The King's Bedchamber

James glanced up to Mary and then back to the flames, now burning red and dangerous. For a while if he stared long enough, he could see figures jump from the fire and dance for only a moment. If only the fire could burn away all the bitterness as fast as it had consumed the wood. He shrugged out of his coat and cast it over a nearby chair.

He looked back to Mary. He didn’t think he’d ever felt more panicked, more sore than he did in the minutes before he started the fire. He felt as if every word tore at his core. He hated himself for it, thought he was weak for being so affected. It took all his effort not to argue with her and retaliate. Now, fatigued and quiet, he smiled at her tiredly and with all the tenderness he could ever have for her. His eyes caught her gaze, bleary and dark from a restless sleep, yet not completely black - there was still the glimmer of brightness, the sleeping mischief, “Will you come sit with me then at least, a ghràidh?”

Mary smiled meekly her head felt so heavy that it was going to explode. She sat down looking out of his window. The sun was shining, but there were no blue clouds only white ones surrounding the sun that fought them back. Every bone seemed to ache arguing always left her a bit more fragile afterwards. She used to argue with her Papa, although that was far more aggressive than the evil laced words her and James said to each other. I never thought that what would have a perfect marriage couples do bicker. But I have hurt myself even more by hurting you.

As she sat down James let out another sigh, for once defeat was preferable. It all seemed so consuming, yet entirely insignificant. He barely knew what they had started to quarrel about but he was glad that it was over for that moment.

She looked as if she would topple over if the wind touched her and his self loathing increased. He was furious with her when they fought but this had dissolved. How could he not love her. He rose and made to the door yet again. This time it was neither to leave her nor to lock them in. His appetite had returned and Mary was looking frail.

He pulled open the heavy wooden door and caught the attention of his squire. He was only young, perhaps seventeen, but a funny boy who knew more about the stars than the grey bearded astronomers in court. They whispered together in Gaelic for only a moment or two. James asked if some food could be brought to them - more of his usual - and whatever Mary had - something French.

He walked over to her and sat at her side. He didn’t presume to have her affections immediately but he wrapped his strong arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair, “It’s done now,” he whispered deeply, “It's finished and we shall get past this.”

As the familiar arm was wrapped around Mary her tears started to fall like rain droplets. Her cry was silent, hardly any energy to wail she was so upset that what James had said about her had possibly been true. Mary didn't spend any time with her son it was not out of malice she found it hard to be a mother but she loved young Jamie so very much. Turning around in her seat gently resting her head against James as her fingers brushed through his bouncy curls that she always had adored. Later she would move, Jamie into her bedroom to be nearer to them both.

James kept her close to him, feeling her tears seep into his shirt. He felt a horrible sense of guilt to have her so reduced beside him. Indeed, Mary was a delicate thing but even in his arms - in that moment - she seemed smaller. He almost wanted her to rage at him again, to scream and claw at him - at least then he would not have to suffer to be near her as she was.

He couldn't quite think of what to say, he only held her. His tongue would get him into even more trouble. So quietly, almost as he did with their son, he hummed an old Gaelic tune - singing the words only in his head. 'N àm bhith cromadh ris a'ghleann…Thàinig snaidhm air mo chridh’…Bho nach d'thug thu dhomh do làmh…’S mi'n dùil nach fhàgadh tu mi

Mary pulled away from him as she sensed his uneasiness of her cries. Is this what she was only good at now making him feel uncomfortable and winding him up the wrong way. She dabbed her eye's with the end of her dress, letting it fall back into place afterwards. I shall retire to my bed-chamber for the rest of the day I can imagine you wish to have some space from each other.

James looked up as she pulled away in surprise. Maybe not, he thought. He wondered why her moods had become so fickle - such fleeting bouts of joy and rage. He longed for the days in which they seemed to move about together, at times apart, but always able to reconnect. He couldn't quite place why things had become how they were.

As she spoke his squire and another servant brought in two respective platters. One full of sweet and spiced meats, bread and fruit for James; the other filled with pastries and other delicate items that James had never seen for Mary. They had even taken the trouble to balance a slender vase of the latest wild flowers flowers of the year.

"If you'll take that through to the Queen's rooms," James said with a pleasant smile to one servant while he took his own meal from the his squire, "Thank you, Will, I'll speak with you soon," he mumbled furtively.

As they filed from the woman he sighed in Mary's distraction, "If that is what you wish then I might go for a hunt in the afternoon," he said quietly. It was in that moment he felt his transition to becoming like his father - at least the man his mother described. He'd never known his father. Distant and constantly away from his wife, hunting and planning for the country. He had always doubted his father could be so cold but perhaps that was the way with marriages. He hated it, the whole way things had become but he felt stifled in the palace as he did before Mary arrived. It had been too long since he had enjoyed himself.

