"Leith! Bash!" Francis yelled, storming up into the Palace's hallways from the dungeons. From their perch at the curved windows, the French nobles lunged from their perches at the window seats, taking double quick steps to get over to the blonde haired King, who was infuriated in a way neither had seen in a long time. Francis' face was set and stony, dark and growing stormier by the second.
"Brother, what is it?" Sebastian asked. His brow was furrowed and a hand was placed on the grey satin and red embroidery of his doublet. A crease was in his brow, his own mouth set in a frown, although his was more confused than angry. "What did she say?"
From beside him, Leith took another step closer. Green eyes were a dark emerald as he observed the King of France, who was damn near trembling in rage. He and Bash shared a look before glancing back at the Emperor, who spoke quickly.
"That damned, stupid little girl! How could she do that?! Francis growled, walking away from the two deputies of France and over towards the hallways once more.
Even more confused than ever, Leith and Bash trailed their King, who was muttering angrily to himself. They went through corridor after corridor, each one all stone walls, large portraiture and burning candles, walking against the red velvet carpeting. The trio finally stopped when Bash tired of chasing his little brother like his little brother had chased another, gripping his shoulder and spinning him around.
Francis' face was now slightly red and blotchy, his eyes swollen and expression still as stony and dark as before. Sebastian inhaled as he watched the younger breathe in shakily.
"What is it?" Bash asked slowly. "What did she tell you?"
"I'm such a fool." Francis said.
"What?" Bash frowned.
"All this time, she's served her own agenda, using me for all I could give her, again!" he snapped. "Why am I so stupid when it comes to her, good God, what is wrong with me?" he gripped his own curls.
"Stop blabbering." Bash smacked his brothers' elbow. Francis lowered his arms. "I may be pagan, but I am not a seer, nor a telepath. What on earth are you talking about?" he asked. Leith gave him a look. "My mother was a pagan." he clarified. "I take it you didn't know?"
"No." Leith said it like a question.
Bash turned to Francis. "What is it?"
"Lola." was the only word. Sebastian frowned.
"What of her? She's sold off to the Sir-" Bash trialled off. "I can't remember his name." he shook his head. "But that's not the point. She's sold to him, lives with John in Wales. What on earth could she have to do with your mother?"
"Foolish little girl," Francis grumbled. "She's been plotting against us!" he declared. "Against us all for months!" he said, his voice loud.
"Lola?" Bash frowned. "How?"
"The Hapsburg's." Francis started. "They've been secretly organising an engagement between John and one of their young daughters!"
"But John's a bastard." Leith pointed out. The Valois blooded brothers gave him a look of their own."I mean no offence, but he is. He has no future. Why would a powerful family such as the Hapsburg's set their sights on an illegitimate child of a King who has brought controversy to Europe?" Francis took a step closer. "You gave me this position that allows me to speak freely!" he said, his voice louder than usual, but not by much. Francis stopped his advances. "The Hapsburg's are powerful because they marry into monarchy, I highly doubt they'd waste a Hapsburg womb that would produce only bastards." he started. "Even a branch of them, such as the Von Amsberg family, wouldn't stoop to lower themselves to marry below their station. I mean this in the most politest of terms, but your eldest is nothing compared to them." But, his second to last sentence -more specifically the last ten words- held more bitterness, being on the receiving end of such a phrase when they were younger.
"He has a point. Your mother may be lying to you." Bash said, his voice slow. "She has a reputation of doing so." he added.
"What reason would the woman have? She was the one who wanted me to take Lola as my official mistress when Mary took James from France and fled to Scotland." Francis revealed, taking a step back from his joint deputies, resting against the cool stone, leaning his head back on them.
"What?" Sebastian asked, his voice definatley louder now. "Why would she do such a thing? Knowing you loved her so much, how heartbroken you were when you realised she and the Prince were gone? How you nearly crossed the channel almost eleven times before she called you back?" Bash rushed. "You didn't tell me she did that!"
Francis breathed a humourless chuckle. He was entertained by his brothers' outburst, not amused by his mothers' actions, both past and present. "To manipulate me into doing what she wanted again? To try and assert some sort of dominance over Mary after she took her crown and in ways, me? Delude herself into thinking she held the power of the Queen again, after my wife ruled as Consort and Regent for so long?" he guessed.
