Only Mary
Only Mary
A Reign Ficlet of Mary and Francis, from mainly Francis's point of view
Extension of episode: Hearts and Minds, extending the scene where Mary and Francis meet at the lakeside, does have minor spoilers though too for A Chill in the Air, no spoilers beyond
Rated T for some adult interactions
***
She was a double edged sword to his heart. Sometimes she simply did not know when to quiet her mouth. If she had an idea, she was fast to leap to it. And that was not behavior befitting of a queen most of the time, at least not the kind he witnessed all his life.
His mother, on the other hand, knew the importance of holding back tongue. No matter that his father paraded his mistress, Bash’s mother, openly. She’d pretend with that glued on smile that cracked at her lips everything was fine, while the truth was known by anyone who stepped inches within the castle. It was fallacy, a marriage about country and state alone.
No matter. Kings and queens were so fortunate that love went to country first.
Once before he had made the mistake of falling for a girl, his youth still mostly intact. Found, his mother sent the girl away. It was actually months before Mary’s arrival and Francis believed he’d never have those kinds of feelings again.
He was wrong. And right. For everything with Mary was full of complication, sore contradiction, and vibrant newness.
He first met Mary when she was about the same age as his younger brother Charles was while meeting Madeline, Charles’s future wife. However, Mary wasn’t as shy as Madeline. She was so pretty, except for a mouth too big for her face, and even worse when it was opened, for all those crooked little teeth shown. He teased her about it once and she smartly told him that he had a girl’s name. Oh that made him grimace hard.
When it was time to play the game of spot-your-future-bride with a blindfold tied around your poor eyes, he couldn’t find her at first, but then Mary was using that unique Scottish tone she had, and everyone was clapping and laughing as their hands reached out to each other and she helped him take the blindfold off.
At the dance that night Mary was silly, while he tried to keep her in some kind of check, the most a boy could do. Honestly, most the time he would rather be out with Bash, practicing the sword or the arrow. Instead he was expected to entertain this strange girl.
He was certain she would get boring, but soon he learned nothing would ever be bland with Mary.
She grabbed his hand, and he hers, forgetting about her crooked little teeth as they naughtily ran up the stairs together. They entered his parents’ room without permission and the pillows, things you were supposed to sleep upon, were soon weapons of kids’ choice, feathers flying throughout the air. Their laughter and yells were so voluminous that at first they didn’t hear the attending servant’s scream as the sight of them and the mess of feathers everywhere shocked her. They’d be in for it no doubt.
But that was okay. That was part of spending time with Mary, adventures that never grew tired.
He missed her at first when she was sent away to the convent, missed her sorely, but then the years went by and easily enough other girls caught his eye. Mary was soon forgotten, if even somewhere still at the back of his heart. He started to live a sort of dry fantasy until her return.
Now that she was back, that fantasy was dead. First sight of her, and his eyes could not stray. Parts of her were much the same, others grown to near womanhood. Beautiful womanhood.
She still had those big doe-like eyes, but now her full lips fit her matured face, and the crooked teeth were gone, white straight ones taking their place. Long strands of beautiful raven-auburn hair fell down the back of her body that curved with young woman’s enticing proportions. Tall, regal, stubborn and impulsive was this Mary.
However, along with her positive growth was something negative. When they were children he only saw it in her during those first couple of days she entered French Court, and even then it was much more fleeting. Now it was so profound.
Fear.
Mary was frightened with good reason. The convent poisoning could have killed her if it wasn’t for the sister who tasted her food. Of course that was all prearranged within French Court and such, that she be protected by strong measures. Mary’s life had been in danger since she was born.
England was a vicious beast sometimes, so hungry for power, clawing at every country it felt was weak enough to let it take over. No one underestimated it, France included. French Court had grown great strength over the years and at the moment was allied enough with England to keep it from charging. France was not stupid though. It knew well enough that one day the English would want it too, and so build other alliances. Spain. Scotland.
Ah, Scotland. Francis had political doubts that Scotland would be the perfect alliance, and yet it couldn’t keep him from caring about Mary, and thus Scotland mattered.
Sometimes he’d spot her outside, and just hold at his window, watching as she stood alone, in pensive thought. Mary was frightened for country as much as self. Scotland did not have the kinds of forces of men that France, and especially England, did.
It was why Mary’s mother wanted the alliance so quickly after her husband’s passing, years ago. She thrust Mary upon them, French Court, expecting her daughter to be protected, while she still grieved over her lost king, and struggled to maintain order over a country that no longer had its primary ruler. Francis’s father and mother, King Henry and Queen Catherine, agreed to the alliance, something Francis wondered about now.
After all, his father was in no hurry to provide Scotland with aid now that it needed it. And his mother’s one time friendliness to Mary seemed all depleted. Now she simply wanted to get rid of her.
It was a bit shocking because when Mary was a girl, his mother adored her it appeared, helping Mary adjust to life within French Court patiently and caringly. Now, she had put Mary’s life in danger. It didn’t matter that Francis reassured his mother that France would always come first for him, and that Mary’s appearance would not make him love his mother any less. She still seemed to hold some deep resentment towards Scotland and Mary.
If it had worked, her attempts to rid French Court of both, he would be free.
Painfully free.
Fact for Francis was he didn’t want to lose the queen of Scotland who once had crooked teeth, and now seemed almost perfection, except when that irritating impulsiveness made its way to the light again, like it always did. And he didn’t want to see her full of fear either, like she was that night when she met Simon.
Francis watched both of them cautiously, as the festivities for Madeline and Charles’s engagement were played out. At first Mary looked simply annoyed by Simon’s words, but then he said something that brought a shock of white to her face and caused her body to tremble.
Francis was quick to intervene, for personal reasons as much as political. If Scotland’s weakness was shown within French Court, it could be bad for France too. Their alliance had to appear strong, even if there were cracks within, and beyond, he couldn’t just stand there while Mary, always so upright, now seemed to resemble a leaf of fall, shivering in the wind before it dried up and crumbled to the grass.
He pulled her away with a jesting smile for Simon that included innuendo about what he wanted to be up to with his future wife. Then pressing her against a column, it was even more apparent by the continued shaking and the pallid sheen upon her skin. Mary was utterly terrified. She’d been threatened at the convent, nearly attacked nights ago in her bed, for all her innocence to be taken away.
Had Mary even kissed before?
Francis did not know.
But this was worse. This was England, the sometimes beast, giving a growl and hiss, for they were becoming privy to a fact that they liked much. The engagement was not quite solid. Mary was easy pickings. And so was Scotland.
Always so impulsive and the one to make the first stubborn move, her show now was one of weakness, and it was no wonder. She felt alone, in danger, and unwanted.
It didn’t take as much an act as it probably should for Francis then to reassure her, and take up her hand within moments so they could make their way down the center of the floor, a display of solidarity.
After that it seemed to be no question that it was Simon who put the direst threat on Mary’s life, and later also would be the reason his brother had to fight off death after physical injury.
Bash.
Francis loved him, regardless of the fact that they were not full brothers by blood. He never treated him as anything less and so when Bash was injured by the English, it tore at Francis’s heart.
