The atmosphere in the television room was rather subdued as Mary allowed the hair, makeup and Publicity teams to get her ready for her photoshoot with Francis.
Mary wasn't sure if this was due to the fact that James had decided to join them all in the room this morning, with her older brother looking moodier than ever (Mary suspected that her mother's recent announcement about Kenna's visit had a part to play in James's current sulkiness, and he was probably now prepared to go anywhere to escape the constant reminders of his duties), or if it was due to the fact that Mary was dreading her photoshoot more than ever now, in light of recent events.
In her mind, she kept going over and over the conversation that she had just overheard between Francis and his father. The more she thought about their words, the more uneasy she felt…
Amongst her nagging concern that Francis still seemed to have some sort of relationship with Olivia going on back in France were the mixed feelings of anger and fear that Francis and his family were using Scotland in some way just to benefit their own country.
Then there was Francis's father's reminder to his son that this whole thing was only a television show.
Was this process really just a television appearance to Francis? After all, before the ball last night, he had talked about the two of them helping each other to 'get through' the process, as though it was something that only had to be endured for a little while. Would he leave the moment the television show was over, in a final humiliation to Scotland? And, before that, would the Valois family employ under-handed moves behind the scenes to make fools of the Scottish royal family along the way?
There was also Francis's father's command to Francis to 'do his duty'. How sad it was that Francis only seemed to be here out of some sense of royal obligation! How strange it was that Mary suddenly cared so much! Had this whole thing not just been an obligation to her, too, this time yesterday?
Would Francis really just be playing a part in all of his interactions with her? She remembered what her mother had said at breakfast, about how close Mary and Francis had been as children. If all of that was true, then how had things changed so drastically between them over the years? Was it really just down to the disaster that they had both been a part of? Or was there more to it than that?
More than ever, Mary felt like Francis was keeping secrets from her.
As though the television screen in the room could somehow read her thoughts, a member of Narcisse's team suddenly changed the channel, and Mary noticed that a panel made up of celebrity journalists and political writers was currently debating the ethics of allowing a matchmaking process to be shown on television for public entertainment in the first place.
With a sigh, Mary turned away from the TV screen. There was a part of her that knew that she should be finding the positives in these recent revelations; after all, it would definitely make things easier if the Valois family did the dirty work for her and showed the country just how under-handed they could be, and then proceeded to back out of the matchmaking show before a decision about an engagement had to happen-this was exactly the kind of thing she'd wanted, when she'd first been scheming her way out of this process, before she'd realised who exactly would be involved in the show-but for some reason, she could find no joy in this realisation right now.
She could also find no joy in the fact that she was getting to spend a little time with her older brother at the moment, even though they rarely had this spare time to sit in the television room together anymore. Because right now, James looked so miserable that Mary could not even muster a smile in his presence. He kept staring out the window, looking lost in thought, and he seemed to be pointedly ignoring all the messages that the queen kept sending to his phone.
With all of her suspicions about the Valois family, Mary had a strange feeling that perhaps it wouldn't be such a wise idea to lose her focus just now and allow Narcisse to play too great a role in all the final decisions about today's show, but she really couldn't help herself; she was too distracted by everything else that was going on at the moment-her own inner thoughts in particular.
Vaguely, she was aware of the fact that the stylists had dressed her in a light blue dress today (on Narcisse's advice), which had a few sequins sewn in (apparently, they would reflect the glimmers of sunlight just perfectly when they were outside, or so her chief stylist had told her). They had also found a plain white cardigan for Mary to wear to help keep her warm on a cool Scottish day, and her hair hung loosely over her shoulders. Her matching blue shoes were practical, with only a small heel, so they would not be too painful to walk in out in the grounds, but they were still stylish all the same.
As the hair stylists made their final preparations, and Narcisse instructed her yet again that she was not to say anything today that could potentially make her country look vulnerable, the programme on the television screen changed to footage of an interview that Kenna had recently given to Lord Castleroy on a television show in Edinburgh…
"Now, now, Aloysius," she was telling him in the interview clip as he pressed her for the details of her upcoming wedding to James, and he asked her if they had named a date yet. Kenna grinned playfully as she waggled a finger at him, as charming as ever, even as she skillfully deflected the question. "You know that a princess has to keep some things secret!"
The audience in the television studio laughed along with her, captivated by Kenna and her smiles and her jokes.