"She knows how much you love her and James, and this unborn baby. Why would she try and destroy it, forcing you in an unhappy marriage when you could have had a loving one? She damn near did that in France, Mary still may not return as she said, it's been over a year and a half. She saw how unhappy you were, and tried apparently to remedy it by throwing the Flemming woman at you. Look how well that worked out, you ended up in Scotland and in Mary's bed." Sebastian added.
"Maybe she thought that you'd grow to love Lola in the way you do the Queen." Leith added into the conversation. "Thought that she'd do you good, that she'd be what you need and not what you want, your wife and son." he said.
"Or just did it to manipulate me into being her little puppet to rule again, how the regent did Mary for months before she stopped it." he said, still feeling that chill of regret up his spine when he thought of the repercussions of Henry's murder. For all of his plans to save them all, all it had done for months was give a nobleman more power, make his wife suffer torment -pregnant, no less- until she found a way to stop it.
"Don't think of that, or the attack. You know what they did, what they tried to do, and Mary recovered. There's no point in thinking otherwise, Stephane is loyal now." Bash said.
His torment on the Queen had added to the risk of loosing the baby, something in which he both did and didn't want. He wanted a strong, Catholic leader, but wanted to that ruler to rule his way. It had added up to one night, an attack on the castle just after Sebastian and Mary had murdered four other men. They -and Leith and the soldiers loyal to France, Scotland and the Duke De Guise- had just gotten back from battle, one of the first times Mary had gotten physical in the field before she sat the generals down to talk after everybody suffered enough to appease both sides. That night, Mary had defended herself from rape, but just barely. They had beat her and held her down, touched her, before defences, both trained and instinctual, had kicked in. All of them had been murdered that night and the following. Besides, she'd gotten a few shots in on her assailants, too. They had been beaten and bloodied as much as the Queen had. She'd been shaken more for her child than her trauma. But, they hadn't ruined either of them. The speech she'd given -with Catherine's instructions- had been strong and shaky, but they had both recovered.
They weren't sure that James was even still inside her at that point. She'd bled for Francis multiple times, cried in pain and yelled in anguish when it happened. But, she still showed pregnancy symptoms, a few days later starting to properly show, the first real sign of James' survival inside his mother. He had truly been their light in those times.
And Francis hated himself for doing that to them all. For leaving them all to clean up his mess whilst playing house in Italy. It was such a foolish decision that damn near cost him everything.
"We're getting off point." he rushed. Leith nodded once. Francis looked to his dearest friend. "We must find out what she says is true. Send for Martine again, have him and his spies and followers find Lola. Inform Mary and Greer's-" the trio traded weary smiles for the woman in such pain that had grown to be rather important to them. "working girls, find out what they know, make them know more. Don't reveal too much just yet. And when we have the information, we'll go to the source."
Leith nodded, bowed and left.
"You speak of your wife's working girls." Bash said. Francis turned to him. "What of her?"
Francis frowned.
"Are you going to tell her of this? Rule together with no secrets, the first thing you promised her all those months ago?"
He froze.
"I don't want to stress her out. With the baby so close and Greer's ordeal, Kenna's own pregnancy-"
"Don't make excuses. I warned you when she left, brother. If you push Mary away too hard, you may not be able to get her back." Sebastian warned.
"Aunt," Sara said. Mary looked up from Greer's blonde hair to her bastard niece, watching the children scurry around with James quickly. Her elder bastard brother, John Stewart, was long dead, one of the more protective of her bastard brothers. It happened dead two years after Francis' alleged death and just a few months short of his miraculous return to French Court.
John had died defending his half sister, leaving behind young Francis Stewart -named by Mary herself in her husbands' memory- and his wife. The boy wasn't even a year old at that time of his fathers' death, but the young child prospered in his aunt's court, having followed James around after falling into his aunts' custody along with the others.
Whilst she loved all of her nieces and nephews, the Empress couldn't deny that she felt particular affection to this little boy, who was just as sweet and loving as James. Maybe it was because James was so dear to him and he made her beloved child so happy, maybe it was because he was another beacon to get her through that tumultuous marriage to Henry and the remnants of the grief she felt for Francis until he came back from the grave.
The two children -along with George and Rose and Meredith and Odette- giggled and laughed amongst each other, rolling around the flooring with inflated, coloured balls and small trinkets adorning them and the spaces near them. It was a world away from the sadness in the Empress' bed, that childish love and laughter.
