Wed to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  “Maybe. But Elizabeth is no fool. She would have seen right away that he was using it to bribe her.”

  “You speak highly of her. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I owe her much, but I also respect her. She has a sharp mind, and she has been good for England after the bloodiness of her sister.”

  “Then we must get the letter to her. And we should not waste any more time.”

  He tightened his hold on her to keep her from getting up. “Not yet.”

  “Simon…” she warned. “We can’t sit here forever.”

  “But we can take a little bit of time right now.”

  She laid her head back on his shoulder. “Just a bit.”

  “I was so scared for you,” he said after a moment. “When he came around that boulder with a dagger to your throat, I froze.”

  “You didn’t act like it. You were very calm and collected.”

  “Not inside I wasn’t.”

  From beneath the warmth of the cloaks, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “But everything turned out all right.”

  “Thankfully. But then I think—”

  “You can’t think like that.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I didn’t like the thought of losing you, and I never want to feel that way again.”

  “Well, I don’t care to feel that way again, either, so we shall strive to not get ourselves into such a situation again.”

  He chuckled. “I swear, I don’t care what Elizabeth has to say, I am finished with espionage and intrigue. I want to settle into a life with you and Judith.”

  “Then that is what we shall do.” She hesitated, then decided to say what she was feeling because she almost hadn’t gotten the chance this morning. “I’ve come to care for you, Simon. I think…I think I might even love you.”

  He drew back so he could look at her fully. “What did you say?”

  “I think I love you.”

  His grin started slowly but blossomed into a full-blown smile that lit his eyes. “I know I love you, Magpie. I’ve known it for a long, long time.”

  She grinned back. “Then why did you never tell me?”

  “Because I was unsure of your feelings, and even a man such as I, a traveler of the world, a man who lives in the shadows, whose life is full of intrigue, was afraid to express my feelings.”

  She unburied her hand from the cloaks and cupped his cold cheek. “Never be afraid to express your feelings with me.”

  Chapter 29

  They entered England dirty, exhausted, and starving. Aimee had never been so glad to see civilization, but she couldn’t help thinking that this was her third country, her third palace, and the third monarch she was to meet in her life. She wasn’t sure how many other people could claim such a thing, and it wasn’t something she was greatly proud of.

  All she wanted to do was settle down and live her life in peace, but she wondered if that was even possible, considering she was wed to one of England’s premier spies, whose queen was reluctant to let go of his services.

  Aimee was in awe of London. She looked openmouthed at the hustle and bustle, the overall busyness and population of the city. They rode through merchant districts. They rode past large estates. They rode past fishmongers and people begging on the streets. She had thought that Paris had everything under the sun, but it was no match for London.

  They turned the horses onto a wide street, at the end of which was a soaring, sprawling palace. Aimee brought her horse up short, causing Simon to stop and look at her with a frown.

  “We are not going to the queen directly,” she said.

  “We are.”

  She shook her head. “I will not pay attendance to a queen looking like this. I simply won’t do it, Simon.”

  He grinned. “Magpie, we just raced across most of Scotland to escape our deaths. We were confronted with a madman—whom we had to kill, I might add. I think she will understand our state of dress.”

  “No. I will not do it. It is not seemly. She is my new queen, Simon, if she will have me. I cannot have this”—she waved her hand to indicate her filthy cloaks and mud-stained servant’s gown—“be her first impression of me.”

  Simon’s beard was fully grown, his hair uncombed and matted. His cloaks were mud-stained, his boots filthy. He’d lost weight over the past two weeks, and Aimee was positive she didn’t look any better.

  He sighed in exasperation. “Aimee, truly, she won’t mind.”

  “I am your wife, and I will make a good impression.”

  He considered her for a long moment, but she was determined: She absolutely refused to appear before Queen Elizabeth of England in this condition.

  “Very well,” he said, spurring his horse forward. “I will see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” she said to his back.