You are not a princess yet! Mary couldn't help thinking angrily to herself as she glared at the television screen. Yet she couldn't help feeling a bit envious of Kenna as she continued to laugh and joke with Lord Castleroy. Mary had a feeling that she would never master Kenna's talent of so easily engaging an audience. She supposed that this was one of the reasons why Kenna had always dreamed of being a princess, while Mary had always dreamed of escaping the restrictions of royal life.
As though only just realising that his future wife was appearing on television, James suddenly turned away from the window and looked up in the direction of the television screen.
With a roll of his eyes, he abruptly got up from his seat and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
As distracted as she was by the minutes on the clock which were slowly ticking away, Mary still noticed that Narcisse seemed to watch her brother with a very sad expression on his face as he left the room.
"Is something the matter?" Mary couldn't help asking him, her curiosity winning out over the need to get to the photo-shoot on time.
As Narcisse replied, he sounded rather hesitant: "Your brother," he mumbled in a low voice, as though he didn't want anyone else in the room to hear what he was saying, "he reminds me a little of my own son."
"You have a son?" Mary asked him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Stephane Narcisse seemed far too young to have a son who was old enough to resemble James in any way.
"My ex and I were very young when he was born," he continued to whisper, with a pained expression still written all over his face. "He and I were very close, once, but it has been two years since I last saw him…"
"Did you have some sort of argument with him?" Mary asked Narcisse, intrigued now as to what had happened to separate father and son, although she knew that her mother would tell her to hold her tongue, if she were here. This line of questioning would seem far too impersonal and inappropriate to the queen, especially when it was a member of the royal family who was asking the questions.
"No…nothing like that," said Narcisse, sounding hesitant now. "He was…imprisoned, for a crime he did not commit, and was forced to flee his home country after he was released, for his own safety. I have not seen him since."
"I'm sorry," Mary told him, sincerely. She knew that she was still young and didn't yet fully understand the bond between parent and child, but she couldn't help feeling genuinely sorry for the relationship between father and son that Narcisse had lost, and all for what seemed like an injustice in the law system.
Any further conversation about the matter was cut off when Lola knocked on the door, here to remind everyone in the room that the photographers were waiting, and that the queen was 'concerned' that Mary was going to be late.
Lola's visit seemed to temporarily distract Narcisse from his painful memories, and so Mary left Lola and Narcisse in the room together and headed down to the gardens alone.
When Mary walked outside into the castle's main gardens, her somber mood did not improve, in spite of today's rare warm weather.
She spotted Francis, standing a few feet away from her on the lawn, surrounded by the photographers who were setting up for the photo-shoot.
Francis had his back to her, and he appeared to be talking to someone on his phone.
As Mary walked closer to him, she could just about hear him say the name 'Olivia' as he held his phone close to his ear.
He was speaking in French, but Mary could still understand a few of the phrases, thanks to the frequent French language lessons taught by the nuns at her former school. Francis was saying something about how the situation 'wasn't ideal', and how he knew 'how difficult this had been' and also something about how things would 'work out for the best, in the end'.
Mary felt a frown creep to her face. She felt the now all-too-familiar flicker of suspicion that Francis and Olivia were still together, and that he was merely going to endure three months of television appearances before he ran back to his real girlfriend in France.
A member of Francis's royal staff seemed to notice Mary's presence, because the woman nodded pointedly at Francis, and he quickly turned around to see for himself that Mary was standing a few feet away from him. He looked slightly sheepish at having been caught talking to Olivia on his phone, which only caused Mary's suspicions to increase.
"I have to go," he told Olivia abruptly, before he hung up his phone.
Then, as though Mary had been the one to make a mistake, he frowned as he took in the outfit she was wearing, with an obvious expression of disapproval on his face, leading Mary to wonder what she had done wrong.
Before anything could be said between the two of them, they were both ushered towards the fountain in the middle of the garden, where the photo-shoot was to begin.
The tension seemed to be thick in the air around them, as neither of them spoke, and Francis looked very unhappy. They often had to be prompted by the team of photographers to stand closer to one another.
As they moved from the fountain to the flowerbeds to the hedges to the garden statues, they had only the flashes of the cameras for company as the photographers fussed around them, trying to capture every photo from a perfect angle.
Mary tried her best to smile and look relaxed for the cameras, but she couldn't help suspecting that the public would not be entirely convinced of her happiness.
For his part, Francis seemed to be making more effort to look cheerful for the cameras (something that Mary supposed he had been taught to do for years), but Mary could still see the troubled look on his face between the flashes of the cameras.
As the sun shone in the sky above them, Mary couldn't help thinking about how the rays of light seemed to reflect perfectly on Francis's golden curls, although she also felt that this was maybe a strange thought to be having, especially about someone who she didn't know very well and who wasn't actually her boyfriend.
