Bound to a Spy Page 11

  Even though she came from a long line of family members who interpreted the law so much differently than most people, Will’s chosen profession was abhorrent to her. What about his country? His queen? What about the people who friended him and trusted him? At least her family had their own set of rules to live by. They were honest toward each other and loyal to their clan.

  Rose tried to whip up her ire toward Will with his accusations about Lysle, but it just wouldn’t come.

  Head throbbing, her vision blurry with unshed tears of frustration Rose rounded a corner and slammed into a wall of male chest.

  “Oh,” she said, taking a hurried step back. “My apologies.”

  “No need to apologize, Miss Turner.”

  She froze and blinked her eyes clear to find Darnley standing in front of her. He’d put his hands on her shoulders to steady her and there they sat, heavy like manacles.

  “Your Majesty,” she said through a tight throat as panic beat its frenzied wings against her rib cage. What was he doing here? This was not a part of the palace that he was allowed in.

  “Imagine running into you here,” he said with a half smile.

  “My…” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying, My bedchamber is down here. She had no intention of letting Darnley know where she resided.

  He cocked his head and watched her, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

  “Looking for you.”

  “F-” She swallowed. “For me?”

  He drew her closer, his hands still on her shoulders, and she went, like she always did.

  “I told you we weren’t finished yet, ma belle petite fleur.”

  Maybe it was the endearment that was far too familiar. Or maybe it was the night filled with accusations and revelations. Or maybe, finally, she’d had enough of Darnley and the way he treated her and the way he made her feel.

  She shrugged her shoulders out from beneath his hands and pushed him in the chest.

  “I am not your beautiful flower,” she said.

  Shocked, he stumbled back and hit the wall behind him.

  “Don’t ever call me that again,” she said. “Don’t ever come near me again.”

  He pushed away from the wall but she was far too angry to be frightened.

  “I am your king,” he said, his eyes flashing. “And you will do as I say.”

  “You are also my queen’s husband,” she shot back. “You should not be prowling the corridors for unsuspecting females to accost. I suggest you return to your own wing before I tell the queen what you’ve been about.”

  His lips thinned and his nostrils flared. In the back of her mind Rose berated herself for having gone too far. Lord Darnley was a powerful enemy to have but she was tired of skulking around the palace, and she was tired of being disappointed all the time.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

  She lifted her chin. “I will do it.”

  He paused, considered her, and she could tell he didn’t know whether to believe her or not. In the end he stepped away from her. “We’re not finished, you and I,” he said.

  “I think we are.”

  With one more long look he walked away. Rose stood alone in the corridor, barely able to breathe through the blood racing through her. After what seemed like ages she made her way to her chambers and firmly closed the door behind her.

  She felt as if she’d lost the boulder that was sitting on her shoulder, but there was another one taking its place.

  Alice was tending the fire and preparing Rose’s and Margaret’s nightclothes.

  “I’ve the beginnings of a headache,” Rose said, touching her temple where it throbbed, her voice shaking. “If you will get me ready for bed you may leave. Please tell Lady Margaret to be quiet when she comes in.”

  Alice nodded, helped Rose off with her gown and with her nightclothes then left quietly. Shaking, Rose climbed into bed and huddled under the cold blankets, pulling her knees almost up to her chin and giving way to the tears that she’d been holding back and the tremors that took over her body.

  Firelight danced across the walls, stopping short of the darkened corners. The flames popped and hissed, the only sound in the cold room. Rose lay awake, her chest heaving in stifled sobs. She desperately prayed for the oblivion of sleep but of course it wouldn’t come.

  Her mind was whirling with excitement that she’d finally faced down Darnley and won, and fear that she’d angered Darnley, and anger at Will and Lysle and the blasted murder plot she’d overheard.

  She knuckled away her tears.

  She despised this place. No one was who they seemed. No one told the truth and everyone was out for their own gain. Even the girls vying for the attention of the richest, most noble men who haunted these halls. It was all a game to everyone, and the only teams were teams of one.

  If she went home what would she tell her mother? She certainly couldn’t say that she had stumbled upon a plot to kill the king. No one would believe her, and besides did she really think she could hide? Because one day the news that the king had been killed would make it to their little border town, and Rose would know who did it and why and she wouldn’t be safe.

  She’d never be safe.

  Not now that Lysle knew she was aware of his deadly secret.

  His secret plan to kill Darnley. She relived the encounter she’d had with the king. Part of her wished she could be cold and harsh and just let him die at the hands of the lords. After all, it was his just due for being a horrible man who preyed on innocent women. But as she’d told Will, she was not God, and this was not her choice to make. Neither did she want Darnley’s death on her conscience for the rest of her life.

  She had to tell someone. She had to unburden herself of this horrible truth that she carried with her.

  She had to tell the queen.

  It was only right. Something of this magnitude, the death—murder—of a king, would be international news and Rose did not want Scotland’s reputation to become so tarnished. She didn’t want her queen, who she had come to love and respect, to suffer the indignity of her nobles killing her husband.

