The King's Bedchamber

Immediately Mary felt bad for making James apologize that wasn't her intention. She was just a little over passionate when angry and didn't quite know the boundaries or how to reign it in as they say. Placing her knee on the stool Mary wrapped her right arm around his back. Her hold gentle yet secure as she pulled his chest to hers. Gently she brushed her lips against his the anticipation causing Mary to sigh dreamily as goose bumps trailed up her body.

His dark eye's playfully yet teasing half expecting for James to pounce on top of her at any given moment. Their kiss started off sweet like rich vanilla both lips gentle against one another. Then, as her desire began to grow like a blossoming flower ready to be picked. Mary slipped her tongue far inside his mouth, groaning deeply as her shoulders relaxed like a petal growing heavy from a raindrop.

Returning her kiss, James kept one arm around her - both of them pulling each other closer to the other. It were as if he’d never felt a woman pressed so close to him, her breast - through her dress - pushed against his strong chest, her soft lips and the gentle touch of her hand. James, with heavy breaths, made to wrap his other arm around her and broke off their kiss, the pain suddenly returning. Of course, the physician had said to rest the arm - keep the joint still and bound…however the physician did not have a wife like James did.

James tipped his forehead against hers, holding the injured arm over his chest and touching his other broad shoulder, “You’re a cruel temptress, my Mary,” he said hoarsely.

Just a little Mary leaned back away from him. He had already had enough excitement for one day and it pained her to see him like this. Arm bound to his chest, his activities limited no matter how much they desired one another. Mary could deny him nothing whatever James so desired she would find a way. On his part it would take more restraint any man would gladly lay there as his wife rode atop him not James. I am no tease just a woman kissing her husband. Yet I realise it is wrong to tease as you are restricted by your wounds.~

“I’ll heal soon enough,” he replied with a smile, “By the time the ice melts, I’ll be fine. I am fine,” James insisted. He had the type of spirit that could never truly admit he was not alright. He'd never been used to being unwell, never had to stay in bed for a long time. He'd been blessed with health and luck...and cursed with pride. Those who knew his father would highlight the similarities between them. Even when his father was mortally wounded, he still insisted he would be alright. James was no different.

On his father's anniversary, when tears itched his eyes and he could feel the heavy weight in his chest - he said he was alright. As a young boy, only just coronated, when he sent his mother to the north; he said he felt nothing, yet the guilt weighed heavy on him - in spite of how she had treated him.

He looked at Mary warmly, gently grazing his thumb over her cheek - noticing how her cheek flushed beneath his touch, bringing colour to her clear skin, "You're the only woman I've ever truly loved Mary," he mumbled quite out of nowhere. He meant it, "And you'll be the last. I swear it."

James could not help but be aroused by her voice, he swayed alarmingly to one side, but caught himself on the edge of the stool. His eyes drifted around the room, then fixed on her face with a grin - the port, whiskey and shock taking hold, “Your Christmas presents are by the window, by the way,” he said casually and leaned closer so that he may kiss her again.

From the corner of her eye Mary could see objects that glistened against the candles. Bright enough to be the night stars. It was clear that James was entering a state of delirium if he fell she wouldn't be able to pick him up. Like a magpie she was attracted to the twinkling effect when they caused the flame flickered against them. Mary wanted for nothing. All she asked was that James is a faithful husband no matter who slithered their way to his attentions. But his sudden proclamation sent a chilling shiver down her spine. Mary wasn't used to hearing those words from him.

Gifts wouldn't fill the hole that she still felt deep inside her. Under appreciated and taken for granted was just some of the emotions Mary felt. Her mind did wonder what James was thinking probably not best to ask him in this intoxicated state. Slowly Mary broke free from their embrace gently leaning James' body against the stone cold wall. Maybe the stone would cool his skin. You did not have to buy me such things I am happy with just your love.~

The arrows appealed to Mary the most the pale red cover and all the delicate drawing was certainly exquisite. She laughed politely thinking back to the time when she tried to hold a sword failing miserably. But a bow and arrows were just appropriate for her height. When the weather was warmer Mary would practise every day until she would be managed to hunt down an animal! They'd be able to go on hunts together, feasting themselves afterwards back at the cottage.

James slumped his body against the cold wall, allowing himself to be manoeuvred by Mary’s gentle touch. It only took him a few seconds to react to the cold - the dead, grey stone which was not covered by tapestry. He moved away with a huff, letting the hairy blanket around his body drop to the ground and land in a heap by the fire. He glanced over to Mary and noticed the little smile on her face as she looked at the arrows and the delicate bow, neatly encased by the intricately decorated velvet cover. James had it specially commissioned for Mary, it was made in the garrison like his own and that of all the soldiers in the army…only it was exceptionally more detailed.

