Wed to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  I hope you are not too heartbroken, Pierre. I hope that you have already found someone to love you as much as I love my husband and that you have discovered all of this yourself.

  I hope you remember me with fondness, as I will always remember you.

  Yours truly,

  Aimee

  With tears running down her cheeks, Aimee sat back and let out a breath. She’d poured everything into that letter, more than she’d intended, but it was perfect, and so she folded it and wrote Pierre’s name on the outside.

  She would take it to the French ship and ask the captain to deliver it to Pierre, and then she would return to Simon and ask him to make love to her properly, like a husband did to a wife.

  She fished her shoes out from under the bed and winced only a little when she put them on. Her feet were not nearly as swollen as they had been, although they were still tender.

  Breath held, she sneaked down the stairs, keeping to the edges of the steps, where they would creak the least. Simon’s and Will’s and Tristan’s voices drifted to her, but she turned left and made her way through the front of the print shop and out into the cold night, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Her hope was that she would get to the ship, drop off her letter, and return without Simon ever knowing she had been gone.

  She was surprised to find that it was nearly dark. An entire day had passed, but in a way, it seemed like a lifetime. She was a different person than she’d been when she woke up this morning, and she liked the person she was becoming.

  She pressed her back to the wall of the print shop. The snow was falling harder, large silent chunks that weren’t even very pretty.

  She pulled her cloak tighter around her and lifted the hood over her head. It was cold. Really cold. The wind whistled down High Street, blowing the snow sideways and chilling her to the bone.

  Aimee started off down the street, having learned from Simon and their flight the other day to keep to the shadows of the buildings. She hoped that the miscreants who populated Edinburgh after the sun went down had stayed inside because of the cold.

  In truth, she encountered few people, and those she did pass were walking quickly, heads bent against the wind and the snow. Moving quickly herself, she angled toward the docks. The snow and the hood muffled her footsteps and the other sounds around her.

  It was eerily silent. The city was practically empty. Was it the cold or Mary’s wrath that was keeping everyone inside?

  Normally Aimee had an escort when she went to the docks, and she’d always gone during the day, when it was bustling with activity. She’d never made it a secret that she was writing letters to France. She’d said she was writing to her family, which was true. Catherine was her aunt, and Pierre had been her heart—that was family to her.

  Being all alone in the city now was very unnerving, and every movement, every shift of a shadow, made her jump. More than ever she wanted to go back to the print shop and back to Simon. But she was determined to send this letter to Pierre. He deserved nothing less from her.

  There was more light and activity when she got closer to the docks, and she blew out a sigh of relief. But she was wrong in thinking that more people meant safety. These people were not safe. There were no women about, not even any ladies of the night. That should have warned her.

  Men stared as she walked by. Some called out to her, and a few tried to grab her skirts, but she whisked them out of the way, her heart pounding in fear. This had been a mistake. She should turn around and go back to the print shop, but she ignored that warning and continued walking.

  A man stepped in her path, causing her to pull up or risk running right into him. He looked her up and down, his lips twisted into a sneer. He was wrapped in a dirty, ragged cloak, his scraggly hair blowing in the cold breeze. When he smiled, he showed a mouth mostly empty of teeth.

  “Good day, lovey, ’ave ye been lookin’ for me?”

  “No.” She stepped to the side to pass him, but he stepped to the side as well, blocking her again.

  Aimee glanced back to find that three others had stepped behind her, closing off any chance of escape. Here and there fires burned in large barrels, casting a dancing orange glow over their faces and making them look like spirits come from hell.

  “Aye, now. Where ye goin’ in such a hurry, lass?”

  “I have to get to the French ship.”

  He raised a brow and grinned. “The Frenchie ship, eh? Are ye escapin’ this fine city? Can’t say as I blame ye for that, whot with all that’s been goin’ on up in the palace and all. Terrible business, that. Well, I can certainly help ye find the Frenchie ship, if that’s what ye need.” He looked her up and down again. “For a price, o’ course.”

  She suppressed a shiver. “I can find my way, thank you.”

  She stepped to the other side and wasn’t at all surprised when he moved to block her again. They were drawing a crowd, men sensing danger and excitement, coming to watch and maybe participate as well.

  “Please let me pass,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster with a wavering voice and shaking hands.

  He tilted his head and stepped closer. “Oh, I insist, lass. It ain’t safe here in the streets. All alone. Ye need protection.”

  Aimee stepped away, but she could feel the others at her back. Their breath puffed out in white clouds against the frigid air. They were tightening the circle around her, and she had a violent urge to run, but running would start them after her like a pack of wild dogs on the hunt.

  She should have stayed at the print shop, but it was far too late for that regret.

  She tensed, mentally and physically preparing to run, feeling she had no other choice. The men behind her started scuffling their feet and murmuring. Her tormenter looked over her shoulder and his grin faded.

  Aimee looked back to find Simon, Tristan, and Will shouldering their way through the crowd. But the troublemakers had lost their hunger for the chase and were slowly backing away, their eyes on the ground.

