You Are My Light Part II

207 - Birthday

"Wake up, your Majesty." the humble nursemaid whispers, gently stroking the young Queen's soft ravenette curls from her face, trying to slowly rouse the young Queen from her slumber she so desperately deserved ever since the long council meeting with the visiting Scotsmen and women the day before. "Wake up, your Majesty. It's the anniversary of your birth." she whispers, shaking her light brown hair from her face as the child begins to make small noises in protest of leaving her slumber in favour of the cold freshness of a snow-clad French morning. The now seven year old Queen of Scotland scrunches up her pretty face and tries to roll away from the prying hands of her nursemaid, but it is so visually pleasing to her that it brings a smile on young Maggie's face. "Wake up, your Majesty." she whispers. "This day is just for you."

"Mmm." young Queen Mary I of Scotland wines, although she sounds more kittenish than anything else. Maggie smiles again, cupping Mary's small cheek in her hand as the girl opens her eyes.

"Good morning, your Majesty. It's your birthday." she whispers. Mary smiles at her, complete with sleepy eyes and messy black locks. "Come, rouse yourself. I'll fetch some warm milk and coca powder, would you like that?"

Mary smiles, nodding her head back and forth. She giggles delicately, a far cry from the wild, untameable stallion that came into French court just under two years ago. She still drives Queen Catherine mad, she remembers with a smile, but as she awoke first thing in the morning, Mary of the clan Stuart and house of de Guise was rather gentile. 

"Good," Maggie smiles, helping the Queen sit up straight, reclining on the pillows. "come, sit up. I'll have Susanne and Sarah draw your highness a hot bath. With jasmine or lavender?" she asks, absentmindedly pouring the little Queen a cup of dark red tea from the silver teapot.

"Jasmine." the Queen answers, taking the small cup. "Is it late?" she asks, looking at the bright sun that gave the French court a beautiful glow from outside her window. It held nothing on her beloved homeland, but Mary could admit that the French Court was rather visually pleasing in the gentleness of the snow dusting and the golden light of a risen sun.

"Only an hour past your usual awakening time. The King thought it best to let you sleep longer than usual." she says, untying her pinafore, resting it on the back of a chair.

"Mary! Mary!" the door suddenly slams open and in rush four small heads with long hair, each one in their nightgowns from the night before. "Have you seen? It's snowing!" one small Scot says, giggling as she lunges from one pillow to another, vaulting onto the windowsill seat.

The Queen raises a brow at her fellow little Scots. She looks them over, two heads dark, two heads light. They're pretty and fresh and so adorably naïve, jarred from their recently disturbed sleep. She smiles at them, tough, watching as they giggle with each other and smile with such happiness that it warms her heart. As similar as they all were, she was so different to them all.

She slowly leaves the warmth of the bed, pushing the blankets off her body to go to the window. It's crusted over with delicate little snowflakes, they slide down the glass panels, wetting the other side of the glass. She smiles anyway, gently, as little Lady Norwood helps her sit on a cushion, little Lady Livingstone draping a white fur over her shoulders. She sips her tea lightly, looking at the rolling hills and gardens of their home for the next few months.

"Careful, Lola!"

"Don't push me!"

"No, mother says you must not jar this satin! It's so horrid getting creases out of damask!"

Ah, yes. The vanity of the youth. The Queen raises a brow as Kenna and Lola begin to bicker again. Greer joins in, scolding them for bickering in front of the Queen of all people, but it's so entertaining to Mary that she allows it to continue.

The door suddenly knocks, and Aylee bids it open. In comes in Maggie, pushing a warming tray with another teapot and five little teacups. Lola squeals in delight at seeing the hot coca drink, but poor Maggie is nearly run off her feet as three dogs suddenly barrel right through her legs.

Mary gasps in delight as the three dogs enter her room. They're not tall, but there's so much white fur that they look like clouds with noses and pretty blue eyes. Blonde and ashy brown covers their fur in largeish patches, floppy ears wagging happily as the five girls gasp and coo in delight, hopping off the windowsill to greet the dogs on their knees. Mary giggles loudly, smiling as the dog begins to lick at her chin.

"No! No!"

They look up, seeing Sebastian and Francis enter the room, dishevelled and slightly panicked. Francis gaps at their state of undress (relentless etiquette lessons from the devious Medici Queen and whatnot) while Sebastian just scratches the back of his neck, leafy eyes gleaming in embarrassment.

"Uh, sorry." he mumbles. "We wanted to give them later, but we couldn't keep ahold of them long enough for the silk ribbons to be put on their necks."

"Oh, never mind. Look how happy she is!" Aylee smiles. "How did you got Sheltie's all the way from Scotland without us knowing?"

"We put in a word with the Queen Regent of Scots, she had them bred and sent over with the hoarge coming in to celebrate."

Mary chooses to ignore the slight pang of aching in her heart when she remembers that her mother yet again failed to see her on the anniversary of her birth, in favour of the happiness she feels as she runs her fingers through the fluffy fur of a little piece of home that happened to have eyes and a wagging tail.

"Thank you, Bash. Thank you, Francis. I love them." Mary says, her eyes shining as she looks over at her future beau and his brother.

Francis blushes, yes, but he smiles at her nonetheless. And that's more than enough for now.