Mary lay in her bed, propped up by pillows, her bump tucked away in a mint green chiffon gown adorned with lace at the bodice. On her shoulders, a thick brown fur. Her legs were covered in a sea of the material, curled slightly behind her. On them, Greer lay in dark blue satin gown, early maternity sticking out of the stiff dress. A diamond belt accentuated the four month old bump, undetectable unless looking for it. She lay, pale and silent, on her Queen's lap, looking at the wall, barely glancing at Sara as she stood there staring at them, seeming to be rather concerned, her hair falling out of it's braid.
Beside Mary, Kenna lay in the bed. Dark pink lace adorned her arms, wrapped up in a white fur. Her large bump stuck out of the puffy skirt, and she held Greer's hand. Kenna had been quiet since Castleroy's death not that long ago, her heart aching for her dear friend, concerned for the life she grew within her.
Mary's fur was thicker than Kenna's, her child being the most politically important out of the three, so she was more cared for than the others. But, her blanket lay across Greer's back, also. She hated being cared for than her ladies, especially in their vulnerable state, even if she knew the reason why.
She glanced back at Greer, as she shifted to see Sara. How her heart ached for the young widow, she brushed her fingers through her long blonde locks. Rose and George still didn't know. They were told by Kenna that 'Papa was on a business trip and would come back as soon as they were able', being too young to understand where their father actually was.
Mary looked back at her young niece, blinking owlishly.
"What is it?" she asked.
"My uncle, the Emperor wishes to see you."
"Of course, send him in." she said.
Francis came into the room. He was donned in all blacks, not unusual at all for his lesser Kingly wear clothes. A pair of black leather boots and slacks, a white tunic and a satin waistcoat adorned in gold. A doublet of black velvet and a coat of black fur.
She frowned a little. He hated wearing those cumbersome fur coats. He never did it willingly.
"Uncle!" voices cried, the children stopping their tussling to rush over to him. Smiling reluctantly, Francis knelt to greet them.
"Papa!" James chirped. The King was tackled in a collection of embraces and soft giggles. He looked at them all, observing the slight differences within them all, and the similarities of the young Scottish Count and the young Dauphin.
"I must speak to your mother, okay?" he asked his son. James nodded quickly.
"Come, you." Sara said. "Let us go to the kitchens, see if your pork and crandberry pies are out of the oven. You may warm up with some warm honey and milk, as well as marsipan if you behave." she smiled.
Leading a troupe of cheering children, Sara left the room.
"Francis, what is it?" Mary asked. He helped her from the bed and set her on one of the settees close to the fire.
"You are aware that Martine captured my mother from Spain? That they returned three days ago?"
"Of course, what of it?" she asked her husband.
"She told me something that you will not like."
"What?"
"She tells me the reason she got passage to Spain was because-" Francis paused. Mary blinked at him expectantly, like she did when they were children and it was his turn to read aloud. "because she saw Lola negotiating with a Spaniard." Mary narrowed her eyes. "Mother tells me that Lola has been plotting to marry our son off -her's and I- to the Hapsburg's."
"My enemy, even more than the Spanish?" Mary questioned, but it wasn't a question.
"Yes, Love. Leith is looking into it." he said, taking her hands, his voice expressing his nervousness.
Mary narrowed her eyes. Francis gulped. "Have James look into it, get Martine to fetch her from wherever she is. I have given her every opportunity to be free, and here she is. I am done helping her." Mary glared.
"Love, I don't think-"
"Think nothing." Mary spat. "I am going to find her and she is going to finally pay for betraying me." she clenched a fist. "She will be brought to me and-"
"No, you can't. Not until you've given birth to our child." he interrupted, placing a hand on her swollen stomach. "You're due any day now!"
"Yes, I am pregnant. But I am not sick." she reminded him. "I am not dying and I am no invalid! I will not be cooped up here like some precious stone! Yes, I could die when our child comes into the world-" she stopped as Francis' hand tightened over her wrist, fearing the mention of death as much as she didn't want to admit she did, too. "I will not waste this opportunity to finally make her pay for all she's done!"
The heavily pregnant Empress rode proudly towards the fallen woman being held up by the cackling pirates. Donned in black and silver, Mary narrowed her eyes at Lola, the married harlot dishevelled and torn from her self caused ordeal. She pulled slightly on the reigns, her black haired stallion scowling to a halt. The intelligent horse obeyed its mistress better than the Lady did, Mary thought, watching as Lola was released and collapsed heavily to the ground.
"Mary." Lola gasped. Her face was dirty and she looked exhausted.
