“I never would have taken you unwillingly. I hope you know that.”
“I do now. And maybe I did then, too. I don’t know. What I do know is that I wouldn’t have turned you away, because I was taught to do as my husband bade.”
“But you would have resented me.”
“Oui.”
“So tonight we begin anew,” he said. “This is the first day of the rest of our marriage.”
“I like that,” she said. “A rebirth.”
He held his hands out to her and she came to him, willing and eager. “A rebirth,” he said.
He kissed her again, a little more passionately, a little more hungrily. His kisses always turned her legs to jelly and her insides to liquid.
At first he only touched her face, his fingers skimming her cheeks, her chin, her neck, his thumb resting on the pulse at her throat. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, so she rested them on his slim hips.
Eventually his hands ventured lower, until they were plucking at the front laces of her gown and loosening them. Aimee’s heart fluttered in apprehension, but she didn’t tell him to stop. She’d heard so many things about this act. Some said it was wonderful, some said it was horrible. She didn’t know what to expect, but she was willing to see it through to the end—to become a true wife to Simon.
Her laces untied, Simon ran his hands up her arms, making her shudder, and pushed the gown off her shoulders. It shimmied down her arms and pooled at her feet. She felt vulnerable in just her underthings but she refused to cover herself.
He loosened her corset and pushed it off and she was down to her chemise, practically naked and shivering in the cold. Her nipples stood out beneath the thin white fabric.
“You’re freezing,” Simon said.
“Don’t let that stop you. I don’t want to stop now.”
He tilted his head to look at her, his eyes dancing. “Do you just want to get this done with, Magpie, or do you want to enjoy it? Because there is a difference.”
“I want to enjoy it.”
“Untie my breeches.”
Her head came up in shock. “I can’t—”
“You very well can. Undress me, Aimee, like I undressed you.”
She looked down at his breeches, where there was a most definite bulge, and bit her lip, her heart racing. She lifted shaking hands and grabbed the end of his lace and gently tugged. It came loose almost immediately, and his breeches sagged.
Breathing heavily from anticipation and apprehension, she put her hands on his hips and pushed the breeches down. They fell to the ground, revealing his hose.
“My doublet,” he said, breathless now himself.
She looked up at him to find him watching her intently with the darkest eyes. Slowly she unbuttoned his doublet and pushed it off his shoulders, much as he’d done with her gown. It, too, fell to the floor. Grabbing the ends of his shirt, she whisked it up and over his head, and he was standing there in nothing but his hose, while she was standing before him in her chemise.
His manhood was practically bursting out of his underwear. She could see the length and breadth of him, and he was very large.
Her gaze moved over his smooth chest, ridged with muscle and golden, as if he’d been out in the sun, dusted with a thin coat of fine hairs. Experimentally she touched his chest. His stomach drew in and he gasped. She touched each ladder rung of muscle that marched up his torso, gently touched his nipples, making them grow hard and pointed.
“I didn’t know a man’s nipples did the same,” she said in wonder.
He chuckled and grabbed her hands. “You will unman me,” he said on a strangled breath.
“That is not my intention.”
“I know.” He kissed her knuckles, never taking his eyes off her, and pulled her toward the bed, where he gently prodded her to lie back. She felt so much more exposed like this, but she didn’t move, didn’t protest. In truth, it felt infinitely better to lie down because her legs were so weak with need.
He edged her chemise up and drew it over her head. She was now completely, totally naked, totally vulnerable. He stood staring at her for a long time.
“Mon dieu, but you are beautiful, mon coeur.”
To hear him speak even a little bit of French made the tears appear again.
He divested himself of the hose and climbed into bed with her, facing her. She caught a glimpse of his manhood, bobbing, red, and angry-looking, and wondered if it hurt to be like that. He didn’t act like he was in pain, so she had to assume no.
With wonder, he touched her body. At first she was rigid, not knowing what she should be doing, but his magical, gentle touch soon had her relaxing until she wanted to squirm with a need so intense that she couldn’t help but make small noises of protest.
“You may touch me as well,” he said.
Unleashed now that she’d been given permission, she explored all of his body, all of the sharp angles and edges. Until she came to his manhood, and then she paused.
“My God, Aimee, touch it,” he moaned.
She ran her finger down the length of it, amazed when it jumped beneath her touch.
Simon’s hands clenched and unclenched, and he groaned. “More,” he ground out.
She touched him softly, then grew bold and touched him with more force. She cupped her hand and rubbed him, causing his hips to come off the bed. The sacs beneath were soft, and she explored those as well, losing all inhibition.
“The male form is fascinating,” she whispered, causing him to laugh and then groan.
Suddenly he flipped so that he was on top of her and she was looking up at him. “I can’t wait any longer,” he said. “I have to have you now.”
He reached between them and rubbed her slit until wetness poured out of her and he grinned. Like his had done before, her hips came off the bed, eagerly meeting his caress. He breached the slit, touching her in that most sensitive spot. She thought he would move on, but he didn’t. He continued to rub her there, watching her face the entire time.