It had been days ago that Francis naively told Mary they could start off as friends, so naive for right after Bash was wounded, he was kissing Mary in a way that went far beyond friendship.
She pled for him to talk to her, but Francis cared little for conversation then. He believed that it was his fault, the ambush upon his country’s soldiers and his brother, and to add further fester to the wound, he was about to lose Mary too.
There was no way he could protect her, let alone keep his brother safe. He wanted just one thing first though before he let her go entirely. Desperately he rushed, his lips pushing against hers for a kiss that agonized his heart. Oh Mary, oh how he had wanted this to be different.
There was an outlet for her, but personally he hated it, because it involved the bastard son of Portugal, who with the Pope’s help was soon to become the legitimate king of said country. Tomas had assured Mary that he would keep Scotland and her well protected, in exchange for her hand in marriage. Thus, after their desperate kiss, Francis gave Mary the final push to leave France, and become Tomas’s wife.
*
Now, his head was clearer, with Bash in recovery, and disturbing rumors about Tomas coming to light, that unfortunately were not easy to prove. His instincts were telling him that a union between Mary and Tomas would be the worst thing to happen, that Mary would not be safe, and that possibly even Scotland would be in danger too. The wheels were spinning so fast though. Mary had her allowance to marry Tomas, her engagement with Francis ended, and in just a little less than two days she’d be departing France, and be off to Portugal with her soon to be husband.
That was why Francis had nearly lost track of time and now was putting a little haste in his step. Earlier he and Mary had agreed to meet, for possibly one last time privately, and he hoped to get there before she gave up on him.
Soon though he felt no need to rush, because there she was, just like she said she would be. His Mary. In golden yellow she was as pure beauty as the flowers blossoming free from the French grasses. Her hair, sometimes so dark, and at other moments filled with sun’s light to color it auburn, was at a stage that prettily held in between.
Mary, so tall and slender, long shining tresses tumbling down her back. Full lips. Big eyes. Pale and yet glowing skin.
Francis supposed if he was like Tomas, considering her more property than anything else, those would be the only things that mattered. Sure enough those alone were plenty to create lust. But since she’d been a child, and now again stirring all those memories up even more vividly, Mary could have those crooked teeth, those much shorter limbs and the big mouth that then was way out of proportion, and he’d still have a heart that panged a little louder every time she was near.
It did now, as Mary assured him that he didn’t have to worry about Tomas. She had her uncle’s support. Everything would be alright.
She changed the subject sneakily after they sat down upon the blanket together, a couple of her fingers loosely linked within his. He told her about the troubling rumors he heard, that Tomas was cruel to his servants. She, the mischief maker, wanted to instead talk about the time that he and his sister Elizabeth posed for a portrait and the finished result was of him resembling a dwarf. Of course it was the artist’s fault for not noticing that he was sitting in a chair, while his sister was standing, and that was the reason he seemed weak by comparison. Then of course, for further insult Mary brought Bash to the conversation, saying how he was the more passionate one. No doubt her rambles would have continued if Francis hadn’t fiercely interrupted.
It was her fault, that luscious big mouth opening and closing, just too tempting for his eyes and manhood to take. He had no choice but to shut her up.
It was enough pressure, coming from the kiss that he pressed firmly upon her lips, to bring her down to the blanket, but his hands equally shielded, making her landing a soft one.
Passion and desire rose in his heart, the flow of blood rising with excited reaction. To be with Mary was equaled pleasure and torture. That was why he threatened his father that he would tell Diane about his lusts for Kenna, one of Mary’s ladies-in-waiting nonetheless. It was reason too why he promised his mother that if any harm came to Scotland’s queen she’d lose him forever.
As it was all there now, given during a pause of each passionate kiss. Francis’s lips parted from Mary’s, allowing him to see the flush of her lips and the dilation of her pupils as she gazed back at him with pure necessity to return to what they were doing.
Forgotten countries. Forgotten bastard sons. Forgotten mothers and fathers. Forgotten marriage proposals. Forgotten that the last bits of daylight barely lurked in the sky.
He wanted this. And so obviously did Mary.
Even if she was virginal, Francis was not, having experienced the pleasure given by girls before. So many wanted a chance with him, regardless of the fact nothing of substance could come from it. Who was he to fight such open invitations?
It may sound crude, but it came to this.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Mary was gone, left years ago then, and so even though he knew there was the fact she would return one day, he didn’t think that should keep him from living life like all the other boys his age did.
Bash set him up with his first liaisons.
Soon enough though, Francis got the hang of things without Bash’s help. He learned how to discreetly take girls to his room. There weren’t that many affairs, but they were meaningful enough that Francis got pleasure from it. They were all virtually just physical enjoyments, until the one that happened months before Mary returned to court. That had deeper feeling, so deep he once foolishly talked with her about marriage.
Now with Mary returned, and actually at the moment lying underneath him, her soft skin purest pleasure for his hands, Francis wondered if he truly ever knew how deep feelings could go. With Mary it seemed the depth reached much further than tangible. She was a novelty that he had never had the fortune to experience until now.
Mary
Mary
Mary
Love of France floated away as Mary filled his mind and everything else. She smelled incredibly good, like the finest wine squeezed from grapes, or the sweetest smelling flowers that grew at the lakeside. That tantalizing scent was a given to anyone who got near enough.
What wasn’t so easily allowed was the taste of Mary. Francis felt almost like he had broken through a locked barrier to get to it, because it was so divine. Even if she was not the first girl he had ever kissed or lain with, she was the first of so much more, stirring him like no other had. If Mary was poison, still he’d be tempted enough to plunge within.
Of course Mary was new to this, the excitement rising in her breast and the flush of her cheeks stating that firmly, but beyond was the fact that convents didn’t hold many prospects for a relationship. If it was any different Francis was almost certain too that Mary would have told him. The time he kissed her probably was her first even if she didn’t give such primary reaction.
And that was what so fascinating about Mary and so exciting right now. She breathed not with fear, but with mindless pleasure really as their bodies converged against each others, a dip here to dive in further, a push back to ascend to greater height. As much as he touched and pulled at her, Mary gave in return, her fingers climbing up his backside, pressing against his chest, and stroking his face. Mary, beautiful passionate Mary, seemed to feel no fear. Not with him. And that brought an excited leap to Francis’s heart and stirred his manhood sharply.
Past the silky and lace fabric of her dress, he could feel the slenderness of her body react to his fingers. Slenderness everywhere, but with two exceptions. Her breasts, although not large, were still plump little rounds. And her thighs had a woman’s tempting width. Francis gave a roll of his hips and a short, but pointed thrust, that his mind had no control over, bringing on Mary’s lusting hiss.
Oh this girl. This woman so young and yet so vibrant, she gave him no reason to stop. Every kiss laid upon her lips, she responded to with torrents of desire. As his mouth delved further, as his tongue brushed hers, just a little shock of reaction, before she brushed back, impulsive Mary. Her hair and face were beautiful and wild to touch, and her mouth was the sweetest drink, but there was so much more of Mary to learn and she blocked him in no sort of fashion.
