The Queen's Bedchamber

James smirked and slowed down his pace, deliberately goading her. He held himself above her, muscular arms at either side of her shoulders. He looked down at her, his dark mop of hair falling like black ink over his even darker eyes. He thrust himself into her slowly, feeling her quiver around him, “Tell me if I’m too rough - tell me to stop altogether, if you need to. Anytime we are joined though…I don’t think I can stop after that.”

Then he took her in a commanding, urgent silence. He turned her over and brought her rear to him before he fiercely thrust his cock into her sex. He collected her hair and tugged it away from her face, his other hand reached for her neck so that she would have to rest on just her knees. He brought her lips to his mouth and kissed her, hungry and yet also so that he could hear the slightest whimper from her which was not one of pleasure.

At first everything was so familiar between them both Mary found herself on tender hooks waiting with berated breath as to what would happen next. Then it began she could feel the power he had from every hand movement. The way he held Mary and demanded such a passionate kiss. As James reentered her Mary had wanted to cry out what she had felt. But her body had refused her to do so. Only a stifled moan was all she could manage. You could tell how long he had wanted this moment for them both. Although all her weight was put on her knees, her head starting to ache at how James pulled at her hair. Mary shivered excitement in his arms, feeling how hard and deep James had grown inside her. Their kiss, however was something she had never felt before a sensation of fire and ice clashing together.

He continued to move into her, feeling her contract around him after every deep thrust. He didn't think he'd ever quite known a hunger like it. There was an urgency to how they were, driven by a compulsion he didn't understand, but knew they must obey, or be lost to each other forever. It was not an act of love, more one of necessity. It felt as if they had been parted, a division and now this was the way to bring them back together.

Finally he set her down on the bed again and rolled her around to face him. He was too far gone now to stop even if he wanted to. He ploughed into her sex again and this time he smiled with pleasure and loved her with an unbridled sort of joy to be with her again.

Mary held James close to her body crying out his name sweetly again and again. She always felt overwhelmed when they made love. She wanted to kiss bite and slap him all at the same time. You have corrupted a murderer of love. You have hooked me completely on the feels of the flesh

Savagely Mary pushed down on his buttocks forcing him inside her even more. Moving her hips in union with his as fast as she could. If James was to touch or even lick her bud, Mary would burst into a million stars. Relentlessly she cried out for him her breasts wobbling legs wrapped tightly around him. As the pressure started to build like a tsunami inside of her. Oh god James..

James kissed her neck, letting himself act on his passions and not hold back. He wanted her to scratch against his skin and claw at him savagely, have her bite against his shoulder and whimper beneath him. He held onto her, groaning when he could not contain himself. He could almost feel them being stitched together again, by some invisible thread - an enchanted chord, bound by magic and something neither of them had power over. He could feel his release crawl closer, the pulsing in his cock became stronger and he rode against her towards ecstasy.

Don't let this end Mary thought to herself nibbling at his neck as her flower trembled against him. She grabbed at his skin her fingers crazing down his back with added pressure. Mary felt like crawling under his skin, combining their bodies together. Mary grabbed his cheeks looking him directly into his deep dark brown eye's. As she held his attention very reluctantly she came. At first it stung causing her to slightly wince, but then her body melted against James holding him in her arms for a change. I love you.

James would not hold on any longer, he could not if he tried. His release consumed him entirely and he let out a deep and heavy groan. There was something forbidden and dangerous about Mary at times, the way she whispered to him and held him. If she told him to, in those moments, James would wage wars for her. In his strength as a fighter, there was a helplessness as her husband - a vulnerability in the totality of his love. There was such tenderness when he shuddered in her arms, pressing his forehead hard against her own, trusting her with that moment when his strength turned so suddenly to helplessness.

It was perfect how they were with one another both of them satisfied both relaxed in each other's arms. Mary caressed his hips kissing the dripping sweat that threatens to fall down his face. A contented smile was placed firmly on her lips, she brought his head to rest on her bosom. Every time with you is perfect. I like how wild you drive me letting me go further than possible.

Mary brushed away his hairs that stuck to his face still holding him in her arms. Whatever he needed, whether it was just simply to be held she would see to it. Taking his hand in hers, Mary held up her fingers against his comparing how big his hand was to hers.