Aimee gasped and moaned and lifted her hips, clutching the bedsheets. A need coiled inside her, ready to spring loose, but just as she thought it would, he withdrew his finger and she whimpered.
“This is it, Magpie. I’m going to enter you now.”
Again he reached between them, but this time he grabbed his manhood and directed it toward her opening. He slid in, closing his eyes and breathing out. She felt full and uncomfortable, as if she were far too small for such a large object. She was stretching beneath him and it stung. She whimpered again, but this time it wasn’t in need.
“Relax, mon coeur,” he said between clenched teeth. “It will hurt, but only for a moment.”
She wondered if he knew he was speaking in French.
He thrust all the way in and she cried out, feeling as if she’d been split in two.
He released his weight from his arms and covered her body, whispering to her and stroking the side of her face soothingly. “It’s all right. It’s done. There will be no more pain after this. I promise, Magpie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She wanted to squirm beneath him, to roll over so he would leave her body, but he remained immovable, and she blinked the tears away.
They lay like that for several minutes, until her body became accustomed to his being inside her and the pain dissipated. The fullness began to feel good rather than intrusive.
Slowly he moved and she gasped again, unused to the new sensation. He slid almost all the way out, then back in. He took his time, gritting his teeth, the muscles in his neck standing out, until the sensation became pleasurable to her and she slowly, haltingly moved with him.
He reached down there, and with his thumb, he rubbed her nub. It was as if sparks shot through her body, and she cried out, lifting her hips to press against his thumb.
He continued to pump into her, going slowly until he could go slowly no longer. They took up a natural rhythm. The pain was gone, and in its place there grew a feeling of such fullnes
s that she was gasping, reaching for that height again, clutching his shoulders, and thrusting her hips toward his. “Oh, Simon,” she murmured breathlessly, burying her face in the side of his neck.
That coiled need grew and grew and grew until it exploded all around her, a thousand lights that lit the sky, and she screamed. Simon crushed her lips with a kiss, silencing her scream, but soon he was reaching his own completion and reared up, thrusting so hard and fast that her head almost hit the headboard and the bed ropes were creaking. With a final thrust and a strangled roar, he released his seed inside her.
The moment, the entire experience, could not have been more perfect or more beautiful, and Aimee knew she had made the right decision to stay with Simon, because tonight he had claimed her heart.
—
They were awakened early in the morning when the door to their bedchamber banged open. Simon rolled out of bed, simultaneously reaching for the dagger he’d placed on the floor beside the bed. Aimee squeaked and pulled the bedsheets up to her chin as Tristan strode in.
“You’ve been outlawed,” he said, then turned quickly around. “Good God, man, put some damn clothes on.”
“Don’t barge into rooms you have no business barging into, and you won’t see things you don’t want to see.” But Simon was pulling a shirt over his head and reaching for his breeches. Aimee was peeking over the covers that she had pulled up to her nose. “What?” Simon asked.
“It was just posted at Mercat Cross. Mary is back in power, and she has outlawed about sixty people who were in the castle the night of Rizzio’s murder. All of their possessions have been seized. The queen has proclaimed that she will have everyone on that list arrested.”
“And I’m one of them,” Simon said.
Tristan, who had turned around while Simon pulled on breeches, glanced at Aimee. “So is Aimee.”
“What?” Aimee scooted up in bed, pulling the bedclothes with her. “I am outlawed as well? I can be arrested?”
“I’m afraid so,” Tristan said. “The lords who conspired against her fled late last night. They’re gone, as well as a few others.”
Simon ran a hand through his hair. “I had feared this would happen when Mary regained power. She will need to show that she is strong and can lead this country, and the first thing she will need to do is take care of those who wronged her.”
“But we did not wrong her,” Aimee said. “At least not in the capacity that she believes.”
Simon glanced over his shoulder at her, and his heart melted a bit. She was rumpled from their lovemaking, her cheeks pink, her lips rosy. There were rough patches on her neck where his beard had scraped her. She looked deliciously edible, and he desperately wanted to crawl back in bed with her. He’d been looking forward to making love to her in the morning hours and regretted the intrusion. It seemed it would be a very long time before he could make love to his wife again.
“We were there that night,” he said to her. “You were standing beside her when the attack occurred.”
“But I had nothing to do with it,” she cried, panic filling her eyes.
“It doesn’t matter. Your presence alone condemns you.”
“So we will be arrested and tried for…what?”
“Treason.”
She paled. “I cannot believe that Queen Mary would do such a thing. Surely she knows I would never be the cause of her death.”
“She knows you were sent to spy on her. She knows she cannot trust you. For all we know, she could believe that Catherine had a hand in this.”
What was left of the rosy color in her cheeks and lips disappeared. “No,” she whispered. “No. I don’t believe that.”
“She thinks you’re a spy, Aimee. You are already condemned in her eyes.”
“This is…” She swallowed as if she were going to be sick. “This is preposterous. What are we to do?”
“Will is out gathering what information he can,” Tristan said. “He’s also making preparations.”
