Wed to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  She trailed the girls outside, bringing up the rear. Emma dropped back to walk beside her. “I know it’s only been a day, but are you and Sir Simon becoming accustomed to marriage?”

  “I think it will take a bit longer,” Aimee admitted.

  “I’m sure it will, but from what I have observed, Simon seems genuinely kind.”

  Aimee hummed a sound that wasn’t agreement or disagreement. She didn’t particularly want to talk about Simon. She’d come with the girls to get her mind off Pierre, but Emma’s speaking of Simon only made Aimee think about getting away from him.

  He was going to be very angry when he discovered she had left. Or maybe not. Maybe he would be relieved. After all, he didn’t want to be wed to her any more than she wanted to be wed to him. Her return to France was the best thing for both of them. Simon could move on with his life and she with hers, and they would no longer be tied to each other—provided she could find a priest who would annul their marriage. But that shouldn’t be difficult. There were many priests in service to the French court who would do as Catherine said, especially as the marriage had not been consummated. And neither did she intend it to be.

  Aimee and Emma had caught up to the other girls, and Aimee listened with half an ear as they gossiped among themselves. Lord Darnley was the subject of their discussion, and they talked quietly, not wanting to be overheard.

  “I heard that he cornered Rose a few days ago and she rebuffed his advances,” one of the girls said.

  Rose was a quiet girl from a border clan who kept mainly to herself. Aimee could see why Lord Darnley had chosen her as his next victim. She had few friends and was alone most of the time, and she was very beautiful.

  Aimee shuddered. Even though he was king, Darnley made her skin crawl. She never trusted his handsome smile or smooth words. She’d heard the stories about him. He liked men as well as women. He dallied with anyone who was willing and many who weren’t. He was cruel with his words, and she’d heard that he had made the stoic queen cry on more than one occasion.

  She stayed as far from him as possible. Despite the fact that he was Mary’s husband and it was never good to say bad things about a reigning monarch, Aimee wanted nothing to do with him and his wandering hands.

  The other girls seemed to be of the same mind, except for one.

  “He is handsome, though,” Ruth said with a sigh. “He spoke to me the other day. And I caught him looking at me at dinner last night, but he looked away as soon as I caught his eye.”

  “He’s dangerous,” one of the other girls warned. “Women have been hurt by him.”

  “But to be the mistress of the king of Scotland.” Ruth sighed.

  “It’s not worth it,” someone said. “I would not want the wrath of Mary.”

  Aimee slowed her steps, not wanting to be a part of this conversation. It was obvious that Ruth had set her eyes on becoming the king’s mistress. The other girl was right. Becoming involved with Lord Darnley was dangerous.

  To her regret and surprise, Ruth fell back to keep pace with Aimee and said loudly, “How are things now that you are wed to Sir Simon? I’ve heard he is a very accomplished lover.” She looked at Aimee with twinkling eyes that held a touch of malice. Had Ruth set her sights also on Simon?

  “Things are well,” Aimee said tightly, embarrassed because now all eyes were on her, and once again they were discussing Simon.

  “I think it’s so interesting that he ended up in Mary’s court in Scotland, of all places,” Ruth said, obviously fishing for information.

  “I believe he came from Spain,” someone volunteered.

  “He hasn’t been with Mary’s court for very long,” another said.

  “Isn’t he English?” someone asked.

  All eyes turned to her for confirmation.

  Emma linked her arm through Amy’s. “Who is going to Mary’s salon tonight? I hear there will be music and games.”

  There was a slight pause, as if everyone was waiting for someone to continue with the conversation regarding Simon, but Emma was the clear leader of the group, and no one dared to defy her. Aimee was glad to have Emma as an ally.

  “Well, I will be there,” Ruth said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and marching on ahead. “I am hoping Lord Darnley will be there as well.”

  The gaggle of girls moved forward, leaving Aimee and Emma behind.

  “Sometimes I think they have too much time on their hands and not enough brain in their heads,” Emma muttered, causing Aimee to laugh. “Mark my words, Ruth will find herself in hot water if she pursues this infatuation with Lord Darnley. Mary will never allow it.”