  And the new prince, just recently born, with his life ahead of him, would have to live with the knowledge that his father had been murdered by his own countrymen.

  Didn’t Rose owe it to her country and her queen to tell her about such a horrible secret?

  Chapter 15

  “There you are.”

  Rose looked up from the mess of her embroidery to find Lord Lysle smiling down on her. Her heart did a flip and her breath caught. The needle slipped and poked her finger, making her wince.

  “I startled you,” he said with a laugh. “May I?” He gestured toward the empty spot on the padded bench next to her.

  Rose didn’t want him to sit with her. She didn’t want him to talk to her. She didn’t want him interested in her in any way, but she had no choice so she scooted over and gathered her skirts closer to her to make room for him or else draw attention to them. She had to act as if nothing was different between them, as if she wasn’t aware that he was drawing her in to protect himself.

  “What are you stitching?” he asked, leaning over to get a better look at her embroidery.

  “It’s not very good. Embroidery is not my talent. I fear I don’t have the patience for it.”

  He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but think it was the smile one bestowed on a child. Tolerant. Or maybe she was reading too much into it now that she knew his ulterior motive.

  “What are your talents, Rose?”

  She hesitated, unsure of herself now.

  “I’m good with animals.”

  His brows went up. “Animals.”

  It wasn’t a question but more a statement that he seemed to roll around in his mind as if he couldn’t grasp the concept.

  What man wanted a wife who was good with animals? Men of Lysle’s ilk wanted a woman who could entertain, who
could run a household, who could converse with even the most boring nobles. Not one who had the uncanny ability to draw animals to her.

  “It’s silly, really,” she said, looking down at the bunched fabric of her embroidery.

  “No, no,” he said. “Please tell me about these animals. Is there one in particular that you are fond of?”

  He didn’t understand. Will would have understood. Will saw her with Tyche and he never questioned the affinity she had with the horse. But hadn’t she already determined that it was useless comparing Lord Lysle to Will? They were completely different men. Will was much rougher around the edges, as if he’d looked death and danger in the eye too many times. Lysle probably thought danger came in the form of running out of his favorite wine.

  Oh, this was ridiculous. She needed to stop thinking of Will. He was nothing to her and she was angry at him for…

  Well, at the moment she couldn’t quite remember why she was angry. She’d not wanted to admit that he was telling her the truth about Lysle but maybe he was. Maybe he was trying to protect her.

  She was so confused about all of this and wished she’d never stumbled through that blasted door in the first place.

  She looked at Lysle, who was waiting with a patient expression for her to answer about her favorite animal. He certainly didn’t look like a killer although men like Lysle never dirtied their hands with the actual deed. Men like Lysle plotted and planned then disappeared when the act happened.

  “I have no favorite animal here. There are a few back home,” she said lamely.

  “You must tell me about them sometime.”

  She tilted her head at him, courage coming from somewhere deep inside of her—possibly the same place that allowed her to stand up to Darnley. “Are you truly interested in my animals back home, my lord?”

  His eyes softened and he put a hand over hers. She wanted to shake his hand off but her courage did not extend that far. “I’m interested in anything that has to do with you, dear.”

  Dear? This was almost as repellant as ma belle petite fleur.

  “Can I ask you something, my lord?”

  “Only if you call me by my given name. Here I am calling you Rose and you insist on being so formal with me.”

  To her relief he lifted his hand from hers and put it to his heart in affectation. “Please call me Richard. I feel that we have known each other long enough and we are close enough that we can dispense with the formalities. What do you think, Rose?”

  “I think I don’t know you well at all.”

  He spread his hands out. “Ask me anything.”

  It was her turn to raise a brow. “Anything?”

  “Anything.” He seemed so self-assured. Was she that transparent? Was he that convinced of her naïveté that he trusted that whatever she asked would be easily answered?

  “Why me?”

  He hesitated, his eyes clouding as he frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Why are you pursuing me, Richard? You are a noble—obviously very wealthy. You said you are a favorite at court and anyone can see that to be the truth. You have your pick of any woman here to take as wife and yet you choose me.”

  “Rose.” He reached her for her but she hurriedly picked up her embroidery in both hands. He hesitated and brought his hand back to his lap. “Why wouldn’t I choose the most beautiful woman at court?”

  “You flatter me but we both know that’s not true. Emma Howard is the most beautiful. Lady Ruth is the richest.” Yes, she was being so very gauche mentioning people’s wealth but she didn’t care at this point. “I am a ginger from a well-known, tarnished border clan. I have a small dowry. My brothers and father walk a fine line between providing for the family and being criminals. I am not what a noble would care for in a wife.”

  Put that way she wondered what her mother was thinking sending her here. Who would want her based on all of that?

  “You are right, my Rose. You do not know me. None of that means anything to me. I have enough wealth for both of us and then some. I don’t need an excellent bloodline because mine is so superior that it doesn’t matter. Your family means nothing to me because if we wed they cease to be your family and you will become my family.”

