Wed to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

“What are we to do now?” Aimee’s voice floated through the darkness.

  “We wait until things calm down.”

  A long silence followed. He could hear her breathing. He could almost feel her thinking.

  “I’m frightened,” she whispered in a small voice that tugged at his heart.

  “That was a frightening thing you witnessed. You were right there in the midst of it.”

  “Lord Ruthven was…” Her voice trailed off, and he wished he could see her face to know what she was thinking. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “Lord Ruthven is out of his mind,” Simon said.

  He felt a movement and stiffened until cold fingers touched the back of his hand. He turned his palm, and she twined her fingers through his.

  “Your hands are cold,” he said.

  “I dropped my shawl at some point.”

  Footsteps scooted closer to them. “How long do we wait here?” she asked.

  “Until the corridors are cleared of the soldiers.”

  “You said the soldiers weren’t here to help us.” There was a lift to her voice, making her statement more of a question.

  “I fear not.”

  Another long pause. Her fingers were beginning to warm.

  “Why are they here, then?” she asked. “Do you think they were working for Lord Ruthven?”

  “I don’t know.” He did know. Those soldiers had been gathered together by the lords who had orchestrated this coup. And this was a coup. He was fairly certain that Rizzio was dead, and he feared for Mary, Darnley, and their child.

  “Stand here,” he said, untwining their fingers.

  “Where are you going?” she asked with a bit of panic.

  “I’m going to explore this room and see if we can get more comfortable.”

  Arms outstretched, feet shuffling so he didn’t knock his shins into anything, Simon moved farther into the room. Or at least he hoped he was moving into the room. His toes brushed against something that felt like a large piece of furniture and turned out to be a wardrobe. He shuffled to the left and found the bed. His eyes began to adjust, and he could make out large shapes and the outline of a window. Feeling along the wall, he grasped the shutter and pried it open. Moonlight flooded in, bathing the room in blue and causing shadows to scurry to the far corners.

  “Good thing it’s a full moon,” he commented as he stood to the side and peered out the window that looked over High Street and part of the palace wall. No one was about, which wasn’t odd, given the late hour, but Simon looked closer and found armed guards posted periodically along the wall, standing in the shadows.

  Aimee came to stand beside him, and with his arm across her torso, he moved her back. “Don’t stand in front of the window,” he whispered.

  “You’re afraid for us,” she said, looking up at him with a pale face and wide, fearful eyes.

  “Cautious,” he said. “We don’t want them seeing us.”

  While she stayed by his side, not stepping in front of the window, she leaned forward to get a better view of below. “Who is going to see us? No one is about.”

  “Look closer.”

  She leaned even farther out, and Simon thought he was going to have to catch her before she fell on her nose.

  “There are people against the wall.”

  “Soldiers.”

  “We’re under attack,” she said. “They’ve taken over the palace.”

  “I fear so.” He was impressed with her intelligence and the fact that she hadn’t fallen apart on him yet. The last thing he needed was a hysterical, weeping woman. What she had witnessed had been horrific, and to think that it had happened just a few feet from her.

  She stepped away from the window. “What will happen to the queen?”

  “I don’t know.” Will’s intelligence had said nothing about harming the queen. Rizzio’s murder had been about implicating the king and stripping him of power.

  “I fear for her safety,” Aimee said. “We should protect her.”

  “Right now I’m protecting you.”

  Their gazes locked for a brief moment before she hurriedly looked out the window again, beyond the palace walls. “We can’t hide in here forever.”

  “But we can for the time being.” He was glad he had insisted that she attend the salon with him tonight. While he wasn’t happy that she’d witnessed the attack on Rizzio, if she had been in their chambers, he wasn’t certain he would have been able to get to her.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. His first thought had been to get to her and get her out of the room, and his second thought had been escape. For all he knew, she could have been hurt in the ruckus, as daggers were being thrust every which way.

  “I’m fine,” she said. She shivered and rubbed her arms, then turned around and looked at the room. The bedding had been stripped from the bed, making it appear skeletal, abandoned, and unused. Mary was one of the first monarchs in years to use Holyrood Palace. She hadn’t gotten around to opening all parts of it and was in the middle of refurbishing much of it. They appeared to be in a forgotten wing.

  Simon thought briefly of Will. He hadn’t seen his friend that night and hoped that he’d been far away from the salon, but even if he hadn’t been, Simon had faith in his fellow spy.

  He took one more look around the gardens, noting the positions of the guards around the inner walls before turning away. He stopped short when he discovered that Aimee was standing directly behind him, so close that he stepped on her toes and had to grab her shoulders to keep from knocking her down.

  She looked up at him. The cool glow of the moonlight bathed her pale face. Her lips were slightly parted, the pearly whites of her teeth just barely visible. She had beautiful lips, nicely formed. Perfect for kissing. Why had he never noticed that before?

  Beneath his hands, her shoulders were thin. She was trembling slightly, from the cold or fear he didn’t know.

  “You’re shaking,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  He lowered his head a fraction, stopped, waited for her to say something, to step away, to slap him. The trembling ceased. He lowered his head more. Then more, until he was kissing her.

