Her answer was not something to be dismissed or ignored; it was mean and unjustly, of course. But David Douglas had thought his parents foolish and brash, flaunting a life-long affair in the eyes of powerful people and more importantly, the Queen and the Pope. He had been right in some ways, to call them fools. But perhaps Patrick shouldn’t have found hatred in his life towards his bastard son and should’ve instead nestled him closer ( not that Anne would’ve allowed that to happen, she was strong - stronger than any other, or at least, more powerful ). “I know,” is all Patrick could think to say, watching as Euphemia - made of love, patience and loyalty - stood before him with a beating heart and pumping veins.
Perhaps it was time to halt the pain within his body when he had someone before him full of life before him.
“Plums it is,” he whispers, a tender kiss pressed to her forehead before he guided her onwards. Soft, timid footsteps in line with her own as he walked arm in arm with her. Luckily for them, there were no lurid counsellors nearby to frown, for he was to most eyes, simply a prince caring for a mourning mother. Though their longing glances, puckered lips and rosy cheeks were telling the actions of lovers with years and land between them. With a squeeze to her grip, he looked to her. With the fruit orchards in sight, he had hoped to bring her mood up and above the clouds… it would seem it’d take some time.
“As much as I like the plums here, I find myself thinking that they were strange compared to our Scottish born fruits…” Unwinding his arm from her own to simply pluck at one of the plums that bore heavy upon a branch ( swollen with juice and soft to the touch ), Patrick balanced it upon his palm and rolled it to sense it’s ripeness. “A plum for my dear lady..”
perhaps it was cruel to think of what their son had thought of them, to think of the negative, to dwell on the loss of the relationship she wished they’d had instead of the one they’d truly cultivated. Regardless, there was still a deep and profound sense of loss inside of euphemia’s entire being and she could feel an ache that would always exist where he once had been. but patrick was not dead. It was important, she thought, to remember that, and so she offered him a smile. It was wan but it reached her eyes and she hoped it would be enough. “but you are here, darling,” she murmured. “i do not know where i would be without you.”
a breeze wafted over her skin and euphemia closed her eyes, breathing it in just as she breathed in the kiss he bestowed upon her. affection outside the walls of their bedchambers was rare these days and she reveled in it, in simply being outside in the sunshine, with the man she loved more than life itself.
he was right, of course. the fruits she was used to at home, even those in england, were rather different from what she’d found in switzerland and she was not certain she preferred the indulgences she’d previously eschewed. “i miss currants.” it was something she had not thought before this moment and euphemia ran a hand over her skirt, if only to have something to fidget with. “such a strange thing to miss, but the first thing i shall do when i return home will be to ask my cook for some currant scones.” she nodded as he plucked one of fruits from the tree, her eyes remaining on his visage. how she loved this man. “thank you, my love.” she took the fruit from his palm and carefully bit into it, the flesh of the fruit easy to bite into. when she swallowed it, she held it back out to him. “a taste?”