She also had the strange, inexplicable sensation that she had thought something like this about Francis's golden curls once before, but she had no idea where that idea had just come from, or if it was even based on any real memory.
After the photo-shoot, the television crew proceeded to set up their cameras so that they could shoot some footage of Mary and Francis walking in the grounds for the next episode of the show.
As the cameras followed them around the gardens, Francis started to make general conversation with Mary, asking her about her family. Mary had a feeling that making small talk was yet another task that Francis was used to carrying out, due to the amount of people he was expected to meet with on a day to day basis, as part of his role as prince.
After a few more minutes of walking, she also got the strange feeling that Francis actually had other, more important things he wanted to say, as he looked very agitated, and he kept frowning, and sometimes he opened his mouth as though to say something but then quickly closed it again-the presence of the cameras seemed to have put him on his guard.
Privately, Mary acknowledged the fact that there definitely was something very unnatural about making polite conversation while a cameraman walked backwards a few feet ahead of them, matching his pace to their steps while he filmed them, and another member of the television crew held a large microphone over their heads so that their conversation would be clear when the footage was broadcast to the Scottish public on television.
There was a very awkward moment when Mary, distracted by the cameraman and the microphone, suddenly tripped over an uneven part of the grass and started to fall before she could do anything to stop herself.
Quickly, as though acting totally on instinct, Francis reached out and grabbed her, preventing her from falling to the ground, before he helped her to get back to her feet.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mary could see the photographers eagerly taking photos in the distance, no doubt trying to capture this moment so they could twist it into some romantic gesture of Francis holding Mary in his arms by the time the picture reached the pages of their magazines.
"I'm sorry," Francis muttered, the moment he let go of Mary. It was as though he had only just realised that he'd reached out for her. For some reason, he looked more awkward than ever, and even a little embarrassed. Mary had never seen him look so at a loss for what to do or say.
"It's fine," Mary responded hurriedly, trying to sound as dignified as possible as she struggled to regain her composure. She wished she hadn't fallen over like an idiot in front of Francis-she was sure that he had never done such a thing before.
The conversation soon turned to Francis's family. Unable to help herself, Mary made a comment about how Francis's father had not looked very well when she saw him this morning, because a part of her really wanted Francis to know that she had overheard his conversation with his father in the entrance hall.
She watched Francis very carefully for his reaction, and sure enough, after a confused-looking frown, a flicker of what looked like real apprehension crossed his face, before he went completely silent for a few long moments.
During a brief break in filming, Mary and Francis stopped walking, and Mary noticed that Francis's gaze was immediately drawn to the upper floors of the castle.
Mary followed his gaze, and she suddenly noticed that Narcisse was fully visible in one of the large glass windows that overlooked the gardens.
He was standing looking down on the events unfolding in the grounds, with his arms folded and a hint of a smirk on his face. He nodded politely at Mary when he noticed her looking up at him, but then he returned to staring at Francis, with his smirk seeming to quickly turn into a sneer.
To the casual observer, it could look as though he was merely overseeing today's filming through the professional eyes of a Publicist, but Mary could tell by the look on his face that there was more to it than that.
Whatever he was doing, it seemed as though his main aim was to taunt Francis somehow, or to make him angry, and he was succeeding.
After a few minutes of careful thought, Mary looked down at the clothes she was wearing today, only now properly taking them in.
She realised now the reason why Narcisse had commanded the stylists to dress her in blue and white-he had dressed her in the colours of the Scottish flag. Perhaps this was not simply a casual outfit, designed purely for comfort while she walked around the grounds. Had this been intentional? A subtle move to show Francis yet again which country was going to be in charge of these proceedings? The look on Narcisse's face as he continued to look down on Francis definitely seemed to suggest it.
Perhaps that was the reason why Francis had given her such a cold look when she'd first walked up to him at the start of the photo-shoot.
The more rational part of Mary's mind reminded her yet again that she would have to be careful with Narcisse.
Narcisse's presence seemed to unnerve Francis completely, even after he'd walked away from the window, as he seemed to lose the ability to even make small talk with Mary. They walked on in silence for a few more minutes.
The awkward silence was only broken by the sound of a call coming through to his phone.
Francis muttered his apologies and headed to a more private part of the garden to take the call.
With a sigh, Mary imagined that it was Olivia, calling him again.
While she waited for Francis to return, a few journalists who were also present for today's filming swooped in to ask Mary a few questions so they could use her answers in their articles.