His lips slid away from hers with hungered intent and Mary’s reaction was further reason to proceed. Her moans, her vibrations underneath, and those hot breaths of air against his cheeks as she clung to him tighter, just made him more pursuant. There was the little problem that she was moving a bit much, but using his hands to keep her face in place tempered that enough, and with her leg coming up to be even closer to him, he had plenty of leverage.
She would not let him be the only active one. Her hands ascended to keep him as close as possible. They grasped onto his arm and pressed against his hand before letting go and finding his waist. Oh how she touched and caressed him, as if molding his skin to hers.
Sweet wild Mary.
Francis forced another pause to once again gaze into Mary’s eyes and see what was swimming there. Not just desire, but ache and a gush of pleasure. She was needing of, and enjoying this as much as him. All their exertions were creating a damp calescent feel. He moved his face against hers mindlessly, feeling their noses graze for a second, and saw it even more fully, her eyes so in tune to his, and so desiring that they continue.
The way she looked at him then was like no one in his life, liaisons included, ever had. Such a fool he was, thinking that he could pretend the double edged sword of her wouldn’t get to him, like it had the first time.
Once again she had been thrust into his life and his heart couldn’t avoid the blade of pain and pleasure Mary always brought, challenging and expecting him to do this and that. Mary was as passionate when she opened her mouth to speak as she was when she opened it to kiss him. Everything with Mary was so untamed, so annoying at times, and yet right.
The way her eyes looked at him, the way she clung to him, the way it felt when his mouth was pressed upon hers, was like he wanted to go so far within Mary that their separation ended. He wanted to taste that impulsiveness from inside. He wanted Mary to always be at his side, to be within, to be surrounding.
And now it was so certain, that this went beyond a man’s carnal drives. This was a lot more than a fun little ride. So far beyond lust and the physical. It was something else entirely like everything with Mary was distinct and new. With barely an inch between some areas, and nothing separating them in others, he could feel the fast beat of Mary’s heart, confused by it for a second, it so close to his own that he wasn’t sure if they were one and the same.
But no, after a stronger survey he was sure it was Mary’s heart alone, and yet the beat it gave echoed the fast staccato of his.
Again Francis found Mary’s lips. Drinking her in, Francis lowered his hand to touch with his naked fingers upon her heart the first time. The kisses she gave back made him yearn to have her even more. His fingers, grazing upon her clothed breast, he forced himself to not be too adventurous yet.
Other than that his mind was a fogged mess.
Mary, her name, her body, her lips, and her emotions, all of it was like rain falling down upon him, obscuring all thought but for those that cemented upon her. He could feel her lift her back upward to be even closer, as out of her warm wet mouth escaped another moan of feeling. It compelled Francis to lower his hand further, never wanting to leave this, never wanting to depart from Mary.
His body flaming with growing heat, everything was a new exhilaration with her, a beginning warm sprinkle of physical reactions as clothes were starting to feel too heavy. Nothing but Mary he wanted within his fingers, in the sight of his eyes, and caressed upon his lips. Nothing but-
“Francis…”
Her voice was hoarse, a whisper and nothing more. So Francis didn’t even pause, continuing to enjoy Mary. Nothing could ever stop-
“Francis…
Please.”
Mary?
“We can’t.” Her voice rose a little more, sounding desperate as she moved her face away so that the seal of their lips was ended. Her breathing labored, she pushed up at his chest. “I can’t. Have to-
His body screamed to not listen, but Francis’s heart and mind heeded with fast concern. He stopped it, clearing his passion driven eyes as best he could to look down at her. Although Mary didn’t look fearful, she was biting her lip stubbornly now, with flushed lips that were dark red from all their kissing, while her head shook back and forth. She was as much a frenzied mess as he, clothing even pulled tiny bits askew. She wanted him to stop, and Francis wasn’t like he feared Tomas might be. When a woman, especially one he cared for so much, needed things to cease, he did as told.
Francis gave an assuring nod the best he could, before letting out a guttural groan and falling back upon the blanket far enough away from Mary so they wouldn’t touch, breathing like he would if he had been on a long fast ride.
A sidelong glance though a few moments later, caused him to notice something troublesome.
Forcing himself to sit up, Francis asked softly, “Are you alright Mary?”
Clearly she didn’t appear okay, her legs visibly shaking and her response no more than a tiny murmur. “Mary.” Francis whispered, grasping to bring her into his arms and against his chest. Stroking her hair he uttered her name again, as her hands and fingers curled around his shirt’s material. She had such a pretty name, Mary, and with all her beauty she fit it perfectly. He liked getting to say it.
“Did I go too far?” He asked, rubbing her back as he got minimal reassurance that at least her legs seemed to be trembling less.
Mary shook her head only at first, before gazing up at him, her eyes fixed on Francis’s face. “No.” She said with a small tremor in her voice. It sounded more passion induced than fearful. “I didn’t want it to stop.”
A slow smile stretched across his lips, but she had more to say that slowly diminished it. “It’s just Tomas and-
Francis sighed, nodding his head with tightly reluctant understanding. “I know. Don’t say anymore. Better to pretend you’re not leaving so soon.”
Silently Mary agreed, her fingers running over his shirt’s material. With no more than a touch of shyness, she told him, “You were my first kiss.”
His eyebrows lifted with playful wonder. He had been pretty sure he was. The convent wouldn’t be the place for bachelor men to be in attendance, but hearing it directly from her, was kind of nice. “Was I?”
She gave him a dry look. “No. I lied. There were a slew of boys at the convent. Had dances all the time.”
He wrinkled his nose at her with a sharp look as she laughed and shook her head. “Jest. Of course you were. Boys were far and rare at the convent. So you were indeed my first kiss. A good one.” She told him with a broad smile that got Francis to chuckle.
“Glad to be given approval, but honestly Mary, you hardly kissed me back like it was the first time.”
It filled his memory now, that first kiss, such fervor from her then, and equaled just moments ago when they nearly lost themselves to their feelings.
“Maybe because it didn’t feel so novel.” Mary’s hand trailed up his shoulder, to reach his face, and clasp his cheek with womanly care. “Francis, when we kissed, then and now, it made me feel so alive. So…”
His hand lifted too, fingers pressing softly at her lips. “I know.” He told her tightly. “You don’t have to say it.”
Both of them sighed, pressing their foreheads against each other’s. Francis’s lips brushed past Mary’s and over her face, before he gave a groan and moved away. She was such calescent temptation.
“I don’t want you to marry him.” Francis roughly admitted now, his fingers upon Mary’s chin as he fixed upon her eyes.
Mary once again sought to lighten the subject. “Of course you don’t. He’s quite the show dancer.”
Francis grunted with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, Bash gave me a hard enough time about it.”
Mary laughed softly, her smile vivid and contagious. But then with a shake of her head she wryly admitted, “I felt almost like the bull upon the field. We don’t dance that way in Scotland. Of course it’s been long since I’ve been back.” She admitted with a touch of melancholy. “But watching my parents the few times I did, I know they never moved that way.”
“Not the standard in France either.”
Mary frowned, her forehead giving a sharp furrow. Teasingly, she reached out for Francis’s shirt collar and ran her hand down. “Oh come now. France is supposed to be filled with romance and excitement.”