James let out a satisfied sigh, his breath warm and constant against her neck. He rested upon her chest, his warm and swollen lips kissed her pert breast as he shut his eyes. As his hand touched hers, he glanced up with a smirk,“You’re mine, a ghràidh,” he said softly, pressing his hand against hers. He raised his head and seized her earlobe between his teeth and whispered mischievously, “Mine alone, now and forever. Mine, whether you will it or no.”

And you are mine sweetheart, we are bound to one another in an unspeakable way.


At times with this peaceful bliss Mary wondered if other kings and Queens fell in love like this. They were an exception to the rules. She couldn't believe how lucky they both were to be so happy and love each other. If love was to not fall in their favour anymore, it would break Mary completely in two.

Eventually, James rolled over to lie at her side. He wondered if in years to come they would be like this, him on his side of the bed, taking up most of the mattress while she fit neatly at his side. Would they laugh about when they were young and could barely breathe for lust for one another. He glanced to his side and looked at her, "I love you, Mary," he said quietly - his voice broken and deep.

"I never want to leave this bed," he continued and lay on his side, tracing his hand from her neck to her stomach and back again. He knew he had a laborious list of tasks ahead of him, especially now there was a new prince. For once, he wanted to embrace his role of King. He couldn't imagine handing that perfect little boy a broken country like he had inherited from his father, he would make it a better place for him. Yet, there his wife lay - gleaming and glowing, loving him so perfectly and smiling at him.

Mary pulled back on her night gown her body feeling slightly more cold with James wrapped around it. She brought her head back to his chest. Her other hand moved smoothly over his scars. Her body fitted perfectly against his legs touching legs as Mary nudged his open. Being close together, she felt the most warmest next to her husband warmer than any fire could ever warm her. Mary smiled a smile she kept for only James especially when he proclaimed their love for one another. I love you to all of this still feels like a dream. Could we be more suited to one another.

Mary would keep him in bed for as long as she could, but Scotland needed it's king. She would suggest that he brings his work to the bedroom, allowing Mary to get a glimpse of what he had to tackle. She was curious to see if anyone had already written to James trying to forge a marriage. You do what you need to do it shall not be long before I am back at your side.

“I need to eat more than anything. I’m ravenous,” James said with a wink as watched her from the bed. He smirked as she draped her nightdress over herself, he preferred that to any tight corseted gown she wore in court. He could see the outline of her figure through the thin fabric, just enough to catch his attentions and make him want to tear it off.

It was a peculiar feeling for him - to feel so at home because of another. He had been content before Mary, he had known love and joy but he’d never known the helplessness he felt around Mary - the fierce urge to protect her and love her.

“I need to see young Jamie too,” he said, subconsciously shortening the child's name. His kin often had when James travelled about with him, yet their sobriquets for James were often less endearing and more teasing, such was the way with soldiers.

Young Jamie, Mary asked as her eyebrows were raised up in surprise. She tickled his ribs before moving slightly away just in case he decided to leave the room. I have a nick name. Mary added as she pulled the covers up to her neck gently closing her eye's softly. People call me Marie sometimes not all the time they mostly use that name when I am in France.

Ah, France is known for its delicious meals and exquisite desserts about the only thing she did miss of her homeland. Such delicacies they were not used to in Scotland and she wasn't going to force it on them either. The late night games and parties that went on until the early hours of the morning. Versailles was a court that never slept. And it was hard to adapt from being a night owl if James was not so amazing and loving. Life in Scotland would of been beyond boring and just a lonely country. Have one of my ladies bring him into us. I'm not sure if I am meant to feed our son. As he is a Prince of Scotland.

James nodded and collected his shirt from the floor. There was a sharp tear across the fabric and he chuckled to see she had ripped another one of his shirts. His mind flickered to Isabel who he had not seen for the remainder of the summer. It had been a jagged parting, yet like the scar across his shirt - some threads still bound them together. He slung the top over his shoulders and it hung loose about him, only really covering his shoulders and arms, “Well I came to realise everyone shall call him Your Grace for as long as we live…then it shall be Your Majesty. I know I tire of being given all those titles, he’ll just be our boy with us.”

It was strange for James to think of Mary’s life in France. Who had she been then: was she the same or different to how she was with him, “So what were things like when you were in the French court, Marie? I have heard tales of what those French women can be like,” he said mischievously.