  Her lips were soft and comforting. At first she didn’t respond, didn’t move. He wanted to draw her closer but was afraid to take his hands off her shoulders for fear she would flee.

  He was about to give up when she tilted her head to the side and pressed her lips against his. His blood raced through him, pooling in his groin. It took every bit of restraint to keep from crushing her to him, to stand still and let her kiss him in such a naive and inexperienced way.

  Strangely enough, it was the naïveté that fired his blood. It was very apparent that Pierre had never kissed her properly, and that made Simon extremely happy, for it meant that they probably had not been lovers.

  He coaxed her lips open with the tip of his tongue. He could feel her surprise, her hesitation, and finally her curiosity. Slowly she opened up to him, breath held as she waited for his next move. He took it slowly, not having any experience with kissing a woman who had never truly been kissed, but liking it nonetheless.

  She shuddered just once, a vibration that went through her entire body before she settled down again. Their tongues touched. Hers retreated, then darted back. Playfully he chased her tongue with his. It became a game. Him chasing her. Her retreating, then tentatively coming back for more.

  Eventually they broke away, each breathing hard, to look at each other. He wondered if he looked as surprised as she did.

  She stepped out from beneath his hands and squared the shoulders he’d just been holding, to look at him with those stormy gray eyes. Moments passed. He had no idea what to say to her. They were married, but they’d yet to learn how to be married, so everything was awkward. Being locked in an abandoned bedchamber did not help matters.

  The tongue he’d just been playing hide-and-seek with darted out to lick her lips. She turned her head to look away. Even the blue cast of
the moon couldn’t hide the color that had crept into her cheeks.

  Chapter 13

  “What are you doing?” Simon asked from his position by the window.

  Aimee opened the wardrobe door and spotted what she’d been looking for. She pulled out the old bed linens, sending up a cloud of dust as she did so. Waving the dust clouds away, she coughed, then sneezed. “We might as well be comfortable. Here.” She handed Simon a corner of the bedsheet. Automatically he took it and followed her lead by shaking out the rest of the dust. Once unfolded, it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d assumed.

  She spread the bedsheet on the naked mattress, which was made of wool. It was musty-smelling and wouldn’t be the most comfortable, but it would have to do.

  Suddenly Simon’s hand came from behind her and covered hers. She stilled, looking at the large fingers and blunt fingertips resting on her hand, making it seem small and vulnerable. He had scars and nicks here and there. She had a feeling that these weren’t wounds from boys’ play.

  “Aimee.” His mouth was close to her ear, the sound of his voice vibrating through her. She suppressed the shiver that threatened to shake her apart. That kiss…

  She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of his hands, blocking the memory of his kiss.

  She felt his hand pull away. Felt the warmth of his body leave her back and the moist breath draw away.

  “Let me help you,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the yellowed bedsheet. Simon stepped around the bed and helped her straighten it.

  She smoothed a wrinkle out, then stood to look him in the eye. “Tell me the truth, Simon. Do you think Mary is alive?”

  He hesitated, but she had faith that he would answer her true. She didn’t know where that faith came from, but it was there, and she believed in it.

  “I don’t know, Aimee. I don’t know what has happened since we left.”

  She sat on the bed, the memories of the evening flooding her mind. She was too exhausted to push them away any longer. “What happened in the queen’s chambers tonight?” she whispered.

  “Ruthven stabbed Rizzio.”

  “But why?”

  Simon perched one hip on the bed and looked at his hand splayed over his thigh. He seemed to be thinking for quite a long while. “It was not a secret that many didn’t like Rizzio. They thought he had too much power over the queen and she trusted him too much.”

  “They stabbed him for that?”

  “I believe so.”

  Aimee drew back. She didn’t know much about Scottish politics, but she knew that Mary’s arrival in Scotland had been met with mixed emotions. It had been clear from the beginning that the ruling nobility preferred to rule themselves, as had been the custom for years. Mary had changed all that. But regardless of their beliefs, Scotland was ruled by a monarchy, and the nobles were sworn to protect and obey their monarch.

  “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Simon said softly.

  Aimee shuddered at the memory of the dagger going through Rizzio. Of the inhuman scream that had come from the little Italian.

  “Lie down,” Simon said. “I don’t think there are any pillows, but we can find something for you to lay your head upon.”

  She nodded, too weary to argue. Too exhausted to put up a fight about who was sleeping where. She thought of the night before, when they’d slept in the same bed, and how warm Simon had been. Had that just been last night? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  She swung her legs onto the bed and settled on her side. Her eyes burned, and she felt like she’d walked from here to France when she’d done nothing but attend a dinner, watch a man be attacked, and flee down a few flights of steps.

  A thick comforter, smelling of dust and age, came up and over her, cocooning her.

  “Where did you find that?” she asked, feeling as if her words were slurred.

  “In the same cupboard where you found the bedsheets. Go to sleep, Aimee.”

  She was exhausted, but her mind was whirling. It was one of those moments when she craved the oblivion of sleep but feared it wasn’t coming any time soon.