“Mary, if I lifted you like he did I’d probably drop you.”
Mary laughed at Francis’s response, but then quickly sobered up, telling him pointedly. “We should test it to see if that’s true.”
“Mary.” Francis warned, but she was already stepping up off the blanket and grasping hold of his hand.
“Mary!” Francis hissed, but she pulled him further down by the lake to where they were even less within viewing distance, with a perfectly cleared area for moving around. Not so many trees, the land was even flat.
She let go of his hand and moved back, giving an overdone curtsy.
Francis shook his head at her audaciousness and that crazy impulsive mind of hers. “Mary, this is foolishness. I will-
“A-hem.” She told him sharply. “You are being challenged Prince Francis. Or do you mean to tell me you are a terrible dancer? After all, I’ve never seen you dance fully. That night, you barely moved across the floor with me before standing still. Maybe Bash is correct in that-
“All right!” Francis snapped, getting Mary to giggle. He circled around her, stating dryly, “You’re just acting so smug because you no longer have all those crooked teeth.”
“Ah!” She complained.
He smirked at her as they circled in the opposite direction. “And your legs aren’t as short anymore either.”
She gave him a face that made Francis laugh furiously. “Oh Mary.”
She shook her head at him and he circled her some more before suddenly grasping her waist and pulling her hard against him.
Mary gasped at the force, and even more-so as Francis pushed her away, giving her a spin. Then once again she was pressed into his waist. Another spin and Francis was feeling a lot better. Mary seemed excited and a little shocked at how well he was taking the lead. He liked that and so he grew even bolder.
Francis grabbed hold of Mary’s waist and lifted her up so that her head was high above his. A big smile of pleasure lit over her face as she gazed up at the darkening skies and then back down to his face. Francis lifted his head to kiss her and then brought her just a bit lower against him before starting to back up.
The attempt was to move fluidly in the reverse direction, holding her against him, similar to how Tomas had done it, but tell that to the clump of dirt that mischievously got in the way.
Boldness turned to frantic awkwardness as Francis struggled to hold Mary and himself up at the same time. No chance though.
“Ooooohhhh!”
Mary yelled as he yelled out something similar (with possibly a few French expletives coming out too) before both of them fell to the grasses in a tangled heap, Mary just managing to land atop. His back hit the ground with such force that Francis grunted and closed his eyes at the sharp protrusion of dirt that he was met with.
Opening his eyes after a sum of seconds, he saw Mary still with her head down atop his chest.
Breathing out, Francis stated sourly, “Told you.”
Mary’s head lifted now, a few leaves in her hair, that Francis lifted his hand to pull away as she smoothed dirt away from his cheek and the short hairs of his beard. “Well. Yes you did. And now it’s proven. You are a fine sword maker, but a terrible dancer, at least in the ways of Portuguese dance.”
She looked so mockingly serious that Francis rolled his eyes before giving firm complaint. “Well who would want to dance like a matador and a bull in the first place? Men and women are supposed to circle around each other with dignity, not lift each other up!”
“Agreed.” Mary stated with a tone befitting of royalty, before giving it up and exploding into laughter.
It was contagious.
The cracks at the edges of Francis’s lips gave way as he echoed her hilarity with his own. They shook against each other for a good sum of moments before subsiding into a slow slide of emotion, mouths desiring each other.
Her lips were wet and warm as he kissed her and she returned the favor eagerly. A crazed rapture took over them as they seemed wanting to never let go. The wicked cape of her long dark locks encompassed his face as Francis finally broke away, his finger resting upon her bottom flushed lip.
He needed to say it before time slipped away and she tried to change the subject. “No more jesting. Listen to me Mary. Be careful. I don’t trust him. I know I didn’t do enough here.”
“Francis.”
Mary’s head shook as she pushed against his chest, trying to get him to stop, so Francis caught her hand with a sorrowful smile. “I wish I could have done more.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.”
Francis sighed heavily. “I told you I cared more about country when you first came here. And the thing is, I love France, but Mary-
“No.” She told him softly, not letting him go on. “We’re not always the luckiest people. We have to sometimes do what is right for our countries, before ourselves.”
There was strong reluctance in her voice as Francis too wanted to pretend for just a moment that they were not royalty, no more than a boy and girl, or man and woman, but there was no truth in that.
She’d be marrying Tomas soon and so he had to get her to understand. “I wish I could have done more. But know this Mary. If I can find any proof why you shouldn’t marry him, I will. I don’t care if he finds out. Good if he does. As long as he knows he will not get away with any mistreatment of you.”
Mary’s fingers gently caressed his cheek. “Francis, don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine.”
There was a slight tremor in her voice that he didn’t like. He had a feeling Mary was trying to convince him more than she had fully convinced herself. Well at least he still had a little less than two days. He’d use them as much he could to find out the truth about Tomas. He was not the right match for her.
As much as that was a sentimental answer, too it was a practical one. “Mary.” Francis whispered again, getting Mary to nod her head and lift herself away from him. Once she was off, Francis stood and reached for her hand to assist her up to too.
Looking to the skies he gave a hard sigh, as the sun was set much lower now. Soon would come darkness. That meant their time together was done.
It had to be. What he wanted to do now was not what a man should crave from a woman who was intended for another. Even if in his heart, the intended was wrong.
“You go first. So no one sees us together. I’ll leave some time after. Go on Mary.”
In her face was hesitation, a tiny bit of swelling in her eyes. Francis smiled gently, clasping her hand tighter, giving it a squeeze. “Afraid your teeth will grow crooked again?”
“No more than you sometimes wish your name wasn’t that of a girl’s.”
He laughed at that as so did she, but then… “Mary.” Francis stated firmly.
She nodded. “Aylee and I were going to meet to finish the packing. She’ll be looking for me.”
In Mary’s eyes was a touch of mischief now. Francis liked that, even if Mary could be a bit maddening sometimes, dancing crazily with her friends at the wedding, and probably getting ready for some laughing gossip now with Aylee. She was impulsive and wild; let her always stay that way.
Mary’s lips were upon his again, and then so quickly departed, but by only inches, as she breathed out, “I would have taken hope. I would have gladly taken hope with you over certainty with him if there wasn’t-
“I know.” He pressed his hand against her cheek. Scotland needed aid and Mary was its queen. “I wish I could have given you more.”
His hand lowered to press against Mary’s shoulder, just a gentle push away. “Go.”
Mary didn’t fight him, silently leaving. He watched with a heavy throb in his throat as she grasped the blanket and moved up the bank. It was only when she was out of sight entirely that Francis looked away, finding his breaths short and wanting as he gazed out at the lake.
So wanting of Mary.
And despising Tomas more. It wasn’t just jealousy though. That would be easy. Something was not right about the man and he was going to prove it. He’d do everything, anything to keep Mary in France safe beside him.
Double edged sword or not, he couldn’t let it go. Her kisses. Her hands. Her face. Her voice. Her-
“I’m going to find a way Mary. I promise.” He whispered.
The questions and doubts he had when she first arrived were vanished now. Mary was the Queen of Scotts. His future wife. Damn the broken engagement. It didn’t matter.
For she was the woman he loved, the woman his heart was bound to.