  There was no one word to describe Whitehall Palace. From the outside it was rather drab, except for the grand three-story gate. But it was enormous, spanning many, many blocks. Aimee had heard of the impressive residence of the English kings and queens. In France they thought it a bit much, and she might have agreed if she hadn’t seen it in person.

  They were greeted at the front steps by a frowning guard who sniffed when Simon approached. “Beggars are to go around the side of the palace,” he said, causing Aimee to shrink back and glare at Simon. Beggar? Did they truly look that bad? How humiliating.

  Simon murmured something to the guard, who drew back in surprise and chagrin. “My apologies, sir.” He stepped back and barked an order to a young boy loitering to the side who jumped into action and led their mounts away. Aimee watched hers go with a bit of sadness. He’d carried her a long way and had behaved admirably. He deserved a good rest, a good rubbing down, and a whole pail of oats.

  They were led into Whitehall, and it took all of Aimee’s upbringing not to gape. There were soaring white pillars, exquisitely painted ceilings, corridors so wide and long that you could pass people and not even see them. This was so different from the drab, dark rooms and corridors of Holyrood Palace.

  They seemed to walk forever and ever. People stared and whispered, but Aimee took her cue from Simon, who walked with his head held high. If you act like you belong, people will believe you belong. He had said that to her when they were escaping from Holyrood. It had proved true then, and it was proving true now. Simon may have been clothed in a disgustingly dirty cloak and boots, but the way he carried himself told people that he belonged.

  Eventually they were shown to a grand bedchamber that consisted of several different rooms, including their own sitting rooms and dressing rooms. It reminded her that she owned nothing other than the dirty clothes she’d walked in with.

  They were left alone with the promise of a hot bath and warm food. Feeling out of place and a bit disconcerted, Aimee looked at Simon, who was looking at her.

  “Quite a bit different from the hard Scottish ground,” he said.

  She nodded, at a loss for words. She felt completely out of place after traversing Scotland for the past two weeks.

  Automatically she moved toward the fire, drawn to the heat, and held her hands out, immediately noticing that her fingernails were caked with dirt and her knuckles brown with grime. She curled her fingers into her palms and blinked back tears at what had become of her.

  “Hey, now.” Simon came up behind her and cupped her shoulders in his hands. “Why the tears? I thought the fire would make you smile.”

  She sniffed and knuckled her tears away. “It’s silly, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful. This is so sumptuous and far outside of what I was expecting. You must be very close to the queen, indeed, to warrant such elegant rooms.”

  He turned her around so she was facing him. “Is that what is bothering you? I promise you, Magpie, that she will love you. She is a strong woman and admires other strong women.”

  She shrugged, not really understanding why she was crying. “I am Catholic,” she said.

  “Ah. I can
assure you that while Elizabeth is Protestant, she is also tolerant of those who practice Catholicism. That will not be an impediment.”

  Aimee sighed, thinking of all the roadblocks to her happiness. “I am French, and England has been at war with France for a long time.”

  “Something she is trying to stop. Why are you doing this?”

  She looked up at her husband, the man she loved so much. “I’m so afraid to hope.”

  He kissed her, a quick peck on her lips. “She will love you, as I do.”

  A knock on the door had them pulling apart and Aimee reaching for the fire again. Servants brought in steaming buckets of water. Aimee couldn’t decide if she wanted to stand by the fire and get warm or dive right into the bath.

  “Your bath is being prepared in the other room, sir,” one of the servants said.

  “Thank you.” Simon turned to Aimee. “I will leave you to your bath. Don’t be surprised to see me gone when you emerge. Elizabeth is already waiting for me.”

  She felt a lurch of fear and wanted to reach out to Simon and ask him not to go. She feared being apart from him. Feared that Elizabeth would not sanction their marriage. Feared that once he was out of her sight, she wouldn’t see him again.

  Instead she nodded and let him go.

