(no subject)

[idareyou]

After saying goodbye to Cosette, Mary scampers back to bed, where she is ostensibly lying with a headache while the rest of the household attends Mass. In fact, she has just time enough to tuck herself in amongst the linens before the door opens: her husband, back again.

Comments

[fieryface]

"So talk to her there, where it's safe, eh?"

[idareyou]

"Yes, but..." Another glance. "But James, it was very nice to have someone visit. Like a little small party. I put out a little meal for us..."

The words don't seem to be conveying what she wants them to convey: the pleasure of playing hostess, the pleasure of showing off a place that is at least a little bit hers. "I liked having a guest, in my home."

[fieryface]

--yeah, she's never going to express the pleasure of hosting to Jamie, who looks uncomfortable even at that plain description.

"So have a Scottish guest, have a French guest, don't have a guest we canny ever explain."

[idareyou]

"Who? Who? Mon Dieu, votre majesté, who can I ask? I do not know anyone here, I have one friend--one!--and it is her home more than it is mine. Eh bien, vous avez raison, it is a bad idea, I should not to bring someone here from there, I will not again. But to say have a Scottish guest, have a French guest, as if I can just do that, c'est de la folie!"

She puts her hands to her mouth as soon as the last words are out. "No, I..."

[fieryface]

"That's just how it is, what d'you want me to say?" Jamie snaps. "I've not got anyone but a council filled with old men, but you'll no see me greiting about it! Christ, it's just-- how it is."

But she's upset. But he doesn't know what else to say. He drops his gaze to the floor.

"Listen, right, it's-- it's Christmas soon. There's always all sorts about for the holidays."

[idareyou]

And they don't even use real words here, greeting means something else entirely or it did when she was learning English--

Mary scrubs her face with her hands. This isn't at all how she means to be, complaining and near-tearful and throwing out indirect bitter comments. It's not the way to be angry, it's not the way to manage at all. "The holidays will be good," she says slowly.

[fieryface]

"If I didny have to be king--" He scrubs his hands over his face. "I don't like it either, you know."

[idareyou]

No. No, he doesn't seem to like it either. Mary scoots over a little on the bed, making room for him to sit next to her if he'd like. "I should have asked you before asking a friend to come here from--from there."

[fieryface]

He doesn't come sit. He folds his arms over his chest and frowns down at the floor again. "Aye, well-- it's done now. No harm done."

[idareyou]

"No harm done." Well, there really isn't any harm done.

If he had come to sit with her, she would ask about the Christmas holidays, ask what sorts of things they do in Scotland. They could tell stories about what they did when they were children, and what games they liked best, and what sweets. But he's still standing over there, tall and frowning, with his arms crossed, and Mary can't make herself try.

"I have some embroidery I must work on," she says after a silence.

[fieryface]

He knows he ought to go over and sit by her, try harder to make her feel at home. He gracious and gentle, and make her feel at home, reassure her that he doesn't mind about Cosette really, that he understands why she did it and doesn't blame her. And they could make plans for the holidays to come. The King of Scots and his Queen.

"Right, then," he says. "I'll-- be seeing you."

[idareyou]

"Yes."

She gathers herself up and takes herself out of the room, since she's now committed herself to embroidery. (Which is stupid and she doesn't want to do it and really she could stop right now as she walks past him, right this moment she could stop and put a hand on his arm and do a better job of explaining why she likes to talk with Cosette and do a better job of explaining that she does see now that she should at least have talked to James first about inviting someone to the castle--but she brushes past him instead, tucking away her skirts.)