“I apologize that the accommodations aren’t to your standards,” Tristan said.
“Nonsense,” she said briskly. “A warm fire is all I need.”
“Aimee has not grown accustomed to the cold Scottish climate,” Simon said.
“It is quite bracing,” Tristan agreed.
“We’ve met before, my lady,” the man named Will said.
She turned to him. “Have we? I thought you looked familiar.”
He smiled and sat in one of the chairs that completed the semicircle around the fire. “I’m easily forgettable,” he said.
“I doubt that, Mr. Sheffield.” He was shorter than Simon and Tristan, more compact, wider of shoulder, and more muscular. If Simon resembled a lion, Will resembled a bear. “You reside at the palace,” Aimee said, leaving the unspoken question hanging. Why in the world were Will and Simon here, at a shop on High Street? She’d yet to figure out what kind of shop this was, but it had a strange, pungent smell. Not horrible, like the tanner’s, but different.
“I do,” Will said. “Lord Darnley and I went to school together, and I’ve been reliving old memories with him over the past winter.”
“I see,” she said. Like Simon, Lord Darnley was English, and Will had an English accent as well. Interesting that all of them had English ties.
“You slept a long while,” Simon said. “It’s midmorning, at least.”
“Midmorning? Truly?” She turned her head to try to find a window to discover the time of day, but there were none.
“A gloomy midmorning, at that,” Tristan said. “You must be hungry. I don’t have the rich fare that you’re accustomed to, but I can gather something together.”
“That would be kind of you,” Aimee said. “Can I help?” She had no idea how to help or what one actually did to bring food to the table, but she was willing to learn.
As if sensing her thoughts, Tristan grinned. “I believe I can manage myself, if you trust me to.”
“Of course.” She looked away, embarrassed, while Tristan disappeared into another room. He reappeared a few moments later with a tray of four pasties. The three men tucked in with nary a word, the only sound of them chewing. Aimee ate slowly, discovering that they were eating eel pasties. Not her favorite, but she was starving, and she had no business complaining, since Tristan had obviously opened his home to them. She looked around at the rough walls and rough floors. There wasn’t even a rug to warm one’s feet, let alone a comfortable chair. Certainly there were no pictures hanging on the walls, nothing to indicate that anyone lived here.
“Do you meet here often?” Aimee asked into the silence.
Three sets of eyes turned to her as three bodies stilled. She looked among them, wondering if she had said something wrong.
It was Will who spoke first. “A sort of crude gentlemen’s club,” he said. “An escape from the rigors of palace life.”
She glanced sideways at Tristan. Neither Simon nor Will had said anything about his origin. He was a tall, elegant, blond-haired, smiling man who was very easy on the eyes. His quick smile was engaging, and while he’d not said much, she was intrigued by him. She was certain that if she had met him at the palace she would have remembered. There were many at the palace but not so many that someone such as Tristan would have gone unnoticed for this long. Certainly Ruth and her entourage would have seen him and tried to dig their claws into him.
Besides, he was dressed as a laborer, his breeches made of leather, his shirt of inexpensive linsey-woolsey. While Simon was dressed similarly and she was in a servant’s rough kirtle, she got the feeling that Tristan was not playing a part, as she and Simon were. He was entirely comfortable in his surroundings and his garb.
“We women need a place like this,” she said. “A secret club stashed away in the wynds of Edinburgh where we can come to talk openly and relax.”
“Quite,” Will said with a wink and another grin.
She’d eaten half her pasty and was now quite full. She looked around for a place to put it. Tristan jumped up and took it from her, placing it on the tray that was sitting on the floor. There wasn’t even a small table to put their food on.
A bell rang in the front of the building.
“If you will excuse me,” Tristan said, and trotted off toward the front of the house, leaving Will and Simon to look at her. She felt as if they didn’t quite know what to do with her.
“I believe Tristan needs my help.” Will seemed to almost scurry out of the room. Simon moved to the chair next to Aimee.
“Where are we?” she said after a long pause.
“We are at a print shop on High Street.”
“A print shop.” She really hadn’t thought anything could surprise her anymore, but being in a print shop was surprising. “Why a print shop?”
“You heard it yourself, Magpie. A cobbled-together gentlemen’s club of a sort.”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”
“No?”
“No.”
He shrugged and looked into the fire, and it was clear that he would say no more on the topic. Aimee now had many more questions than she did answers, and Simon was clearly not about to provide the answers she needed.
“So this was where we were heading the entire time we were escaping the palace and walking through Edinburgh?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re safe here.”
“You’re very vexing,” she said.
“I’ve been called worse.”
She made a frustrated sound that only made Simon laugh.
“I’m afraid there is not much for a lady such as yourself to do here. You’ll be quite bored.”
She looked at him in surprise. “And where will you be? And how long will we be imposing on Mr. Fitzherbert?”
For a moment Simon looked discomfited. “I have to go into town. There are things I need to do, and I don’t know how long we’ll be here. It depends on what happens at the palace, I suppose.”