  —

  Freshly bathed, shaved, and dressed in a set of clothing that he kept at the palace at all times, Simon entered Elizabeth’s Privy Chamber and bowed. She was sitting on her throne, garbed in pale yellow and surrounded by the endless subjects who flocked to her for advice and favors. As soon as she saw Simon enter, she motioned for the loitering lords and ladies to leave. They looked at Simon with interest, obviously reluctant to depart when it seemed something very juicy was about to be said, but the guards got everyone out except William Cecil, Elizabeth’s most trusted adviser and confidant. She rarely conducted business without Cecil.

  Simon fleetingly thought of the dead Rizzio. Cecil and Rizzio held the same position, but the difference was that Cecil knew what he was doing, and while he overstepped his boundaries at times, he was not overly hated by the other lords. He was also English, and therefore a bit more trusted than an outsider, like Rizzio had been.

  “Sir Simon,” Elizabeth said after the room had emptied. “I cannot tell you how good it is to set eyes on you.”

  “It’s good to be here, Your Majesty.”

  “My people tell me you are well and that you didn’t suffer overmuch in your trek to England.”

  “I am well.” Her people also probably told her that he had arrived with a wife, but she didn’t ask, and he figured they would get to that in a moment.

  “Mary wrote to me of her troubles.” Elizabeth’s expression darkened. “I was very displeased to hear that her adviser was murdered in her presence and that she was taken prisoner. I have had my disagreements with the girl, but this is beyond reprehensible. No monarch should ever be treated thus.”

  Elizabeth and Mary’s relationship was an odd one. Mary wanted Elizabeth’s crown, and Elizabeth was determined to keep it from her. Mary wanted England to become Catholic, and Elizabeth was determined to keep it Protestant. But Elizabeth also felt a need to guide Mary, seeing her impetuousness and inability to trust the right people. And Elizabeth firmly believed that the two female monarchs should support each other in whatever ways they could, despite their differing political and religious views.

  “You will be happy to know that Mary has been restored to the throne,” Simon said. “But I fear this is not the end of the unrest.”

  “No,” Elizabeth said in agreement. “It usually isn’t. Please tell me what happened.”

  Simon took the better part of the next few hours describing in detail everything that had happened, from the sunken ship that took him to Scotland, to the plot to kill Rizzio and the murder itself. He told her about hiding in the palace and escaping. He told her about Will and Tristan and even La Grange.

  And he told her about Aimee.

  Her look was stern as he spoke of Mary’s insistence that they wed in order for Simon to prove his allegiance.

  “That is preposterous,” she spat out. “I will not have another monarch forcing one of my men into marriage.”

  “Nevertheless, it is done,” Simon said, hoping to divert her to another subject, but she was having none of it.

  “Why this child?” Elizabeth asked.

  Simon hesitated but knew he couldn’t lie. “Mary thought Aimee was sent to Holyrood to spy on her, and she wanted someone to watch over her and assure that she wasn’t.”

  “And was she spying?” Elizabeth showed no reaction, and Simon did not try to decipher one.

  “She was, Your Majesty. Under duress, I might add, and she had sent nothing to Catherine that was of any meaning. Mary had made sure that Aimee was in the dark about most things.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “I can assure you that my wife is the least likely spy.”

  Elizabeth looked at him sharply but did not comment, leaving Simon on edge. He had felt sure that Elizabeth would accept his marriage to Aimee, but now he wasn’t as certain. Aimee’s history as a spy—albeit an incompetent spy—didn’t bode well for her.

  “You did not encounter any trouble on your way to London?” she asked.

  He thought of Rowland and the letter he’d found on Rowland’s body but decided at the last moment to remain silent about all of that, feeling he might need it as leverage in the not so distant future.

  “The nobles who conspired against Mary fled Edinburgh and are heading to England. For all I know, they are wandering the Scottish countryside in circles still, but you should know that they will be appearing on your doorstep soon.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. Simon wondered if she would accept the nobles into her country. Elizabeth was not predictable, and she might take in Mary’s enemies if only to keep an eye on them herself.