It was late in the day, past seven and past light. The sky was grey, the clouds bulbous and threatening rain - more rain. It had not stopped for days and though the morning had seemed bright, James and his men had been caught in two gales during their hunt.

It had been a good one, each member of the hunting party catching at least one beast. Yet, James was unable to shake the cloud which hung over him. His kin had known him long enough to know nothing put James in a worse mood than to be parted from a woman, especially one he loved as much as Mary. So they returned to the palace, quietly talking amongst themselves instead of the usual boisterous celebration in the tavern

James went to his room alone and tired, hungry for more than food and yet being pulled closer to sleep. He would have laughed if he could see himself, stumbling into his chamber and removing his clothes like an old man as he crawled into bed.


As he slept, he dreamed of a woman. She had her back to him, and so he could not see her face but her hair was black and she wore unusual clothes. James found that he was holding out his hand to her and as he felt her fingers embrace his, she whispered his name. She called him Jamie - as he was called by his kin and how he had been referred to as a boy...just like his son.

With soft foot steps Mary gently opened James' bedroom door with Jamie nestled in her free arm. She noticed James fast asleep a rare thing for him to be asleep so early in the evening. Going over to the bed Mary sat on the edge gently brushing back his hair that covered his beautiful brown eyes. Delicately Mary placed her babe next to his Papa climbed into bed looking down at their son. James my love, are you awake.~

She rested her head on the pillow as Jamie grabbed onto her fingers. Mary wrapped her arm around James brushing her lips softly yet slowly against his cheek. No matter how lost Mary felt she would always find her way back to him.

Still half asleep, still dreaming and following the mysterious figure, James became aware of someone in his bed. Normally this would have provoked him to wake with a start and grab a dagger - one strategically placed beneath his bed, the other tucked behind his headboard - yet he was too consumed by his own nocturnal imagining. She called him again…

“No,” he moaned tiredly in reply to whomever was near him in reality. James rolled over, towards the dream but already the hand felt lighter in his and the woman was further away.

He persisted but then there was a knock against his window - a definite thumb and rattle against the glass. With this, his eyes opened and he sat up - stretching down for the dagger. Instantly he realised it was Mary in his bed with their son. He lay back down and held one arm behind his head, “Are you alright?” he asked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Rather stupidly Mary thought that James would welcome a visit with open arms from them both. Just like he used to do when he would pull Mary close to him and embrace rather intoxicated with one another shutting out the rest of the world. She was trying so hard to repair the damage that had been caused in their relationship, at least humour me a little.
Picking up Jamie, Mary held him snugly and strongly against her chest. We thought you might like our company, we'll go and let you catch up on your rest. If you need us, we are next door.~
It was like they were both stuck on a carousel going round in circles reliving the same greeting they seemed to use with one another now days. Mary felt so much pain today that she really just wanted to give up and let James come to her when he wanted to

James grumbled tiredly and kept his hand over his eyes for a moment and then shifted in the bed with a yawn. He propped himself up with his elbows and looked down the length of the bed, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He spared a glance to the window and then looked at Mary, holding James tightly in her arms.

“No, no,” he mumbled and cleared his throat, “I’m up now - stay."

He sat up, taking in a deep breath and rested his arms on his knees. Having her in his room, with Jamie was everything he imagined when the baby was born...yet things were still awkward, as if they had never spoken before, "I'm sorry the hunt was...eventful...I was tired when I got back."

Did you manage to run a stag down. I had a very lovely afternoon I fed our son from my very own breast. When our son is old enough, I would like to come and watch his very first hunt with his Papa. I'll be in a carriage of course, but I want to be apart of his world.~

As Mary smiled, she could feel her cheeks shine even if her smile was for her son. In her mind, she was counting down the day's to when she and James could laugh about all of this. To the day's when they greeted each other with nothing but lust running through their veins. Like the time under the table when Mary was with child and she just had to have James right there. Even though he said no. One day James I shall come to you so that we may concieve another babe.~

James shook his head, “A couple of wild boar and a grouse or two.”

He had always made the effort to avoid deers when he started to hunt. His first had been when he was fifteen, still a prisoner of the regent. His stepfather had taken down a mature stag. An unclean shot, the arrow did not kill instantly and the wails disturbed everyone present in the party. It had always struck James as cruel to kill such an august beast, and so he only targeted that which he knew could be eaten.