  Aimee silently agreed but had learned in the French court that the best way to survive was to keep her mouth closed and her ears open.

  They slowly made their way back to the palace, where the girls dispersed to prepare for dinner and the salon after. Aimee entered her quarters feeling exhausted. She’d slept well the night before, but the day had been tiring. She was ready to take a rest and have Hannah bring her dinner to her.

  She stopped short when she saw Simon sitting at her escritoire, penning a letter.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder as she entered. “Good evening, Wife.”

  She wished he wouldn’t call her that. She didn’t want to be reminded that they were wed, although seeing him in her quarters was a good reminder.

  “Good evening,” she said stiffly, trying to get a glimpse of the letter he was writing. But he’d folded his hands over it, and she couldn’t see anything. Her gaze flitted to the drawer that contained the letter to Pierre. She was confident that Simon had no idea it was there, since he didn’t strike her as one who would read a prayer book, but it reminded her that she needed to get rid of the letter soon.

  “Did you have a good day?” he asked, watching her sit in her favorite chair by the fire. It was the warmest place in the room, and she sighed in appreciation of the warmth, stretching her toes toward the flames.

  “Somewhat,” she said. “And did you have a good day hunting?”

  “Not particularly.” He sanded and folded his letter, then sealed it with red wax.

  “What are you writing?” she boldly asked.

  “A letter to Queen Elizabeth, asking her permission to reenter England and take up residence there.”

  Aimee stiffened. “Why?”

  “Because it’s my home and I want to return.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him again she wasn’t going to live in England but quickly closed it. Let him believe that she was willing to move to England. She would be long gone and living in France before Queen Elizabeth responded to his letter.

  “Are you wearing that to dinner?” he asked.

  She looked down at her day gown, which was completely inappropriate for the evening meal, as he knew. “I’m not going to dinner.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Her head jerked up and their gazes locked. “I’m tired from my excursions during the day and prefer to take my meal here.”

  “You will go to dinner with me.”

  She lifted her chin. “I will not.”

  He stood with a deliberateness that had her shrinking into her chair. “You will,” he said. “You embarrassed me yesterday by not appearing at dinner. You will not do it again tonight.”

  She stood, too, her toes tingling from the warmth of the fire. “I do not care that you were embarrassed by my absence. This marriage is a farce, and everyone knows it. I see no reason to pretend otherwise.”

  Simon pressed his lips together. “It may have started as a whim of Queen Mary’s, but I assure you that this marriage is very real, and I for one want to make the best of the circumstances. We will go to dinner as a newly married couple even if I have to force you to go as you are dressed now.”

  Chapter 12

  Aimee went to dinner with Simon because it was easier to agree than disagree, and the thought of being free of him soon boosted her spirits. It would serve her well to play along,
so that he would not grow suspicious of her plans.

  She changed into a russet-colored gown trimmed in gold. Hannah did her hair in an intricate updo, requiring so many pins that Aimee lost count, and covered it with a gold cap trimmed in russet. Despite the fact that she was going to dinner—and the salon—against her will, she felt beautiful. She thought of all the gowns she would have to leave behind when she escaped to France and felt a tinge of remorse. But no worries. Pierre would buy her more gowns, and she would love those the most because they would be given to her by her one true love.

  Dinner wasn’t as excruciating as she had expected, and she discovered that she really was very hungry. Simon sat next to her and entertained all of them with stories of his travels through Europe while making certain her plate was always full.

  They proceeded into Mary’s salon after. Emma was there and winked at Aimee when she walked in on Simon’s arm. Ruth was there, watching Simon with an intensity that made Aimee uncomfortable. It was obvious that Ruth had set her sights on Simon as well as Darnley and was angry that Simon was now unavailable.