James walked to the door and opened it ever so slightly, keeping Mary concealed but peering into the other room. He spied a ladies maid flit about the chamber and beckoned her over and bid her bring James to him and Mary.

Mary couldn't understand why his shirts always ripped so very easily. Rolling onto her side Mary let her mind flash back to her life in France. She hadn't given the country a proper goodbye, she was so adamant that she would be sent back if she and James didn't get along.

Mary looked up at James trying to catch what he was thinking, but his mind seemed elsewhere. Well, life in France was mesmerizing, especially when you come of age and get presented to the king and Queen. After that day I had regular meetings with friends. We would make rose crowns for our hair secretly drink when our parents weren't looking.

As their son was brought to them Mary took one of the laced pillows and indicated that he be laid upon it. He was tiny with the most precious of fingers casually kicking his little feet around. In summer we would spend endless amount of times, having private dinner parties with copious amounts of drink. But you know what happens, someone always takes things too far and ruins it for others.

James was glad to hear of Mary’s time in France. It was far more innocent than tales he had been told. He had heard of the brothels on the Seine, red candles in windows and lustrous women hanging about the doors - enticing men inside. He had heard that Paris was a vast citadel, bounded by high walls and constantly guarded by nimble soldiers. Most of his men who had travelled to France complained of the people, a rugged Scot was entirely different to a learned Frenchman. Half as many returned with the French disease and all said it was worth it. He hated that kingship meant he was bound to where he was; unless at times of war or danger.

James kneeled at the side of the bed and watched how Mary was with their son. He glanced up to her after she spoke. If he had his sword upon his hip, his hand would have immediately been on the hilt. To think of anyone even displeasing her was enough to incite that fierce protective instinct in James, “Who do I need to hurt? Who had taken things too far?"

Mary glanced at him, her soft facial features turning expressionless as she tried to think of how to word it. She would not give him cause for concern as it happened before he was part of her life. I just meant that there is always someone that has to ruin the merriment. You worry too much about me, I am safe with you.


Mary cupped his cheeks, her fingers pushing back his hair. He was a true soldier always ready to fight willing to protect those he loves in a heartbeat. Anybody could tell that he missed the battlefield a place where James was at his best and the most happy. Do you miss the battles James. Do your fingers itch to hold a sword.

“You are my wife, Mary,” James said and looked up to her. She was trying to conceal the truth of her words and this time he would have it out of her. Especially now that she had given him their boy, she was increasingly beloved. Whomever had caused her harm was an enemy to James, his chivalrous heart would see to their demise, “It’s my job to worry and protect. Who is the knave, what did they do?”

He kept his voice deep and quiet in the presence of their little child, yet there was a commanding tone and a maturity in his dark gaze. In that moment he looked a little older perhaps, a little more determined to defend her than usual, “I can have a brawl at the garrison whenever I please and hear the clink of swords,” he said with a mischievous smirk, “But no…we are at peace for now, thank God. I love the sport of a fight, risking your life only to claw it back…but now,” he whispered and tenderly touched little Jamie’s soft forehead, his finger grazing his fair hair - like Mary’s, “Now my life is more precious for this little one. I won’t leave him fatherless, if I can help it."

No Mary was adamant not to bring the past into her marriage she would let sleeping dogs lie. Even if James commanded the truth as though we were not man and wife, but as though Mary was his obedient servant. Mary did try to tell him months ago to let him in on the family secret.

Only half of the story was hers to tell she would feel like a traitor to throw a family member to the wolves. My father fought in a war and made a friend. This friend came to live in France and was a little infatuated with me.

Mary sighed heavily, feeling a very heavy weight being placed on her shoulders. I'm tired James. she muttered to him, keeping her gaze on their son. I have always been yours and no one else's

James kept quiet but vowed that he would find out more. There was a reason for her silence - either fear or shame; whatever it was, he would find out. He hated the idea that someone preyed upon Mary’s kindness, upon her good nature and loveliness. If James had not been gurgling beside them, he would have pressed her for more. Later, perhaps…

“I hate him,” he muttered deeply, almost like a child. There was an endearing boyishness to his anger that she had been hurt in some way, even if it were slight. It concealed the strength in him, the talent to fight or defend. He was a highlander at his heart, his notions on life were mostly plain. She was his wife, he was her husband and he would defend and protect her at every cost - even his own life.