As Mary answered all of their typical questions almost automatically, switching to autopilot as she recited answers that she had already rehearsed with Narcisse, and meanwhile remaining lost in her own personal thoughts, a horrible idea suddenly occurred to her…
Was Francis's family responsible in some way for Narcisse's son's imprisonment and subsequent fleeing of his home country?
A part of her wanted to dismiss this idea as completely ridiculous, but she knew she couldn't do that-the Valois were not known for being particularly kind or merciful. She would not put it past them to have a young person wrongly arrested to achieve their own selfish aims.
Besides, Narcisse and Francis really did seem to hate each other. There had to be a reason for that, and what better reason than an injustice that had been carried out on Narcisse's family by the French royal family?
Was Narcisse going to try to get revenge on him? Is that why he was here?
How awful it would be, Mary thought, if all of this turned out to be true…
Mary was only pulled out of these dark thoughts when a journalist suddenly asked her if she planning a visit to France with Francis anytime soon, as the general public apparently thought that this would be a good idea, as it would help her to get to know Francis better.
Mary was tempted to roll her eyes at the idea of the general public seeming to think that they knew what was best for her, but she caught herself at the last moment. Instead, she plastered a fake smile on her face as she responded, "We'll see."
She thought it was probably better to keep her answer vague like that for now, as she wasn't sure that spending time with the French royal family would provide the answers to any of her current problems.
Before the journalists could get anymore answers out of her, Francis returned. If anything, he looked even more annoyed than he had looked a few minutes ago.
As several members of the television crew insisted that Francis and Mary needed to strike up another conversation, so that they could have some decent dialogue for their last few minutes of filming, Mary and Francis resorted to making small talk about the weather, of all things, and Mary found her patience was starting to wear thin.
Finally, the cameras stopped rolling. While the crew packed up their things, Mary and Francis stood around awkwardly, as though neither of them really knew what to do.
Mary already knew that Francis would have to leave the gardens to attend a meeting soon, as she'd heard that he had a video conference scheduled with several French politicians, but it seemed he had some free time before then.
With little time left before the meeting, Mary couldn't resist mentioning Francis's latest phone call: "How is Olivia?" she asked him with a raised eyebrow.
She noticed that Francis's whole body seemed to tense at her question, and he took his time in answering her.
"Olivia is fine," he finally responded, sounding very hesitant. "She is as well as can be expected, anyway, given the circumstances..."
Mary felt a rush of something that felt a little like envy for a moment, but then she told herself that what she was feeling was simply anger.
"Why are you here?" she couldn't help asking Francis, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice as she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Already, she was sick of playing games. Between him and Narcisse, it felt as though the game-playing tactics were never-ending. "Are you just seeking publicity for France through this television show?"
Francis frowned. "It is not that simple, Mary," he told her, sounding almost as irritated as she felt. "And you know that."
"Francis, you are deliberately over-complicating things!" Mary snapped at him.
And then they were bickering. They stood facing one another as Mary angrily accused Francis of keeping secrets from her, and also of lying to her, although she wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to have lied about, while Francis went on about royal duty, and how he was always expected to put his country first, as though Mary didn't know all of this already. She'd seen for herself that this was always the way it had to be, with a king. James had proved this point to her, over and over. This was why she had always insisted that she didn't want to marry into royalty.
"You don't want to marry me," Mary finally stated, after they'd finished bickering.
"Not like this!" Francis replied, a tone of desperation, or maybe it was just exasperation, in his voice.
Mary had had enough. With a loud sigh, she threw her hands up in the air, turned on her heel, and stormed off, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Francis and the cameras.
She was sure she heard Francis calling out her name, but she ignored him and kept walking.
Vaguely, she couldn't help thinking about how their first official day of filming couldn't possibly have gone any worse, and also that she was probably at least partially responsible for her interaction with Francis today unravelling into an argument; but then she broke out into a run, and Mary tried not to think about anything, at least while she was running away.
Mary ran through the castle grounds as fast as her blue shoes could carry her, abandoning all the carved-out paths to run on the muddy grass.
She only slowed down when she was as far from the castle as she could get before she started to run out of breath.
There was about half a mile of woodland towards the end of the royal gardens, and Mary leaned against the nearest tree, trying to catch her breath.
Then, in another rush of anger, she picked up a large stone from the floor and threw it into a large puddle that must have formed during last night's downpour of rain.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of laughter coming from a few feet away.
Although the laughter sounded friendly, and nothing like the mocking laughter she'd imagined she'd heard earlier, Mary still jumped in shock at the realisation that somebody was watching her.
