Tu Es Ma Lumière

3 - Baby Kicks

The Queen of France awoke with a hiss, slowly sitting up from her place in the bed. Her face contorted in pain, a hand going to the sizeable bump underneath her white satin shift, the other falling behind her to hold her weight steady upon the bed. The growing mass of unborn heir and water affected her balance and centre of gravity more than she cared to admit. It was unqueenly to waddle around her court, swollen belly and ankles and all.

Mary bit her lip as the child kicked from within his mother. Her face contorted in pain again. The child had a strong kick and had an awful habit of awakening his mother when she attempted to gain rest. Their first child was certainly active in his mother's womb. And as overjoyed she was to carry Francis first legitimate child in her womb, the Queen of Scotland and France certainly would appreciate the rest when the sun was set.

Mary sunk her teeth into the pouty appendage of her lower lip again, feeling another strike from within her. She watched her husbands beautiful, handsome sleeping form next to her, hoping not to wake him. The nearly inaudible sound rang in her husbands' ears and -much to her displeasure since the King certainly needed his rest whenever he could get it- he started to stir next to her.

"Mary?" he asked, saying her name in the way only he could. Even in the darkness, he reached out for her. She could hear the worry and the waver in his voice. "Are you alright?" he asked. Mary smiled at him, touched for his concern, but really wishing he could still be gaining the rest he so needed. After all, General Brantom had kept him in a meeting until the early hours the night before. She so wished he would rest, but knew he would never put his needs over hers and their unborn childs', so much more now than before, when she didn't carry the future of an empire in her womb.

"I'm alright." she assured her husband, taking his hand that reached towards her. "The baby is just kicking, that's all." she stated. Even much more to her displeasure, Francis sat up. "No, don't. You need to rest."

"As do you." he replied easily. Even with his displeasure of his state of coherency at such an ungodly hour, Mary could help but smile as his hands left hers and found her growing bump. Francis smiled that smile she loved, the one that lit up his face and reached his eyes when he felt a small, growing, powerful foot jab out to meet his fathers large hands. "Hello, there, mon précieux enfant." he stated. Mary smiled at him, in awe of him as she always was. But she always found it so beautiful when he spoke his mother tongue. Did he feel that way when she spoke hers? Mary wondered, but chose not to ask it. It could wait for a more reasonable hour. "C'est ton père." he continued on, wrapping one arm around her waist, guiding her lay upon the pillows. Mary didn't deny him. "Maintenant, qu'est-ce que vous empêchez votre mère de se reposer?" he asked, rubbing his hands all over the very prominent bump upon his wife's abdomen, feeling the kicks and turns from his unborn son. " Vous voyez, nous devons la partager avec toute l'Ecosse et la France, et il y a du travail à faire demain, alors pourriez-vous la laisser se reposer pour l'instant, mon enfant?" he asked.

The King of France looked up to see his wife, smiling at her sleeping form.

"Je vous remercie." he whispered to his child.