“You’re my Queen, you deserve that and more,” he mumbled and ran his hand through his hair as he plodded over to his bed while adding with a mischievous smirk “I couldn’t very well allow my wife to not have her own form of defence…especially after that sword lesson.”

He slumped into the bed and looked up to her, “Have I made you terribly unhappy, Mary?” he asked - gaining surprising clarity. He still felt the dreadful guilt of leaving her stuck up in Edinburgh with Jamie for all those months while he lived in Stirling. During that time, in spite of his thoughtlessness, he loved Mary and whenever he saw her, he knew that she was the only woman for him.

Mary made her way over to his bed where she sat on the edge kicking her shoes off. She flexed her feet the bottoms of her stockings filled with sweat. As Mary removed them it had felt as if each item of clothing had been holding Mary down with a great weight. Swinging her legs up on his bed, she lay on her side slightly wishing to be free of all her clothes and that warm bath that awaited her. No you have not made me unhappy I was terribly lonely. I loved you yet when we were not together it was hard to get that love across to you. I thought that you would never come back to me...~

Mary had always been happy with James always. How could she not when they had created such memories together. Yes, they were opposites, but little by little, perhaps the differences would fade away. It certainly felt that way to Mary. Just because their backgrounds were different, it didn't stop them from loving each other the way they both did. What scared Mary the most was loving James so much that he would turn to ruins.

James shifted on the bed, arranging the pillows behind his back so that the goose feathers would swell around his tender shoulder and give it support. Eventually, after huffing and making a simple task seem difficult, he stopped his restless fidgeting and lay on the bed near her. He felt calm to have her clear gaze flitter from him to her task, absent mindedly revealing the curve of her leg as those steady hands she used to heal him, removed her pale stockings.

The months of their separation were peculiar. The days had been long: mornings spent at the garrison with friends, the afternoons spent grazing amongst the fields - hunting and racing, the evenings in the tavern or parties in the palace - always laughter, always dancing. He’d kept his mind occupied with anything other than the realities of their situation. At night, when the land was colder and the brightness had been drained from the land, James could only think of Mary and the longing he had for her. The idea of her would rest inside him, heavy and sweet. He would close his eyes to better remember her - smiling at him in the firelight, the light presence of her as she would listen to him talk and how little Jamie would laugh or squeal as he was beginning to find his voice. In his bed he would feel the echo of her warm fingers on his skin, pressing down on him. He would hold himself and dream of her coming to him - her hands on his skin, her soft mouth on his as he put his hands through her soft curls, every scrap of clothing off her body. It felt right to have her home.

“I want you to start coming to some of the council meetings,” he said and reached out to her, his tender touch landing on her thigh, “All this business with the English. I could kill Otterburn for inviting her without my permission but It’s not right you weren’t at the meeting. I want you at my side, Mary, where you belong.”

Mary could not hide her amused smile as she watched James fidget trying to get comfortable in bed. He reminded her of their son, his strong willed nature now coming across more strongly than before. Pulling back the covers Mary climbed in beside James fitting so perfectly next to him just like she always had. It was as though James was the sun and Mary the moon. A huge part constantly missing from their life until they were brought together again. You were trying to keep me safe James. I am not angry that it was kept from me just surprised that any true Scotsman would dare think that you would agree to such.[i]~

His fingertips had never left her skin every place James had touched all kissed remained a permanent fixture. Mary thought of her body as a flower all petals, dried up like crispy leaves. One touch of James brought the color back like a bright sunflower flowing gloriously in the sun. Just like Mary did when she was with James or when he made her cry out his name in heated yet all consuming passion. She moved his hand just a little higher up her leg before quickly, trapping his hand there for the night. It might seem strange but Mary always slept better with a hand place firmly inside her legs.

To join the council so to speak was slightly daunting. Not all of them, but some were like blood hounds quick at seeking out the blood of the weak. Beasts the lot of them sometimes James always had a slight crack in his voice after council had been dismissed. It was that passion since Mary had gotten to know James that she wanted from him when they were intimate. [i]I think I shall like to attend only when it concerns our son. Now tell me where does that crown orginate from.~

“There are many who would dare to think thusly, love,” James mumbled deeply - his voice warm and quiet. It was true. All of the elder the nobles in court were loyal to the regent who had been much too concerned with his own wealth and that of the older men who hoped to better their clans and not the country. They were rich because of his stepfather’s folly and so to send them away from court was to send the capacity for a strong rebellion into the wilderness where they could plan their treason in perfect secrecy, “Yet most are in court where I can keep an eye on them. I can trust the people outside these battlements…it is from within that there is a threat. All the young nobles - our age and the like - are loyal; the intelligent and progressive sort, the ones who approved the act of succession and want the country to improve.”