“Preparations for what?” Aimee asked, the panic in her eyes now reaching her voice.
“Leave us,” Simon said to Tristan.
“You don’t have much time,” Tristan warned.
“I’m aware.”
Simon waited until Tristan had closed the door behind him before turning fully to Aimee and sitting on the edge of the bed. She appeared small and frail right now, her color the same as that of the bedsheets. Her eyes were wide and a clear, crisp gray.
“We need to run.”
“Run where?”
“To England.” He held his breath in anticipation of an outburst and an avowal that she would not go to England. Instead she seemed to think about it calmly, her fingers clutching the edge of the bedsheets.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered. “I thought Mary and I were friends.”
“Mary never thought of you as a friend. She thought of you as a spy in her home. I have a feeling she picked me to wed you because she had her suspicions about me and was testing my loyalty to her. We are targets, Aimee, and she has set her sights on us. Our lives are in danger. It is time to run.”
With every word, she seemed to shrink farther and farther into the bed. “I know nothing about England.”
“You knew nothing about Scotland, and you did very well here. You came here alone, but you will not go to England alone. I will be with you every moment. Besides, England is a bit warmer. Not much, but a bit.”
She looked at him with those storm-cloud eyes, and he felt the weight of the world settle on his shoulders, knowing her safety and her life depended on him. He could feel her mind working, sifting through the information. Properly trained, she might have made a good spy, but she’d been thrust into the situation with no training and no inclination to do the job.
“Then we must go to England,” she said.
Simon gathered her cold hand in both of his. “I know it’s frightening, going to another country, one that you have considered an enemy of France, but I will take care of you, and I will make sure you are safe. I have a grand house that you will be lady of.”
“I do not want to think about that,” she said. “Not until we are safely there. Our first priority is leaving Scotland. Our second is arriving in England unscathed.”
He grinned at her. “You are a little warrior. Maybe Magpie was not the right pet name for you.”
“I’ve never considered myself a warrior. I have been well taken care of my entire life. I am more a pampered fool than a warrior.”
“The best warriors are those who carry through in the heat of the battle. I think that is you.”
She put her other hand over his. “Then you have taught me well.”
Chapter 26
Preparations went quickly after that. Aimee left the men to do what they needed to do while she sat in her bedchamber and penned yet another letter to Pierre, since Simon wanted to keep the original. It was simple and short but from the heart, and she sealed it with tears in her eyes. Not because she still loved Pierre but because she had been such a different person with him. In a way she wished she were still that naive, but she was also proud of the woman she had become—and make no mistake, she had grown into a woman these past months in Scotland.
Simon had said that Tristan and Will were staying behind and one of them would ensure that her letter made it to the French ship. Will had not been outlawed, as he had not been present in the castle that night. Tristan’s mission of spreading rumors and disseminating the placards for Queen Elizabeth was still in effect and even more important now that Mary’s position was so tenuous among her people. Elizabeth wanted to keep the country in discord and Mary preoccupied with settling her people rather than thinking about taking the crown off Elizabeth’s head.
Aimee was still sitting at the small escritoire when Simon entered. “It is almost time to go,” he said.
She nodded, surprised to realize she was sad to leave Scotland. She had not wanted to come, and she’d hated being her
e almost the entire time, but now she was sad to leave. She felt for Mary and the struggles to settle an unsettled government ahead of her. She knew Mary would be hurt that men closest to her, her lords and nobles, had killed her most trusted adviser. Aimee felt that while Mary was surrounded by the Maries and all those who wanted her advice, wisdom, and even friendship, the woman was more alone than anyone else in Scotland.
It must be a lonely business being a monarch.
“Aimee?”
She turned to Simon. Her husband. She’d met him and wed him against her will in this hated place, and now she was fleeing with him. She would trust him with her life and suspected that she was madly in love with him, although she’d never said as much. And neither had he.
Ah well. Maybe now was not the time.
“Oui.”
“You’re woolgathering.”
“I am. My apologies. This is not the time to gather wool.”
“There is much to think about, to be sure.”
“I was just thinking how much I hated this country when I arrived and how strangely sad I am to be leaving.”
“You will find England to your liking. I am sure of it.”
She wasn’t so certain, but she was willing to give it a go because Simon was at her side and there was really nowhere else for them to run.
“Are we ready?” she asked.
“Almost. I have procured another cloak for you to wear on top of the one I had given you. And boots. You can’t go trekking across Scotland in those silly formal slippers.”
“Boots would be welcome,” she said. “Although I would like to take the lamb’s wool slippers that you gave me.” Because they were warm and comfortable, but more because Simon had given them to her.
“Very well,” he said, distracted as he looked around. “Tristan is putting together a sack of food, and Will is securing transportation. Can you ride?” He looked her over critically, as if sizing her up for a horse.
“I’m not completely accomplished, but I have a fair seat.”
“It will have to do.”
—
Will arrived with two hardy-looking, spirited horses and another man whom Simon knew well.
Wed to a Spy Page 19