“We make a weekend of it in the summer,” he began, “Hunts begin on the Saturday morning and the cooks prepare it by bonfires in the open air in the evenings. The whole court descend with lanterns, tents are erected and my band play.”

He couldn’t quite imagine having another child, not that he didn’t want to. Indeed, he would not have to suffer carrying a child and Jamie would have a companion. He could think of nothing better for him to have a constant friend when he was growing up, someone who could understand, “Of course,” he replied with a light smile.

Her mind had drifted back to when she first arrived at court and the band had played the first night Mary and James dined together. Later, when the marriage was consummated, she had told James of her favourite piece of music and the soft honey loved words that accompanied it. James had said that the music shall always play for them around the court that promise had been broken the song never played anymore. Just like their love for one another it had been shut away, never to be rekindled ever again.

It was easy to argue with James rather than face the truth own up to the awkwardness that had now grown between them in a space of what a day. Maybe the love they once had before yesterday was now tarnished nothing sacred or special remained between them only the thoughts swirling in both of their minds about last night. If I have to wait a lifetime to feel loved by you again then I shall wait. As you are my one and only true love.~

James was yawning as she spoke and - again - was caught off guard by her words. Everything seemed so fickle with their interactions, so fleeting and nonsensical. It seemed as if they could only go so far before another wall was built which divided them. Soon it would be knocked down again but in no time, the bricks would be piled high and they would have a barrier between them.

“What’s the need for all this talk?” he asked with a genuine warmth. He sat up in the bed and looked up at her, “I love you, Mary, even if I tell you every passing day, still you find reason not to believe me. Tell me what you want and I shall give you it...”

A divorce~ Mary stood abruptly quickly open the door so that the wet nurse could take James down into a waiting carriage. Swiftly, like a thief in a night she took the necklace that he wore so proudly around his neck. Her eye's scanned the room quickly locating the keys that he had locked her in with. Mary wanted to pound on his chest, but she had the anger of an entire army and didn't want to hurt him make him pay but not hurt him.

He scarcely knew what to say, he remained quiet and in a state of confused acquiescence. Somewhere, in his gut, he felt a small, sharp stab of pain. They were tied by more than just lust and love, it was something more. The small boy that she pushed into the arms of another was the little person that bound them by something more profound. Even if she hated him and didn’t want to be with him, he still loved her. I’m a fool, he thought bitterly, a knavish fool. Every time she had pulled away from him in those days, he felt a pitiful kind of pain and he hated himself for it. How weak, he thought it was, to be so reduced by another, to be so vulnerable. Was it love that resulted in such pains? As she tore the chain from his neck he stood up and moved off the bed.

He gathered his boots from the floor kicked his feet into them, collected his shirt and shrugged into it - sparing her only one glance - his dark eyes pathetically glossed - but saying nothing. He made over to the door where the nurse had taken Jamie, “He stays in the palace,” James said, “He is a small babe and he will not stand the cold outside. You are to take him to his nursery now…please.”

Why are you acting like the victim James?~ Mary folded her arms crossly her voice a little croak as all this stress had reduced her to losing her voice. It was pretty foolish of James to have chosen Mary she was still going to leave him this falling out had been the one to end their marriage and she didn't want to waste her time trying to rectify a hopeless cause. Only for it to go wrong again in a few weeks time just like it always had and always will.

He didn’t respond. There was no use, no point in continuing the futility of their conversation. The arguments were those of his childhood, the bickering and bad feeling. He wished he knew how to tear it away at the root and stop it from festering - yet, he was lost. He was cursed to want that which he could not have. He gathered his cloak from beside the door and examined the shards of the necklace, broken beads glinting in the candle light - fractured and still somehow shining. If she wanted to leave him, he would let her. He had never wanted to possess her, never wanted to own her. She was his wife, she was the mother of his son - he loved her, even if they disliked one another, “Take a guard if you’re leaving,” he mumbled and opened the door, “And as much gold as you need. You will still have a home here…if you want it.”

He tied the cloak about his shoulders and left. He knew were to go, he knew were he would find an ear to quiet his mind and ease his sufferings.

Eventually he’d ended up in his rooms. James had protested as he was carried to the castle and tried to wriggle free on several occasions. Yet every time he moved he’d be shoved back into place and told to stay still. His soldiers, more family than strangers, treated him like a brother - calling him a daft lad who should keep quiet and be glad he didn’t have to walk to his room. They were rugged men and seemingly short tempered but James knew the consideration in their words. If they didn’t care they wouldn’t pester him and they certainly wouldn’t carry him on their shoulders. He endured it in quiet humiliation until he could hear the voices of courtiers. He wouldn’t let rumour spread so then, exerting his full weight and will, he pushed himself free. James landed heavily with a thud, his belt clattering and his hastily bandaged wound threatening to break open again.

