Mary handed over the blade willingly, watching as he carefully observed it. She noticed right away as his face fell. He didn’t need to tell her what he was thinking, because often times she shared his thoughts. This was Scotland. This was her land, but in her very home lurked people who wanted to take it from her and would stop at no cost.
“ Your concern for my well-being is greatly appreciated.
I feel safe here, more than I ever did in France.
My guards are loyal and willing to lay their lives down,
but if it ever comes to that, I want to be prepared. “
Not all of her words were true, but her intention was not to strike fear or worry into someone who served her. A Queen was strong, a Queen couldn’t show fear, even if she felt it.
As he returned her blade Mary tucked it back into her laced up boot, hands gently smoothing over her skirt before returning her attention back to the blonde. His dedication and care for her meant more than she would ever be able to explain. Many were against the catholic Queen on the throne, her own fiance was pressuring her into a contract that gave him the crown after her death.
“ I’d like to put my trust into you, Francis,
even if this may be a small task,
I wouldn’t give it to anyone else. ”
Something about him drew her to him. A small voice in her mind urging her to trust in him, to allow him into her life with hope and not resistance. While she was hesitant as always, Mary was willing, because something about Francis made her feel safe, and it wasn’t just his knowledge of weapons.
“ How is Darnley’s lavish request coming along ?? “
There was only a week and a few days before their ceremony, something she wasn’t excitedly counting down to. Darnley had been making advancements, attempting to now woo Mary over in order to win the crown matrimonial. He was now concerned with her ceremony desires, of which she had none, and took time out of his schedule of indulgence for her. His efforts, were of course, in vein.
All Francis could offer in reply was a solemn nod. It was comforting to know that she could rely on her guards, but the fact that even their protection wasn’t a guarantee of safety made Francis’ stomach twist.
It made him remember just how appreciated Mary was by the vast majority of the country. He hoped that the young Queen could see how her people adored her. Francis was certainly among that number.
Once more, a surge of bashfulness swept through him and he felt his face redden the slightest bit, flattered by her praise. It was absolutely ridiculous to be smitten with a Queen, of all people. There were women within the working class that he easily could have doted over. But they couldn’t hold a candle to her.
It was to his relief that Mary switched gears, making it so his foolish musings would have to be brushed aside.
“Nearly finished,” he answered, picking the sword up from his workbench. With the exception of a few minor details ( and Francis knew it was just his perfectionist personality at work, although Darnley didn’t deserve the effort ) it was complete.
As much as Francis wanted to wash his hands of the task, he also dreaded its completion. It would mean that Mary’s wedding day had come. He couldn’t help hoping that a form of divine intervention would sweep into picture just in time to cancel the ceremony.
It was wishful thinking, but it pleased Francis to imagine.
Holding the sword up to the light, Francis looked over the sharp edges and pristine shine to the blade. Although it was mostly for show, more an ornament than anything else, it was still very much a weapon. And as such, was liable to bring harm to whoever was in possession of it.
“Is it so wrong of me to hope that perhaps he might injure himself with it? I could easily picture Lord Darnley wielding it so hastily and recklessly that he slashes his arm. Much like a child would. I actually find that comparison quite fitting, if I may be so bold.”
