They were almost to another set of steps when the voices grew louder; it was apparent that a group of men was going to turn the corner at any moment.
Simon slid into an alcove that Aimee had not even noticed was there, dragging her with him. Quickly he shoved her behind his back as he shuffled to the far corner. There was no curtain covering the opening, and she had no idea what these alcoves were used for, but she was quite happy that it was here.
The voices drew closer, men chuckling and talking quietly. Aimee tried to peer around Simon’s arm, but he shoved her back, pinning her between his strong, wide back and the hard, cold stone wall. She had an urge to cuddle into him and draw his heat into her, but she refrained.
The men passed and Simon’s shoulders eased. “Didn’t even look this way,” he muttered, as if disappointed that the men hadn’t been more observant.
They waited a few more moments before resuming their flight through the castle. When they entered the servants’ area, Aimee looked around, wide-eyed. She didn’t remember having been to the servants’ quarters before. It was bustling with…well, with servants, all going about their business, barely looking up, like it was an intricate dance that everyone knew the steps to except her. It was as if nothing untoward was going on upstairs, as if the king and queen weren’t imprisoned and life was…normal.
Simon had released her hand and she walked a few paces behind, her head down but her eyes trying to take everything in.
A girl came out of what appeared to be the larder and ran right into Aimee, causing her to stagger back.
“Out of my way,” the girl growled. “Watch where ye’re goin’.” She bustled away, leaving Aimee to stare at her, openmouthed.
“Come.” Simon grabbed her arm and pulled her toward their destination.
“Did you—”
“I did. Never had anyone speak to you that way before, have you?”
Aimee jogged along but kept looking over her shoulder. “Is that how they speak to each other?”
“She has a job to do, and you were in her way.”
“But…but…that was rude.”
She could have sworn that Simon chuckled as he led her down yet another set of stairs.
Chapter 18
During their heart-pounding flight through the castle, Aimee had thought continuously about The Window. It had become her savior, her focus, her mission, so when they finally came to it, she was surprised to find that it was unimpressive.
“You will fit through this?” she whispered to Simon.
“I will have to.”
She gave him a slanted look of disbelief. “You are rather large and the window is rather small.”
“Are you worried about me, Magpie?”
“I suppose I am. How am I to get you out if you become stuck?”
“We will manage.”
“If you say so,” she said doubtfully.
“We have to try. Our only other option is to stay here, and frankly I fear for our safety more here than out there.”
She took a deep breath and eyed the narrow opening. “So who should go first?”
“Me,” he said. “I can make sure it is clear once I’m outside, and I can pull you through.”
“Very well, then. Shall we?”
With a quirk to his lips, he bowed to her. Facetiously she curtsied to him in her borrowed servant’s gown.
Simon pushed open the pane of glass and poked his head outside, looking one way then the other before ducking back in. “They’ve pulled the guards from the walls.”
“Is that ominous?”
“I can’t decide, but it’s one less obstacle we have to encounter.”
He pushed a heavy chest under the window. Aimee knew it was heavy because his muscles flexed and bunched beneath the worn doublet, and she couldn’t help but watch.
When he was finished, he brushed his hands of the dirt and dust. “Like I said, I’ll go through first, then you.”
She nodded, suddenly terrified. Her heart pounded so hard that she feared she was having some sort of attack. They were really leaving the palace. All her life, the royal castle had been a place of safety. Any threat to the royal family and the castle would close its massive doors, pull up the drawbridge if there was one, seal off the entrances, and protect the king and queen and all the inhabitants with the might of the king’s army.
But the enemy had infiltrated this castle and taken the king and queen hostage, and it was no longer a place of safety but one of danger.
Simon climbed up on the chest and went headfirst through the window, shimmying this way and that.
He got stuck halfway through.
“Aimee,” his voice came back to her, muffled. “You’ll have to push.”
“Push what?” she whispered loudly.
“My arse!”
She took a step back, studying the arse that was stuck. “I can’t…”
“Now is not the time to be timid,” he said fiercely. “Push!”
Aimee took a tentative step forward, flexing her fingers. She climbed up on the chest, first one knee, then the other, using the wall for support.
“Hurry,” he said.
“I’m trying.”
Merde, but she was going to have to touch him there.
“Aimee,” he said rather calmly. “The blood is rushing to my head, and I will soon pass out.”
Spurred by that fear, Aimee put both hands on Simon’s arse and pushed with all her might. His arse was rather rounded, hence the reason he was stuck, but it was also very muscular. And tight. He had a tight arse.
“It’s. Not. Working,” she said between pushes.
“Keep trying.” He was gasping, and she wondered if she was hurting him or if he truly was passing out. Good Lord, but she needed to get him unstuck soon. It was hard to miss a man dangling out of a window.
She leaned back and contemplated the situation, which meant that she stared rather intently at Simon’s arse.
“Spread your legs,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” Even through the window stuffed with his body, he sounded surprised.
