Bound to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  “That you were so alone while growing up.”

  He shrugged. “I knew no different so it wasn’t strange to me.”

  “Surely your parents tried to keep you company in some way. Were there other children to play with?”

  “My parents lived in London and there was the butcher’s boy who I played with occasionally but he was busy working with his father.”

  She stopped to gape at him. “Your parents didn’t even live in the same house as you?”

  He shook his head, an amused smile playing around the corners of his lips. “My life was quite different from yours. It’s why I don’t mind being alone now.”

  “But…”

  He touched her cheek, his eyes soft with some unnamed emotion. “But what? You seem appalled that I didn’t grow up with a gaggle of brothers and sisters. That was not the way my family lived. My mother was a lady-in-waiting for Elizabeth’s sister, Queen Mary, and my father was a very minor advisor to the queen. They were both interested in their political gain and when I came of an age where I could aid them in their political ambitions they sent me to school with the other lads whose parents were of higher rank than my father in the hopes that I would gain some useful friends.”

  “That is so…” She bit her lip to keep from saying something not nice about his parents. All she could picture was a smaller, younger version of Will alone in a great house with no one but servants to speak to. No friends. No siblings. Not even parents to converse with.

  What kind of people did that to a child?

  “So what? Cruel? Unfeeling?” He shrugged again and continued walking.

  Rose scurried to catch up, having no idea what to say so she let the silence hang heavy between them, turning this new information over in her mind. No wonder he never wanted to talk about his childhood. It was probably too painful and who could blame him?

  “Is that why you don’t wish to marry?” she asked, the words coming out before she had a chance to stop them.

  He pressed his lips together and she wished so badly that she could snatch her words back and pretend she’d never said them.

  “I can’t marry, Rose.” He turned to face her with a bleak but set and determined expression that made her wince inside.

  “I know,” she said hurriedly. “You’ve said so before and I’m sorry for asking such a rude and personal question. It’s none of my business, really.”

  “No, you’re wrong.” He ran his hand up her arm absently as he seemed to be thinking. “After all we’ve done together you have every right to ask such a question. I am the worst sort of person for leading you down that path with no possibility of making a respectable offer of marriage.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  He put his finger to her lips, silencing her. “But I do mind. I am not the marrying sort. I don’t have it inside of me to take care of a wife. I’d have no idea how to even have a wife. I’d make the worst husband in the history of husbands.” He smiled sadly. “You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who will know how to treat a wife.”

  She pushed his finger away angrily. “You think too little of yourself. You don’t treat a wife any differently than you’ve been treating me now. You’re caring and kind and that’s all a wife would ever need.”

  He was shaking his head, and she wanted to stomp her foot in frustration because he refused to listen to her.

  “I know I’m not the person you would marry,” she said. “But I don’t want to think of you so lonely and alone years from now. There is someone out there who you would be the perfect husband for.” She ignored the crack in her voice, ignored the pain in her heart when she thought of him wed to another woman. But she’d far rather think of that than think of him alone in this world for the rest of his life.

  “Who said I minded being alone and lonely?” he asked in some surprise.

  “A person might want to be alone occasionally but no one ever wants to be lonely.”

  “You don’t know me at all then. I far prefer my own company to some others. Present company excluded.”

  She smiled but she wasn’t all that amused. A child couldn’t grow up without parents and only a nanny and governess who couldn’t provide the love and companionship of an entire family without being scarred somehow. Will chose to lead a life of loneliness because that was all he knew. Rose would like to be the one to teach him differently but she feared that she was not the one God had set forth for that task.

  Will walked her back to the palace door and saw her in safely and she left him with a heavy heart and tears in her eyes.

  To her great relief Margaret was not in their chambers. Rose didn’t want another lecture on the merits of Lysle over Will, nor did she want Margaret’s knowing looks because her friend would be able to tell right away that Rose had just come from being with Will.

  She rang for Alice and while she waited for the lady’s maid, chose a dark blue gown to change into. She’d made up her mind while talking to Will. It hadn’t been a conscious decision so much as a knowing what was right and what was wrong. She was going to speak to Queen Mary of the murder plot.

  It was not up to her, or Moray, or Maitland, or Lysle to decide when a man died. Only God could do that.

  Although Alice looked like she wanted to ask a thousand questions when Rose told her that she needed to dress her hair for a meeting with the queen, she kept her lips pursed and worked methodically gathering the slippery strands of Rose’s hair.

  There were a few muttered curses from under Alice’s breath before she was finished.

  Rose looked herself over critically. She could not look too fine nor could she look too dowdy. It was a difficult line to walk and she found she was far more nervous than she had anticipated.

  Her hands were clammy and she was hot beneath all the petticoats and skirts.

  Alice fiddled with the lay of the skirts, plucking here and there, adjusting the bodice and tight sleeves, seemingly as nervous as Rose.

  “That will be all, Alice,” Rose said. “There is only so much we can do.”

