Reign: The Haunting Read Online Free PDF Page B

return from his fool’s errand. “Last night never happened. It was only a dream and dreams can’t hurt you.”
    *  *  *
    Leaning against the stall of his fastest mare, Francis felt exhaustion sweep over him. He collapsed in the dirty hay, soothed by the warmth, the familiar smell of the horses. The nurse was gone, sent away from the castle, and warned, with care, never to return. She was scared and confused, but Francis was certain she would do as she was commanded and even more certain that he had done the right thing. He felt a small smile growing on his face, not of happiness but of relief. Even in his darkest moments, he would find the light. He was going to be a good king, a fair and just man. There would be sacrifices made along the way, but not this woman, not in his name. Somehow he would explain this to his mother, but there was no way he was going to let an innocent suffer to keep his secret sealed. Whatever evil haunted him, Francis knew he was different enough from his father in that way.
    â€œFrancis!” Mary rushed into the stable, flying around the stall and pressing her hands to her heart at the sight of her king lying in the hay. “Francis, wake up, are you all right?”
    â€œYes,” he replied, his eyes still closed. “I’m sleeping.”
    â€œThen wake up,” she said, falling to her knees and batting him about the head. “Bash came to find me, he said you were leaving, that you feared you’d gone mad like your father. Francis, tell me he was playing some kind of ill-conceived joke or that he was confused. Or some other reason I cannot even begin to think of.”
    â€œI’ve been so confused, Mary.” Francis opened his eyes to see his wife, her hair wild about her face, her gown covered in mud. It seemed as though he hadn’t seen her for days and now, though she was in such a state of disarray, he had never thought her more beautiful. “I didn’t see any other option.”
    â€œYou are not mad,” Mary said, taking his hand in hers. “You are tired, you feel the pressures of court in your heart because you are a good man. You wear your guilt as clearly as you wear your crown.”
    â€œMy guilt?” Francis started. Did she know?
    â€œAbout your father,” Mary said tenderly. Francis swallowed hard and held his breath. “It’s only natural, Francis. When my cousin Mary died, I felt such guilt at the very thought of taking her crown. It must be so much worse for you, to have lost your father and then have been expected to pick up his mantle the moment he passed.”
    â€œOh, yes.” Francis closed his eyes again, the dreams running around his head, but Mary would not let go. She squeezed his hand tightly, her little pale hand showing her warrior strength.
    â€œThe weight of leading a country truly and honestly is a great one, Francis,” she whispered. “The fact that it steals your sleep away from you only proves to me how sane you are. You are a good man.”
    He blinked at his wife, her words echoing in his ears. He was a good man.
    â€œI feel as though I’m being haunted,” he said slowly, choosing his words with great care. “I see my father every time I close my eyes.”
    â€œThat is not haunting.” Mary smiled sweetly. “That is grief, my love. Whatever became of your father at the end, he loved you and you loved him. One day his visits will bring you comfort.”
    â€œThe roses?”
    â€œA Scottish tradition,” she replied. “To lay flowers where a great man falls. Perhaps it was one of my ladies or my cousins. I can ask, if you’d like?”
    Francis looked at her, Mary, Queen of Scots, on her knees in a filthy stable. She was more than just a queen, she was the most amazing woman he had ever met.
    â€œNo need,” he said, sitting up and embracing her. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in deeply.