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Catherine looked at Mary with a face of stone, coldly indifferent to the woman she once considered to be as near to her as her own daughter. She had once blessed the union between Mary and her Francis because she could tell how Francis' eyes lit up with adoration whenever he saw her. She knew that without Mary, her son would be broken. Once upon a time, Mary would lay down her happiness for his. Now she pranced around with Conde, all but waving her affair in Francis' heartbroken face. Any soft feelings towards Mary had since vanished. "Francis is ill." Catherine deadpans, cold fury in her eyes, and hidden emotion in her heart. Mary's eyes fill with a desperate fear, her hands clutching each other in worry. She looks like a woman who has just lost her reason to live. She looks like a woman who realized her own mistakes when it was too late. "When? How? How is he?" She desperately searches for information.
"He has an infection. He may die. It happened last night, when you were too busy bedding Conde to be a wife to him." Her words lacerate Mary but she accepts them, knowing she deserves it. Being with Conde was just a way for her to be independent, a way for her to prove that she will not be defeated. She had thought he was more than that, but now she knows. Any love for Conde could never compare to the all-consuming love she had for Francis. Immediately, she rushes to the castle after avoiding Conde's insults and jabs against Francis. When she finds him in his room, looking lost to this world, she cries. And finally, she tells him what she didn't have words to express. "Francis. Conde was a mistake-I know that now. He was just a way for me to prove I could heal. Francis, I know I've hurt you; I know I make rash decisions and tend to forget to think. I know I've ruined our marriage, and I regret it. If you die... I need you to wake up. You need to hear me. I need you to know that I love you. I love you and I love you and isn't that enough? I need you to wake up, I need you to live. I need you to love me again. I will make it up to you. All of it."
He shifts in his bed, his eyes slowly opening. She turns her face, calling for Catherine. She doesn't deserve to be the first one he sees. Catherine comes quickly. They converse for a few minutes and then Catherine glares at Mary. "He has made his decision concerning the troops." Francis speaks, quietly at first. "I will send the French soldiers to your supporters in Scotland." Her eyes fill with hope, but she is suspicious. "Why? I betrayed you, in more ways than one." "I made a promise to our countries.... and to you." he says softly. Catherine kisses his forehead and leaves, though she gives Mary another glare for good measure.
"
"Francis, I am glad you are alive." "me as well," he sighs. "Why are you here?" His eyes are defeated and grim, hurt so much by this woman he loved. She pauses, thinking, then talks. "The threat of death, it made me realize Conde was nothing to me-he merely proved I could love again. Could love anyone." With the last words, her eyes meet his. He breaks the contact. "Well, you are free to love who you choose, I don't have the power to stop you." She gently presses her hand to his wrist before remembering it's too intimate, too soon. "Free to love my husband?" she asks tentatively. He looks at her and she swears he can see into her soul. He smiles lightly, but it fades quickly.
"How will I know you won't change your mind?" "You have my word-that used to mean everything." "Used to." "I love you," she says suddenly; she can't help it. She has that nervousness, that sense he won't say it back and he'll hate her even more. "I'm not sure if that's enough, Mary." But when he proclaims her name, he doesn't say it with regret. He whispers it like a prayer, with a soft reverence. He says her name like she is the only thing he truly believes in.