Wed to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  She stumbled to her escritoire and pulled out a clean piece of parchment and a quill.

  My dearest Pierre,

  I am writing to you with a desperate plea for help. Catherine has betrayed us. She had no intention of bringing me back to France and back to you. She fooled us both, Pierre, and I feel such the imbecile. She has instructed Mary to find me a husband in SCOTLAND! Her choice for me is a brute of a man, not nearly as refined as you. Oh, Pierre, what am I to do? I so wish you were here. You would know what to do, what to say, to change Mary’s mind. Come to me, Pierre. Save me.

  The door rattled and Aimee jumped, spilling the ink and dropping the quill.

  “My lady?”

  “Merde,” Aimee muttered as she shoved the letter into the drawer and hurried to unbar and open the door.

  Hannah looked at her suspiciously as Aimee wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Are you unwell, my lady?”

  “Oui, Hannah. I’m unwell.” Sick with fear. “I’d prefer to be left alone tonight.”

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “You are not going to dinner?”

  “Non,” she said harshly, turning Hannah’s suspicious look to hurt. She didn’t care. Hannah’s life wasn’t on the line.

  “Very well.” Hannah sniffed and turned on her heel to march off.

  Aimee closed the door and leaned against it, breathing fast, her heart racing in fear.

  Writing to Pierre wasn’t going to help. He wouldn’t receive the letter for weeks, and her marriage to Simon would be well established by then. Unless Simon could think of a way out of it. Simon was her only hope at this point.

  Then what? her mind whispered. What if Simon manages to stop this marriage? Mary will simply find another man for you to wed.

  “No!” She pushed away from the door and fetched the letter to read over it. The next French ship was due in port next week. She couldn’t even stow away on the ship. There was no escape.

  She dropped the letter and buried her face in her hands.

  —

  Tristan stared at Simon in disbelief. “She wants you to wed the French chit?”

  “Aye,” Simon said.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Aye.” It was all Simon could think to say. His mind was whirling, trying to find a way out of this sticky situation, but he could not think of one solution.

  “Does Will know?” Tristan asked.

  “Nay. I did not think it wise to search him out.”

  Tristan just stared at him for a few moments, obviously at a loss for words. “I don’t think Elizabeth would have predicted this,” he finally said.

  Simon laughed despite the slowly building panic. He was to wed tomorrow, and he’d yet to find a way out of it. “Tell me how to convince Mary that I can’t wed Aimee without offending her.”

  Tristan cursed and stared at the floor, as if thinking hard, before shaking his head. “Tell her you are already wed.”

  “When I first arrived, I lamented the fact to her that I was indeed unmarried but looking for a bride.”

  “Damn, Marcheford.”

  “I know.”

  “I suppose you can’t tell her you’re a priest.”

  Simon laughed. “I doubt she’d believe that.”

  Tristan looked at him seriously. “You steal away and go back to England.”

  “And not finish my assignment?” he asked in surprise.

  “There are worse things than not finishing an assignment.”

  “And what would those be? Death?” He’d never not finished an assignment; even when he was injured during his last assignment, he’d managed to at least get the information Elizabeth required.

  “Marriage,” Tristan said pointedly. “Isn’t that like being dead?”

  Simon chuckled but wasn’t finding humor in the situation. In fact, he was feeling a bit sick.

  “I have no advice for you,” Tristan said. “I wish I did.”

  —

  When Simon returned to Holyrood Palace, his valet was waiting for him. “The queen’s man has been looking for you,” Smithson said.

  “Me?” Though Simon affected unconcern, his heart skipped a beat. He was always careful when he visited Tristan, taking alleys and disappearing into different buildings, watching his back, taking three times longer to get there than normal. He was fairly certain he hadn’t been followed there or back, but not completely.

  “Her man has come twice looking for you.”

  “And where did you tell him I was?”

  Smithson sniffed as if offended. Simon didn’t know the man well; he’d been assigned to Simon upon arrival. “I could not guess where you were, so I did not say.”