  Mary and her small inner circle were just finishing up their dinner when everyone arrived. Rizzio, Mary’s trusted adviser, was at her side, dressed extravagantly, as usual, in red velvet. Lord Darnley was not present. The tension between the queen and king was well known, and they were rarely seen together anymore. Aimee thought it was sad that the marriage had disintegrated so rapidly.

  As soon as Aimee and Simon entered, Simon was pulled away by Lord Robert Stewart, and the two were soon deep in conversation. Aimee wandered away, her attention on the musicians. They were decent. Not as good as the musicians in the French court, but to be fair, the French court attracted the world’s best artists. She listened for a bit, until she saw Ruth heading toward Simon.

  Aimee watched the other girl’s movements, intrigued and feeling a strange emotion. Ruth was not keeping her infatuation with Aimee’s husband a secret, and it was quite embarrassing—not for Aimee but for Ruth. If Aimee could sense the girl’s desperation, then most likely everyone else could, too.

  Ruth reached Simon’s side and leaned close to say something to him. Simon tipped his head toward her to listen more attentively, then laughed at whatever Ruth had to say. Ruth smiled and placed her hand on Simon’s arm to say something else. For some reason, all Aimee could think about was Simon’s warmth while she’d slept next to him the night before.

  Simon smiled down at Ruth, listening as the chit rattled on about who knew what. Aimee was quite certain that the woman didn’t have an intelligent thought in her head.

  “Aimee, chère.”

  Aimee turned to find Mary sailing toward her, one hand on her extended belly, the other at the small of her back. But Mary didn’t appear uncomfortable; rather, she was smiling and radiant.

  Aimee curtsied to the queen, reluctantly pulling her attention away from Ruth and Simon.

  “It is good to see you here tonight. When you weren’t in attendance last night, I worried about you,” Mary said.

  “My apologies for not being here. I wasn’t feeling well.”

  Mary waved her hand in the air in dismissal. “I understand. How is your marriage to Sir Simon going?”

  Aimee hesitated, trying to formulate an answer that wouldn’t offend Her Majesty, when Rizzio approached and drew Mary’s attention from Aimee. Grateful, Aimee stepped back, but Mary put a hand on Aimee’s arm to stay her while she conversed with Rizzio.

  The little Italian was leaning close, talking earnestly to Mary while Aimee stood awkwardly waiting, feeling as if she were intruding. Rizzio was completely devoted to Mary, and there were some vicious rumors that he was the father of the child Mary was carrying. Aimee didn’t believe those rumors. She felt they were perpetrated by people with darkness in their hearts and ugly souls. Every court had them.

  She looked around, trying to find Simon, curious to see if Ruth was still hoarding his attention. But while Simon was taller than most, she couldn’t find him in the crowded room.

  There was a commotion at the entrance, drawing Aimee’s attention to that point. Conversations faltered, and a path widened to allow through whoever had entered.

  It was Lord Darnley, much to everyone’s surprise. Aimee felt Mary’s fingers tighten on her arm as the queen watched her smiling husband approach. He stopped periodically to speak to people—people who seemed shocked by and uncomfortable with his presence and attention.

  Rizzio looked on with a pinched expression, as if he’d eaten something sour. Mary stood silently, her expression hard and unyielding, as Darnley approached her and bowed. “Good evening, Wife.”

  She tilted her head toward him regally but did not extend her own felicitations.

  More commotion from the entrance had heads turning and murmurs erupting. Again the crowd shifted, allowing a pathway. People began to exclaim in alarm, and a few men called out as a very pale and sweating Lord Ruthven pushed his way through. It wasn’t so much his presence that was alarming but the fact that he was dressed in full armor.

  What in the world was Lord Ruthven doing here dressed in armor? Rumor had it that he’d been ill and that his illness would eventually be the death of him, but this was beyond the pale.

  “Your Majesty, I must speak to you of Rizzio,” Ruthven said, panting and sweating, his armor creaking.

  “Rizzio?” Mary asked in surprise. “What is Rizzio’s offense that you must speak to me here and now? And why are you dressed in such a way?”