Only-
Mary.
A Reign Ficlet of Mary and Francis, from mainly Francis's point of view
Extension of episode: Hearts and Minds, extending the scene where Mary and Francis meet at the lakeside, does have minor spoilers though too for A Chill in the Air, no spoilers beyond
Rated T for some adult interactions
***
She was a double edged sword to his heart. Sometimes she simply did not know when to quiet her mouth. If she had an idea, she was fast to leap to it. And that was not behavior befitting of a queen most of the time, at least not the kind he witnessed all his life.
His mother, on the other hand, knew the importance of holding back tongue. No matter that his father paraded his mistress, Bash’s mother, openly. She’d pretend with that glued on smile that cracked at her lips everything was fine, while the truth was known by anyone who stepped inches within the castle. It was fallacy, a marriage about country and state alone.
No matter. Kings and queens were so fortunate that love went to country first.
Once before he had made the mistake of falling for a girl, his youth still mostly intact. Found, his mother sent the girl away. It was actually months before Mary’s arrival and Francis believed he’d never have those kinds of feelings again.
He was wrong. And right. For everything with Mary was full of complication, sore contradiction, and vibrant newness.
He first met Mary when she was about the same age as his younger brother Charles was while meeting Madeline, Charles’s future wife. However, Mary wasn’t as shy as Madeline. She was so pretty, except for a mouth too big for her face, and even worse when it was opened, for all those crooked little teeth shown. He teased her about it once and she smartly told him that he had a girl’s name. Oh that made him grimace hard.
When it was time to play the game of spot-your-future-bride with a blindfold tied around your poor eyes, he couldn’t find her at first, but then Mary was using that unique Scottish tone she had, and everyone was clapping and laughing as their hands reached out to each other and she helped him take the blindfold off.
At the dance that night Mary was silly, while he tried to keep her in some kind of check, the most a boy could do. Honestly, most the time he would rather be out with Bash, practicing the sword or the arrow. Instead he was expected to entertain this strange girl.
He was certain she would get boring, but soon he learned nothing would ever be bland with Mary.
She grabbed his hand, and he hers, forgetting about her crooked little teeth as they naughtily ran up the stairs together. They entered his parents’ room without permission and the pillows, things you were supposed to sleep upon, were soon weapons of kids’ choice, feathers flying throughout the air. Their laughter and yells were so voluminous that at first they didn’t hear the attending servant’s scream as the sight of them and the mess of feathers everywhere shocked her. They’d be in for it no doubt.
But that was okay. That was part of spending time with Mary, adventures that never grew tired.
He missed her at first when she was sent away to the convent, missed her sorely, but then the years went by and easily enough other girls caught his eye. Mary was soon forgotten, if even somewhere still at the back of his heart. He started to live a sort of dry fantasy until her return.
Now that she was back, that fantasy was dead. First sight of her, and his eyes could not stray. Parts of her were much the same, others grown to near womanhood. Beautiful womanhood.
She still had those big doe-like eyes, but now her full lips fit her matured face, and the crooked teeth were gone, white straight ones taking their place. Long strands of beautiful raven-auburn hair fell down the back of her body that curved with young woman’s enticing proportions. Tall, regal, stubborn and impulsive was this Mary.
However, along with her positive growth was something negative. When they were children he only saw it in her during those first couple of days she entered French Court, and even then it was much more fleeting. Now it was so profound.
Fear.
Mary was frightened with good reason. The convent poisoning could have killed her if it wasn’t for the sister who tasted her food. Of course that was all prearranged within French Court and such, that she be protected by strong measures. Mary’s life had been in danger since she was born.
England was a vicious beast sometimes, so hungry for power, clawing at every country it felt was weak enough to let it take over. No one underestimated it, France included. French Court had grown great strength over the years and at the moment was allied enough with England to keep it from charging. France was not stupid though. It knew well enough that one day the English would want it too, and so build other alliances. Spain. Scotland.
Ah, Scotland. Francis had political doubts that Scotland would be the perfect alliance, and yet it couldn’t keep him from caring about Mary, and thus Scotland mattered.
Sometimes he’d spot her outside, and just hold at his window, watching as she stood alone, in pensive thought. Mary was frightened for country as much as self. Scotland did not have the kinds of forces of men that France, and especially England, did.
It was why Mary’s mother wanted the alliance so quickly after her husband’s passing, years ago. She thrust Mary upon them, French Court, expecting her daughter to be protected, while she still grieved over her lost king, and struggled to maintain order over a country that no longer had its primary ruler. Francis’s father and mother, King Henry and Queen Catherine, agreed to the alliance, something Francis wondered about now.
After all, his father was in no hurry to provide Scotland with aid now that it needed it. And his mother’s one time friendliness to Mary seemed all depleted. Now she simply wanted to get rid of her.
It was a bit shocking because when Mary was a girl, his mother adored her it appeared, helping Mary adjust to life within French Court patiently and caringly. Now, she had put Mary’s life in danger. It didn’t matter that Francis reassured his mother that France would always come first for him, and that Mary’s appearance would not make him love his mother any less. She still seemed to hold some deep resentment towards Scotland and Mary.
If it had worked, her attempts to rid French Court of both, he would be free.
Painfully free.
Fact for Francis was he didn’t want to lose the queen of Scotland who once had crooked teeth, and now seemed almost perfection, except when that irritating impulsiveness made its way to the light again, like it always did. And he didn’t want to see her full of fear either, like she was that night when she met Simon.
Francis watched both of them cautiously, as the festivities for Madeline and Charles’s engagement were played out. At first Mary looked simply annoyed by Simon’s words, but then he said something that brought a shock of white to her face and caused her body to tremble.
Francis was quick to intervene, for personal reasons as much as political. If Scotland’s weakness was shown within French Court, it could be bad for France too. Their alliance had to appear strong, even if there were cracks within, and beyond, he couldn’t just stand there while Mary, always so upright, now seemed to resemble a leaf of fall, shivering in the wind before it dried up and crumbled to the grass.
He pulled her away with a jesting smile for Simon that included innuendo about what he wanted to be up to with his future wife. Then pressing her against a column, it was even more apparent by the continued shaking and the pallid sheen upon her skin. Mary was utterly terrified. She’d been threatened at the convent, nearly attacked nights ago in her bed, for all her innocence to be taken away.
Had Mary even kissed before?
Francis did not know.
But this was worse. This was England, the sometimes beast, giving a growl and hiss, for they were becoming privy to a fact that they liked much. The engagement was not quite solid. Mary was easy pickings. And so was Scotland.
Always so impulsive and the one to make the first stubborn move, her show now was one of weakness, and it was no wonder. She felt alone, in danger, and unwanted.
It didn’t take as much an act as it probably should for Francis then to reassure her, and take up her hand within moments so they could make their way down the center of the floor, a display of solidarity.
After that it seemed to be no question that it was Simon who put the direst threat on Mary’s life, and later also would be the reason his brother had to fight off death after physical injury.
Bash.
Francis loved him, regardless of the fact that they were not full brothers by blood. He never treated him as anything less and so when Bash was injured by the English, it tore at Francis’s heart.