  “I suppose I should see what the queen wants of me.” Simon sauntered out and headed to the Privy Chamber, where he sat in the same chair he’d sat in earlier that day. What a mess everything was. He didn’t need this distraction. It was already pulling him away from his mission.

  After Will’s announcement that there was a serious threat to Mary’s adviser, Rizzio, Simon had made a point of poking his nose into dark corners and empty corridors. More and more he was noticing sly looks, pursed lips when he sauntered close, whispered conversations. He witnessed three very powerful lords exiting an empty room together. Not very smart on their part. There was definitely something afoot, and he was beginning to fear for Rizzio’s safety. The man had made many powerful enemies by becoming so close to the queen.

  Personally, Simon didn’t care for the adviser. He was pompous and self-important. He’d declared himself the keeper of the queen’s schedule and would not allow others to speak to her privately unless he approved it. A man with that kind of power attracted powerful enemies.

  “Her Majesty, Queen Mary, will see you now.”

  Shaken out of his thoughts, Simon quickly stood and entered the Privy Chamber. To his surprise, Mary was alone. Even Rizzio was absent, which was odd and made Simon uneasy.

  “Sir Simon,” Mary said as she extended her hand to him. He took it and bowed over it.

  “Your Majesty. It is a pleasure and an honor to be called into your presence twice in one day.”

  She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that made him smile. She was extraordinarily beautiful, pale with reddish-brown hair and dancing eyes. Her unusual height only added to her intrigue. “You are a flatterer, Sir Simon,” she said flirtatiously.

  “I speak only the truth. It is indeed a pleasure to see you again. What could you possibly need with my humble presence?”

  Her smile turned cunning, and Simon was instantly on edge. He must never forget that she was a very shrewd woman. She’d had to be, in order to overcome the things she’d overcome in her life. Mary’s problem wasn’t that she was inept. It was that she put her trust in the wrong people. And that was what worried Elizabeth. It seemed Mary was always one step away from making a bad decision because she listened to the wrong people.

  “I needed to speak to you privately before the wedding tomorrow.”

  “Ah. The wedding,” he said flatly. Maybe now was a good time to plead his case and ask for a reprieve.

  “I know you are not entirely enthusiastic about marrying Aimee de Verris, but there is a reason I ask this of you.”

  He stilled, suddenly very intrigued.

  She rose from the massive throne she’d been sitting on. With a sigh and a hand at her back, she moved to the window but stood to the side of it, looking out but unseen from the outside. Simon followed, watching as her other hand rested on her protruding belly. He had heard of women complaining about the discomfort of carrying a child. He couldn’t imagine lugging such a burden along day after day.

  “As you know, I was raised in the French court by Catherine de Medici.”

  Simon inclined his head, thinking she did not really want an answer. She seemed far away, reliving childhood memories.

  “Catherine is a nasty woman. She was always jealous of my relationship with Francis,” Mary said, referring to her late husband, the previous king of Fran
ce. “I don’t believe the woman has a kind bone in her body, and so I doubt her reason for sending Aimee to my court.”

  Now this was becoming more and more interesting. “You don’t believe that she wants an advantageous marriage for Aimee?”

  “Nay. I think Aimee was sent here to spy on me.”

  Simon jerked, not expecting this turn in the conversation.

  “I see you are surprised. I don’t believe that Aimee has been trained as a spy. For some reason, and somehow, Catherine has convinced Aimee to come here. I don’t know why, and neither is it my concern. She is here, and she is collecting information about me to send to Catherine.”

  Being so close to Elizabeth for so many years, Simon had always considered the monarchy a heavy burden for a person to carry. Not for the obvious reasons of state but because you could trust no one. Mary was no different. Little did she know that she was speaking to a spy in her own court. The irony was not lost upon him.

  “And so you plan to marry her off and distract her from this spying mission?” he asked.

  She grinned. “In a way. I trust you, Simon. Philip speaks highly of you. He would not have sent you to me if he didn’t.”

  “I fear I failed in that mission.”

  “Yes, well. You could not have anticipated a shipwreck, and it is unfortunate that the money he sent was lost.”

  Money that was meant for increasing her army to attack Elizabeth. Simon wasn’t too overcome by that loss.

