a/n: part three of run away with me
"Marry me, Mary- Queen of Scots," he said, softly in her ear. He'd been smiling to himself, over the way she murmured in her sleep- every word nonsense, but nothing he couldn't understand.
It was more a wish than a question. He expected her to be asleep.
She woke up gathered against his chest, the steady sound of his heart in her ear, against her cheek. Her hands rested against his ribs, which expanded and contracted with his breathing. His arms wrapped her up in a thick layer of tender affection.
On the brink of as much trouble as she'd ever been, and she'd never felt so safe.
Wisps of pale sunrise light weaved through the curtains. Ever inch of her skin felt warm and awake and alive.
"Marry me, Mary- Queen of Scots."
The murmur caressed her, in the most pleasant way.
"Yes," she said. She said it the way one says that the sky is blue or water is wet. She did not think about it: it was just the answer.
"Mary?" His brow furrowed, and, for a moment, he was certain she was talking in her sleep.
"My only condition is now," she said, her hands creeping up his torso, settling just below his shoulders. "While I can make my own choice."
He caught her hands. There would be repercussions for this- huge ones. He'd suffer them: but, now, he didn't know if he could ask such a thing of her.
"For all they know, I'm already gone." She said. And they would be right.
"Mary-" he sighed.
But before he could speak, she propped herself up, urging a kiss against his mouth.
"Please," she said. "Just- please..."
They married in the smallest church either had ever seen, right there in the little village. She had been a vision- in blush colored lace, her hair swept up. No one there but the minister- who assumed they were just hasty young people, simply eager to be together.
They hid there for a few days time, before boarding a vessel that quickly and quietly transported the two to the New World- as she had formulated a plan. She wrote a letter to her brother James, asking him to rule in her stead. She trusted him, protestant though he might have been, to look out for her people's welfare, maybe even better than she ever could. Because, she was made to listen to her heart, and her heart was telling her that this was right. So, she informed her half brother that these were to be her last words.
And, in a way, it was true. They were her last as Mary- Queen of Scots.
Now, she started a new life, as Mary De Poitiers.
"Do you see it?" He said, pointing to a nearing distance.
She clustered herself against Bash. Yes, she could see it clearly: just a girl, who married a boy, just for love.
a/n: (*sigh*) it could never ever happen this way, i know. but, a girl can dream.