She turned around slowly to see Sebastian, leaning casually against a tree a few feet away from her. He seemed to have been just about to leave the grounds for the day, but apparently Mary's outburst of anger had stopped him in his tracks. As he smirked at her, there was an expression of amusement written all over his face.
"Is everything all right?" he asked her with a grin, looking like he was struggling to hold back even more laughter.
Mary had just opened her mouth to tell him curtly that everything was fine, the way her mother would have expected her to do in the presence of a stranger, so as not to give too much away, but Mary stopped herself at the last moment.
She wasn't sure what made her do it-perhaps it was the fact that she'd already had a stressful day, or the realisation that Francis hadn't actually denied her allegation that he didn't want to marry her, but one moment, she was about to deflect Bash's question, and the next, she'd launched into a rant about Olivia, and how Francis had asked his father to send his 'best wishes' to her earlier, and how Francis had interrupted filming today to talk to her on the phone.
"Am I being ridiculous?" Mary eventually asked Bash after she'd paused to take a breath, feeling a bit silly for her outburst now that she was starting to calm down a little.
"No," Bash replied with a seemingly casual shrug, although there was a definite sympathetic tone to his voice, or maybe even something more-something deeper. "Anyway," Bash continued, "Francis has you. Why would he ever look elsewhere?"
Mary stared at him for a few long moments after he finished speaking, trying to work him out; trying to find the meaning in his words; trying to decide if she could trust him.
In the end, she decided to take a risk. It's not like you have much to lose, anyway, she reminded herself with a sad sigh.
"Do you want to sneak out of the castle with me?" she finally asked him, feeling almost nervous as she asked the question, in case he said no. She wasn't sure if she could take another rejection today.
Luckily, a smirk crept to Bash's face as soon as she asked him the question, along with a very calculating look in his eyes, and Mary guessed that Bash was definitely the 'sneaking out' type.
It turned out that Mary was correct in her estimation of Sebastian. Although he had only worked at the castle for one day, he already seemed adept at hiding away and escaping the notice of the castle's guards.
While Mary hid away in the stables and waited for him, Bash crept to one of the castle's supply rooms and stole long, dark coats for the two of them to wear, so that they would be better disguised, along with a hat for Mary to tuck her hair up into.
After the two of them had put on the long coats from the supply room, they waited for the time to come when there would be a routine 'changing of the guard'-as Bash suggested that it would be easiest to escape the guards' notice at this time-and then they managed to sneak out of the stables and headed towards the woodland at the edge of the royal grounds.
Avoiding all the well-guarded gates situated around the gardens which marked the typical entrances and exits to the grounds, Mary and Bash crept through the trees towards the high wall that officially marked the boundaries of the royal gardens, with Bash looking over his shoulder just as much as Mary did on the way, to check that nobody was following them.
Mary had a strange feeling that Bash had done things like this before.
Finally, they reached the stone wall at the end of the gardens, and Bash managed to climb it easily, with Mary only struggling a little in her high-heeled shoes. Thankfully, Bash reached down to help her, and then they were over the wall and jumping down onto the muddy ground below, before they ran through yet more woodland on the way to the village.
As she ran, Mary suddenly worried, for the first time ever, that if she and Bash could so easily get out of the castle, then perhaps it would be rather easy for others to get in…She wondered if she should perhaps raise this concern with her mother soon, when the two of them could manage to have a conversation without arguing.
Shaking off that not-so-pleasant thought for the moment, and deciding that perhaps she was just being paranoid, Mary continued to follow Bash, feeling her usual rush of exhilaration at being out of the castle; at having the illusion of freedom. This time, it felt especially good to be here with someone who actually wanted to be with her; someone who enjoyed sneaking out of the castle just as much as she did; someone who wouldn't lecture her on how she shouldn't be doing this.
Mary knew her mother would probably be furious, when she found out what Mary had done, but right now, she didn't care. She just needed to escape reality for a little while.
They ended up taking a long walk on the outskirts of the village, strolling down country lanes and over hills and along the banks of the river, with the two of them pointing out all the places they'd already visited in this particular part of the country along the way.
For a little while, they shared a few laughs and jokes about life in the castle, but to Mary's surprise, their topic of their conversation soon turned to Francis, and she felt strangely compelled to tell Bash almost everything about her recent interactions with him, and how he often seemed to be very cold and distant with her.
"He seems to tense up whenever I stand close to him," she complained, "and he barely seems able to talk to me sometimes. Why is that?" she couldn't help asking Bash, wondering if it might make things clearer, if she had a male perspective on the matter.