It had been days ago that Francis naively told Mary they could start off as friends, so naive for right after Bash was wounded, he was kissing Mary in a way that went far beyond friendship.
She pled for him to talk to her, but Francis cared little for conversation then. He believed that it was his fault, the ambush upon his country’s soldiers and his brother, and to add further fester to the wound, he was about to lose Mary too.
There was no way he could protect her, let alone keep his brother safe. He wanted just one thing first though before he let her go entirely. Desperately he rushed, his lips pushing against hers for a kiss that agonized his heart. Oh Mary, oh how he had wanted this to be different.
There was an outlet for her, but personally he hated it, because it involved the bastard son of Portugal, who with the Pope’s help was soon to become the legitimate king of said country. Tomas had assured Mary that he would keep Scotland and her well protected, in exchange for her hand in marriage. Thus, after their desperate kiss, Francis gave Mary the final push to leave France, and become Tomas’s wife.
*
Now, his head was clearer, with Bash in recovery, and disturbing rumors about Tomas coming to light, that unfortunately were not easy to prove. His instincts were telling him that a union between Mary and Tomas would be the worst thing to happen, that Mary would not be safe, and that possibly even Scotland would be in danger too. The wheels were spinning so fast though. Mary had her allowance to marry Tomas, her engagement with Francis ended, and in just a little less than two days she’d be departing France, and be off to Portugal with her soon to be husband.
That was why Francis had nearly lost track of time and now was putting a little haste in his step. Earlier he and Mary had agreed to meet, for possibly one last time privately, and he hoped to get there before she gave up on him.
Soon though he felt no need to rush, because there she was, just like she said she would be. His Mary. In golden yellow she was as pure beauty as the flowers blossoming free from the French grasses. Her hair, sometimes so dark, and at other moments filled with sun’s light to color it auburn, was at a stage that prettily held in between.
Mary, so tall and slender, long shining tresses tumbling down her back. Full lips. Big eyes. Pale and yet glowing skin.
Francis supposed if he was like Tomas, considering her more property than anything else, those would be the only things that mattered. Sure enough those alone were plenty to create lust. But since she’d been a child, and now again stirring all those memories up even more vividly, Mary could have those crooked teeth, those much shorter limbs and the big mouth that then was way out of proportion, and he’d still have a heart that panged a little louder every time she was near.
It did now, as Mary assured him that he didn’t have to worry about Tomas. She had her uncle’s support. Everything would be alright.
She changed the subject sneakily after they sat down upon the blanket together, a couple of her fingers loosely linked within his. He told her about the troubling rumors he heard, that Tomas was cruel to his servants. She, the mischief maker, wanted to instead talk about the time that he and his sister Elizabeth posed for a portrait and the finished result was of him resembling a dwarf. Of course it was the artist’s fault for not noticing that he was sitting in a chair, while his sister was standing, and that was the reason he seemed weak by comparison. Then of course, for further insult Mary brought Bash to the conversation, saying how he was the more passionate one. No doubt her rambles would have continued if Francis hadn’t fiercely interrupted.
It was her fault, that luscious big mouth opening and closing, just too tempting for his eyes and manhood to take. He had no choice but to shut her up.
It was enough pressure, coming from the kiss that he pressed firmly upon her lips, to bring her down to the blanket, but his hands equally shielded, making her landing a soft one.
Passion and desire rose in his heart, the flow of blood rising with excited reaction. To be with Mary was equaled pleasure and torture. That was why he threatened his father that he would tell Diane about his lusts for Kenna, one of Mary’s ladies-in-waiting nonetheless. It was reason too why he promised his mother that if any harm came to Scotland’s queen she’d lose him forever.
As it was all there now, given during a pause of each passionate kiss. Francis’s lips parted from Mary’s, allowing him to see the flush of her lips and the dilation of her pupils as she gazed back at him with pure necessity to return to what they were doing.
Forgotten countries. Forgotten bastard sons. Forgotten mothers and fathers. Forgotten marriage proposals. Forgotten that the last bits of daylight barely lurked in the sky.
He wanted this. And so obviously did Mary.
Even if she was virginal, Francis was not, having experienced the pleasure given by girls before. So many wanted a chance with him, regardless of the fact nothing of substance could come from it. Who was he to fight such open invitations?
It may sound crude, but it came to this.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Mary was gone, left years ago then, and so even though he knew there was the fact she would return one day, he didn’t think that should keep him from living life like all the other boys his age did.
Bash set him up with his first liaisons.
Soon enough though, Francis got the hang of things without Bash’s help. He learned how to discreetly take girls to his room. There weren’t that many affairs, but they were meaningful enough that Francis got pleasure from it. They were all virtually just physical enjoyments, until the one that happened months before Mary returned to court. That had deeper feeling, so deep he once foolishly talked with her about marriage.
Now with Mary returned, and actually at the moment lying underneath him, her soft skin purest pleasure for his hands, Francis wondered if he truly ever knew how deep feelings could go. With Mary it seemed the depth reached much further than tangible. She was a novelty that he had never had the fortune to experience until now.
Mary
Mary
Mary
Love of France floated away as Mary filled his mind and everything else. She smelled incredibly good, like the finest wine squeezed from grapes, or the sweetest smelling flowers that grew at the lakeside. That tantalizing scent was a given to anyone who got near enough.
What wasn’t so easily allowed was the taste of Mary. Francis felt almost like he had broken through a locked barrier to get to it, because it was so divine. Even if she was not the first girl he had ever kissed or lain with, she was the first of so much more, stirring him like no other had. If Mary was poison, still he’d be tempted enough to plunge within.
Of course Mary was new to this, the excitement rising in her breast and the flush of her cheeks stating that firmly, but beyond was the fact that convents didn’t hold many prospects for a relationship. If it was any different Francis was almost certain too that Mary would have told him. The time he kissed her probably was her first even if she didn’t give such primary reaction.
And that was what so fascinating about Mary and so exciting right now. She breathed not with fear, but with mindless pleasure really as their bodies converged against each others, a dip here to dive in further, a push back to ascend to greater height. As much as he touched and pulled at her, Mary gave in return, her fingers climbing up his backside, pressing against his chest, and stroking his face. Mary, beautiful passionate Mary, seemed to feel no fear. Not with him. And that brought an excited leap to Francis’s heart and stirred his manhood sharply.
Past the silky and lace fabric of her dress, he could feel the slenderness of her body react to his fingers. Slenderness everywhere, but with two exceptions. Her breasts, although not large, were still plump little rounds. And her thighs had a woman’s tempting width. Francis gave a roll of his hips and a short, but pointed thrust, that his mind had no control over, bringing on Mary’s lusting hiss.
Oh this girl. This woman so young and yet so vibrant, she gave him no reason to stop. Every kiss laid upon her lips, she responded to with torrents of desire. As his mouth delved further, as his tongue brushed hers, just a little shock of reaction, before she brushed back, impulsive Mary. Her hair and face were beautiful and wild to touch, and her mouth was the sweetest drink, but there was so much more of Mary to learn and she blocked him in no sort of fashion.