  Aimee’s heart leaped in gratitude until she saw the grim, angry expression on Simon’s face.

  “Is there a problem here?” Simon asked the man who had stopped Aimee.

  The man considered him for a moment but must have realized the futility of arguing. “I was helpin’ the lady, since she seemed to have wandered to the docks alone.”

  Aimee winced.

  “I appreciate your help,” Simon said. “I will endeavor to keep a better eye on my wife in the future.”

  The man nodded once. “Prolly best,” he said. “It ain’t safe here. I woulda kept her safe for ye, though.”

  Aimee wanted to protest both men but wisely kept her mouth shut.

  “I thank you for that,” Simon said.

  He took Aimee’s arm and pulled her away. It wasn’t until they were back on High Street that she remembered the letter and the reason she had gone to the docks in the first place.

  “Simon—” She was panting, jogging to keep up with his long strides. Will and Tristan were behind them, dark figures nearly obscured by the swirling snow.

  She could feel Simon’s anger vibrating through her, and she really couldn’t blame him. She had made the three of them come out into the cold, snowy night to rescue her from an impetuous, idiotic decision.

  They made it back to the print shop without incident; it seemed to take much less time to get there than it had to get to the docks. Aimee wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was relieved to enter the warmth of the shop and hear the door close securely behind them.

  Simon, however, didn’t stop to allow her to take off her cloak or warm her toes and fingers by the fire. He marched her straight up to their bedchamber while Will and Tristan disappeared into the sitting room.

  Simon all but flung her into the bedchamber and slammed the door closed behind him, leaning against it as if blocking her escape. She stood in the middle of the room, melting snow dripping off her cloak.

  “Thank you,” she said.r />
  His face was like the craggy Highland mountains, harsh and unforgiving. His brown eyes were nearly black with anger, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

  “Thank you?” he said tightly, making her flinch.

  “I know you’re angry, and I apologize for it. You and Will and Tristan had to leave your warm fire to rescue me. It was a stupid—”

  “You’re damn right it was stupid,” he roared, causing her to blink. “What the hell were you thinking? It’s dangerous out there.” He flung his hand toward the window that overlooked High Street.

  “I realize that, but—”

  “I will not hear your buts. There are not nearly enough buts to justify what you just did.”

  “You’re correct—”

  “You’re damn right I’m correct. If you wanted to run from me and our marriage so badly, you could have told me, and I would have taken you to your French ship myself. Lord knows I don’t want to be wed to a woman who so obviously does not want to be wed to me.”

  “Run from you? Simon, I wasn’t—”

  “No more excuses, Aimee,” he said wearily. “I’m done with the excuses. If you so badly want to return to France, then I will put you on the ship myself tomorrow. You can go back to your beloved country and the manipulative woman who sent you here and pretend that you are not wed, but know this: God knows you are wed, and I know you are wed.”

  He thought she was running from him. Of course he did, because that was exactly what her actions appeared to be. Yes, he was angry, but he was also hurt, and while she should be shaking in fear at her husband’s wrath, she was suddenly warmed by his feelings toward her.

  “I wasn’t running from you,” she said softly, suddenly feeling brave. “I was on a mission.”

  He scoffed. “And what mission would you have?”

  She dug into the pocket of her sopping cloak and handed him the letter.

  He looked from it to her and back. “What is this?”

  “Read it.”

  Chapter 25

  Still Simon hesitated, but eventually he reached for the letter, flicking the corner with his thumb as he contemplated her.

  “My toes are frozen and my clothes are wet,” she said. “I am going to the sitting room. I swear on my life that I will not leave the shop. I am far too frozen to take another step out there. But I do need to get warm. Read the letter while I am gone.”

  She moved toward the door, and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped away to let her open it and pass through. She quietly closed the door behind her and hurried toward the warmth of the fire.

  Will and Tristan were sitting in front of it with mugs in their large hands. They stood quickly when she entered, and she waved them back down.

  “Sit, please. I came to get warm and to apologize for driving you out into such a night to look for me.”

  Their gazes went from her to the door. “Simon?” Tristan asked.

  “He’s upstairs, still angry, but hopefully calming down. I wasn’t running from him. It’s important to me that you know this. There was something I needed to do.”

  Instantly they turned wary, their expressions hardening.

  “It has nothing to do with the three of you or…what Simon told me about all of you. This was personal.”

  Will stood and pulled a chair closer to the fire. “Sit down and I will bring you warmed mulled wine.”

  “Thank you.” Gratefully she sat and stretched her legs toward the fire, sighing in gratitude when her toes began to tingle with warmth.

  “I was convinced Simon would beat you,” Tristan said.

  “I was, too, at first, but he seemed to calm himself.”

  Will returned with her mulled wine. Aimee wrapped cold fingers around the warm mug and just held it for a few minutes to soak in the warmth. Truth be told, she wasn’t certain what Simon would do once he read the letter. She’d purposefully kept silent about Pierre when he’d repeatedly asked her for honesty. Would he despise her for loving another man when she was wed to him? Would he disown her for not being truthful? Or question her virtue?

