Rousing from sleep is particularly bothersome that morning. Mary lazily stretches her bare legs under the covers, arches her back like a cat. She hasn't slept this deeply in a while, and it takes a few moments to shake the drowsiness off, rub the sleep out of her eyes.
"Francis?" She calls out softly, once in all her stretching she doesn't hit a warm body next to hers. She peeks out of the mess of warm sheets and finds herself alone in the room. Finally accepting the bright light coming through the window as the beginning of a new day, she sits up in bed, clutching the covers to her naked chest.
A noise comes from the fireplace that's out of her view, and curiosity creases her brow before a servant girl stands up, wiping her hands on her skirts after adding more peat to the fire, apparently.
"The dauphin is in the gardens, your Grace." The girl says with a smile before Mary can even ask the question. "He gave orders not to wake you."
She nods, biting back a smile. Last night was particularly…exhausting, she thinks, a blush creeping on her cheeks. She faintly remembers Francis pulling the sheets over them both before she gave into fatigue and slipped into a deep slumber. It's just like him to make sure she wasn't bothered even though it seems to be nearly midday.
"Yes, thank you. I'd like to get dressed now." She tells the servant, wondering what her husband could be up to in the gardens by himself, and not wishing to waste one more minute until she can find out.
"Of course, your Grace. I'll call the maids right away." The girl curtsies and walks out, leaving the Queen of Scots to start her day –albeit much later than usual.
.
Mary walks quietly through the corridors, running her fingertips over the walls as she heads in the direction of the south gardens. She's fallen in love with this place. Everywhere they've visited has been lovely but here seems particularly beautiful. The château is built all of brick and stone, and through the arches of glass that are the windows she can glance at the unique beauty of Anet, even covered in snow.
Her footsteps are light as she walks out, the cold winter air invigorating instead of irksome. Truthfully, everything comes easier these days. Around a corner, she finally catches sight of the reason why.
Francis has a bow in his hands, his eyes determined on a mark farther down, he barely blinks as he lets the arrow fly. He seems so at ease out here, so relaxed, that she can't help but stop and stare at him. It is quite the rare sight, outside of their bedroom walls, at least.
He takes another arrow and nocks it into place. He is so completely focused on the task at hand that he doesn't hear her step behind him.
"Good morning." She whispers on his ear, laughing as her voice startles him and the arrow goes flying on a different path. He turns around, surprised. Before he can speak a word though, she's pulling him down for a kiss. His lips are warm against hers, insistent then when she opens her mouth and he pulls her closer. She can feel the shape of the bow pressing against her back. He pulls back softly, her mouth following his afterwards, which puts a smile on his face.
"Sneaking on your husband, I see." He doesn't give her time to answer before he's pulling her back for another long, lingering kiss.
"I woke up and you weren't there." She tells him once she steps away.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you. You were sleeping so deeply."
"It's all right, but I missed you." She gifts him with a shy smile. "What are you doing?"
"Tryingto shoot straight, I suppose." He answers her, mock affronted, as his eyes find the stray arrow, embedded on a tree.
"Where did you find that?" She asks, curious, signaling toward the longbow held in his hand. "Or did you hide it with our baggage when we left court in case you got bored of your wife?"
"Very funny." He rolls his eyes at her. "In that case, I'd have brought it in case I made my wife so exhausted she slept like the dead the following day."
"Fair enough." She huffs with a roll of her eyes, smiling even as a blush tints her cheeks at his words.
"It was kept inside, I merely borrowed it." He shrugs, taking another arrow and pulling it back. Her eyes follow his every move, from the resolute line of his brow, to the angle of his arms; the ease with which he lets the arrow go, hitting the mark straight in the center. At the sight, the already familiar signs of arousal start making themselves known on her body, and Mary fleetingly thinks that this wedding trip has turned her improperly wanton –not that Francis would care.
"I always wanted to learn, you know?" She mentions, trying to distract herself. "I remember when they started teaching you, a few months before I left. I was ever so displeased when I was told it was improper. They found me a sewing teacher instead."
He turns to look at her, fighting the smile off his lips at the faint way she's pouting without even realizing it. She's always been so headstrong. When they were children she was always the one coming up with new games, making him run after her and getting them both into trouble. Even know, if he tries, he can recall the way she always fought so stubornly to get what she wanted. She almost always did, except for archery it seems, and he has a soft spot for giving her anything and everything he's able.
"Come here." He beckons, smiling. She takes his hand as he pulls her closer, her face a show of confusion as he doesn't pull her to him but rather turns her around. "I'll teach you."
"Francis," she turns her head back to him, a smile taking over. "I was a child."
"And I don't see why you can't learn now." He tells her, handing her the longbow which is almost as tall as she is. "Here, hold it in this manner." He says, immediately slipping into the role of teacher, and she obeys him, rolling her eyes. His voice is as serious as if he was planning a war, his eyes focused on her hands and positioning them correctly.