  Alice stepped back and eyed her critically, then nodded. “ ’Tis beautiful, ye are, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alice gathered up Rose’s discarded gown. “I hope yer meeting with Her Majesty goes well.”

  “I do too, Alice. I do too.”

  Rose set off with a pounding heart and sweaty palms, glad to be out in the cooler corridor. Her face was flushed and she was more nervous than she had a need to be. Surely Queen Mary would appreciate learning of such a dastardly plot conceived under her own roof. Despite Mary’s feelings toward Lord Darnley, she would have to be aghast and upset by the lords’ plan and want to put a stop to it.

  Then Rose could leave Holyrood and return home to her parents and her brothers and remember this time in her life fondly but not with regret that she had left it.

  And Will…

  She pushed thoughts of Will aside for a later time. Now was not appropriate. Not when she had to think of how she was going to tell Mary this information.

  Start at the beginning and go from there.

  It was the best course of action.

  Unfortunately, she did not count on finding Lord Lysle in the queen’s outer rooms.

  He smiled when he saw her. “Rose,” he said. “I’d not expected to see you here.”

  She ran her wet palms down the sides of her skirts then mentally castigated herself for almost ruining the fabric. Alice would have her head if she’d seen that.

  “I’ve come to request an audience with the queen,” she said, then almost immediately regretted her words for Lysle’s eyes narrowed and his body tensed.

  “Oh?”

  She waved her hand in the air and gave a nervous laugh. “Nothing serious, I assure you. It’s just that…” She frantically searched for a reason that she would need to speak to the queen that had nothing to do with murder plots Lysle might be involved in. “I’m homesick,” she said, settling on the partial
truth. “And I am going to ask if I can return home to visit my family. After the baptism, of course. I wanted to ask her before things got too chaotic what with all the dignitaries arriving daily.”

  She was blabbering, speaking faster and faster, and she had to force her mouth closed.

  Lysle was watching her closely, nodding as if he was listening but she always got the impression that he never really listened to her. Not like Will did.

  “But you can’t return home,” he said with what seemed like forced gaiety. “There will be weeks of celebration after the ceremony that you won’t want to miss.”

  “Weeks?” she asked faintly.

  “But of course! You simply must stay or you’ll miss all the fun.”

  “I really would like to return home.”

  “Not in the middle of winter. That would be almost impossible.”

  His tone was decisive and stern, as if he were her father and his word was inarguable. Regrettably he made a good point. She’d not thought of the weather when she’d come up with her excuse to see the queen.

  “That is true—”

  “Then it’s settled. You’ll stay for the festivities afterward. I’m sure your parents would want you to.”

  Oh, her mother definitely would want that. Rose’s thoughts scattered, her heart sinking. She would simply have to find another time to ask for an audience with the queen. A time when Lord Lysle would not be present.

  Chapter 23

  Much to Rose’s relief Lysle was called away by an excited Lord Moray and the two disappeared after Lysle kissed her hand and promised a rousing game of Maw that night.

  Rose hoped her smile was not the grimace that she felt, but if it had been Lysle would not have noticed for he was already striding toward Moray.

  Rose was torn. She wanted to follow Lysle and Moray to see what they were about. With those two together she could only think that it had something to do with their diabolical plot to kill Darnley and she wanted to learn more, but this was also an opportunity to ask for an audience with Mary.

  She decided on the audience because she feared that Lysle camped out in the queen’s outer rooms to mark the comings and goings so he could spy on people. Her estimation of Lysle—already low—dipped a little more.

  One of Mary’s minor aides was guarding the door to her inner chambers. Rose approached him, pretending a confidence that she did not feel and asked to speak to the queen. He eyed her up and down several times with a pinched, narrow-lipped look.

  “And what is your business with the queen?”

  She hesitated, not expecting this question. She could hardly blurt out that she wanted to discuss a murder plot with the queen.

  “It’s personal,” she finally settled on.

  The little man who took his job very seriously appeared to want to argue, but then he looked her up and down again and apparently decided that she was harmless, or her business was beneath his interest. He made a notation in a large book.

  “Lord Bothwell approves all of the queen’s appointments,” he said with a decidedly nasal, patronizing tone. “When he returns he will look over the requests and grant them. Or not grant them as he sees fit.”

  Rose grit her teeth and tried to smile and act like it was of little consequence to her whether her request was approved. She had a feeling that her reaction mattered to this man and would be reported to Bothwell.

  “Thank you,” she said with a small curtsy and left the room.

  —

  Much to her frustration Rose was not called to the queen’s chambers that day. She’d had to dress for the ball while hiding her anxiousness. The longer she waited the more nervous she became and the more she questioned her audience with the queen. Was she doing the right thing? But of course she was. The queen should know. It wasn’t right what the three lords were doing and they needed to be stopped.

  It helped her nerves that she’d run into Will at the ball.