  “I wish to meet your spouse this evening,” she said. “I will deem if she is worthy of you.”

  Simon hesitated, angered and concerned that Elizabeth was exerting her control on his private life. “Very well, Your Majesty.”

  “That is all for now. However, I would like you to be available in the event that further questions should arise.”

  He bit back his irritation at being left hanging. He had assumed that he and Aimee would spend some time at Whitehall before moving on to Danfield, but it seemed Elizabeth might have other plans, such as making him remain at the palace until she deemed it time for him to leave. That could be months or longer.

  “May I inquire about my sister, Judith, Your Majesty?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Ah, Judith. She is thriving under my care. Court life suits her well.”

  The backs of his teeth came together. Elizabeth knew very well how much he wanted to take Judith to Danfield. Soon he would need to find a husband for her, and he wanted to choose wisely, someone who would suit her well. He couldn’t do that if he didn’t know her at all.

  “I have been anxious to see her,” he said.

  “You shall, Sir Simon. You shall. You may leave now.”

  Taking his cue from her abrupt dismissal, he bowed and backed out, keeping a bland expression on his face while fuming all the while.

  The outer room was full of courtiers and persons hoping to have a word with the queen. Some stopped and stared as he made his way through the cavernous room. Most didn’t even notice him.

  He entered his chambers with a sigh of frustration and closed the door behind him after dismissing the servants. Fires burned in the grates, making the room wonderfully warm, but he was still chilled from their trek across Scotland, and if he was, Aimee had to be frozen.

  The rooms that had been assigned to them were overly large and grandiose. Light shone from tall windows, reflecting off the white walls. Paintings hung in abundance from floor to ceiling, while the floor was covered with thick carpeting. It was so very different from Holyrood’s damp darkness. Here everything
was bigger, better, taller, richer. More.

  He made his way through the larger sitting room, through another smaller sitting room, through a dressing room, and eventually into Aimee’s bedchamber. The curtains were drawn and the fire stoked so tall that flames danced and crackled and popped. The bed curtains were pulled tight, and he parted them with a finger to find his wife fast asleep on her stomach, spread across the bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin.

  Her black hair was fanned out around her, the ends curling and still damp. He touched a curl, feeling its velvet softness. Her cheeks were pink and shiny, as if she’d scrubbed them numerous times to get the grime of travel off them. She looked so innocent and pure and angelic.

  She sighed deeply but did not awaken. The poor thing was exhausted, and now she had to face a queen who had already formed an opinion of her.

  But they had some time before that.

  Simon gingerly sat on the edge of the bed so as not to disturb her and took off his shoes. He divested himself of his doublet and pulled back the blankets to carefully slide under them. With as much caution as possible, he gathered Aimee to him, cradling her slight body into his, and closing his eyes to inhale the scent of roses that surrounded her.

  She murmured in her sleep and burrowed into him. It wasn’t until he lay down that he realized how exhausted he was. He couldn’t remember the last good night of sleep he’d had. Probably the night before his wedding. That seemed like such a long time ago, though in reality, only a few weeks had passed.

  A few weeks, yet it felt like eternity, and he felt like he knew this woman in his arms as if they had been married twenty years. How could he be acquainted with someone for so little time and yet know everything about her?

  He fell asleep with that thought, cradling his wife, while in the back of his mind he worried about her impending meeting with Elizabeth.

  Chapter 30

  Aimee awakened to find Simon fast asleep in bed with her, dressed in court clothes that had appeared from nowhere.

  She took the opportunity to observe him in sleep, something she’d never done before. He was breathing deeply, sable-colored lashes fanning the tops of reddened cheekbones. Their days out in the cold and the sun had turned him red, but she could tell it was one of those reds that would turn to a golden hue that would befit him well.