Mary took long steps over the lush green grass. Her golden satin heels sunk into the mud, blue floral lace gown trailing on the grass. Her chest heaved, her breaths short and sharp. A hand was placed over her bodice, she tried to calm her racing heart and debilitating anxiety. It did little to soothe. Her feet kept walking, walking and walking and walking until she was out of sight of the castle and surrounded by woodlands. One of Court's lakes lay in front of her, mirroring the lowering sun and the purple clouds. Her breath echoed in her ears, heart thumping in her chest. She gripped the floral lace of her skirts, another hand wiping her damp cheeks.
He had actually done it. He was actually going to subdue his wife and queen to a life his mother had lolloped through. He was actually going through with this.
How could he? She thought, silently asking the setting sun. As much as she despised the fact that he slept with Lola in Paris, she may be able to get over it. But this? How could she get over this? How could she -they- adapt to this?
The boy was going to be claimed. Gifted lands and titles and never able to be gone from her life. Until she died, every day she would wake up to the little bastard belonging to her husband and friend running around her court whilst she remained barren and dry.
Everybody would know. They would know it was because of her that they couldn't ever have a child. She would be in danger, and thus Scotland hung in the balance. She wasn't like Catherine. She couldn't wait a decade to have a son. She may not even ever have a son. She wouldn't ever have a son. Her royal blood was so much more desired than that of the Medici. All Catherine was by blood was an orphaned duchess that many would like to see without a head. But she? A Queen by blood, she was in so much more danger. There were many more that would lust to see her death.
And Francis knew this. He was the King of Scotland. Then why would he put her Queen and the country in danger all because he wanted one little bastard to have a little more in the bank? That child was nothing, he would live out the rest of his life scorned and hated by so many and so much. But he was going to be the thing that dissolved the royal marriage and may as well took his Queen's head whilst he was at it.
If Knox found out -which he would- then he would take her throne and most likely her head. Then where would Scotland be? English Catholics? French Catholics? Even just Scottish or French royalists. Her head would be removed, people would revolt. Revenge for revenge for revenge. A bloody stalemate that would turn from a civil war into an international war. Why would he do this?
Her tears grew heavier as her hand slipped from her cheek to the back of her neck. How long would it remain untainted? How long would the skin remain in tact? Her hand moved upwards to the base of her skull. How long would it be there, connected to her shoulders?
"Mary." a voice said. She jumped, a sharp gasp leaving her lips. She turned around and saw Francis standing there. His blue eyes were bright against the darkness of the sky. When did it get dark? How long had she been out there?
"Francis." the word came out choked. He didn't seem to notice it.
"We've been looking all over the castle for you, have you been here the entire time?" the King of France asked.
"I have."
"Whatever for? We are King and Queen, after all." Francis said, his head leaning to one side.
That's rich, coming from the man who abandoned his Queen and castle to run off into plague stricken lands, you were a King then, weren't you? Mary inwardly thought. But she settled upon "I needed a few moments to collect my thoughts." as her response to her husband.
"What of?"
"You having a baby with my Lady for a start." Mary spat, turning from him and back to the water. She couldn't look at him.
"Is that what this is about?" he questioned. Mary shot him a look. How she hated being vulnerable, and for some reason now, being vulnerable in front of him was driving her to the point of insanity.
"What else could it be about?" Mary snapped, turning to face him head on. "Don't yup understand what you did? You not only betrayed me, but you got my best friend pregnant! I'm going to have to wake up every day of my wife with the knowledge that I didn't bare you your first born! I may not even be able to birth you a child at all! And if I cannot bare children, then the next trip I am going to be taking is to the scaffold! Are you that ignorant to my strife?" she cried out, stepping away from him as he reached out for her.
"Mary, please. It won't come to that! I'll protect you, from everything and every threat that Lola and I's son may cause. Nothing will happen to you, just tell me what you want me to do to repair what I have broken and I will! I swear it!" he replied.