“What are these things you need to do?” He was being evasive and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like the uncertainty of everything.
“Magpie,” he said on a sigh. “Some things are better left alone.”
She pressed her lips together, chastised. A wife did not ask such things of her husband. Her husband knew better, and to question him was not proper. But she still wanted to know.
“Then do what you must do,” she said stiffly.
“You sound disappointed that I will not be here.”
“Of course not.” But she was already feeling alone and set adrift. How strange that she’d become so dependent on him in such a short period of time. Strange and unwelcome.
“What will you do while I am gone?”
“I’m feeling tired again, despite the fact that I slept most of the day away.”
Simon stood. “I will escort you to our room before I leave.” Aimee winced when she stood, and Simon frowned. “You’re injured.”
“Not injured. My feet are just a bit worn from our flight through the city.”
He looked down at her feet, his frown deepening. “Sit down.”
“Truly, I’m fine.”
“Sit down,” he commanded.
She plopped back into the chair while Simon knelt at her feet.
“Really, Simon.” She looked around wildly as if the room were full of people rather than empty of all but the two of them.
He raised her skirts and she batted them back down, tucking her feet beneath the chair.
“Come now, Magpie, let me have a look.”
“Simon—”
But he paid her no mind, rucking up her skirt and encircling her slender ankle with a firm grip. He slipped her shoe off before she had a chance to stop him.
He paused, her shoe in his hand, the heel of her foot cradled in his other palm. Despite the pain, his hand on her foot was strangely intimate and not unwelcome. She desperately wanted t
o pull away and at the same time close her eyes and revel in the sensation.
“Oh, Aimee. You should have told me.”
“Told you what?” She yanked her foot out of his hand and reached for her shoe, but he held it out of the way.
“Told me that your feet were bleeding and raw.”
For the first time she saw the shoe he was holding. The silk had worn away and the cork sole was showing through. The jewels had all fallen off. The poor shoe would never be the same again.
“Give me your other foot,” Simon commanded.
Reluctantly she raised her other foot. Simon took it gently and eased her other shoe off. Aimee bit her bottom lip to keep from showing him how painful her feet were.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” she said. “Not the best first impression of my feet.”
Simon burst out with a startled laugh. “I’ll cast no aspersions, trust me.” He looked up at her. “Aimee, my abject apologies. If I had known—”
“You were leading us through the dangerous city, and I didn’t want to slow us down.”
“I would have slowed down.”
“I didn’t want you to slow down.”
He considered her for such a long time that she began to squirm.
“You’re an enigma, Magpie.”
“Because I walked on bloody feet? I hardly think that’s what makes one an enigma.”
“Because you appear to be a fragile little bird, but really you’re full of strength and fire.”
“Fire? I don’t think so.”
He released her foot and sat back on his heels to contemplate her. “Oh, I know so. Come.” He held his hand out to her, and without thinking, she took it and stood, shifting her weight from sore foot to sore foot. She wouldn’t have believed it, but the pain was much worse without her shoes on.
With a growl, Simon scooped her up and cradled her in his arms. Aimee squeaked and automatically hooked her arm around his neck. “What are you doing?”
“You obviously cannot walk with your feet in that condition.”
“I obviously can, and I did.”
“Not anymore. I will take care of you now.”
“You took care of me yesterday.” She might not have wanted to be married to him, she might still not be entirely convinced that they should be married, but she had to admit that Mary had chosen her a fine husband.
He walked through the small sitting room and up the narrow set of stairs, turning sideways to angle up the steps so that she wouldn’t hit her head or her feet on the walls. Once they were back in the small bedchamber, he placed her gently on the bed.
“I’ll bring some salve back for your feet,” he said. “In the meantime, I’m afraid you’re stuck up here. Will or Tristan will answer if you call loudly enough.”
“I doubt I’ll need anything so much that I would yell loudly from up here.”
Simon grinned and kissed her on the lips, a quick, familiar kiss that had her pulling in her breath with surprise.
Chapter 21
Simon returned a few hours later to find Aimee propped up in bed on pillows that hadn’t been there before, cradling a book in her lap that she hadn’t had before. Her hands had fallen to her sides and she was fast asleep, her head turned toward the window.
Simon put his purchases down and just watched her, amazed all over again that she was his wife. Lord knew he didn’t need a wife, but he had one now, and to his surprise, he found he wasn’t all that upset about it anymore.
Her black-as-night braid was draped over one shoulder and trailed down her chest to touch the bedsheets. She had tied it with a piece of red string. He wished he’d thought to buy her a pretty bow for her hair. She’d had to abandon all of her beautiful gowns and even the cloak he’d given her on their wedding day. She deserved at least one pretty thing.
She stirred, her legs moving restlessly beneath the sheets. Her fingers curled into her palms and she turned her head to the other side. Her breathing came harsher and a small whimper broke loose, cracking his heart.