  Rizzio moved to stand behind Mary while Darnley remained beside her, his head tilted inquisitively. He didn’t seem concerned by Ruthven’s strange garb.

  Ruthven launched into a soliloquy about Rizzio hindering Lord Darnley’s rise in the monarchy and banishing other lords. Aimee couldn’t follow his tirade, it was so disjointed. People began to murmur and laugh.

  “Lord Ruthven,” Mary said with all the haughtiness of her nobility, cutting off his long-winded monologue. “You are ill and not in your right mind. I think it best that you leave.”

  A few of the lords witnessing the scene moved forward, apparently to grab Ruthven and haul him out. Agitated, his eyes wide, his expression panicked, Lord Ruthven drew his sword. The crowd gasped and moved back. Aimee tried to step away, but there was nowhere to go. She was stuck between the wall and the horrific scene playing before her.

  Suddenly armed men began to fill the small room, coming from the back stairs and the front door. Women began to scream and men to yell.

  One of the armed men lunged at Rizzio, who was by now huddled behind Mary, shaking and moaning.

  Ruthven rushed toward Mary and shoved her into Darnley’s arms. “Do not be afraid,” he said to her. “The king has agreed to all of this.”

  Another man who had been standing close grabbed Darnley’s dagger from his side and thrust it into Rizzio’s chest.

  Aimee covered her mouth before a scream could escape. She stepped backward until she hit the wall.

  Rizzio cried out, an inhuman sound that ended on a moan as he crumpled to the ground. Darnley held Mary’s arms as she struggled to get away from him and go to her adviser. She was yelling, her face twisted in horror. The guards who had entered, who Aimee now realized were not part of Mary’s guard, fell on Rizzio, dragging him up as blood poured from his wound. His head lolled back.

  Mary cried out, but so far no one had touched her. However, Darnley was keeping a tight hold on her.

  Suddenly Aimee’s arm was grabbed, and she was dragged from the horrific scene. With a firm grasp on her arm, Simon was shoving his way through the shocked witnesses, leading with one shoulder down to push whomever got in their way.

  Women were fainting. Men were yelling and drawing their own daggers and swords. No one paid Aimee and Simon any mind as they burst through the doors and into the corridor.

  If Aimee had thought the corridor would offer a modicum of safety, she was wrong. Armed soldiers were everywhere.

  She looked over her
shoulder, through the doorway, and into Mary’s salon, where people were pushing and shoving to get out, some pushing in the opposite direction, toward their queen.

  She soon lost sight of the chaos as they rounded a bend and Simon dragged her through the twisting labyrinth of corridors.

  —

  Simon held Aimee’s hand tightly and kept close to the walls as he pulled her through the corridors. The place was filling quickly with armed soldiers. Simon had a bad feeling that these soldiers weren’t here to protect the queen and king.

  He’d managed to take Aimee away from the center of the chaos. The corridor here was empty, but unfortunately it was also a dead end. He stopped and tried to think what to do. Going back was dangerous. They would be spotted, and his first mission was to get them out of the palace without a confrontation with the soldiers.

  He turned to go back.

  “Where are we going?” Aimee whispered.

  “I’m trying to find a way out of here.”

  She looked fearfully over her shoulder. “The only way out is that way,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “Where the soldiers are. Maybe they can help us.”

  “I don’t think the soldiers are here to help us.”

  Her eyes widened. “What are you saying?”

  “Shhh.” He tilted his head, listening. He well knew the sound of a troop of soldiers trying to move quietly, and that was exactly what he was hearing. It was too late to go back now. He grabbed Aimee’s hand again. “Come.”

  They hurried toward the dead end. Simon opened and closed a few doors. It seemed this was a wing of unused bedchambers. He chose the last bedchamber, opening the door slowly so it didn’t creak too loudly, then hustled Aimee inside.

  He closed the door behind them, drenching the room in darkness. For a moment all he heard was their harsh breathing and the distant, muted shouts of whatever was happening in Mary’s chambers.

  Will had been right. Rizzio had been targeted for murder, and Simon feared that the assassination had been a success.