"He has feelings for you," Bash told her in response, like this was the most obvious fact in the world.
"No, he doesn't!" Mary protested as she fought off a blush, feeling like Bash had completely missed the point. "His expression is always so…distracted whenever I'm around, and he wouldn't even ask me to dance at the ball! Oh, and he only ever seems to look at me when he's standing at a distance. And, he seems to be able to make conversation with every other woman in the castle, except me."
"Because he has feelings for you," Bash repeated. This time, Mary picked up on a hint of sadness in his voice, although she wasn't sure what Bash was so sad about.
Deciding that Bash had to be wrong about this, and therefore realising that it probably wouldn't be very productive to discuss this matter any further, Mary went back to staring at the river, with Bash walking in silence next to her. At the very least, this silence with Bash didn't feel like an uncomfortable one.
As the late afternoon turned into evening, Mary reluctantly started making plans to head back to the castle, but when Bash mentioned something about heading to the local village pub, The Lion and the Unicorn, this evening, Mary felt intrigued all over again.
"Do you want to go to a party?" Bash asked her with a knowing grin.
Mary nodded, a smirk creeping slowly to her face as all plans to return home were temporarily forgotten.
The two of them kept their heads down as they walked into the pub, trying to be discreet, just in case anybody was watching. It seemed though that they were being overly paranoid-the customers barely even noticed their arrival.
The inside of the pub looked almost like a room from the past-there were wooden tables and chairs placed unevenly about the room, there was a dusty-looking wooden floor, and the room was rather dark and dingy.
A large Scottish flag hung on the wall, and it was surrounded by old paintings.
There was a small bar to the left of the room where a few men were ordering drinks, and there was a fireplace on the other side, where a few real flames flickered in the fire.
Above the fire, a mantelpiece displayed several old-fashioned looking ornaments, most of which seemed to be in the shapes of lions and unicorns. Although Mary did notice that there was also a model of what appeared to be a bird raising its wings, which was displayed right in the centre of the mantelpiece, and she felt her usual prickle of curiosity. She wondered why she seemed to be seeing this bird-in-flight symbol everywhere, and what it could possibly mean.
The only hint of the modern world appeared in the form of a couple of widescreen televisions that were displayed on the walls. On the screen, Mary was a bit shocked to see her own face. It seemed she was the subject of yet another discussion by a panel of entertainment 'experts'.
The topic of the discussion was displayed on the top of the screen: Who is Mary Stuart?
Apparently, the panelists were trying to work out her character, including her hobbies and her personality traits, in order to better understand how the matchmaking show would play out, and whether she and Francis would turn out to be compatible.
Mary shrugged to herself as she pulled her hat down even further to cover her face. She felt like even she wouldn't be able to provide them with all the answers right now.
With a knowing smirk at the television screens, Bash led her towards the back of the room, where it seemed that they would have a little more privacy.
As she passed several of the tables, Mary suddenly noticed that Narcisse was sitting at one of them, playing a game of poker with a group of men, apparently having finished work at the castle for the day. She couldn't help shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she stared at the cards in his hands. Of course Narcisse would enjoy playing poker, she thought.
Narcisse looked up from his cards, and their eyes met. For a second, there was a flicker of uncertainty on his face, but then he simply nodded at her before he focused on the game again.
Discreetly, Mary nodded back at him. She understood what was going on-for whatever reason, neither of them was supposed to be here, and they were both making a silent agreement not to acknowledge the other's presence; an agreement to keep the other's secret.
She couldn't help wondering how Francis would feel about that, but then she shrugged this thought off, as it made her feel too uneasy.
She carried on following Bash towards the back of the room, where the pub seemed to be even darker and quieter.
In this part of the pub, the people sitting huddled around the circular tables seemed to have more pressing matters to deal with than ordering drinks and playing poker. Most of them had very grave expressions on their faces, and they were taking it in turns to speak, while the others listened attentively.
A woman with dark brown hair and hazel eyes walked among them. The way she was carrying herself and the authoritative tone to her voice suggested to Mary that she was some sort of leader of this bizarre little gathering.
Mary felt a strange flicker of recognition-she was certain that she knew this woman from somewhere, but with everything else that had happened over the past twenty-four hours, her memory was letting her down again.
"What is going on?" Mary asked Bash in a whisper.
For his part, Bash looked slightly uncomfortable, especially when the dark-haired woman walking around the room caught his eye and seemed almost to glare at him, as though he had done something wrong.
Mary noticed that Bash looked very similar to this woman, and she wondered if she was his mother.
