Wed to a Spy Read online

  Wed to a Spy is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Sharon Cullen

  Excerpt from Bound to a Spy by Sharon Cullen copyright © 2017 by Sharon Cullen

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Bound to a Spy by Sharon Cullen. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9780399179815

  Cover design: Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

  Cover photographs: kamnevpro/Depositphotos.com (woman), OleSemenova/Depositphotos.com (face), KrisCole/Depositphotos.com (chair), Fairytale Backgrounds (background)

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue: Whitehall Palace

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Sharon Cullen

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Bound to a Spy

  Prologue

  Whitehall Palace

  LONDON, ENGLAND, SEPTEMBER 1565

  Sir Simon Marcheford had been around long enough to know that nothing good came out of a summons from Queen Elizabeth.

  He arrived at the queen’s Privy Chamber well before the designated meeting time to find Viscount William Sheffield and Tristan Fitzherbert waiting as well. Simon flopped onto an empty wooden chair and glared at his fellow spies.

  “You, too, eh?” Will said with no little irony.

  “What is this summons about?” But Simon knew. He’d known for a while now that his services would be needed again, and he was very unhappy about it. He’d been requesting an audience with the queen for weeks to inform her that he was retiring from her service. Elizabeth, being the amazingly astute monarch that she was, had probably sensed his intentions and purposefully ignored his request.

  He rubbed a hand down his face and dropped his head back. Firelight from the periodic sconces flickered weakly across the walls and dipped down to the stone floors.

  “All three of us,” Will said. “It must be important. Any guesses?”

  Tristan shrugged and concentrated on digging the dirt out of his fingernails with his dagger. “My guess is Scotland.”

  That had been Simon’s guess as well.

  They didn’t have to wait long, as they were called into the queen’s Privy Chamber just moments later. Normally Queen Elizabeth was attended by at least half a dozen maids of honor and that many ladies of the Privy Chamber, including sycophants who reveled in being in the queen’s presence, but this time the room was fairly empty except for William Cecil, the queen’s chief adviser. This did not bode well for Simon’s plan to retire.

  The three men knelt at the queen’s feet until she bade them to rise. As usual she was wearing a gown of black, one of her favorite colors. But her costume was not austere by any measure as it was decorated with a plethora of various expensive jewels that glittered in the candlelight. Around her neck was the string of pearls that she preferred mostly to wear in place of other necklaces and her fingers were bejeweled with rings.

  “Your services are required,” the red-haired queen said without preamble, looking each of them in the eye. She raised a red brow at Simon, as if daring him to protest. It was certainly on the tip of his tongue to do so, but he bit that appendage to keep silent. She went on, “There are troubling reports from Scotland. My fellow queen is causing me some concern with her Catholic ideologies.”

  Not to mention that Mary, Queen of Scots, had set her mind on dethroning Elizabeth and combining the crowns of Scotland and England. Simon could well understand Elizabeth’s concern.

  She pierced Will and Tristan with a look. “You two will go to Scotland. Sheffield, I want you to be my eyes and ears in Mary’s court. I want you to report everything you hear, even if you think it’s inconsequential. Call on your association with Mary’s husband, Lord Darnley, and remind him that you went to school together. Tristan—” She turned soft, dark eyes to Tristan, who held a special place in her heart. They had grown up together while Elizabeth was in exile as a young girl. “Tristan, you will open a print shop in Edinburgh.” At Tristan’s surprised look, she grinned. “Do not worry. There is a local printer who will teach you everything you need to learn. Your purpose is to undermine Mary’s popularity by distributing seditious placards and thereby weakening her control among the lower class.”

  She turned her attention to Simon, and he had to control his impulse to wince. He wanted nothing to do with Elizabeth’s plans. He was loyal to his queen, had served her for many, many years, and had even offered up his life for her a few months ago. Luckily he’d been spared, and now he wanted to retire to Danfield, the manor house bestowed on him by Elizabeth. He had plans to gather his young sister, Judith, from court, where she’d been residing because he had no one to watch her while he was traveling the world as Elizabeth’s spy, and enjoy the rest of the hopefully many years he had left without looking over his shoulder. It appeared that Elizabeth had other thoughts, and he was frustrated with her destruction of his plans.

  “Marcheford, I am sending you to Spain,” she said.

  Simon jolted. “Spain, Your Majesty?” What in the hell was he to do in Spain? Spain was far from England, far from Scotland, and very far from Judith and Danfield.

  “I fear King Philip is aiding Mary. I want you to find out.”

  “Your Majesty, if I may—”

  “You may not,” she snapped, but her expression softened. “I’m well aware that you are ready to retire from this life, Sir Simon, but the three of you, you’re the best I have, and I need you in this. Give me this one last request.”