His lips slid away from hers with hungered intent and Mary’s reaction was further reason to proceed. Her moans, her vibrations underneath, and those hot breaths of air against his cheeks as she clung to him tighter, just made him more pursuant. There was the little problem that she was moving a bit much, but using his hands to keep her face in place tempered that enough, and with her leg coming up to be even closer to him, he had plenty of leverage.
She would not let him be the only active one. Her hands ascended to keep him as close as possible. They grasped onto his arm and pressed against his hand before letting go and finding his waist. Oh how she touched and caressed him, as if molding his skin to hers.
Sweet wild Mary.
Francis forced another pause to once again gaze into Mary’s eyes and see what was swimming there. Not just desire, but ache and a gush of pleasure. She was needing of, and enjoying this as much as him. All their exertions were creating a damp calescent feel. He moved his face against hers mindlessly, feeling their noses graze for a second, and saw it even more fully, her eyes so in tune to his, and so desiring that they continue.
The way she looked at him then was like no one in his life, liaisons included, ever had. Such a fool he was, thinking that he could pretend the double edged sword of her wouldn’t get to him, like it had the first time.
Once again she had been thrust into his life and his heart couldn’t avoid the blade of pain and pleasure Mary always brought, challenging and expecting him to do this and that. Mary was as passionate when she opened her mouth to speak as she was when she opened it to kiss him. Everything with Mary was so untamed, so annoying at times, and yet right.
The way her eyes looked at him, the way she clung to him, the way it felt when his mouth was pressed upon hers, was like he wanted to go so far within Mary that their separation ended. He wanted to taste that impulsiveness from inside. He wanted Mary to always be at his side, to be within, to be surrounding.
And now it was so certain, that this went beyond a man’s carnal drives. This was a lot more than a fun little ride. So far beyond lust and the physical. It was something else entirely like everything with Mary was distinct and new. With barely an inch between some areas, and nothing separating them in others, he could feel the fast beat of Mary’s heart, confused by it for a second, it so close to his own that he wasn’t sure if they were one and the same.
But no, after a stronger survey he was sure it was Mary’s heart alone, and yet the beat it gave echoed the fast staccato of his.
Again Francis found Mary’s lips. Drinking her in, Francis lowered his hand to touch with his naked fingers upon her heart the first time. The kisses she gave back made him yearn to have her even more. His fingers, grazing upon her clothed breast, he forced himself to not be too adventurous yet.
Other than that his mind was a fogged mess.
Mary, her name, her body, her lips, and her emotions, all of it was like rain falling down upon him, obscuring all thought but for those that cemented upon her. He could feel her lift her back upward to be even closer, as out of her warm wet mouth escaped another moan of feeling. It compelled Francis to lower his hand further, never wanting to leave this, never wanting to depart from Mary.
His body flaming with growing heat, everything was a new exhilaration with her, a beginning warm sprinkle of physical reactions as clothes were starting to feel too heavy. Nothing but Mary he wanted within his fingers, in the sight of his eyes, and caressed upon his lips. Nothing but-
“Francis…”
Her voice was hoarse, a whisper and nothing more. So Francis didn’t even pause, continuing to enjoy Mary. Nothing could ever stop-
“Francis…
Please.”
Mary?
“We can’t.” Her voice rose a little more, sounding desperate as she moved her face away so that the seal of their lips was ended. Her breathing labored, she pushed up at his chest. “I can’t. Have to-
His body screamed to not listen, but Francis’s heart and mind heeded with fast concern. He stopped it, clearing his passion driven eyes as best he could to look down at her. Although Mary didn’t look fearful, she was biting her lip stubbornly now, with flushed lips that were dark red from all their kissing, while her head shook back and forth. She was as much a frenzied mess as he, clothing even pulled tiny bits askew. She wanted him to stop, and Francis wasn’t like he feared Tomas might be. When a woman, especially one he cared for so much, needed things to cease, he did as told.
Francis gave an assuring nod the best he could, before letting out a guttural groan and falling back upon the blanket far enough away from Mary so they wouldn’t touch, breathing like he would if he had been on a long fast ride.
A sidelong glance though a few moments later, caused him to notice something troublesome.
Forcing himself to sit up, Francis asked softly, “Are you alright Mary?”
Clearly she didn’t appear okay, her legs visibly shaking and her response no more than a tiny murmur. “Mary.” Francis whispered, grasping to bring her into his arms and against his chest. Stroking her hair he uttered her name again, as her hands and fingers curled around his shirt’s material. She had such a pretty name, Mary, and with all her beauty she fit it perfectly. He liked getting to say it.
“Did I go too far?” He asked, rubbing her back as he got minimal reassurance that at least her legs seemed to be trembling less.
Mary shook her head only at first, before gazing up at him, her eyes fixed on Francis’s face. “No.” She said with a small tremor in her voice. It sounded more passion induced than fearful. “I didn’t want it to stop.”
A slow smile stretched across his lips, but she had more to say that slowly diminished it. “It’s just Tomas and-
Francis sighed, nodding his head with tightly reluctant understanding. “I know. Don’t say anymore. Better to pretend you’re not leaving so soon.”
Silently Mary agreed, her fingers running over his shirt’s material. With no more than a touch of shyness, she told him, “You were my first kiss.”
His eyebrows lifted with playful wonder. He had been pretty sure he was. The convent wouldn’t be the place for bachelor men to be in attendance, but hearing it directly from her, was kind of nice. “Was I?”
She gave him a dry look. “No. I lied. There were a slew of boys at the convent. Had dances all the time.”
He wrinkled his nose at her with a sharp look as she laughed and shook her head. “Jest. Of course you were. Boys were far and rare at the convent. So you were indeed my first kiss. A good one.” She told him with a broad smile that got Francis to chuckle.
“Glad to be given approval, but honestly Mary, you hardly kissed me back like it was the first time.”
It filled his memory now, that first kiss, such fervor from her then, and equaled just moments ago when they nearly lost themselves to their feelings.
“Maybe because it didn’t feel so novel.” Mary’s hand trailed up his shoulder, to reach his face, and clasp his cheek with womanly care. “Francis, when we kissed, then and now, it made me feel so alive. So…”
His hand lifted too, fingers pressing softly at her lips. “I know.” He told her tightly. “You don’t have to say it.”
Both of them sighed, pressing their foreheads against each other’s. Francis’s lips brushed past Mary’s and over her face, before he gave a groan and moved away. She was such calescent temptation.
“I don’t want you to marry him.” Francis roughly admitted now, his fingers upon Mary’s chin as he fixed upon her eyes.
Mary once again sought to lighten the subject. “Of course you don’t. He’s quite the show dancer.”
Francis grunted with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, Bash gave me a hard enough time about it.”
Mary laughed softly, her smile vivid and contagious. But then with a shake of her head she wryly admitted, “I felt almost like the bull upon the field. We don’t dance that way in Scotland. Of course it’s been long since I’ve been back.” She admitted with a touch of melancholy. “But watching my parents the few times I did, I know they never moved that way.”
“Not the standard in France either.”
Mary frowned, her forehead giving a sharp furrow. Teasingly, she reached out for Francis’s shirt collar and ran her hand down. “Oh come now. France is supposed to be filled with romance and excitement.”
“Mary, if I lifted you like he did I’d probably drop you.”