"There are always meetings like this one taking place here," Bash shrugged. "They should be finished soon. There's a band due to play here later, if you'd like to wait?"
Mary shrugged, deciding that she would wait to see what happened. A part of her was curious to hear what these people were talking about.
Apparently unaffected by Mary and Bash's presence, the people continued with their meeting...
"My family is in serious debt!" one man declared in a thick Scottish accent as he got to his feet to general nods and murmurs. "There are debt collectors at our home every day, demanding payment. I'm not sure we'll ever be able to pay it off!"
"I can't afford even basic medical treatment for my family!" another women called out the moment the first man had sat back down. "The medical reforms in this country have done nothing to help us!"
"My elderly father was taken in for questioning after the latest riots!" a middle-aged man complained after a few people had nodded in agreement with the woman who had spoken before him. "He can barely even walk, and he was forced to spend the night in a cell!"
A few people in the room exclaimed their horror, before an elderly woman got up to speak. "My grandchildren were beaten by the police during those riots," she told the room. "Simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Hidden away in the corner of the room, Mary listened to what these people were saying in horror. How had all of this happened? Scotland had introduced a system of rule by both the Scottish Parliament and the royal family in the hopes of avoiding serious problems like these. Hadn't they?
The royals were not supposed to be there to simply wear pretty clothes and smile at the cameras; everything was supposed to have improved-there was a more democratic system in place; the country's debt was supposed to be steadily decreasing. And yet, it seemed as though things were only getting worse.
"They are not happy, Mary," Bash suddenly whispered to her, as though he could read the look of anguish on her face. "This is the day-to-day reality for a lot of people in Scotland."
Mary couldn't help feeling ashamed of the fact that the royals were apparently ignorant of the depth of the suffering going on outside the castle walls.
"My two eldest children were arrested, after that protest in Edinburgh last year got out of hand." Another man jumped into the discussion. "Arrested! And without any evidence!"
Again, Mary remembered what Narcisse had told her earlier, about his son.
As people continued to air their grievances, Mary felt more fearful than ever for her country. Something would have to be done about all this, or there would be even more riots and protests, and then her parents would be in very serious trouble. She just wasn't sure exactly what she could do to make things better.
"Your parents will be hoping that Francis's family will help with all this," Sebastian whispered to her, apparently reading the expression on her face again.
Mary stared back at him, trying to read between the lines as she picked up on a hint of bitterness in his words.
To Mary, it seemed that Bash's thoughts about the matchmaking process offered yet more proof that her parents were treating her as another bargaining chip for the country, rather than actually caring about her wish to marry for love.
You don't have to play their game, though, she silently reminded herself. You can play it your way.
At last, the 'meeting' in the pub came to an end. Most of the people at the tables departed, making way for more customers as a band arrived and started setting up their equipment.
Mary wasn't really in the mood for music and dancing anymore, after everything she'd just heard, but Bash looked so happy to be there, that she agreed to stay with him for a little while longer before heading back to the castle to face an angry lecture from her mother.
In the end, she was glad she had decided to stay, as the band was especially good-they used traditional instruments to play a mixture of traditional Scottish and Celtic songs, with an audience made up of the young and the old who laughed and sang along, many of them even climbing up onto tables and chairs to dance. To Mary, they all looked so uninhibited; so free.
Now feeling slightly more relaxed as she realised that everybody was too busy drinking and dancing to pay much attention to her, she removed her coat and hat and watched the band with a smile on her face as the music picked up its pace.
"Would you like to dance?" Bash asked Mary with a smirk and a mocking bow as he held out a hand to her.
Mary rolled her eyes at him, but then she grinned and nodded and took his hand. She was at a real party tonight, and she was determined to enjoy it.
Bash ended up helping her up onto one of the tables, and the two of them danced on its surface, laughing the whole time, while Mary thought about how wonderful it was to be out at night at this forbidden place with a handsome young man; to just dance and laugh and let go for what felt like the first time in a long time.
As Bash started to spin her around in time to the music, Mary imagined that she was just an ordinary girl, without any responsibilities, without all of her baggage from the past couple of years; she was just an ordinary girl who had met this ordinary boy in the village, and now they were at a party together, with nobody watching them, waiting for them to make a mistake.
But then, she started to spin even faster, and suddenly, she was sixteen years old again, spinning around in the French castle; she was running towards the prince with blond, wavy hair. "Francis!" she was calling out to him in her thoughts, trying to get to him before it was too late…
Mary must have stumbled, because she found herself in Bash's arms, with him holding her tight, as though he had just caught her before she fell. She couldn't help thinking about the photo-shoot earlier, when Francis had reached out for her as she tripped over. And then she felt almost guilty, for thinking so much about Francis when she was here with Bash.