James moved nearer to Mary, her warmth and tenderness, his mind distracted by where she had placed his hand. Their reunion, that blissful time in her bed, was still fresh in his mind. He’d never quiet loved a woman like Mary, never quite heard a sigh so sweet nor known hands that seemed to read his very thoughts. His forehead leaned against her’s, his lips grazed her nose affectionately, “The diamonds,” he began and moved his hand between her thighs, “Come from the east…the design, I believe, is by one of the artists in court.”

Let us hope that our new ambassador does not betray his king.~

Mary couldn't understand the stupidity and manipulation of people. She would much rather deal with lies than manipulative people any day she was growing too tired of silly little games. I briefly spoke to Trytas the new ambassador, but I think he would much rather speak with you than me. I am not too aware of politics or such things so I couldn't bring him up to date as such. Do you think that he is in secret talks with the English.~

He tried to suppress it but James could not help but let a small laugh escape his mouth. It blurted out - warm and balmy, like a schoolboy at the back of the class room. Indeed, he glanced up to Mary with a youthful look of mischief - expecting that he would be scolded. He laughed - not in mockery, very far from it - indeed it was pleasant amusement at her concern and his own pride that it was Mary who first spoke with the new ambassador. He’d never had someone fight in his corner the way Mary did, not really. Of course he had his brother’s in arms - his friends and kin yet he knew that the devotion that Mary had was resolute and transcended normal loyalty owed to a king. He wrapped his arm affectionately around Mary’s shoulders and brought her close to his side so that her head might rest on his shoulder. He pressed his lips - still smiling - against her hair, “With my Queen beside me,” he said warmly, “No man would dare.”

Having her nearer, he could discern the cut of gown more and how it skimmed over her body - changed after Jamie. She was softer and her chest plumper; her cheeks always florid and glowing and her eyes always glistening. She was still delicate by his side but he did not feel so much that she would break if he held her too tightly, "How is our boy?" he asked and let his lips fall on her golden hairs again.

Mary soon laughed alongside James not knowing exactly what they were laughing about. Her fingers itched to tickle him to demand what was so amusing to him, but they refrained from such. She had wanted him the lusty sighs, never ceasing to stop always there like a constant craving. Mary guided her hands up the insides of his legs, pulling quickly at the strings that held together his trousers. Only briefly did her fingers touch his warm, smooth skin, which was soft and welcoming. I want you~

Came the hoarse reply as she quickly pushed him onto his back. Every breath Mary took was berated waiting impatiently to be joined with him once again.

James nudged his nose against her’s, letting his smiling lips graze against her mouth as he did - tasting the honey on her lips, smelling the lavender upon her hair. It were,  to James, as if Mary was a perpetual summer - always warm, always shining and always ready to bestow her radiance upon James, “More than you want to talk about Jamie?” he teased and all of a sudden pressed his lips against her’s in a quick, warm kiss.

He winced a little as he fell amongst the pillows and sheets - the joint in his shoulder protesting but the hardness in his breeches had already piqued. He brought Mary to lie upon his broad chest with a grin, quite happy - in his tiredness and arousal - to let her take charge for a change, “I’m mad for you,” he said quietly - his voice and sentiment earnest while that roguish glint of his sparkled in his dark eyes.

Mary was torn between right and wrong not wanting to hurt James. But selfishly needing him as only a woman could. She sighed heavily as she lay across his chest, wrapping her legs around his. For a brief moment Mary laid their her hair fallen about carelessly. His chest moved in rhythm like the rise and fall of waves his voice caused a vibration with each word he spoke. I am glad Jamie is young and won't remember this day. He will hear about it yes but not remember it. Truth be told I think we are too young to look after such precious thing. ~

When they first came together, it was only them pushing aside the entire kingdom. Days would be spent between the sheets giving to each other whatever they desired. Now it was as boring time hardly spent with one another. As Mary pulled of the final remains of her dress she noticed the dirt that had managed to soak her stockings. Leaving muddy tracks down her legs. Running down like a faint line was his blood.