  “Will you stay here?” she said, suddenly panicked that Simon was going to leave her.

  “I’ll be right here.”

  The bed was lumpy and hard in places, and she shifted to get more comfortable. Her eyes drifted closed, and her last thought was that maybe sleep wasn’t too far off after all.

  —

  Simon stared down at this woman who was his wife. It was just starting to sink in that he had the complete care of her in a palace overrun by the queen’s enemies. He needed to get them both to safety, but it was obvious from the way the guards were scattered across the perimeter walls that no one was getting out and only certain folks were getting in.

  Just what the hell was he supposed to do with her?

  She was curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her eyes were flitting back and forth beneath her lids. She was sleeping, but it wasn’t a peaceful sleep. Every once in a while her body would twitch beneath the comforter. She’d pulled her knees to her chest, curling into a tight ball—for protection or warmth, he didn’t know, and he couldn’t imagine that sleeping in her gown was all that comfortable. But he was just pleased that she was getting some rest and the questions had stopped coming. She was astute and understood the severity of the situation, but she was asking dangerous questions. Questions that he had answers to, but he couldn’t let her know that.

  He turned away and took the few steps to the window to look out again. He was certain the people in charge of the rebellion were cursing the bright moonlight. It was always better to lead a mutiny in the dark.

  Behind him, Aimee stirred, and he looked over his shoulder at her. That kiss had knocked him on his arse. He’d kissed his fair share of women in his day, and he’d experienced far more erotic kisses, but this one had been different. This one he’d felt in his heart and his soul. He’d been left reeling from it and now had to force his mind to more practical matters.

  He put his hand in the pocket of his doublet and fingered the edges of Aimee’s letter to Pierre. He carried it with him for no other reason than to torture himself with the knowledge that he did not measure up to the kind of man she wanted.

  And yet she’d asked him to stay.

  Of course, that had everything to do with the fact that she’d been a witness to Rizzio’s probable murder and she was frightened. As well she should be. He had no idea what the consequences of her being a witness were, but he was certain they weren’t good. Either the conspirators would want her because she’d been a witness, or the queen might want her because her mere presence could be an indication that she’d known something of the plot.

  Yes, he definitely needed to get them out of there.

  Movement in the gardens drew his attention, and he moved closer to the window but enough to the side that no one would see him. He doubted anyone would be looking toward this unused wing of the palace, but caution was in his nature.

  Men stepped into the moon’s light, clearing trying to keep to the shadows, but there were not enough to conceal them. There were five men, carrying something between them. By the way they were walking, Simon could tell that their burden was heavy and awkward. Every few feet one would stumble. They muttered between them, loud enough that Simon heard their voices but low enough that he couldn’t understand the words.

  As they passed beneath the window, Simon grimaced. They were carrying a body clothed in rich crimson. Rizzio had been wearing such a red. The body’s head was dragging on the ground, eyes wide, the mouth open in a grotesque silent scream.

  It was Rizzio. Simon got a good enough look to see that the Italian adviser was dead.

  Queen Mary’s favorite adviser had been murdered in front of all of them.

  What had happened to Queen Mary?

  Simon feared the answer.

  The men disappeared into the shadows. A door opened in the wall, then closed. Sim
on turned away from the window and looked at his sleeping wife. She hadn’t moved.

  Simon sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her for a long time. She was breathing evenly and deeply. He lay down next to her, on his back, staring at the shadows flickering across the ceiling, his hands folded over his stomach. Aimee was a very real presence next to him. He thought about sleeping in the same bed the night before and the fact that he’d dared her to do it. He’d been sincere when he told her that he didn’t want a marriage in which they slept in separate bedrooms, and he hadn’t been surprised when she took him up on the dare. She was slight and at times timid and quiet, but there was a strength inside of her and a fire that he sometimes glimpsed.

  Tonight was a great example of that strength. Other women would have fallen apart. As they were leaving the chaotic scene of attempted murder, women had been fainting and screaming. Not Aimee. She’d watched in horror, but she hadn’t fainted or screamed. It gave him hope that he could get them out of this situation.

  What they would do once they escaped the palace was another thing entirely. He had to make his way to Tristan’s print shop—it was Will and Simon’s safe house. But how he was going to get the two of them there was a different worry, and explaining it all to Aimee was yet another concern.

  Beside him, she sighed and shifted to her other side. A small tremor ran through her, and she curled into a tighter ball. She was cold again. Well, not really again. She was always cold.

  Simon stood, pulled the comforter down, and crawled in, pulling the comforter over him as he curled his body around hers. He didn’t take his boots off because of the fear that they might be discovered and would have to run at any moment. Aimee still had her shoes on as well. He guessed she was awfully uncomfortable in her petticoats and stays and heavy, voluminous gown, but it was necessary for her to remain in them.

  He draped his leg over hers and curled his arm around her small waist. She made a small noise of contentment and scooted her rear end into him, snuggling her slight body against his.

  Her head fit perfectly under his chin, her hair tickling his cheek. He closed his eyes, unwilling to admit how right this felt, holding her in his arms like this.