“Spread your legs.” She tapped one drooping foot, then the other.
A moment passed before he spread his feet. Aimee looked away, her face heating in mortification as she turned around, rather carefully, as she was still on the chest. With her back to Simon’s arse she leaned into him and pushed with all she had.
With a grunt from Simon and a muffled cry from Aimee, he popped through the window and slithered away from her.
For a moment Aimee stood there in surprise that it had actually worked. Then she laughed, covering her mouth with her hands so no one would hear. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she had to bend over with her silent laughter.
“Hurry,” Simon said from the other side.
Aimee poked her head out and hoisted herself through the window. It proved to be much easier for her to get through than Simon. He caught her easily and set her on her feet, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“We will never speak of this again,” Aimee said, attempting to be stern.
“Of course not.”
“I mean it, Simon. That was—”
“Yes,” he said. “It was. Come.” He grabbed her hand once again and began pulling her along.
They stayed in the shadows of the palace, creeping along with their backs to the stone wall. All jesting was put to the side, and Aimee could feel the tension running through Simon. She continually scanned the area, looking for danger, trying to be helpful, but she feared that she was more of a burden.
He stopped suddenly and she ran into his back, nearly bouncing off it. His arm came out to steady her, and he nodded to the wall that surrounded the palace. “The door is there,” he said.
She looked from the wall to Simon. “That’s a goodly distance.”
“It is the most dangerous part of our escape.”
“There is no other way?”
“None that I can think of.”
&
nbsp; She studied the wall again, not seeing the door but trusting Simon to know it was there. “Then we have no choice. How do you want to go about this?”
“Going together would attract attention.”
“I see no one looking.”
“Most probably no one is, but we can’t take that chance. I will go first. When I motion to you that all is clear, then you will come toward me. Don’t run. Walk naturally, as if you have an errand to run. An important errand. If you act like you belong, people will believe you belong.” Simon took a deep breath, turned to her, and kissed her. “For luck,” he said with a smile.
She smiled back, her lips tingling in a nice way. “Good luck,” she whispered, not even daring to think that they would not be reunited at the side of that wall.
Before she could say more, he was gone, loping across the broad expanse of grass, unprotected by the shadows that they’d used for cover since leaving their chambers.
Aimee watched, barely breathing, her fingers curling into her palms, her nails digging into her skin. If he were caught…
If he were caught, she had no idea what she would do. Throw herself on the mercy of the court, she guessed. But what court? Mary was in captivity. Aimee had no idea who was in charge.
It seemed to take him forever. Was he walking slowly just to annoy and frighten her? Had he slowed down?
“Hurry up,” she mouthed. “Hurry, hurry.”
And then he was there, swallowed up by the big, imposing wall that kept the palace protected. Aimee’s shoulders slumped and she let out a relieved breath.
He made it.
Thank You, Lord, he made it.
A hand appeared from the shadows and motioned for her.
Aimee straightened, fluffed her borrowed gown out of habit, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the safety of the palace wall.
Walk with purpose.
Act like you’re supposed to be here.
Firm strides.
You can do this, Aimee.
You are doing this, Aimee.
Strangely enough, it was Simon’s voice in her mind, cheering her on and encouraging her and giving her stride purpose.
She kept her eyes firmly on him, but it seemed to take forever to get there. An eternity of walking, feeling as if every eye in the palace were trained on her back. Her ears strained to hear the cry of the guards to take up arms.
She so desperately wanted to run but forced herself to keep her pace even.
And then Simon was grabbing for her and dragging her through the door. Then the door was pulled shut, and she was outside the gates of Holyrood Palace and on High Street of Edinburgh.
“Oh, my,” she said on a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think…” She gulped, shocked to discover that tears were building.
“Are you hurt?” Simon asked in concern.
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just relieved.”
“Well, don’t be relieved yet. The worst is yet to come.”
“The worst? But you said walking from the palace to the wall was the worst.”
“I didn’t want you to get discouraged.”
She grabbed his arm, suddenly furious. “Are you saying you lied to me?” He looked away guiltily, and she shook his arm. “Don’t ever lie to me. Tell me true. I am no wilting flower.”
He looked at her solemnly. “Does that go both ways?”
“Does what go both ways?”
“If I can’t lie to you, then you can’t lie to me.”
“Very well.” She released his arm. “But I think I’ve been completely truthful with you since we met.”
“Have you?”
Her brows dipped in confusion. “I know so.”
He turned away to look down High Street, the bustling main thoroughfare of Edinburgh. “We have a long trek ahead of us,” he said, apparently disregarding their conversation. “Loitering outside of the palace wall is not safe. Follow me.”
Nothing was safe. Staying in the palace wasn’t safe. Being outside of the palace wasn’t safe. She wasn’t complaining. She was grateful that Simon was taking her with him. But she really just wanted to be safe.