James automatically and tenderly touched his hand over her hair. He could feel her breath - where her lips touched his chest - whisper over his skin. It felt good - very good, to just hold her near and though he wanted more, in a way, it was enough. To just have her wrap her arms around him, rest heavy on him and to let him touch her - it were as if she were the stranger from France again yet not in a strange way. Simply, he wanted to protect her as fiercely as he did when he first met her and he smiled to remember that he forced himself not to conjure anything but the most respectful imaginings of her: holding her hand, touching his mouth to that hand, how her nose would crease if she smiled…

It occurred to him that moments like these were rare between them - too rare and he sought to remedy it. She was right, of course she was, James had grown used to being acquiescent to Mary's wisdom. He didn't tell her - part of his pride would not allow it - but her wisdom was inspiration for at least half of his speeches in council meetings. They were the same age - more or less - yet Mary had the mind of a monarch and scholar...James of an adventurer and soldier. He gladly - and proudly - bowed to her superior wit, “Then let us leave him with his guardians,” he said quickly - not fully registering what he was saying - his hand caressing her hairs, “Let us - you and me - go. Go to France, go to the country. Let me love you, Mary, in the way I should and the way you deserve.”

He touched her chin so she would have to look into his eyes, “We will not be away forever but he won't remember these days...we will and I want my memories," he began - his kind smile turning roguish and playful, "To be of you...and your smiles and laughter...and the things that only I may see...or touch."

In moments such as this James would've had Mary on her back. As he moved passionately inside her breaking down each and every one of her walls. Guiding her hands down his body Mary gently tugged at his trousers pulling them down. A tiny part felt bad to leave Jamie behind Mary hoped he would understand when he was older and had his first taste of a lady. But when James spoke my god it was as though all of his words were written across Mary's skin etched deeply inside her blood.

Her body started to tremble the inside of her thighs ached for their home. Slowly each leg was placed beside James' legs as she rested her body in his lap. There was no stone or placed left unturned that Mary wouldn't do for James she loved him fiercely wherever he was she went. Her home the only man she had ever loved. You would have to be a fool to try and advert James' attention away from Mary or break their love even. Both loyal to only each other bound in an invisible way that the human eye couldn't even see it. Oh love let us leave in the morning when the sun first arises, you and me on my boat. I'll leave my ladies in waiting behind as I want my days consumed by you and only you. Let our trip to France be of pleasure and not duty and that we may have some time to simply be man and wife.~

As she bent down to kiss his poetic lips, her blonde locks fell around his head locking them in their sweet embrace. Her lips sucked upon his lips a bittersweet long drawn moan arose as a Mary ground against his throbbing Manhood. She teased him, letting her hot nectar splash against as Mary moved her hips vigorously against his body.

He smiled, bright as glass, warm as sunshine, and tucked a curl of golden hair behind her ear as he leaned nearer and kissed her warmly, “I love you,” he mumbled.

And so again, after the pause - the quiet moment of whispers and tenderness - they ascended towards the familiar. Though her body was familiar to him, the curves and little freckles and the points upon her flesh that were softest, he discovered each time as if anew. Every time he was in her he felt all young and inexperienced again, unable to control his passions and only capable of being in that moment. It were as if she erased all his years and women before her - eclipsing all who had been and all who might try. He could see only her.

Slowly, very slowly - because of his shoulder more than anything - he moved out of his breeches and held onto her hind. He guided her onto his tall, eager manhood and let her wrap around him as his lips nuzzled against her neck.

If Mary had any lingering doubts about their past together, they were certainly gone now. James knew every arch of her body, and like a blind man with his favorite book, took his time calling each emotion from the pages of her flesh. As he slid inside her so perfectly like two pieces of puzzles connecting a euphoric feeling washed over Mary. She groaned, running her hands over her breasts as goose bumps spread across her skin.

Sweet sighs of ecstasy as soft as a violin being plucked came from Mary's full pink lips. At first her hips rocked against him back and forth like a horse being captured by a gaucho.

James buried his face deep in the void between her throat and her hair: biting, kissing her neck, inhaling her perfume: honey and lavender. He settled between her legs, wrapping them around him, his hip-bone digging into the soft flesh of her inner thigh as he held her tenderly close to him. His cock, hot and hard, is pressed into the hair at her venus mound and he could feel her rock her hips towards him. His own hands felt as though they were everywhere at once. Open-palmed, gliding over her skin; up and down her back, around her arse and the thighs that were possessively around him.  

He began to move his kisses lower, over the hollow between her collarbones, his beard tickling her as his head moved between her breasts. He held her thigh, squeezing a little as he positioned her fully onto her back. He broke away from her for a moment and looked upon the gentle curve of her body.

Then reaching down he cradled her head in his hands, his gasping lips kissing her’s as he thrust inside her. James was affectionate and cautious at first, finding a rhythm that he could control. His muscles bunched and rippled - shoulders, back and legs - his hair fell across her face. He didn't even feel the pain in shoulder in that moment. He moved his lips into the crook of her neck again, his mouth finding her earlobe mischievously. His motions became more deliberate, his thrusts harder and deeper and finally wilder as groaned quietly against her skin.