  She’d never seen so many titled, wealthy aristocrats in once place. Rival countries stayed to opposite sides of the room with disgruntled looks at one another. Others came together in the middle acting as if they were long lost relatives. It was all intriguing and appalling at the same time and Rose couldn’t stop watching. The plethora of beautiful ball gowns and glistening jewels was a sight to see and something she would never forget.

  They were standing with their backs to a wall away from the crowds. Rose was keeping a keen eye out for Lysle. She feared that he would head in her direction the moment he saw her and, considering his last reaction to Will after the dance, she didn’t want him seeing her with Will.

  “How is Lord Darnley?” she asked.

  Will shot her an amused glance. “As if you care.”

  She shrugged. “It’s true I hold no regard for the man, but his absence has been noticed and remarked upon by almost everyone.”

  “Mary has instructed him to appear at the balls now that the foreign dignitaries have arrived but he’s determined to embarrass the queen by not showing his face. Although Mary has made it clear that he is not welcome when it comes to matters of state, she’d like to put a good face on things with so many people representing so many different countries—a combined good face with her husband. It’s Scotland’s time to shine and Darnley is determined to put a tarnish on that shine.”

  “So childish,” she muttered. The man truly was insufferable. “This is for his son, the future king of Scotland. One would think he would put his differences aside for his son.”

  “One would think,” Will muttered into his cup.

  The music began and the professional dancers entered the dance floor. The hum of conversation lowered to a duller roar as the dancers took their places.

  Rose felt Will’s presence like a dull ache. She wanted to touch him even if it was just her fingers across his palm but she dared not.

  She moved her arm, just enough so that it bumped into his elbow but that only heightened her awareness of him and made the dull ache pound a little harder. He was like an itch she could not scratch and it was frustrating.

  “I saw Lysle disappear today with Moray,” she said, to keep her mind off his commanding presence.

  “Did you?” His tone was disinterested but she knew him better than that. He was listening. He always listened to her.

  “I wanted to follow but I was not able.” She didn’t know why she was keeping her meeting with the queen from Will, but something told her not to tell anyone. Once the meeting was over she would tell him.

  “I’m glad you didn’t follow them. That would have been dangerous.”

  “But we might have learned more.”

  “I’m serious, Rose. Don’t take any chances. Especially with them.”

  She sighed. “You sound like my brothers.”

  He chuckled and she tried to hide her smile.

  “I need you to kiss me,” she said as she watched the dancers.

  “My God, Rose,” he said a bit breathlessly.

  “I’ve wanted you to kiss me all night. I can’t stand being so close to you and not being able to touch you.”

  “Rose…” he said on a strangled groan. “Stop.”

  “Why?”

  Her legs felt heavy and her heart hammered. There was something exciting and forbidding about standing in a crowded ballroom and talking to him like this. The fact that she couldn’t even look at him heightened her awareness and her excitement.

  “You need to stop,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “I want you to touch me.”

  He cursed low and long. She was not touching him but she could feel the tension coming off him in waves.

  “All over.” It was all she could do to hide her smile. There was a special kind of power being able to excite him like this.

  He was breathing harshly. Her face was hot. Hopefully people would mark her heightened color up to the overly warm ballroom and the crush of people.

  “Meet me in our room,” she said and walked away. She couldn’t
believe that her legs actually worked and that her knees didn’t give out on her. And she was very impressed with the fact that she didn’t look back at him.

  She just hoped that she could make it to their secret room without being stopped. She saw Margaret a few feet away but she was in an animated conversation with Emma, and Lord Lysle still had not made an appearance. Rose feared that if he approached her now she just might hit him in the nose like she’d done to her brother John.

  —

  Will found her in what Rose liked to refer to as “our room.” It seemed like she’d waited for him for an eternity. She couldn’t sit still so she paced the room, wringing her hands, wondering at her audacity, when he was suddenly there, closing the door softly behind him.

  The look on his face made her shiver in apprehension and excitement. He reminded her of a wild animal, his eyes hot and feral, his face flushed.

  He stalked her from across the room and, like a scared rabbit, she couldn’t move. She’d unleashed a beast and it excited her.

  He grabbed her wrist and yanked her to him. She bounced against his muscled chest, the breath knocked out of her. He kissed her hard, crushing his mouth against hers and she moaned. This was exciting. This was uncontrolled lust and need and she liked it. Oh, how she liked it.

  “You are cruel,” he said, pulling away just enough to deliver that pronouncement.

  She smiled up at him and he kissed her again. Her mouth was going to be bruised but she didn’t care. She kissed him back just as hard. Their breaths were labored and her clothes felt too constricting, rubbing against suddenly sensitive skin. She was grabbing at his breeches, pulling at his doublet and untucking his shirt in a hurried frenzy.

  “I’ve never felt your skin against mine,” she said. “I need to feel us skin to skin.”

  “Good God, woman.” But he stepped back to divest himself of his doublet, tossing it onto the dusty floor without a care, and pulling his shirt over his head. Immediately she was running her hands over his naked torso, feeling the hard muscles contract under her palms. His skin was warm, almost feverishly hot and she kissed the center of his chest.