"Clearly I should have taken your head the last time you betrayed me." Mary announced, the sun glistening on the diamonds of her diadem, making it glisten. "But I let you go, only to have you betray your nation by censoring with an enemy who wishes my destruction." The raven haired beauty hissed, her eyes darker than Lola's ripped and torn, bloody gown.
"Please, let me-" Lola panted.
"Do not insult me with any more of your lies." Mary glared. "I have had enough with you and them. I gave you a chance, a chance to abandon this life and start anew, but you do this? Why?" Mary asked. But she didn't let Lola speak. "Because you are a twisted, demented little troll just desperate to be me." Mary finisher.
"No, I-"
"Address me with respect." Mary snapped, words dripping with royal authority.
"Your Majesty," Lola began. "please, do not do this. After everything we've been through, after everything we were!"
"You want me to sit there and pacify you through your treasonous punishment? Forgive you for helping my enemy and bringing shame to Scottish nobility all together? Coddle you first conceiving a bastard child with no future, sired by none other than the father of my children? Mary asked. "Please," she chuckled, thick, long, shiny onyx hair swinging from side to side as she turned her head from right to left in quick succession. "Please." Mary chuckled again. "Do not make me laugh, would I really be so stupid as to accept you after all you've done to me? My realm, my family, my son, my unborn baby?" she asked. "I will not protect you from yourself any more." the empress finished.
"I will do anything, you may justifiably make me suffer for what I've done, but do not hurt my son. I did this for him!" Lola cried.
"Who said a thing about John?" Mary asked. "After all of this, he is innocent. And until he grows to make his own choices, he always will be. But you, sweet, innocent little Lola. You will not be granted my mercy any longer."
"Why are you doing this?" Lola asked, slowly standing from the settee in the Dauphine's chambers and walking over to said Dauphine. Said Dauphine sat at her desk, slowly writing to Jacques Von Lorraine, apologising formally for Lola's rejection of his proposal three nights previous. Another piece of parchment sat near her, already addressed to another suite, the Lord Jasper Arianne.
"Doing what?" Mary asked, her voice monotone.
"This." Lola gestures to the both of them. "Helping me. Why?"
"I have my reasons, none of which concern you." Mary almost snapped, sending a quick glare to her lady, before starting to write again.
"I cant believe this." she said softly, after a few minutes of silence, broken by nothing put the crackling of the fire and the scratching of quill on parchment.
"What?" Mary said, voice dripping with irritation. Shed finished the first letter and went onto the other, elegant curvature starting to decorate the cream parchment.
"You're helping me." Lola answered, careful not to annoy her furthermore. Mary looked her straight into the eye.
"Why wouldn't I help you?" Mary asked. She seemed genuinely confused.
"Because of what I did." Lola replied, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. Mary blinked at her. She'd seemed almost desensitised by Lola's situation over the past few days. "Laying with Francis, getting pregnant, betraying you." Lola rambled, small tears falling down her cheeks.
"You are correct." Mary said, her voice was casual now. "You betrayed me. You betrayed my trust. You betrayed our friendship. You betrayed everything I stand for in this God forsaken world. Make no mistake, I have not forgiven you. I will not forgive you. Part of me wishes to kill you, take your head and drip your blood and forget you even existed at all." Mary shamelessly explained. Lola sobbed. "But, I cannot do that. I will not." Lola looked up at her. "I am a Queen, not a betrayed, angry girl. French Court has taught me to be a Queen, not to act on impulse. I will find you a husband, never let Francis find out and never let the world know of this." Mary paused. "You let me down, Lola. You made a bad choice, one with consiqenses larger than you will ever be able to fathom. You let me down!"
"Then why are you helping me?" Lola sobbed.
"Why?" Mary asked. "Because do you think that I care about you so little, that betraying me would have the slightest bit of difference to my love for you, you both?" Mary asked.
Lola's lips parted, sobs trickling over them. She placed her hands on her flat abdomen, holding it tight, gasping for breath as her Queen continued to write in silence. She did so until Lola spoke again, but her words were watery and choked.
"Mary, please. I cannot stand this compassion any longer. Get angry with me, exile me, attack me, strip me of my land and my title, ruin me! Anything but protect me!" Lola sobbed. "Your compassion is a worse punishment than anything else."
"That is exactly why I am doing this. You spending the rest of your life punishing yourself is a worse punishment than I could ever hand out. That's why I am doing this. Because your punishment is security."