“Tha mi gasta,” he repeated with his usual smile. His face was drawn with pain but remained strong and good-humoured despite it all, “Taing Dhia…”

He made his way, tired yet stubbornly, through the long corridors - already lit with candles in preparation for night fall. He took the opportunity to drink the remaining whiskey from the flask provided, kindly returning the perfumed port he was originally given with a playful wink at the soldier who gave him it. The whiskey built a small, warm fire that burned comfortably in his stomach, obscuring the hunger pangs.

He used all his energy as he jogged to his chambers. James rarely tired but in that moment he wanted nothing more than to sleep. He entered his room and told his friends to leave as he tore off his stained shirt replacing it with a warm quilt from the bed. His shoulder, which was bruised and swollen, was quickly inspected by his physician, “Her Majesty has done a fine job,” he commented in his shrill Edinburgh accent, his tone  “Very fine indeed.”

James swelled with pride and would have grinned if he had been more himself. She had mended him, saved him from bleeding out and had stanched his wound. Her touch had felt so good on his collarbone, he couldn’t help but recall with a smirk how it felt lower down. He took a seat on a stool by the fire, swaying with weariness, too tired to move - too fuelled with adrenaline to sleep.

When James was finally left in peace Mary went to see him expecting him to be in bed resting but he wasn't. Sitting by the fire, his arm tied up, he looked rather content lost in his own thoughts. She went to him gently resting upon his knee her fingers stroking his warm skin. Today had been really scary Mary did want to discuss it with James but waited until another day when he had a clearer sober head. Why don't you come to bed rest a little .~

She nibbled at his ear moaning seductively hoping to entice him into bed to rest.

James looked up from the stool as Mary entered the room, bleary eyed and her gown stained with his own blood. He could bear his own pains fine, he had endured enough to know that he could cope with most aches and wounds however he couldn't take Mary's. He had never been so grateful...he'd never expected it from Mary and to have her touch him the way she did, he could feel his heart swell.

James leaned against her, shutting his eyes with a balmy sigh. He felt half dead, a lot more than half really. He wrapped his arm around her, one large warm hand on the small of her back, “Tha gaol agam ort, a ghràidh,” he mumbled and strained his neck so that his lips kissed her forehead.

He laughed tiredly, holding her close, “I’m knackered, but I can’t lie with you without wanting you and wanting is all I'm like to do,” James stroked her neck and back, offering the comfort of his broad, warm chest.

Mary shifted her weight so that she wasn't directly pushing James off the stool. Her emotions were running high at this point she couldn't understand why this had happened and who exactly was going to pay for this. Time after time Mary always asked, James is Scotland safe from the British now she had her answer. Stretching her limbs that had now started to ache due to the position she was sitting in. She went and called one of her ladies in waiting to ask them to run her a bath.

She then went back to James lifting up his chin so that their eye's were on the same level as one another. Without warning Mary pressed her lips against his a firm yet gentle kiss, the feel of his lips was rough like sandpaper due to lack of water. I love you James and I will seek out justice for this. It is treason to try and kill a king, but to hurt my husband I will have more than just their heads on a spike.~

James was unusually quiet. It was the first time he’d been so caught unawares. He’d fought the English but it had always been a planned attack, he’d always had some suspicion about a hide out or place that they would plan an ambush. This was the first time two had strayed so close to his own home. They would never have made it through the battlements but they had left a wound, greater than the one on his neck. To be sure, he was certain they had been dispatched to hell. When James rode away from the place of the fight, the two men were lying in the dirt. They were either dead or incapable of travelling far enough to make a proper escape…yet his pride was hurt, “I’m sorry,” James mumbled quietly, his voice deep and hoarse.

He’d won the fight, he could still stay he’d never lost and that he was lucky…but it had been too close. If he was a King that could not fight, his son would now bear the burden he had as a child.

He looked up to her as she spoke of acting out revenge. For some reason, she seemed more attractive - like a Queen…but more than that. She was a woman that could lead an army for him and their countries, ride ahead and tell them to fight. She could inspire the loyalty and devotion of thousands. There was a look of flirtation in his eyes, he looked at her neck and then the curve of her lip, the sweep of her lashes - finally he smiled, “I’d sooner have you kiss me again,” he said and brushed his lips temptingly across her’s, "Those men will not be escaping any time soon."