"Mary, are you all right?" Sebastian whispered to her as he continued to hold her up. There was a look of genuine concern on his face.
"I'm fine," Mary quickly reassured him as he asked her again if she was okay. Desperately, she tried to place the invisible mask back on her face. She felt so embarrassed for allowing her thoughts of the past to take over again. "Perhaps I just need to rest for a minute."
Leaving Bash to dance, and promising him yet again that she was fine, Mary walked away and went to lean against the bar for a little while, appreciating the music from a distance.
After only a couple of songs, Mary noticed that a crowd of girls had taken her place around Bash, and he seemed to be flirting with all of them, apparently glad of the attention.
Mary felt a slight flicker of jealousy, but then, to her surprise, she realised that this jealousy was nowhere near as strong as the strange emotion she'd felt when she'd caught Francis talking to Olivia earlier.
Interesting…a knowing voice in her head that sounded a bit like her mother seemed to be telling her.
But, you don't even like Francis…another voice cut in-this one was the voice of the teenage girl who wanted to run away and be a rebel, and who seemed to think that Sebastian was very attractive.
Do you like him? the other, more logical voice asked her, not wanting to go down without a fight.
But Francis hates you...The teenage rebel was back in her thoughts, mocking her. He doesn't want to marry you. He likes Olivia better. And Lola too, perhaps…
Mary shook her head, trying to clear it of those very uncomfortable thoughts.
Francis, will you marry me?
Suddenly, another voice was in her head, although this voice sounded much more like Mary as a child. As she blinked in surprise, Mary was certain that she had just stumbled upon some remnant of a memory that she'd kept locked away for a long time-something about this line just seemed so familiar, but she couldn't find the other pieces in her mind to put this whole memory together.
"Must have a girl in every town, that one!"
Mary's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a voice coming from behind her. Startled, she turned around to see the barman, leaning against the bar as he nodded knowingly in Bash's direction.
"Ay, I know the type!" he continued the moment he had Mary's full attention. He pointed right at Bash, who was still distracted by the pretty girls around him. With another chuckle, the barman smiled at her before he started to clean a few empty glasses.
Mary did her best to smile back at him, but she didn't really find what he had said about Bash very funny. Mainly because she suspected it was true. He had told her so himself, last night at the ball, in not so many words. Still, something about Bash fascinated her; she still looked at him as he continued to charm all the girls in the room.
Eventually, Mary decided to step out of the room for a few moments, to collect her thoughts.
She went out a side door that led to a narrow hallway. There was a flight of stairs in the hallway that Mary supposed led to more function rooms upstairs.
She had just sat down on the stairs when the door was flung open. The woman with dark hair stormed out into the hallway, with Bash not far behind her.
Hurriedly, Mary ran to the top of the stairs, hiding herself from view. When she was certain that they couldn't see her, she leaned against the banister, trying to overhear what the two of them were saying...
"You made a mistake bringing her here!" the woman was shouting at Bash, the anger and disappointment in her tone of voice almost reminding Mary of her mother's heated discussion with James last night. "You could have put us all in terrible danger!"
Mary frowned in confusion, wondering why her presence at this local pub had risked putting anyone in danger of anything.
She missed the next part of the discussion, as the music coming from the other room was still rather loud, but then, during a brief pause in the playing of musical instruments, she could pick up on a few words again:
"The last thing we need is for the Valois to get involved in our plans…trust me, I'm telling you this from experience," the woman told Bash. "You are well aware of what happens to those who cross them."
Bash muttered something in response, but Mary couldn't make out what he had said.
"She is going to marry the future king of France!" the woman continued to shout. "You must keep her at a distance, Sebastian!"
"Nothing is set in stone," Bash replied, his tone of voice more defiant than Mary had heard before. "She has other options."
The woman made a noise that was somewhere between amusement and derision, as though the idea of Mary having 'other options' was ludicrous to her.
It suddenly occurred to Mary that the timing of their arrival at the pub this evening had been no accident-for whatever reason, Bash had wanted her to hear the grievances of the Scottish public; he had wanted their words to have an effect on her.
Annoyingly, Mary missed even more of what was being said downstairs, until the noise coming from the main room died down again.
"Take care, my boy," Mary could now hear the woman telling Bash, her tone of voice sounding softer, more sympathetic now that she had calmed down. "Or you will risk losing everything we have worked for, and all for a girl who will never be yours."