"I-i-"
"I am the Queen of Scotland. You are my subject. I have a duty, a God given right to protect you and all those who are like you. And I will. I was chosen to, so I will. I will protect you from yourself and your foolish choices. I will find you a husband and let him claim that child, and I will make sure you are happy. Even if it kills me."
Her lips parted in a gasp. Knees buckled, blue and silver floral skirt hitting the floor as she collapsed.
"This makes it worse! This makes it worse!" she cried, over and over again. Mary did nothing. She let her cry. It had been a matter of days since Mary had found out about the bastard pregnancy, and no manner of anger or distrust had been shown from Queen to Lady. Only help. Only stone cold help.
"In real life, having the courage to feel your feelings and emerge from harsh circumstances with a core part of yourself still tender and caring is the bravest thing any royal, and person, could ever do. It takes the greatest strength. It is the bravest way to live." Mary said, her voice dripping with royal authority and intelligence.
"You are such a better woman than I am, Mary. Such a better woman." Lola breathed, still on her knees. "I don't deserve you. I don't. I don't deserve your kindness, your protection. I know that I don't, I know that. I don't understand why you continue to protect me. I've done so much-" she continued going on.
"Stop grovelling." Mary demanded, rolling her eyes. "Flattery will not get you anywhere this time. We've got work to do now." she finished.
Lola wouldn't ruin her marriage further. Mary would make sure of it.
Inhaling sharply, the Empress opened her eyes. The golden orbs glittered in the dim light of the winter kissed dungeons, lit only by a few candles and torches placed sparsely around the dungeon walls.
These flashback dreams really had to stop. She silently thought, biting her lip. Why would she think of such matters, now of all times? It had been five days since they had caught Lola -who had been attempting to flee to Ireland to ensure John's now dissolved engagement- and brought her back to England. She would be dealt with in time, after the baby was born and after she herself was churched. For now, the dame spent her days and nights in the tower, whilst her son was cared for in one of the nurseries that noble children stayed in whilst they visited.
Mary had planned to see Catherine this day, to finally get some information about the scheming Medici Queen, but that was proving to be easier said than done. She'd had to sneak down to the dungeon whilst Francis was in a rare meeting -he preferred spending his time with his sons when eh wasn't fretting over her and the baby, as well as talking to Bash and Leith about French politics- and even had to wait until the guards change to finally get to the door that held her mother-in-law.
She rested on the cold stone of the dungeons, every intent of visiting Catherine de Medici to talk for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. However, the child inside her protested vehemently, going so far as to let out sharp kicks that increased with every step his mother took, some so stiff that they affected her centre of balance. It seemed that the baby knew that Catherine was dangerous, even more so when she was silent than when she was out in the open. It seemed to warn his mother of the danger ahead, refusing to enter somewhere where the ambience wasn't as calm and collected as he wanted.
She rested on the stone, trying to breathe through the general pain of late pregnancy and the pain of her unborn baby's hard kicks. Shaking away the cobwebs of dizziness from her vision, the Queen opened her eyes and straightened up, moving a hand down to support the substantial weight of the child inside of her. The dark red velvet gown she wore accentuated the growing bump, long white and grey cur cape dwarfing her figure, containing the child safely.
"Majesty," a guard nearby said. "are you well?" he asked
"Yes, quite well." she nodded. "I think I will retire, the King's child causes me fatigue." she used the more Queenly voice she had to address the dark haired man in silver, and the aforementioned guard nodded and wrapped an arm around her back, guiding his Empress back up the staircases and hallways that lead to the royal bedchambers.
Mary lay upon her bed and the guard bowed out. She sighed, looking up at the roof of the impressive bed frame. As much as she appreciated the concern, everybody -even the children- treated her like glass. She was pregnant, not unwell. She was perfectly capable of holding a blanket or walking up and down staircases by herself.
She heard the clasp on the door open, then gently shut again.
"Mama?" her son's little voice floated through the air. She smiled softly, sitting up against the pillows to see the child.
"My love." Mary smiled.
He crawled onto the bed, settling into the white chiffon and silk sheets, his big golden eyes glancing all around the fine blankets and furs, the lace and the satin before looking deep into his mothers' eyes.
Mary cocked her head to one side, observing the clear distress that her boy showed.
"What's wrong, love?" she brushed an errant curl from his face.
"Papa." he pouted. Mary blinked. As soon as Francis had taken James out riding before they even knew about the baby, the son had taken to his father like a duck to water. They had been so close and happy around each other for months. So, how could Francis have upset the boy that he so adored?