She shook her head. "No, Francis. You don't know that and you can't. John Knox will use my baroness and your bastard to take my head, any vulnerability I have will be exploited tenfold. I will loose my head because you want to be sentimental." she sniffled. "I can't get pregnant. I can't even give you a politically useless daughter, let alone a son. I can't give you a child and that will be my destruction! And you've illuminated my weakness to the world and expect me to stand by and smile as you put my life and my country in danger." she turned around.
"Please, let's just get you inside. It's freezing out here, we can talk about what's bothering you once you've eaten and drank, okay?" Francis tried again. Mary shook her head, twisting her wrist from his grip.
Is it? Mary thought to herself. In truth, the Queen of Scotland and France felt rather hot.
"Please, leave me me be. I want to be alone now." Mary tried to plead.
"You'll never be alone, you have me." he tried to plead back to his wife, his heart aching at the sight of tears in her pretty, dark eyes. Francis tried to reach over and grasp her wrist again and Mary jerked back again. This time, his pain was replaced by confusion as he watched Mary's eyes become glazed over.
"Mary?" he asked. This time, the Queen of Scotland and France allowed him to come closer to her. She didn't do anything at all. Just stood there. Francis frowned at the sudden change in his wife's countenance.
"Darling," he tried, placing a large, warm hand upon his wife's cheek. Mary swallowed thickly, turning up to look at him. "you're burning up." he informed her, his heart starting to race. The plague hadn't completley eradicated itself just yet, people still died in their court because of the disease, servants and nobles alike. And to see her, now illuminated by the moonlight, pale and feverish, it startled him.
Francis drew in a sharp breath, watched her stagger back a step. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she continued still to get away from him. The hand left her wrist and rose to her brow. His own furrowed in alarm as he felt -truly- just how feverish his wife actually was.
"Mary." he tried to get her attention. But, she said nothing. Francis watched, helplessly, as the colour drained from his wife's face even further, the temperature of her skin grow and grow until a sweat appeared upon her brow. The glazed over look in her eyes increased and increased. He swallowed audibly, gripping her tighter as she started to stagger.
"Mary!" he yelped as her body suddenly collapsed. Her knees buckled and her head fell backwards in almost an arch, his arm the only thing keeping her from hitting the ground. Quickly, Francis hooked an arm around her knees and hoisted her up into his arms, the other arm raising to cradle the back of her neck.
He rushed back into the court -promptly ignoring the gasps of various courtiers- and ordered for his mother, his wife's ladies and Nostradamus, storming over towards his chambers where all but the Queen Mother awaited them.
The ladies squealed in alarm as they saw their Queen hanging limply in their King's arms, her skin pale and clammy and covered in sweat. The trifecta of noble women rushed over as Francis kicked open the doors and made fast work of his chambers, laying his wife down on their bed. Mary didn't wake.
"Quickly, undress her," Nostradamus grumbled to the ladies, already mixing various tonics together. "place her in her bedclothes." he ordered. Lola, Greer and Kenna set to work, unlacing Mary's silver satin gown with light blue flowers and lace with trembling fingers when they felt how hot the Queen of Scotland actually was, felt the slickness of her sweat and the wheeze of her breath.
Francis watched as the layers of fine clothes came away until his wife was situated in a white satin nightgown. He matched right up to the bed, taking her hand in his as Nostradamus set to work, forcing various tonics down her throat whilst retracting her blood from the back of her hand.
"What are you doing?" Francis asked in alarm, seeing the crimson liquid upon his wife's dainty hand.
"I must let out the blood, highness. It could cause Her Majesty harm." Francis bit his lip as more and more of the blood left the Queen's palm and fell into a small bucket. He held the other hand, pressing rapid kisses onto the fiery skin. He kissed her knuckles, murmuring his love for her, over and over. And, praying to God if he might save her from whatever plagued her body and threatened to take her from him forever.