Mary laughed at Francis’s response, but then quickly sobered up, telling him pointedly. “We should test it to see if that’s true.”
“Mary.” Francis warned, but she was already stepping up off the blanket and grasping hold of his hand.
“Mary!” Francis hissed, but she pulled him further down by the lake to where they were even less within viewing distance, with a perfectly cleared area for moving around. Not so many trees, the land was even flat.
She let go of his hand and moved back, giving an overdone curtsy.
Francis shook his head at her audaciousness and that crazy impulsive mind of hers. “Mary, this is foolishness. I will-
“A-hem.” She told him sharply. “You are being challenged Prince Francis. Or do you mean to tell me you are a terrible dancer? After all, I’ve never seen you dance fully. That night, you barely moved across the floor with me before standing still. Maybe Bash is correct in that-
“All right!” Francis snapped, getting Mary to giggle. He circled around her, stating dryly, “You’re just acting so smug because you no longer have all those crooked teeth.”
“Ah!” She complained.
He smirked at her as they circled in the opposite direction. “And your legs aren’t as short anymore either.”
She gave him a face that made Francis laugh furiously. “Oh Mary.”
She shook her head at him and he circled her some more before suddenly grasping her waist and pulling her hard against him.
Mary gasped at the force, and even more-so as Francis pushed her away, giving her a spin. Then once again she was pressed into his waist. Another spin and Francis was feeling a lot better. Mary seemed excited and a little shocked at how well he was taking the lead. He liked that and so he grew even bolder.
Francis grabbed hold of Mary’s waist and lifted her up so that her head was high above his. A big smile of pleasure lit over her face as she gazed up at the darkening skies and then back down to his face. Francis lifted his head to kiss her and then brought her just a bit lower against him before starting to back up.
The attempt was to move fluidly in the reverse direction, holding her against him, similar to how Tomas had done it, but tell that to the clump of dirt that mischievously got in the way.
Boldness turned to frantic awkwardness as Francis struggled to hold Mary and himself up at the same time. No chance though.
“Ooooohhhh!”
Mary yelled as he yelled out something similar (with possibly a few French expletives coming out too) before both of them fell to the grasses in a tangled heap, Mary just managing to land atop. His back hit the ground with such force that Francis grunted and closed his eyes at the sharp protrusion of dirt that he was met with.
Opening his eyes after a sum of seconds, he saw Mary still with her head down atop his chest.
Breathing out, Francis stated sourly, “Told you.”
Mary’s head lifted now, a few leaves in her hair, that Francis lifted his hand to pull away as she smoothed dirt away from his cheek and the short hairs of his beard. “Well. Yes you did. And now it’s proven. You are a fine sword maker, but a terrible dancer, at least in the ways of Portuguese dance.”
She looked so mockingly serious that Francis rolled his eyes before giving firm complaint. “Well who would want to dance like a matador and a bull in the first place? Men and women are supposed to circle around each other with dignity, not lift each other up!”
“Agreed.” Mary stated with a tone befitting of royalty, before giving it up and exploding into laughter.
It was contagious.
The cracks at the edges of Francis’s lips gave way as he echoed her hilarity with his own. They shook against each other for a good sum of moments before subsiding into a slow slide of emotion, mouths desiring each other.
Her lips were wet and warm as he kissed her and she returned the favor eagerly. A crazed rapture took over them as they seemed wanting to never let go. The wicked cape of her long dark locks encompassed his face as Francis finally broke away, his finger resting upon her bottom flushed lip.
He needed to say it before time slipped away and she tried to change the subject. “No more jesting. Listen to me Mary. Be careful. I don’t trust him. I know I didn’t do enough here.”
“Francis.”
Mary’s head shook as she pushed against his chest, trying to get him to stop, so Francis caught her hand with a sorrowful smile. “I wish I could have done more.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.”
Francis sighed heavily. “I told you I cared more about country when you first came here. And the thing is, I love France, but Mary-
“No.” She told him softly, not letting him go on. “We’re not always the luckiest people. We have to sometimes do what is right for our countries, before ourselves.”
There was strong reluctance in her voice as Francis too wanted to pretend for just a moment that they were not royalty, no more than a boy and girl, or man and woman, but there was no truth in that.
She’d be marrying Tomas soon and so he had to get her to understand. “I wish I could have done more. But know this Mary. If I can find any proof why you shouldn’t marry him, I will. I don’t care if he finds out. Good if he does. As long as he knows he will not get away with any mistreatment of you.”
Mary’s fingers gently caressed his cheek. “Francis, don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine.”
There was a slight tremor in her voice that he didn’t like. He had a feeling Mary was trying to convince him more than she had fully convinced herself. Well at least he still had a little less than two days. He’d use them as much he could to find out the truth about Tomas. He was not the right match for her.
As much as that was a sentimental answer, too it was a practical one. “Mary.” Francis whispered again, getting Mary to nod her head and lift herself away from him. Once she was off, Francis stood and reached for her hand to assist her up to too.
Looking to the skies he gave a hard sigh, as the sun was set much lower now. Soon would come darkness. That meant their time together was done.
It had to be. What he wanted to do now was not what a man should crave from a woman who was intended for another. Even if in his heart, the intended was wrong.
“You go first. So no one sees us together. I’ll leave some time after. Go on Mary.”
In her face was hesitation, a tiny bit of swelling in her eyes. Francis smiled gently, clasping her hand tighter, giving it a squeeze. “Afraid your teeth will grow crooked again?”
“No more than you sometimes wish your name wasn’t that of a girl’s.”
He laughed at that as so did she, but then… “Mary.” Francis stated firmly.
She nodded. “Aylee and I were going to meet to finish the packing. She’ll be looking for me.”
In Mary’s eyes was a touch of mischief now. Francis liked that, even if Mary could be a bit maddening sometimes, dancing crazily with her friends at the wedding, and probably getting ready for some laughing gossip now with Aylee. She was impulsive and wild; let her always stay that way.
Mary’s lips were upon his again, and then so quickly departed, but by only inches, as she breathed out, “I would have taken hope. I would have gladly taken hope with you over certainty with him if there wasn’t-
“I know.” He pressed his hand against her cheek. Scotland needed aid and Mary was its queen. “I wish I could have given you more.”
His hand lowered to press against Mary’s shoulder, just a gentle push away. “Go.”
Mary didn’t fight him, silently leaving. He watched with a heavy throb in his throat as she grasped the blanket and moved up the bank. It was only when she was out of sight entirely that Francis looked away, finding his breaths short and wanting as he gazed out at the lake.
So wanting of Mary.
And despising Tomas more. It wasn’t just jealousy though. That would be easy. Something was not right about the man and he was going to prove it. He’d do everything, anything to keep Mary in France safe beside him.
Double edged sword or not, he couldn’t let it go. Her kisses. Her hands. Her face. Her voice. Her-
“I’m going to find a way Mary. I promise.” He whispered.
The questions and doubts he had when she first arrived were vanished now. Mary was the Queen of Scotts. His future wife. Damn the broken engagement. It didn’t matter.
For she was the woman he loved, the woman his heart was bound to.
Only-
Mary.