She longed to be consumed by him.

Nearly every thought in her head swam in some iteration of needing him closer, demanding more of him on more of her. Cursing the bedsheets for rebuffing his touch, she rolled him against the mattress sighing softly as his arms enfolded her, the otherworldly heat of James’s skin cocooning her on all sides, soft and familiar as her favorite blanket.

Hips clashed and nails raked, their breath mingled in heated pants as mouths searched out each other’s, never straying far before coming together again. Waves of dizzying heat broke against her swaying and bobbing afloat on their passion, confident without the anchor of her husbands hands at her hips she would surely drift away. With each deepened thrust and every fevered grasp the lovers sank deeper into one another, lost in the undertow as flesh and spirit exulted in their sweaty accord.

She saw it in his eyes as she allowed herself to dip a toe into their depths. There was desire and longing (and something much softer), there was lust and fire and unmatched passion, but there was also something Mary knew well recently. There was belonging. They were the tide and the shore; their reunion inevitable.

It took James at least an hour to get to his chamber when he entered the castle. He took his own horse to the stables. It would have been as tired as James and it was his habit always to see to it's own health before his own. When he left it, it was curling amongst the hay having been fed, watered and tended to.

Then he was delayed upon entering the castle. It only took one courtier exclaiming ‘The King has returned!’ before James was swarmed by a horde of courtiers. They were as excited as fishwives on market day; endless speeches and benedictions upon James, which he would normally have the patience to deal with but he knew Mary would be waiting and each passing moment dragged longer than his time from court. He did mark how each spoke of Mary. ‘A true Queen of Scotland’ they had said - telling James of her virtue and wisdom, how she had gently moved about court until his return. It seemed that there was a renewed love for Mary, a complete devotion to the Queen who protected them while James was gone.

Finally he reached his chamber and found a bath had already been prepared by the fire. James peeled away his clothes, tossing everything to the side before submerging himself into the pool of warm water. As he emerged later, he appraised his bare - now clean - body in the looking glass. He was much the same. Taller than most, broad shouldered, dark skinned but his wound oozed red. Clearly it had been reopened during the journey, “Faigh muin,” James muttered and collected a pair of new breeches.

He examined the wound with a furrowed brow, knowing Mary was only through the wall and how desperately he wanted her. Again, he swore in frustration and mulled over what to do.

Mary had tucked young Jamie away to bed; he was constantly at Mary's side when James was away. He now had his own little crown which had the same jewels as Mary's had but not as grand just suitable for him. When Mary returned to her bed-chamber she sat on the edge of her bed casting a quick glance to the door. Which divided her from James. Ever so tempted to see him Mary pulled back the heavy; thick tapestry that hid the door from others. She hadn't bothered to undress preoccupied with thoughts of James.  Twisting the door handle Mary pushed it open rather loudly even if she did feel bad at not respecting his wishes.

The chamber smelled of water, candles were ablaze from every side of his bedroom. At first Mary did not register his cut which went right down his chest oozing with blood demanding to be felt. Underneath it all James was still the same man that Mary loved never would that fault never! The anger started to rise up inside she could even taste it in her mouth had he not vowed once to her that he would be more careful? Shouting and crying would not fix the situation; but the wound was deep and needed much attention.

James was hunched over, shoulders curling into his chest as he examined the wound. Waving from side to side, his eyes drooping shut. He didn’t think it was the fever that lulled him to sleep but tiredness from the journey. His wound wasn’t serious. It needed proper stitches perhaps, a wash of alcohol but it was the loss of blood that was the bother.

James had barely noticed it at the time and when he discovered it, he had to be forced into having it looked at by the oldest man in the travelling party. They didn't have a healer with them and relied on wisdom of experience. James was held down when his men burn the wound shut and was drinking by the heart half an hour later. To be sure it ached from time to time but his own bravery could be detrimental, he would never truly admit his own injuries were serious.

James barely registered that Mary had come into the room. Instead he glanced up, saw the outline of a woman, mumbled Mary’s name and drooped backwards onto the bed. His eyes shut and he almost smiled as he drifted to sleep.

Mary sighed shutting the door behind her as James passed out on the bed. James acted so distant towards her at times never letting Mary in causing one of many strains on their marriage. His long absence from home was helping neither one of them it only made his return worse. A wedge had been lodged between them one that they both would have to chip at in order to be happy with one another again. If James was to leave for a month again Mary felt compelled to go back to France, where she wouldn't feel so lonely any more. With her patience as thin as ice Mary could no longer play merry Queen any longer.