He gallops faster, her figure getting farther away by the second. They'd taken horses and gone for a ride somewhere north of the Chateau, the trees still green despite the winter. She's a good rider, he'll give her that; perhaps even better than himself -and with nothing next to his training that is- which he wouldn't take as kindly if he didn't love her so much.
Her face glowed, her cheeks rosy and alive as she climbed on her horse, her skirts riding up to show her knees in a way not at all appropriate for a Queen but that she couldn't have been bothered by.
There was a wildness about her as she galloped away from him with a "Catch up!" A freedom that he hadn't been witness too since they were children and escaped their governess to play on the edge of the woods.
She looks back at him, laughing, the sound reaching his ears like the sweetest of melodies. She is so beautiful, and he is so damn lucky to be married to this woman, this Queen.
He whips the reins of his horse, urging the animal to go faster, until her is nearly at her heels.
"I thought I'd left you behind!" She tells him breathlessly, flushed from the cold air, the tips of her ears a bright red that he finds himself crazily wanting to kiss.
"Almost. Looks like I'm the one always running after you now." He tells her, reminded of her words the day she came back. They both slow down the animals to an easy trot.
"Seems only fair." She says, cheekily.
"Does it now? Little spitfire." He says, the name slipping off his tongue and her eyes light up with something like recognition.
"Do you remember that day?" She asks him, as they both come to a stop on the edge of a hill overlooking frozen lakes.
.
"You're an… Scottish…mad girl!...a…a spitfire!" Francis screamed, his little ears red with anger, his face flushed. At his age he did not know enough words to insult a lady, not that this girl was a lady at all, if her bare feet and stained dress were anything to go by.
"Is that so?" Was her reply, hands on her hips. It was laughable how he was so angry. He was fuming, actually. "I don't see how that's a bad thing."
Didn't she understand she couldn't act like this? That there were always people looking at them? That they would both rule France one day! Francis wanted to pull at his hair when he thought of spending the rest of his life making sure she behaved properly at court.
"You are going to get into trouble." He told her, matter-of-factly.
And just then they jumped at the sound of their governess worried screams, coming towards them down the hill from the castle. The fat lady held up her skirts as she climbed down the side of a hill, her face flushed. Even Mary looked appropriately taken aback. For once.
"I told you." He couldn't help the smugness in his voice. Maybe she'd learn once and for all.
"Dear Lord!" Their governess screamed. "You majesty! What happened? Look at your dress! And where are your shoes?" The woman tried –pointlessly- to brush the dirt of the hem of Mary's dress and tame her unruly hair.
"I was playing and I fell on my bum." She stated simply. "And then I couldn't get up because the heel got stuck. So I took my shoes off." She shrugged. Shrugged.
"Hmmn. And where was his Grace when this happened?" The old woman said, turning her eyes on him.
Unbelievable, Francis thought, even when she does something it's his fault. The governess shook her head as if disappointment.
"Well, it matters not now." The governess said. "Follow me, your majesties. Let's go get you both cleaned up." The woman started trudging up the hill again, her back turned to them - and in a burst of spite he threw out his leg and Mary fell down on fresh mud, ruining the front of her dress too.
She looked at him, betrayed, and then pulled him down right after her.
.
"A couple of months after you arrived." He nods. "You ruined your dress. My mother had a fit." He tells her, remembering.
"What I remember is that you tripped me." She tells him, mock affronted.
"I was mad at you," he defends his past actions, "I was also six years old." He laughs. She tries not to, pretending to be mad, but the memory of his little face all scrunched up, with his flushed cheeks because misbehaving was wrong, make giggles escape her.
"I didn't know how much I was going to love you back then." He tells her then, honestly. And she can't help but smile, because it still feels like a dream where they are. "You are a little Scottish spitfire, though." He adds.
"I still don't see how that's a bad thing." She says, pulling on the reigns of her horse. "Come on!" She screams over her shoulder, but he's already chasing after her.