barely even eleven. She had her shares in it, her children would be okay, but to see her so alone and weakened after sacrificing everything she wanted for the security that would be taken away. It hurt. It hurt.
"Brother! Brother! Brother!" a voice yelled, rushing into the room. Glaring at his half brother who served as one of his pages, for his voice disturbed the Queen's resting, her scrunched up face and obvious irritation even in her sleep, Francis' dark gaze stopped the running of Henri de Saint-Rémy, one of his fathers' bastard sons. The man skidded to a stop.
"Brother." Francis said. "What is it?" he asked in French, knowing full well that Henri spoke not a word of English. "What is it? What troubles you so?" He asked his slightly elder half brother.
"My brother, my king, I received a note from the regent, Stéphane Narcisse, that Spanish troops have been spotted at the border, they have malicious intentions, your sister, Queen Elizabeth of Spain, has come back in court in a crisis of hysteria, claiming to have been betrayed by the queen mother, Catherine de Medici, and her husband, King Phillip of Spain."
"What?" Francis' tone was dark, darker than almost ever before. So dark that Sebastian shuddered to hear it. "This betrayal, this attack. Is it on the orders of my mother or the Spanish king?"
"The Spanish king gave the order, after many encouragement from the queen mother, my lord."
Francis growled audibly. Even Leith seemed so snap out of his depressed reviere and over to his friend and King. Sebastian stared at the young, blonde King. And the blonde King seemed to be growing even more irate by the second. Although, the Baron noticed, when his gaze fell to his Scottish wife, it softened a little.
"The Spanish, they're allied with the Hapsburg's, correct?" James suddenly said. Leith frowned.
"Yes, why is that relevant?"
"You don't remember, do you?"
"Remember what?" Bash asked.
"When Mary was six months gone with James." he said. Francis frowned at him. What did that mean? "The Hapsburg dynasty wanted to marry James into the dynasty, make it even more royal. Polute the royal bloodline with their filth." he spat. As powerful as the Hapsburg dynasty was, they were starting to be inbred, madness, ill health and destruction crumbling them from within. James looked to his half brother in law. "Mary refused to wed your son to one of their newborn daughters, knowing full well that his engagement to the Danish Princess Anne was a better one. As a result, they tried to start a revolution. It was one of the factors that lead to the Bourbon threat almost taking the French throne for themselves." he clarified. "And when he was seven months old, a second marriage was proposed. She refused, and they tried to kill James. With the Spanish's knowledge."
His words were met with silence.
"Sebastian." his voice was dark. Bash jumped and nodded.
"Yes, Francis?"
"Send for the Pirate Martine. Have him collect my dearest mother from her little holiday. It's time we end this, once and for all."
"Lower the portcullis! By command of the king! But my men loosen the chains and let it fall!"
"Watch out!"
"Move!"
"They're coming!"
"Engage him and his men! They are traitors! Keep them off the ramparts!"
"Archers, loose!"
"Run."
"Run!"
"Back!"
"Everyone back!"
"Don't fire until they top the wall!"
"Hold for my command!"
"Hold!"
"Hold!"
"Fire!"
"Nock and ready for the next wave!"
Sooner rather than later, the ship arrived at Dover. And the King of France and Emperor of Great Britain was right there to greet it. His deputy and brothers in law were in towe, watching quietly as Francis watched his mother thrown to the ground by the cackling pirates.
Francis chuckled angrily, looking down at his mother from his mount on his horse. "Clearly we should have taken your head when you last betrayed me, your grandsons." he hissed, the only people she hated hurting more than himself holding far more venom than his own name. "Now you've betrayed your nation by consorting with an enemy."
"I sought an alliance for the good of France!" she begged. "Francis, you must believe me! I love you!"
"You started a coup to take my country from me." he shook his head. He turned to Martine, Bash and Leith, nodding to his pirate ally. "You killed hundreds of my people, you nearly usurped my throne, you jeopardised James' rule. You could have lit the flame for my murder." he hissed. "That is not a mothers' love, it is a false Queen's ambition." he spat. "Take her."
"No, no! I'm a patriot! I am your mother." she begged on her knees, starting to thrash as Martine wrapped his arms around Catherine's torso and shove her into the cage with the tiger. "I will not be treated like an animal!" she screamed, as she struggled in vain as her feet scratched against the pale wood of her cage. She -somehow- hadn't seen the tiger just yet.
"You're wrong there." he turned his back on his mother, giving a nod to the pirate.
"You've met the pirate Martine." the King of France started.
"No." Catherine begged, seeing the enormous cat crawl towards her.
"Now meet his companion." Francis finished.
The big cat growled.
"No!" she screamed. "No! No! NO!"
Francis chuckled darkly, getting off of his horse and standing close to his mother who was locked in the cage. Catherine grabbed at Francis' riding coat, just touching him all over. Catherine grabbed her eldest sons' hand through the bars, kissing it and kissing it.
"We have many carriages," Francis yanked his hand away, stepping out of her arm span. "but few moving prisons. It's hard to say which of you needs thicker bars." Francis leaned down, so they were nose-to-nose, but not touching. "But I know who will suffer more."
"Stop, Francis!" Catherine cried as her son came towards her. She'd been interrogated for hours and hours by Sebastian and Leith, and Mary's own torturers. They hadn't used the rack or the wheel yet, but small cuts around her ribs as she was tied down to a table caused quite a lot of pain than Catherine realised.
"Stop what? Trying to find out why you betrayed me and caused a seige in France? I am a King, you should know that a King stops at nothing to get what he wants."
"You think I went to Spain of my own accord? I could have gone to your precious England or Scotland and started a riot there. Would you like to know why I went to Spain?" her voice was back to that icy, oh so Catherine, tone, all pretence of pain and fear gone.
"To destroy an alliance that Father made and try to destroy my country and marriage? Mary may not know all the things you have done, I don't wish to worry her now. But she will, and her council will ratify what to do with you. To try and attack the country that Mary has made her own, destroy my marriage?"
"Those were not my main reasoning to go to Spain. Would you like to know the first? The main tie to myself and Spain?"
"Your daughter."
"Elisabeth? No. My first link to Spain before this all started?"
"What? Mother, what?" Francis spat.
"An engagement."
Francis frowned silently.
"Marry my James off to a Spanish Princess? You know how tumultuous the history between England and Spain is. He is still an English Prince."
"Not James. Although, one of your sons."
"Enough with this trickery!" he yelled. Catherine jumped, never having gotten used to her golden child raising his voice at her. "Enough with the espionage and enough with the riddles. Tell me, for the love of God!"
"Lady Lola." Catherine breathlessly smirked. Francis glared. "Your precious, innocent little harlot has been planning to marry John off to a daughter of Spanish and Hapsburg blood.I saw her speaking with the envoy, and it was my ticket to salvation. I may have betrayed you, but that foolish little harlot is plotting your destruction. She wishes to wed your son to your wife's enemy."