The Highland Secret Agent

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Oh, Henry,” she sighed. She sniffed, wanting to leave. She couldn't bear to be in this room that spoke so loudly of his absence. Her own heart felt it keenly enough.

  She turned and went to the door, then lingered, looking around. There was nothing out of place. His cloak was where he'd left it, his saddle pack, even his old shirt and trews. He hadn't gone far.

  A sudden shiver played down her spine. What if he was in danger? He'd walked out without a word that morning and he'd been gone all day. She tiptoed into the hallway and looked out of the arched window.

  It was sunset now. A wintry sunset, the sky dusk-blue on the distant hills, the sun a line of livid red like blood spilled into ink. She shivered.

  Please let him be safe.

  She heard footsteps and turned. Adair was there. He saw her and he seemed pleased. “My lady,” he said. “There you are. Is aught amiss? You seem sad.”

  “I...” she considered asking him if he'd seen Henry. Something told her it wasn't a good idea. She shook her head. “Not sad, no.”

  “I had a surprise for you,” he said suddenly. “I had meant to say nothing, but I find I can't contain my impatience.”

  “Oh?” Amice frowned. “What is it?”

  “Well, it’d spoil the surprise to answer that,” he grinned, “but I can't keep it to myself. Remember you mentioned a deficit of saddles?”

  “Mm?”

  “Well, I had our groom donate two of ours. They're not the best, I’m afraid, but they're serviceable and still good despite a year or two of wear.”

  “Oh!” Amice smiled at him. “You're so kind! Henri and I will be most grateful.” She was touched, she had to admit. A new saddle could last ten years. More. This was a generous gift.

  “Oh,” he shrugged. “Think nothing of it. Though I hope that, while you stay, you will consider accompanying me on a ride?”

  Amice nodded. After such a generous gift, she could hardly say no – whatever she thought of Adair, and she actually liked him, she couldn't refuse his invitation after such a great gift.

  “Oh, good,” he smiled, and he looked relieved, almost as if he'd thought she would rebuff him.

  “You're so kind,” Amice said again. He laughed.

  “No, I'm selfish. I had hoped to ride with you today, actually.” He shrugged. “But, maybe tomorrow. Would you like to see the saddles?”

  “Yes,” Amice said, itching with the need to get out of the manor for a while. She was starting to worry about Henry, and standing about in her bedchamber would drive her mad with the inaction.

  “Well, then.” He bowed and stood back for her to walk down the stairs with him. “Let us go.”

  In the stables, they walked past rows of beautiful horses and Amice found herself calming down. Wherever Henry was, she was sure he was safe. After all, he was the spy. She was a simple lass from the countryside, lady or no lady. Whatever was happening, he would be well-equipped to face such things without her.

  “And I must introduce you to my hunting stallion, Blade,” he was saying. “He's a breed with these new Arabian horses and as fast as a blizzard.”

  Amice smiled. “I'd like to meet him.”

  “He's up at the far end, near where we stabled your horses – the newer horses all go there, so that the others have time to get acquainted...oh.” He frowned. Amice came to stand with him, wondering what bothered him. He stared. Into a blank stall.

  “What is it?”

  “Your friend's horse was in there, I think. Not so, Alex?” he asked a groom, who nodded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, then. I wonder where he got to. Late, for a ride.” He shrugged. Amice felt her blood run cold.

  “Alex,” she said to the younger groom, who froze as if he'd never been talked to by a lady before. Maybe no one has.

  “Yes, milady?” he stammered.

  “When did Lord Henri leave?”

  The groom frowned, scratching his head. “I dunno, milady. I came on duty after midday. But he was out then. That I do know.”

  “Oh.” Amice swallowed hard. Her heart thumped. He'd been out since midday? Where was he? She turned worried eyes to Adair. “My lord?”

  “What is it, Lady Amice? Are you worried for him?”

  “I am, yes,” she said, feeling her hands knot her sleeves, a nervous habit. “I cannot imagine where he is.”

  “Oh,” Adair shrugged, as if it was of no great matter. “I'm sure he's well. The woods around the estate are quite safe. No bears in them. No bandits, either.” He grinned mildly.

  Amice stared at him. “You think Henri is riding in the woods, alone?”

  “Probably,” he said. “Unless he went to town. Or he left? Why are you worried?”

  “No reason,” Amice said lightly. Because he's in danger. Because he's a spy.

  “Well, then.” Adair smiled. “If he's gone, we have no reason to think of him. Not so?”

  “Adair, I...” Amice stammered as he reached out and very gently stroked her hair. She froze.

  As he bent forward to kiss her, the door at the other end of the stable burst open. A man stumbled in, ragged and limping. He stared at them. His face paled. His eyes, blue and dark, burned.

  “Henri!” Amice shouted and ran to him. She reached him just as he collapsed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DARKNESS AND LIGHT

  DARKNESS AND LIGHT

  Henry closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Too tired to move. Too tired to stand. Too tired to speak. The woman who had helped him – the woman in the street, who was called Ainsley – had strapped his shoulder and stopped the worst of the bleeding. Even so, the pain wore on him, grinding him down as he rode. He had made it back to the manor at last. He had taken the long way through the forest, to avoid any possible pursuers. Then he had ridden up to the stables.