  She frowned at that. Did he mean to never let her see her family after they were wed? But did it really matter when she would never agree to wed him? She had far too many doubts planted by Will Sheffield to ever agree to marry Lord Lysle.

  “My dear.” He captured her hand before she could pull away. “You think far too little of yourself. You are the most charming here outside of the queen herself.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, not believing a word.

  It wasn’t that Rose thought too little of herself. It was that she was realistic about her circumstances.

  “But we are getting far ahead of ourselves. We have plenty of time to become more acquainted, and I vow that we won’t proceed with anything until you feel comfortable.”

  Then he would be waiting a long time because she didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable with him.

  —

  Will was fairly certain he would find Rose in the stables and he was right. She was leaning against Tyche’s stall, her face closer to the horse’s big, yellow teeth than Will felt comfortable with, but Rose had a way with animals that was mystifying. They all loved her and sought her out when she was near. Tyche, who could be a formidable animal, was meek in her presence.

  The cat, whose name Will did not know, was sitting at her feet cleaning a paw. The feline looked up at Will and lowered her paw slowly. Rose acted as if she didn’t see him but by the tightening of her shoulders he knew she was aware of his presence.

  He approached carefully, uncertain of his reception. She’d been angry and hurt when she fled from him the other day. He’d stayed away from her, keeping to Darnley’s rooms and enduring his mercurial moods. He’d gone to the cellar each night but the plotting lords had not returned and neither had Rose.

  There was news from Mary that the lords who had been accused of plotting to kill Rizzio would be returning to Scotland but were still not allowed to be within a certain vicinity of the queen. This news had, of course, frightened Darnley who feared his life was in danger from these lords.

  But while he was with the king, Will’s thoughts were of Rose. He hated that she thought so badly of him and he hated worse that he couldn’t tell her the truth. Will had learned that truth was fluid. Truth was whatever kept him alive at the time and what helped him complete his missions.

  Will didn’t put much store in the truth.

  But he wanted Rose to know the truth. He wanted Rose to know the real Will Sheffield, not the person he pretended to be.

  Hell and damnation, he didn’t even know who the real Will Sheffield was. How could he expect Rose to recognize him?

  Tonight he couldn’t take his absence from her presence anymore. He kept envisioning Lysle moving in toward her, crowding her, whispering lies and more lies to her, turning her head until she hated Will for trying to tell her the truth about the man.

  He’d sought her out in the one place he knew she loved.

  She was whispering to Tyche and the horse was rubbing his nose against her flame colored hair.

  She did not speak to Will for a long while but neither did she ask him to leave, so like a lovelorn lad he remained there in limbo, wondering if she was going to spurn him or accept him.

  Eventually she turned toward him, leaned a shoulder against Tyche’s stall and crossed her arms to pin him with an emerald eyed glare.

  “Do you despise me?” he asked.

  He felt like he lived and died a thousand times before she said, “No.”

  His relief had his shoulders slumping and he could not remember another time when he’d allowed his true feelings to show so much.

  “But I am cross with you,” she said.

  He dipped his head, acknowledging her admonishment and accepting it. He could take cross far
better than he could take scorn.

  “You’re not going to ask why I’m cross with you?”

  “I think I have a fairly good idea. You’re disappointed in me because you thought I was a better person than I really am.”

  He saw the disappointment flicker in her eyes before she masked them.

  “That is partly correct but not wholly correct.” Tyche shoved his nose into her shoulder. Unconsciously she wrapped her arm beneath his head and hugged him close to her. “I’m cross with you for making me question Lord Lysle and you and everything I thought I believed.”

  He ran his hand down the shiny silkiness of Tyche’s neck. “The wool was pulled from your eyes and I’ve forced you to see people as they really are rather than what they wanted you to believe they were.”

  “That is correct, although the way you put it makes me seem like a naïve ijit.”

  “Not an ijit. Naïve, yes. No one is as they seem. Everyone has a story they are hiding.”

  “That’s very pessimistic of you.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve learned that truth the hard way.”

  “And what story are you hiding?”

  He raised a brow at her. “You unearthed it the other night.”

  “That you’re a mercenary?”

  “Correct.”

  She tipped her head toward him. “But I wonder…”

  He waited a beat for her to finish her thought but when nothing else was forthcoming he said, “You wonder what?”

  “I wonder if the truth is something else and you are weaving stories about being a mercenary because that is what you want me to believe.”

  Her observation was so close to the truth that he was momentarily speechless, frantically searching for a retort that would take her arrow and fling it somewhere else.

  “I am who I say I am,” he said, thinking the rebuff rather lame, but she didn’t look convinced. What had made her think that about him? He was always rather good at making people believe what he wanted them to believe. Maybe ripping the wool from her eyes had not been a good thing for him.

  “I spoke to Lord Lysle last night,” she said.

  He stepped away from the stall and held out his arm. “Let us walk.”