  “But Judith—”

  “Is perfectly fine here at court with me.” She raised a brow, challenging him. “Do you doubt my ability to care for your sister?”

  “Of course not. But I thought to take her to Danfield so we can get to know each other.” Their parents had died a year ago. At twenty and six Will was more than twice Judith’s age and did not know his sister well. It was time to change all of that. He was certain she mourned their parents and needed a steady home. He wanted to provide that for her.

  Elizabeth waved her hand in the air. She had beautiful hands with long, elegant fingers; she was known for her hands and took pride in them. “There is time enough to get to know your si
ster. Besides, you need to start thinking of finding her a husband, and where better than at court?”

  Simon’s jaw worked. Beside him, Will shifted, as if silently telling him to leave it be. He’d lost this battle. Judith was condemned to court for a bit longer, and Elizabeth had just put him on notice that if he did not do this thing for her, then Judith would find herself betrothed at the age of twelve. And more than likely without his consent.

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment while seething inside.

  Chapter 1

  HOLYROOD CASTLE, EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND

  MARCH 1566

  My dearest Pierre,

  Scotland is a dreadful place, cold and damp and inhospitable. I do not know how these people live in such deplorable conditions or how they thrive without the warm sun that so often shines on my beloved France.

  My sorrow and misery is doubled—nay, tripled—without your presence beside me. I lay my head on my pillow every night and dream of you.

  I miss you so, Pierre. I had never believed such nonsense as a broken heart, but I believe it now. Mine is shattered into a thousand tiny shards and will not be whole again until we are reunited.

  I live for that day, dream of it at every moment. I will stay chaste for you, as I promised. I will not even look upon another man, for you are the only man for me.

  Yours always,

  Aimee

  Catherine,

  Scotland is as you described it. The people are welcoming and kind. I have formed a special bond with Queen Mary, as you had hoped, and we get along well. She is a good queen to her people—

  Aimee de Verris threw her quill down, unable to continue with the lies she was attempting to tell her aunt Catherine de Medici. Oh, how she hated her aunt. Aimee looked longingly at her letter to Pierre and stroked the parchment, remembering the feel of his hands in hers, of his cheek pressed against her own. The parchment was a pale second to her Pierre.

  With a frustrated growl, she stood and paced restlessly to the window to look out onto the cold landscape of Scotland. She was absolutely certain she would never be warm again. It was a cold that seeped into one’s bones and took up residence there. No matter how high her maid built the fire, Aimee was never warm. She snatched a thick shawl from the chair next to her and wrapped herself up in it, fighting tears of frustration and longing.

  What was Pierre doing at this very moment? No doubt he was warm, but did he miss her as much as she missed him? Did he look at the moon as she did and wonder what she was doing at that very moment?

  Her hatred for Catherine de Medici burned bright, but it was a cold hatred.

  Aimee was Catherine’s spy, through no choice of her own. Just thinking of the night that had changed her entire world made Aimee want to shudder in fear. Catherine had stumbled across Aimee and Pierre in an intimate embrace. Catherine’s wrath was legendary. It was rumored that she beat her own children, and Aimee had been terrified that Catherine would unfurl that wrath on her and Pierre. Pierre had bravely stepped in front of Aimee and shielded her with his body. It was something Aimee would always remember. She’d felt so safe and protected and loved by Pierre.

  But Pierre could not protect Aimee forever, and soon enough Catherine had exacted her revenge. She told Aimee that she was being sent to Mary’s court in Scotland. Aimee’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Her promises that Pierre loved her and wanted to marry her were scoffed at. Catherine had looked at her in disdain when, distraught, Aimee had fallen to her knees at Catherine’s feet and begged her not to send her away.

  “If you think I will allow you to wed one such as him, you are touched in the head. He is not the one for you.”

  Aimee had been stunned. Pierre came from an impeccable lineage. It was a coup for Aimee to have landed him, but none of that mattered to her. Pierre loved her. He’d told her so. And she loved him, and that was all that mattered.

  Catherine had openly laughed at the proclamation of love. “You are a bigger fool than I thought. My sister should have sent you to me long ago. I fear it is too late to reform your harlot ways. Scotland will be good for you.” And then she’d outlined exactly what Aimee was to do in Scotland.

  “I am being sent to the wilds of a barbaric country for something that I am not ashamed of,” Aimee had said to Catherine, her love for Pierre making her foolish and impetuous. “You are convinced that Pierre and I are not fit for each other and will never marry, so why should I do this thing for you?”