"What about him?" Mary asked, running her long fingers down James' little arms until she found his fingers, gently holding his little hand.
"He's doing it again." James let out. Mary blinked again.
"Doing what, my love?"
"Spending all his time with the mean boy again." he revealed.
Mary's lips parted to answer, in an attempt to make her boy understand that Francis had another son that he had to take care of and love and parent, but the last word caught her attention. Again? What could that possibly mean, but the horrid obvious?
"Again?" Mary asked. "What do you mean again?" she asked, but she wasn't so sure she wanted to hear the answer, afraid of her boy being upset and her unborn child suffering.
"Don't you remember? Just after he came to home, he was always with the Lady with the curly hair. He always spent time with her and that little boy who looks like him. And when he was living with Uncail James, Bothwell-" James clarified. "he spent all his time with them. And in Papa's castle, always then. Why does he do that, mama? Who's the boy?"
She was tongue tied. Damn him! For all of his efforts to be a good father to James, all those proclamations of how much he adored him and would do everything right, he does this? Plays favourites once again, leaves him when James needs him the most? She couldn't be with him a lot now with the baby inside her, and they'd agreed that he would be his main caregiver until Mary could assume that position, but he does this?
Never mind the fact that Mary had no idea how to explain to her son why Francis spent so much time with John. And she also had no idea how to explain who John even was, why Francis had another child with another woman, why that boy and that woman were the reasons why James went so long without a father in his life.
Could you not be so sentimental, just this once? Mary thought to her husband.
"Well, love-" she slowly began. "that boy is very special to your Papa." she started. Okay, this could be going worse, she admitted to herself. "and he grew very close to him when you were inside me, how your brother or sister is right now." she paused again, placing James' tiny hand on her large bump. "The boy is that woman's child, you know that?" James nodded. "And the boy isn't around your father much any more, because that woman married a man and moved far away." she paused again, trying ever so hard to think of the right words. "And your father misses him when he is gone, because he loves that boy."
"More than he loves me?" James interjected.
Once again, the Empress was tongue tied. Mary thought back to when she was a child in France, when she could leave little Francis tongue tied with little more than a mere look. Well, James was doing a fine job of repaying the favour, she thought to herself once more.
"No, he loves you both equally." she said, trying not to reveal the true connection of the two boys who couldn't stand each other. She could see the jealousy and the mistrust in her boys' eyes.
"Why?" the crown prince demanded.
She swallowed thickly.
"Because he watched that little boy grow up. Your father and the little boys' mother are very close friends." she forced out, trying not to grit her teeth. "And he loves you because you're his son, and because you carry my blood."
"But if Papa loves that boy just as much, why does the little boy not like me and Meri and George and Rose?" he asked. "He was being taken out of the playroom when we all went into it, and he gave little Francis the meanest of looks. Why, mama?"
She stumbled over her words for a few moments, before quickly replying at the almost stern look her boy shot her.
"I believe he wishes he was you. That he held my blood, and that everybody was nice to him."
"But I'm nice to him! I tried to be, but I won't be to somebody who throws things at little Rose and yells so much that it makes Meri cry!" he demanded.
"I know, sweet boy. I know." she soothed, running a hand down his little silk tunic. "He wants older people to be nice to him, people like your uncles and aunt, those boring courtiers who make mama and papa bored every time they want something." she said, trying to cheer him.
"Who's the mean boys' papa, mama?" he asked.
Mary choked, but she held it down. "It could be one man, but he's up in the sky with my mama and papa. Or, it could be another man. It is difficult to tell." she said, trying to play it off, stop James' questions and prevent him from asking more.
Mary didn't want him knowing who John actually was like this. She wanted him older, old enough to understand. And, to have Francis with her when she did find a way to tell him. She tried to speak to him with a gentle tone, trying so very hard to keep venom from her words, knowing damn well Francis didn't take Lola's virtue that night in Paris. The little whore, Mary thought. At least I married the man who took mine. She thought, rolling her eyes. And I didn't send hers to his death. She added, remembering the stupid words Lola had said in one of their first few nights in France post convent.
"How do I make papa be with me and not him?"
"You wait your turn, precious." she tried to explain, brushing some errant waves from his forehead.
"But I don't want to! He spent all day with him!"
"Maybe he'll spend all day with you tomorrow." she supplied, kissing his head as he lay down next to her, curling into her body, silky black curls pressing against her neck.
"Don't want to. I want to stay with you, mama. You never leave me."
She kissed his cheek. "And I never will." she affirmed.