Sometimes he forgot that she was a young woman who had grown up in one court after another, with little to no real-life experience. She’d proven herself ten times over yesterday, and he was damn proud of her. But it had taken its toll on her, as evidenced by her torn feet and now by the nightmare she was experiencing.
He sat on the edge of the bed and touched her arm. She settled down but did not awaken. She was exhausted and it was his fault. He should have realized that she didn’t have the stamina to walk all day through the streets of Edinburgh. He should have stopped sooner and more often.
He tilted his head to see what she was reading, wondering where in the world she’d procured a book. Probably Tristan, since this was a printer’s shop.
It was a book of love sonnets. Simon snorted softly and reached for the book to take it off her lap so it wouldn’t fall onto the floor and startle her. She opened her eyes and stared at him.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
He laughed. “And what were you doing?”
She looked sheepish and grinned.
He laughed again, smitten with this wife of his. Every day she surprised him with something different. He was enchanted with her quick wit and the fact that she did not fear him; nor did she fear to speak her mind.
“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” she said. “I’ve slept the entire day away.”
“We had a busy day yesterday, and there’s not much to do here but sleep and read.” He held up her book. “Where did you procure a book of love sonnets?”
Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. “Tristan brought it up for me. He found it in his shop.”
He handed the book back to her, and she placed it on the small table beside the bed. “I brought you some things,” he said.
“You did?” Her face lit up.
“Don’t become too excited, Magpie. What I brought is nothing special.”
But still her eyes danced as he opened the sack he’d carried up here.
“Slippers.” They weren’t even elaborate, just simple serviceable slippers. “They’re not much, but they are soft. I thought your feet would appreciate them while they healed. Oh, and they’re warm, too. Made of Scottish lamb’s wool.”
“Do Scottish lambs have warmer wool than other lambs?”
“So I’ve been told.”
She took the slippers and studied them. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s been a long while since someone has gifted me with anything.”
“I gifted you with the cloak on our wedding day.”
She lowered her eyes. “So you did. I apologize that I had forgotten.”
“No apologies necessary. I’m just sorry you don’t have it with you to keep you warm.”
“That would be a sight, wouldn’t it? A supposed servant girl walking through the streets wearing a rich cloak? The watchman would surely come after me.”
He grinned as he pulled more out of the bag. “Salve,” he said. “For your feet.”
She nodded solemnly.
“And another cloak. I hadn’t thought to procure one before we left the palace. It’s been snowing all day.”
“Snow?” She shivered. “I’m not fond of snow.”
“I didn’t think you were. But this should keep you warm.”
She took the proffered cloak and held it to her chest, looking up at him with her gray eyes. “Are we going to return to the palace once the queen retakes it from her conspirators?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Magpie. One of the reasons I went out today was to hear news, but there isn’t much that is new. Mary and Darnley are still being held captive, although people are saying that Bothwell’s army is close.”
“Well, surely we can return to Holyrood once Mary is back on the throne and the horrible people who conspired to kill Rizzio and dethrone Mary have been punished.”
“I pray that you are right. Now let me see those
feet.”
He pulled the blankets down and concentrated on her feet, not wanting to discuss where they would go next. She was of the belief that all would be well once Mary was back in power, but he, Will, and Tristan felt that this was only the beginning and that things were about to get much worse.
“Oh, Aimee. Your poor feet.”
“They don’t pain me overmuch.”
“You are fibbing.”
When she didn’t say anything, he looked up to find her lips pressed together. Gingerly he touched the sole of her foot, making it jerk. The bottoms were bruised and bleeding.
“I never thought about you having to walk in the slippers that you had run from the queen’s chambers in. They were definitely not suited to walking all day through Edinburgh.”
He opened the jar of salve that he had purchased from the apothecary down the street and began to spread it over her soles. She giggled, and he glanced up with a grin. “Ticklish?”
“No.” She tried to pull her foot away, laughing as she did so.
“Fibbing again. At least this smells good. I’ve used some salves that smell like a horse rolled in death.”
The sweet scent of honey and lavender drifted through the room.
“It does feel good,” she admitted.
Her ankles were nicely turned and so delicate in his large hands. She had small toes with pearly nails and a high arch that he would love to kiss, but he feared hurting her more.
So he kissed her ankle instead, causing her to gasp. He looked up at her, his lips resting on the slender bone. He could feel the blood pulsing through her foot. He kissed her ankle again, then moved up to her calf, pushing her gown up a bit.
“Simon,” she whispered. Her lips were parted as she watched him with wide eyes. He was suddenly hard and hurting. It had been a long while since he’d had a woman, but he didn’t want just any woman. He wanted his wife.
He ran his hands up her calves, feeling the muscles beneath bunch and flex. He touched the back of her knee, and her leg jerked. Slowly he crawled up the bed, skimming her legs as he went until he was touching her thighs. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she watched him, blinking owlishly as he kept coming toward her.
On his knees, he hovered over her. “I want to kiss you all over,” he whispered hoarsely.
Wed to a Spy Page 15