He leaned towards her and kissed her forehead, “Then rest, my love,” he said kindly and caught her gaze with a smile, “Be of good cheer and do not think of sad things,” James glanced down to their little baby and chuckled incredulously, “I still cannot believe he is ours. That we made him…”

He kissed her on the lips this time, tender and longing, “I’ll go now but I will see you later. Where will I find you?"

Mary glimpsed at James expressionless. She was rather hoping that he would stay silent on the matter. A part of her feared his reaction should he find out the other part of the story. Maybe if she had been honest with James at the very beginning she wouldn't fear his reaction. After all, Mary had kept a secret from him, he might not see it in the same light.

Lifting up their son Mary brought him close to James as she rested the babe on her shoulder. She loved her husband very much and secrets were toxic like a rotten flower. Giving of poison instead of only good vibes and sweet scented smells.

Let's meet away from the palace so, then we may have a chance to talk. I would like a change of scenery other than these four walls. Now kiss me you fool, so that I might still feel the touch of your lips against mine.

James paused by the bedside and looked down upon Mary and little James. He was a little thing…James had never seen anything so small. He feared what the winter would bring for him. Even though he’d never much taken to worry or fretting, he’d never loved anything so much as that babe and the woman who held him. He’d always believed he could endure anything but he doubted he could endure loosing Mary.

“Our lodge then,” he said after a contemplative pause, “Take a carriage, a proper escort with my personal guard. Do not walk there alone, Mary,” he added. James was used to the winter winds and gales that raged about the glens of his kingdom; he’d curled up to some ancient tree many nights while the frost crept over him; he’d known the burn of the cold but he had endured. He barely felt it now. Yet, Mary would.

Winters in Scotland were harsh - even natives perished after the first snowfall. Mary was naturally fragile in frame; now all the more delicate after childbed. He’d have furs line the carriage for her - heaps of ermines and sables - and have the fire in the lodge ablaze.

James touched his little boys head, his hand larger than his little head crowned with fair hair. He remembered the way his mother would touch his head, just the same way as he touched his own child’s. ‘A parent’s blessing’ she would say in her shrill and cold voice. He’d do all he could for his son - make the land better, make it safe and love him the way a child should be loved, "Gum bi thu, a naoinein bhig, fallain, ionraic, sona air feadh do bheatha gu léir,” he whispered to him and then looked to Mary, “Tha gaol agam ort,  a ghràidh,” he said and kissed her, "Always have. Always will."

After James’ return from the lodge, it had already been dark for hours. He immediately drew himself a scolding bath and devoured a substantial meal, soaked down with ale. Eventually he dressed himself in his soldiers garments - specifically for the plan he had formulated at the lodge. Slightly different to his usual attire and entirely the opposite of official robes, the dark leather was scarred from enemy daggers and was worn so often the leather had become soft as silk.

James had waited for the night to come and occupied himself by staying by his son’s side for the rest of the afternoon. He told him stories of dragons and knights, of his mother and her kindness…much to the amusement of his nurses who giggled at the sight of such a rugged man being so tender. He didn’t know if Jamie could understand but from time to time he would gurgle or smile and that was all the reaction James could hope for.

After leaving the nursery he headed straight for Mary. He did not enter her bedroom the usual way, he knocked the door of her privy chamber - as all strangers might and waited for a ladies maid to answer.

Mary had fallen asleep in the lodge only to awake with freezing toes and nose. With chattering teeth, she pulled on her dress leaving the corset on the floor to be collected another time. Mary didn't look much like a queen in this minute. Her hair was greasy at the roots her brownish color returning for the winter.

The carriage ride back to the castle was one she wished not to relive for a long while. The paths were bumpy causing Mary to hold onto the curtains that covered the tiny carriage windows. She went up through the secret passage to the castle wishing for only privacy in her dishevelled moment.

Once back in her own chamber Mary slipped into a nightgown that had been warming by the fire. A rather larger goblet of the spiced wine was as warm as the roaring fire melting away the cold as it flowed inside her.

She called one of her ladies over requesting a head massage to relieve some of her tension. As soon as Ivy her most favourite maid in Scotland had started a knock on the door came. It couldn't be James he had access to the other door. Swinging her legs off the bed Mary held a finger to her lips to silence Ivy. Once tiptoeing over to the door, she listened intently to just how many pairs of feet were waiting on the other side. Who seeks the company of their queen,