  She straightened her shoulders and arched her back as if trying to ease the burden of the excess weight in front of her.

  “I know I am asking much of you, but I need you to do this one thing for me. Aimee is a beautiful woman, and I truly do think the two of you will suit well.”

  “Your Majesty…I know we spoke of me finding a wife, but I assure you it was all in jest. I have no need nor a desire for a wife right now. I have nowhere to put a wife.”

  She chuckled and looked at him slyly out of the corner of her eye. “She is not a trophy to be placed on a mantel, Simon. You don’t ‘put’ a wife somewhere.”

  He spread his hands out and gave her an innocent look. “Do you see? I don’t even know how to have a wife.”

  She laughed. “You are sneaky, Sir Simon. You know perfectly well what to do with a wife.” She turned serious. “I brought you into my court on Philip’s word alone. You have given me no reason to doubt my decision. Don’t make me start doubting now.”

  The humor fled from Simon quickly. He’d been given an ultimatum. Wed Aimee and he would be in the queen’s good graces. Don’t wed her and suspicion would fall upon him.

  Damnation.

  “Of course I will do this for you. There are much worse things you could ask of me than marrying a beautiful woman. Might I ask one question in return?”

  Mary tipped her head toward him, giving him permission to ask, but there was a warning in her eyes that he heeded well.

  “Am I to spy on my own wife?” He wanted to choke on the word “wife.”

  “Simply watch her. If she is spying and you think it is serious, then let me know. However, I don’t think she has learned anything of significance. I want to tell Catherine that her wish to wed Aimee off has been granted.”

  “And in so doing, you are also sending a message to Catherine that her spy has been neutralized.”

  Mary’s grin was mischievous. “You are very intelligent, Sir Simon.”

  Chapter 6

  Aimee restlessly paced in her chambers, alternating between panic and despair and wild hope that Simon would find a way out of this marriage. But the longer she waited, the more the hope gave way to despair.

  She slept fitfully, wrapped in a blanket, sitting in front of the fire.

  Several times she pulled out her letter to Pierre but couldn’t find the words that would adequately describe her deep anguish and terror that this travesty was actually going to happen. She had to believe in Simon. She had to believe that his aversion toward this match was as strong as hers. She had to put her future in his hands.

  Hannah came in the early morning and was brought up short by the sight of Aimee curled up in a chair in front of the fire. “Are ye feeling better?” she asked.

  “No.” Aimee couldn’t find it in herself to even stir. Listlessly she watched Hannah build the fire. “Have you…”

  Hannah looked at her expectantly while she went about putting the room to rights. Aimee wasn’t sure what to ask. It seemed a bit silly to ask her maid if she’d heard anything about Aimee’s upcoming wedding.

  “Oh, aye,” Hannah said. “I’ve heard.”

  Aimee lifted her head, waiting for Hannah to elaborate.

  “I’ve heard that Lord Morton’s son is tupping a kitchen maid and promised her all sorts of riches.” Hannah sniffed. “And the foolish twit believes him. Can’t tell her anything because she’s in love. Nothing good will come of that except a babe in her belly that she can’t afford to raise on her own. Fool.”

  Aimee dropped her head back down and closed her eyes.

  “I’ve heard that the head cook beat the scullion boy when he snatched a biscuit from her kitchen. He says he was feeding his poor starving sisters. I think he was feeding his poor starving stomach. I’ve heard—”

  “That’s enough, Hannah.” Aimee couldn’t bear to hear any more prattling and couldn’t care less about Lord Morton’s son and the scullion who’d stolen the biscuit.

  “What will you wear today, my lady?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Hannah moved to stand in front of her and look down on her. “How can ye no’ care what ye wear on yer wedding day?”

  Aimee jerked and her head snapped up. “What did you say?”

  Hannah paused. “About what yer wearin’?”

  “No. The other.”

  Hannah’s forehead scrunched as she wrinkled her nose in thought. “About yer wedding?”

  “My wedding?” Aimee could barely get the word out.