"It's hopeless, darling." She tells him, getting used to the weight of the instrument in her hands, and the way the term of endearment slips off her tongue more easily than she ever thought possible.
"I'm confident in my skills as a tutor." He says, kissing her neck and making warmth run through her; and it serves to remind her in just what other activities he's being a wonderful guide to her inexperience. "Here, nock the arrow into position like this." His hands work over hers, and she does make an effort to listen to him and actually learn something even if his breath is warm on her neck in the chilly winter, and the sound of his voice manages to distract her.
"All right? The arrow goes below…just three fingers…" he patiently explains how to properly place it, and she thinks they should have shared all tutors as children, because she has never learned something so fast. "Now try it yourself."
She nocks the arrow into place and pulls back the string, her arm shaking but little.
"Good." He says, cheerfully, and she feels senselessly happy with herself for making him proud. "Now what you need is somewhere to draw the string to. I use my cheek for example, but you can choose anything. Just do what feels best."
"Are you still teaching me how to shoot and arrow?" She asks him coyly, drawing the string back and struggling to keep control of the bow. He helps her, chuckling under his breath. He said words very much alike the night before.
"Yes. This is strictly an academic lesson, your Grace." He tells her, and she can't do anything but smile at his words and the feeling in her chest, because he so seldom lets himself go like today, and they never had the chance to just joke with each other, and if she could live here for the rest of her days she would.
"Here," he continues, "you could use your mouth." His thumb brushes her bottom lip slowly, tracing over her pout, and her eyes turn to meet his. It's almost imperceptible how the space between them changes, their bodies seeming to remember the spaces where the other's warmth belongs, but she takes her gaze away in a show of self-control because they are in the middle of the day, in the middle of a garden, and in the middle of a strict academic lesson.
"And then?" She asks him, feeling his chest against her back shake with his chuckle, because damn him; her husband knows what he does to her.
"Just pull the arrow back and touch your mouth. Good." His hands on her shoulders try to massage away the tension. "Don't strain yourself. Now aim."
She concentrates on the mark, trying to follow his directions.
"And shoot." She releases the arrow, and it surprises her, goes faster than she can see. She's happy for a second until she realizes she can't see it anywhere near the mark.
"Where did it go?" She asks him, "I did what you told me to!"
"No one gets it right the first time, it's a matter of practice." He answers her, ever so amused. "Patience." He remarks.
"I thought you knew I wasn't patient." She turns to say to him, raising an eyebrow. They're flirting, she realizes, and the fact that they're already married and know each other as best as anyone can, does nothing to deter the nervous fluttering in her stomach his sparkling blue eyes cause.
"Oh, I'm well aware, believe me." He tells her. "Do you want to try again?"
She eagerly nods, which causes him to laugh and they go over the same routine again, and again, his hands resting on her waist when they're not helping her.
"I think I'd focus better if your hands were not on my body." She tells him truthfully, her concentration split in two, not that she actually minds.
"Oh, it's my fault?" He asks, "am I distracting you?" His hand leaves her waist and slowly creeps up her body, touching places and doing things that are certainly not appropriate for a public space. Just when she's about to absolutely give up and turn around, he steps backs with a respectful little bow that makes her want to hit him with the bow. "Pardon me, my lady. Won't happen again." He tells her, clasping his hands behind his back, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness.
"Huh." She huffs, disbelieving that she has so much self-control, because she can already feel hers burning out. He laughs, a deep, melodious laugh straight from his belly before moving up to her again.
"Come on." He encourages her, a kind smile still on his lips. He stands right behind her, his hand on her arm, guiding her movements.
"Trust me, all right? Focus on the mark….breathe…." She does as he says, inhaling the crisp cold air along with him. "Now shoot." This time the arrow flies straight to the mark, landing near the left side.
She turns around, a big smile on her face at the achievement.
"See?" He asks, with a mirroring smile at her reaction.
She's about to nod and ask him to try with her again before she remembers his sneaky little game. She struggles to reign back her beam.
"I suppose you're not such a bad teacher after all." She jokes, a grin taking over as he takes the bow from her hand. He kisses her gently at first, but then passion overtakes them as he bites her lip. She starts wondering just how cold the snow would be when there's a giggle followed by a clearing of throat close by. They turn to the side at the same time, to face a red-faced servant girl trying to hold back her laugh.
"Food is about to be served, your majesties." She says, before curtsying and hurrying back to the chateau, leaving the young royals to consider their options.
Mary doesn't even turn to look him as she asks, "We are going to be late for lunch, aren't we?"
His hand is warm on her waist, and she swears she can feel his smile against her hair as he answers her.
"I believe so, my little archer."
They laugh as he pushes her in the direction of the chateau. Both of them hurry along between cheeky retorts and quick kisses, but certainly not towards the main hall.
a/n: For Heather, I hope you feel better!
Thanks for reading and let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions for this fic send them my way, anon or not. :D