  Catherine’s thunderous expression almost had Aimee backing down, but she’d thought of Pierre bravely standing in front of her and known that she could do no less for him.

  To her surprise, Catherine’s expression had slowly lessened to thoughtfulness. “You are right, of course. You have no incentive to do as I say while you are ‘banished,’ as you call it. Send me reports on the Scottish queen, detailed reports that tell me what she is up to, and I will allow you to return to the French court. If Pierre is still waiting, you may have him.”

  Shivering from the deep cold that seeped through the dark stone of Holyrood Palace, drawn away from her reveries, Aimee swiped at a lone tear and headed back to the escritoire, where she put her finished letter to Pierre and her unfinished letter to Catherine in a drawer beneath her prayer book.

  Catherine was expecting a report from Aimee on Mary’s activities, but Aimee had nothing to report. Mary had been kind to her, and they had exchanged stories of growing up in France, but that was the extent of their conversations. If Catherine thought Queen Mary would divulge all her secrets to Aimee, then she was sorely mistaken.

  A scratch at the door preceded her maid entering. “What gown will you be wearing tonight, my lady?”

  Aimee closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Whatever you think is best, Hannah.”

  Hannah went about the room, picking up this and that, presumably putting together Aimee’s clothing for the evening. Another evening spent with Mary and her entourage, pretending that she was happy and that she actually wanted to be here, when her heart was really in France with Pierre.

  —

  Arrived from Spain a few months before, Simon spotted Will right away in Mary’s Presence Chamber, but as always, they didn’t acknowledge each other. Simon made his way to the edge of the room and positioned himself close to the musicians. Mary was on the other side of the room, which was surprising. She held these salons nightly but most nights was absent from them. She was sickly, they said. An ailment that baffled all her physicians and was particularly concerning as she was carrying within her the next king or queen of Scotland.

  Tonight she was in the far corner with the Maries—an odd group of four women who had been with Mary and served her all her life. All were named Marie, and they were fiercely loyal to their queen.

  Will scanned the room and noted that Rizzio, Mary’s most trusted adviser, was present, as well as James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, the man in charge of Mary’s security and, some said, the power behind her throne. Simon observed Bothwell from afar, not at all trusting the loudmouthed man whom Mary seemed to admire.

  Conspicuously absent was the king, Lord Darnley. But his absence was not surprising, as it was known by all that the king and queen did not get along well. How they had managed to create a child without killing each other was beyond Simon.

  Scattered about was the typical gaggle of richly dressed, brightly colored courtesans, huddled in groups here and there, talking, laughing, and generally being a nuisance. Good Lord, but had he ever been that young and naive? He certainly hoped not but feared so.

  His wandering gaze landed on a lone woman standing at the edge of the group. He remembered seeing her before but had never had the pleasure of meeting her. For some reason, she always caught his attention when they were in a room together. It had to be her midnight-black hair or the contrast of her light gray eyes. She was always flitting silently through the room, occasionally speaking to Mary or the other women. He never saw her flirt. In fact, she tended to shy from the men in
the room.

  Simon watched in amusement as she made her way toward the queen in a roundabout fashion. She definitely had a purpose tonight as she edged toward Mary and the entourage of Maries. He wondered what it was that had her so focused.

  The musicians struck up their tune, and the crowds merged together then re-formed into different groupings, and he lost sight of the dainty little magpie.

  Chapter 2

  Aimee entered Queen Mary’s Presence Chamber, where most of the privileged courtiers were invited in the evenings. Mostly people played games, listened to music, and talked quietly among themselves. They flirted and danced and moved to the shadows, where they stole kisses and gropes.

  Aimee always turned her head from such sights. Since she’d grown up in the French court, this type of behavior was not unknown to her, and not much shocked her. She turned away because it reminded her of Pierre and the two times they had sneaked away to the shadows for quick kisses, and that made her all the more homesick.

  Mary was in attendance this night, talking quietly in the corner with the closest of her attendants, the Maries. Aimee did not know the Maries well, as they mostly kept to themselves and tended to their queen. Aimee thought of the Maries as Mary’s personal bodyguards.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, Aimee slowly made her way in that direction, in the hope of hearing a few tidbits of information that she could include in her letter to Catherine. The more she gave Catherine, the sooner she could return to Pierre.

  The queen was laughing softly, a hand resting on her rounded belly. She seemed in good health and good spirits tonight. To Aimee’s surprise, she actually liked Mary. They had formed a slight bond, both having been raised under the watchful eye of Catherine de Medici. They’d shared stories here and there, but it was more difficult than Aimee had imagined to get close to Mary. She’d not been naive enough to think that Mary would spill all the state secrets, but she had hoped for something.