High Street ran through the middle of Edinburgh and was the hub of the city. At one end stood Holyrood Palace. On the other, high up on a hill, sat Edinburgh Castle, and in between was the bustling city, surrounded by yet another protective wall with seven fortified gates that allowed people in and out.
Simon walked down High Street as if he knew exactly who he was and where he was going.
If you act like you belong, people will believe you belong.
With his clothing that resembled everyone else’s, and his swift, easy strides, he appeared quite natural. No one looked at him twice. Some nodded to him, but almost everyone was involved in his or her own business. It was as if he had completely changed from the fine, well-dressed noble she’d known at the palace to someone entirely different.
She tried to mimic him, acting natural—although she wasn’t entirely certain what natural was in this circumstance. Other women were dressed as she was, in drab-colored worn gowns. She was grateful that Simon had procured the clothing for them. If they had stepped out of the palace walls wearing their customary clothes, people would have stared and whispered, and word probably would have gotten back to the palace guards.
“Are we walking the entire way?” she asked, a bit breathless.
“Yes.”
“Where exactly are we going?”
“To a friend’s establishment.”
She contemplated that for a moment. “What type of establishment?” she asked suspiciously.
“Really, Aimee, so many questions.”
“I have a right to know.”
“And you shall when the time is right.”
She passed people selling their wares, mostly food. Small alleyways—or wynds, as they were called—branched off of High Street. The wynds were filled with sewage, and the vitriolic scent drifted toward them, making her wrinkle her nose.
“You have a friend outside the palace walls?” she asked after a bit.
“Yes.”
“Odd.”
“Why is that odd?” He was scanning the area, contemplating each person who approached them.
“It’s just that I don’t know anyone in the palace who is friends with people outside the palace. Unless it is one of the burgesses, but even then—”
“Magpie, can you give me a moment to think?”
She pressed her lips together and continued her thoughts silently. The burgesses were of the merchant class, far below the nobles, but she supposed it was possible that someone could be friendly with one of the burgess class.
They approached Mercat Cross, the general center of the city, where proclamations were made by the town crier and executions took place. It was also the hub of the merchant district. Simon slowed and Aimee stayed in step with him, watching his expressions more than what was happening around her. He was intent, his eyes constantly moving, his body tense and ready. Ready for the palace guard to come after them?
But at the moment everyone was more interested in the placards hanging at the cross. Aimee moved closer to get a better look at what people were talking and laughing about, but she wasn’t able to see anything clearly. She shuffled forward another step and gasped, putting a hand over her mouth and stepping back.
“There you are.” Simon appeared at her side, saw what she was looking at, and led her away. “We need to keep moving,” he said. “The good news is that there are no new proclamations, so we’re in the clear. For now.”
But Aimee wasn’t listening to him. She was thinking of the disgusting placard. “Did you see—”
“Not now, Aimee.”
“But—”
“Not here. We’ll not discuss that here.” His voice was hard and flat.
Aimee kept her thoughts to herself and didn’t voice them out loud, deferring to Simon’s command. But once they were in private, she was speaking to him about this.
&nbs
p; Chapter 19
Simon led Aimee to a small pub at the other side of Mercat Cross. They had been on the move for several hours and had a few more hours to go. He didn’t want to go to Tristan’s print shop while the sun was still out, and though he was fairly certain they weren’t being followed, he had to be absolutely certain.
But he was hungry, and Aimee was looking wilted. Her steps were shuffling and her shoulders were bowed as he prodded her into the dark recesses of the the Sword and Barrel pub. It was quieter in here. A few men were sitting about, three playing cards in the far corner. Two barmaids were leaning against the end of the bar, their heads together as they conversed.
Simon sat Aimee down at a free table and took the chair so his back was to the wall and he had a clear view of the rest of the room. Aimee was looking a bit dazed as she swayed to the side. Simon refrained from pushing her back in the seat.
One of the barmaids sauntered over, a bored look on her face. If he’d been wearing his velvet doublet and bejeweled coat, she would have had a spring in her step and a gleam in her eye toward a bit of his riches. But to her he was just another workingman, worth nothing more than the price of their dinner, and that was just the way he wanted it.
He ordered for both of them because Aimee looked at him blankly when he asked her what she wanted to eat.
“Aimee?” he asked when the barmaid left. He put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Are you well, Magpie?”
She seemed to shake herself and tried to smile. “I’m fine. Just…overwhelmed.”
“Have you been inside the city before?”
She shook her head. “I’ve always wanted to, though. It’s an interesting place. Lots of people.”
“That is true.” He sat back and studied her, worried. He had no idea what was ahead of them. Would she be up for whatever happened next? Did she have the fortitude for this? He wasn’t even sure what “this” was.
He’d been relieved that no summons had been posted at Mercat Cross with their names on it. He was fairly certain Mary’s army would be arriving soon; once she was back on the throne, she would be hell-bent on vengeance for Rizzio. What form that would take, he had no idea. What he did know was that Aimee had been beside the queen when it happened, and that might not go well for her.
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