  Hannah looked at her as if she were touched in the head. “Did ye forget ye were marrying Sir Simon today? It’s the talk of the palace.”

  And yet Hannah had prattled on about the cook and the kitchen maid.

  “So he didn’t…”

  Hannah flung open the wardrobe door and stared at the gowns inside. “Dark, striking colors suit ye best,” she murmured.

  So Simon hadn’t been able to talk Mary out of the marriage? Had he even tried?

  Someone knocked on the door and Hannah, grumbling, flung it open. A servant stood on the other side, but Aimee paid him no mind. What had happened? How was it that he couldn’t get them out of this horrible situation?

  “For the lady,” the man said, handing Hannah a large package.

  Aimee tuned them out, shivering beneath the blanket in dread. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Pierre. The man she was meant to marry. The man who held her heart. But panic made his beautiful face blurry as if she were looking at him through a thick fog.

  “Oh, my lady, look at what he sent you!” Hannah draped a bloodred material hooded cloak across Aimee’s knees, caressing the soft velvet. “It’s so beautiful,” Hannah said.

  Aimee stared at the garment, which was intricately stitched in gold and blue. It was lined in fur and looked deliciously warm. Aimee buried her hand in the thick fur, drawn to the cloak despite her reluctance.

  “There is this, too.” Hannah handed her a folded note.

  His handwriting was elegant, the bottom signed only with a swirling S.

  Magpie—please accept this inadequate gift as a token of the first day of the rest of our lives together.

  The paper trembled in her hand, and she put it down. So that was it. They were to be married. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it.

  Hannah hurried back to the wardrobe. “We must find a gown to match the cloak. Oh, I fear ye have nothing so grand as that cloak. What a shame.”

  Aimee let Hannah ramble as the world blurred through her tears. She was
to be married to Simon. A man she didn’t know and certainly didn’t love. Was she supposed to forget about Pierre? She’d promised to wait for him, and he’d promised to wait for her. How was she supposed to tell him that she’d had no choice? What was she supposed to do now?

  The paper fluttered to the floor, and Aimee watched it helplessly.

  “What about this one?” Hannah produced a gown that was a lighter blue than the stitching in the cloak but worked well with the colors. “Oh, we must hurry!” she suddenly said. “Ye can’t be late to yer own wedding.”

  Hannah pulled her up out of the chair and Aimee allowed it, numb, grief-stricken, full of despair. Maybe if she were a woman of means, she would have some say in her destiny. But she was nothing but the fifth child of a secondary noble thrust upon Catherine and now upon Mary. She had no family to help her, no alliances, and no power behind her. She was a pawn. She’d been a pawn for Catherine to gather information from Mary, and she was a pawn for Mary, who thought it a good idea to match Aimee with Simon. In a week Mary would have forgotten all about Aimee and Simon, but by then it would be too late and their lives would be destroyed.

  Aimee stood while Hannah dressed her, sat while Hannah did her hair. Finally Hannah declared her ready to go. “Ye are beautiful,” she said in a rare moment of kindness.

  Aimee tried to smile, but her heart was hurting and her stomach was aching and her throat had closed up against the threatening tears.

  Hannah guided her toward the door and Aimee woodenly followed, but before Hannah opened the door, she stepped in front of Aimee and fiddled with the cloak’s sleeves, then picked at lint here and there. “This cloak is the finest I ever did see,” she said. “If a man can afford a cloak such as this, then he can afford a dozen more. Mark my words. He’s a rich one. He’ll do right by ye.” Hannah looked Aimee in the eye. “Sometimes the best ye can ask is for a man to treat ye well. I have a good feeling about this one.”

  “What about love?” Aimee asked.

  Hannah scoffed. “Love doesn’t keep yer body warm or yer belly full. Many a woman married for love only to be disappointed. Look at our own queen. She wed that French king, and he broke her heart by goin’ off and dyin’. Nay. Don’t marry for love. Marry a man who’ll treat ye right. I have a good feelin’ about this Marcheford man. Even though he be English, he’s a good one.” Hannah leaned close. “And not to be tellin’ tales, but I hear he’s acceptable between the sheets, too.”