The distant voices, although hushed, woke Mary up, or at least gave her some sense of what the environment around her is—the bright lights and the clean scent gave it away. She's inside the infirmary, again and if it weren't for her weakened state, Mary would have sighed. It has become an unsettling habit for her to wake up in the heavily draped bed with herbal tea that came with a rather strong and irritable aroma that.
"I just don't understand why she's like this constantly—when Lola was pregnant with Jean, although I've never seen the rest of the heavy part of her pregnancy, there was so little complication with the condition in the early months," she recognized the voice. It was Francis' ringing worry that sold Mary into registering whose voice it actually was. "And I've already been told by other physicians and midwives, although unaware of Mary's condition, that should the mother be sick often, it results in a healthy child but at what cost?" there was desperation and need, probably for an answer.
"Majesty—" the gruff and hoarse voice of Nostradamus was cut short.
"I've been giving her the supplements and the herbs and her tea yet nothing seems to be working!" Mary could feel eyes glancing at her body, as if watching her intently. "Nostradamus, I cannot lose Mary as my father lost my mother, nor will I be the absent man he was—I am showing you now that I am involved in this pregnancy just as much as Mary is and I need to know everything that is to happen even the situation, may God forbid it, wherein I have to decide between Mary and the babe," it was soft as a whisper before silence reigned the lot.
"I understand that Your Majesty is very much invested in this pregnancy with the Queen Mary, but you must understand as I have said before—pregnancies differ between women." It was general, it could have meant nothing but it did and there was a heavy feeling in Mary that made her scared. "While the Lady Lola was blessed with a rather easy pregnancy, we must open our minds to the possibility that the condition of Her Majesty will be different considering their differences—also, seeing the fact that she is well into her third month of the pregnancy, it is most difficult for her body to accept such changes and this trimester, as I consider it to be, is most dangerous for woman and child alike," Mary could imagine the helpless look on her husband's face.
"But is there anything you can do? You are one of this generation's greatest minds, a feat in the medical and scientific field—are you positive that there is nothing else to be done to improve her condition?" slowly, guilt crept inside Mary's mind.
This episode was her fault entirely—what was she thinking, dancing when she could hardly come up with the strength to stand, going for so long without a drink or a meal even if her stomach couldn't keep anything in it, a disconcerting argument with Darnley in a secluded area with little ventilation? She might as well have drank poison from Catherine's collection if her intention was to harm herself and her child!
And to think that Nostradamus was getting all the tension from Francis when it should have been directed at her.
"As much as I would like to take credit for your flattery, Majesty, I cannot truly live up to those claims you offer me," she heard heavy footsteps and the door creaked open. "Before I take my leave, just a bit of advice, Your Majesty, to prevent similar situations from occurring again—I highly suggest that you keep refreshments near the Queen as she is easily exhausted and dehydration is a factor as to why she had fainted earlier and that she avoid unnecessary sudden burst of emotions," there was a silent exchanging of thanks and after the doors closed there was a moment of silence.
"You don't have to pretend that you're sleeping, you know," opening her eyes, Mary saw her husband sitting down beside her. "The uneven breathing gave it away, even Nostradamus knew," helping her up, Francis lifted a cup of water to her lips. "You've heard our conversation so there's no use to repeating whatever he said," there was this high tension between them that made them estranged. For the first time since the failed coup, Mary felt so distanced and different from her husband.
"You're angry, aren't you?" she whispered low. She's been with Darnley in the room for hours, God knows what French Court thinks of them now.
With a heavy sigh, Francis shook his head and laid down on the bed with her. "I'm not mad, I know that you did certain things because you needed to and while I haven't got a clue on what happened between you two, know that I wouldn't be the man I was before when you were with Condé and the same man my father was—just moments earlier, I've learned that our biggest and most fatal weakness is the inability to trust when facing our most irrational of fears," taking her into his arms, Mary felt so comfortable in the familiar warmth and the easing tension between them. "I just want you to know that I trust you and the only reason I want you avoiding Darnley is because he's not good for you," weaving his fingers into hers, Francis lead his hand to her flat stomach.
"Or the baby," Mary finished the simple sentence and felt that the world was right with them. Just the three of them, she felt so empowered and so secured.
"And while I know that you have this need to become a martyr or a hero, can't you let the sword and shield wait for a while?" a soft chuckle escaped Mary as she pictured herself a warrior queen with her husband, riding a horse and fully armored, raising his sword to lead his men into a battle of wit and strength. Mary realized that she could easily picture herself as anything as long as Francis is by her side in the world she imagines.
Mary could never stand his absence, perhaps insanity, but never his absence. Maybe the reason why she could easily think of the future and alternate universes with Francis is because she can never think of a tomorrow without her husband.
"I am not going to ride off into a battle unarmed, Francis," she assured softly but he shook his head defiantly. The look on his face spoke volumes and yelled a thousand words to Mary.
"But you would, and you will take Darnley to his grave—and while I'm sure that's a reality the both of us will certainly enjoy—I'm not so sure about the path you'll thread because knowing you, Mary, you will stop at absolutely nothing to fight for what you believe in your heart and mind is right. . .even the threat of death you will ignore if for the sake of the people you love and for the cause you are fighting for," tightening his embrace, Mary felt how utterly terrified her husband was. She could see the need in his actions to prove to other and to herself that he is not his father.
Living under the shadow of a strong king feared by his subjects, Francis stood for everything that represented change and yet the people still see in him his early actions that resembled that of his father's, Henry II. Even Mary couldn't entirely say that she's never seen the powerful Valois personality take over her husband. It would be a lie for Mary to say that she rarely sees her father-in-law in Francis because the raw determination and the will-power she sees in his eyes could be enough to say that he truly is the son of Henry II.
"You know that I would never approach him if not needed," Mary tried to remind her husband while enjoying the intimate moment they shared. "I will strongly fight for what I believe in, Francis, and I believe that I have the responsibility to keep the situation in hand because he is my cousin and he was brought to France under the contract that I orchestrated with Elizabeth and her council but I will never endanger our family or our child. . .even if I have to give up my cause in bringing this scum to light," a soft smile played on Francis' lips as he heard the words, a smile that made Mary's heart flutter.
It was a smile that made Mary wish for more of those smiles. A smile that made you giddy, something that made you want to earn more of his precious grins.
Mocking disappointment, he gave Mary a look. "Is that all? You do know that French Court started gossiping about you and Darnley the moment you left the room—the French are notorious for their gossips, mind you—perhaps it's time we tell them our little secret, don't you think? Surely, it will put the rumors into rest," Mary could see past through the joking manner and see for herself hoe serious the question was. Perhaps it had something to do with a masculine pride or something about the feeling of paternal joy, there was nothing Francis wanted than having the whole world know that she was carrying his child.
"Not now," she thought deeply. It would be a bad time to present her pregnancy. It would seem like they were covering up for something big. "Perhaps after some time when we finish and settle this matter with Darnley," with a rather obviously disappointed sigh, Francis planted a kiss on her temple. "Don't worry, I promise you that by the time this whole situation ends, you will be surprised by the announcement I am to make," with a teasing smile, Francis tightened his embrace and closed his eyes in anticipation of a dream, perhaps of a day not so far away, where the world is to acknowledge the family he will have.
Mary could see the hope in his eyes and excited breathing.
"Alright," he relented and gave in, "but know that I'm holding you to your promise!"
You got there a sneak peak into what's going to be a future problem on top of every problem aligned. I do not own the idea of Ninya Tippett's phrases and words. She's an amazing author by the way, she wrote 'The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield' a current favourite of mine.