  She was shivering, but it was not from the cold this time. She was scared.

  Scared of Simon’s reaction. Scared that he would turn away from her in disgust. Scared because she finally wanted this marriage to work, and because of her actions, she might have ruined it before it even had a chance to blossom.

  Oh, what if she truly had ruined everything? She couldn’t bear that.

  Because suddenly she wanted it all. The home, the dogs by the fire. The children.

  The door opened and Simon stepped in. The two men looked at him in curiosity. Aimee slowly stood, searching his face for any clues as to what his verdict, and her sentence, might be. But his expression was impassive and impossible to read.

  “Leave us,” he commanded.

  Instantly Will and Tristan stood and left the room.

  “That was rude,” Aimee said, watching him carefully as he made his way into the small sitting room and collapsed into the chair that Will had vacated. He put his head in his hands, her letter to Pierre crumpled in one hand.

  “I knew about Pierre,” he said.

  She jerked in surprise. The mulled wine splashed in her cup and over her fingers. “How did you know about Pierre?” she whispered.

  He dug into the pocket of his doublet, pulled out a worn, creased parchment, and handed it to her. Carefully she took it and began to read it, but she didn’t need to read far.

  “You took this from my escritoire,” she said, appalled. “You stole this from me?”

  “I did.”

  She opened her mouth and belatedly realized that he wasn’t going to argue her point. “Why?”

  “Because Mary believed you were spying, and I wanted to stay in her good graces, so I rifled through your desk and I found this letter. Plus, as a spy myself, I needed to know if Mary was correct in her assumption and what your purpose was.”

  “My purpose was to provide Catherine with enough information that she would think useful so that I could return to France and wed Pierre.”

  “I’m sorry that she tricked you so.”

  She laughed bitterly. “So am I.”

  He looked down at the letter she had handed him while upstairs. “Is this true?”

  “Yes,” she replied simply.

  “So your plan tonight was to go to the docks to send this letter to Pierre?”

  “Yes.”

  “You weren’t planning on leaving me?”

  He had said he wanted honesty from her, and it was time to be completely honest. As she had owed it to Pierre to tell him she was married and not returning to France, she now owed Simon the entire truth. “My intention since the day we married was to leave you, but tonight I realized that I didn’t want to leave you. I have come to…care for you.”

  He fingered her letter. “The words you wrote were beautiful.”

  “I felt a duty to Pierre to let him know that it had never been my intention to break our agreement. But now that it happened, I found your and my arrangement…agreeable. I owed it to him, at the least,” she finished lamely.

  “I find that very admirable.”

  She shrugged, embarrassed that everything about her had been laid bare. There was nothing Simon did not know about her now, and she felt vulnerable.

  “Did you love him?” he asked.

  “I thought I did, but now I believe it was more of a young girl’s infatuation.”

  “I’m sorry for what Catherine did to you, but I’m also not sorry. If she hadn’t sent you to Scotland, I never would have met you.”

  Her heart did a little leap at his words. She couldn’t be mad at him for being happy that she’d been sent to Scotland. She looked up and met his gaze. “I feel the same.”

  He carefully folded her letter and tucked it into his pocket. “I will ensure that this gets to the French ship.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Although I would like to keep it for myself, for in
a way I feel that it is more a love letter to me.”

  “In a way it is.”

  “May I keep it?”

  “As long as I can write him another letter. I feel I need to say goodbye.”

  “Of course.”

  Simon stared into the fire and Aimee sipped her mulled wine. She felt content. After all the turmoil and chaos of the past few weeks and months, even though her future was unknown and they were definitely on the verge of going on the run again, she felt content. She’d always thought that contentment came from being well fed and richly clothed, from being entertained and surrounded by rich furnishings.

  She’d been wrong. Contentment came from a soul being at peace.

  “I want to make love to you,” Simon said. “Like a real husband and wife.”

  “I want that, too,” she said softly.

  He held out his hand to her and she took it, perfectly willing to let him lead in this. Instead of taking her directly upstairs, as she had assumed he would, he pulled her closer until their bodies were pressed together, their clasped hands trapped between them, and he kissed her. It was a gentle kiss full of promise, and it brought tears to her eyes that she quickly blinked away. She didn’t want him thinking she was crying because she regretted her decision or was thinking of another man.

  When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless, and he smiled down on her.

  “I’m humbled that you chose me,” he said. “We were forced together against our will, but in the end you chose me.”

  She pressed her forehead against his chest and blinked back more tears. “And you?” she asked, lifting her head to let him see the tears. “Do you choose me?”

  “Always.”

  He led her upstairs quietly, no words spoken between them as they entered the bedchamber. Aimee turned to look at him, suddenly nervous.

  Simon closed the door and turned to her. “I will always regret what I did to you on our wedding night.”

  “Mayhap it was for the best,” she said. “I did not want you, nor did I want to be wed to you. I was still in love…I thought I was in love with Pierre. I would have resented anything you had done that night.”