Rebirth

Chapter 5

Mary was pregnant.

Young Charles' coronation was halted, for the court had to wait to see the gender of the child of the dowager Queen. If the child be a boy, he would be King and Mary, Queen mother. She and Catherine would share the regency and Scotland would have its support. If it be a girl, Scotland would have a slight bit of support and all Mary would be was the mother of the aunt of the king, for there would be no chance that the rule that no female could rule France would be reversed. She would have station and security, but her country would have barely any, and now, all that mattered was her unborn baby and her country.

Mary had been desperate to leave France. Leave the painful memories and all she had been through there, go to Scotland with her heir and send a diplomat with the news that France's king would have Stuart blood or they would have another princess, providing security and nothing more. But, that wasn't an option, according to Catherine, after Mary had been completely packed to leave the place she had once called home. So, until the child was born, Mary was trapped and alone, carrying the only piece of Francis she had left. Should the baby be a girl, she knew she and her daughter would be forced out of France, forced to marry a Prince and she'd more than likely never see her again. Should it be a boy, she would have a constant place in French court, with a title and security. And Scotland would be safe.

Mary had prayed for a little boy. A little boy with exactly Francis' image, not a trace of her in her baby's face. She needed to see him. She needed to look into his eyes, she needed him.

But, he'd left her.

She felt completley vulnerable, something she hated. She was trapped in French court. Was this what Lola felt like? Poor, dead Lola. Was this what she felt like, for all those months with little Jean-Phillipe? Before she met her own demise by the hands of a conspiracy of John Knox and a beheading from Elizabeth, who every day lost more and more supporters as news of the Scottish queen's pregnancy spread through the world, of course. Little Jean-Phillipe was in her custody, and when she left for Scotland with her baby, he would come with her. One little piece of Francis and Lola.

Ah, the thought of leaving came across her head again. She couldn't leave the castle walls to walk outside, too many dangers. She couldn't go back home. It was too risky to travel whilst with child.

What would she be, once her child was born? Mary had thought, once her prominent seven month pregnant stomach was sticking out, pushing against the dark red-purple material of her dress. She would be Queen mother, but she'd never hold another piece of her beloved again. Would she just be considered a vehicle for an heir? Would that all she be, from now on? Not a queen, a wife, an equal. Just a vehicle for an heir?

The prospect of baring another man's child made her sick. How could she do that? How could she love again? How could she move on, from that kind of love? Even though Francis had begged her to love again, as she held him as he died, how could he expect that? How could she love another, that wasn't her child? How could she replace him like that?

Then, her baby kicked. It was the only thing that brought a smile to her face.