  Now, at the end of all that, I find I'm right.

  He had discovered his anger was justified. He had been right about how Amice and the duke's eldest son felt about each other. It had been that which had got him into all this trouble in the first place. He would laugh, for the irony. But everything hurt. He looked at the roof. He was so tired.

  “Henry!” Amice was saying. She bent down beside him, her hand brushing his hair. He closed his eyes. He would not let her see how she tortured him.

  He sat up. Everything hurt and he hissed through his teeth, expelling the agony. She stared at him.

  “Henri, please! Tell me where it hurts. What happened?”

  Henry shook his head. He didn't want to say anything or do anything. He felt angry, wretched, and exhausted. He looked at Amice and then at Adair. He glared at him and then glared at the stable hand who stood beside him, just for good measure.

  Adair cleared his throat. “Alex?” he said to the stable hand.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Fetch the apothecary. Or the physician. Or the priest. Whosoever is closest. This man needs urgent succor.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “I'm...fine.” Henry wheezed. He felt a stab of resentment for Adair twist his belly. As if it wasn't wicked enough that he had taken his heart from him. Now he was trying to save him? He wanted to spit. He would have, except that Amice moved and knelt in front of him.

  “Henri,” she murmured in French. “Please. Tell me where you're wounded.”

  “Not...sore,” he ground out. By the holy wounds, he didn't need her pity. She was the one who had decided to turn her back on him. Who preferred this quiet, grave, noble fellow to him. He looked past her at the other groom. “Tend my horse.”

  The man stammered something incomprehensible and looked at Adair. Henry closed his eyes. As if it wasn't bad enough to be at Adair's mercy without having the stable hand ignore him too!

  “Will someone tend my horse?” he said in French.

  Adair nodded. “I will send Hamish to see it done.”

  “Do that.”

  He ignored Amice as she asked him, again, what was wrong. She shook her head,
and then stood. She walked away, across the aisle between the pens. He blinked. He hadn't expected that, somehow. He made himself be angry with her instead.

  Good. The more she stays away from me, the better. I can't bear having her close.

  Having her close meant he could feel the warmth of her, smell her scent, and touch her. His body wanted her so badly and he couldn't let himself feel that way. Couldn't let himself want her. It was better this way. Better she was with a man of her own country. He was so much better suited to her.

  He dragged himself to his feet, sick of being on the floor. He leaned on a fence, panting. Black spots blinded him. He was starting to sway and he thought he might collapse again. He grunted and forced his head up, finding himself looking at Adair. A man stood just behind him, a tall man in a white priest's robe.

  “Ah. Lord Henri. Meet Father Matthias. Thank you, Father, for coming at such short notice.”

  “No, we don't need his help,” Henry said, staggering to his feet. “I'm...perfectly...capable.” He leaned against the wall, and then took a step forward. His leg went out from under him.

  “Yes, we do,” Adair said succinctly. “Please, Alex, Lewis? Take him up.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Closing his eyes against the complete humiliation of being lifted up by the two youths, Henry let them help him up.

  “I'm fine,” he protested. The two stable hands said nothing.

  His bruised and aching body propped up between them, the procession headed out into the dark. Later, lying on the bed, the physician standing at the bedside looking down on him, a new dressing on his wounds and a hot brick at his feet, Henry relaxed.

  “You are feeling better?” Father Matthias asked.

  “I'll probably live,” Henry said with the ghost of a smile.

  “We pray you do,” the priest said gently. “These rogues...they don't clean their weapons, I'm afraid.” He shuddered distastefully.

  Henry chuckled. “No. I suppose they don't.” During the course of his work, he had come to like the physician, who seemed a reasonable and intelligent man. He had explained he had been wounded in a street fight, which was true. The reason for his presence in a street where a band of thugs patrolled remained his secret.

  I need to find out who's following me.

  He closed his eyes as the physician checked his forehead and pulse, nodding quietly to himself.

  “You seem to be in working order, my lord,” he said.

  “Pleased to hear it,” Henry grinned.

  “I will be in the castle for a few days – it's just as well I happened to be here this afternoon,” he added. “His lordship would be most grieved had I arrived too late to help one of his guests.”

  “Oh.” Henry said, neutrally. He himself had another opinion on that matter. Whoever had sent the man to watch him, he was fairly sure it was the duke. The man as good as knows my name. He knows I'm not Lord Henri, anyway. Moreover, he's not stupid.

  “Lord Henri?” the physician murmured.

  “Mm?”

  “Forgive me, but I need to check your skull. I have a strong suspicion it may be cracked.”

  “Oh. Well, I'd rather you checked,” Henry said dryly. The priest favored him with a thin smile.

  Henry winced as the priest's deft fingers moved over his skull, probing the bone. He reached a sore place and Henri jumped.

  “Ah. There we are – no wonder you were in such a bad way. It wouldn't surprise me if there is a crack.”

  “Oh. Lovely,” Henry said dolefully. He laughed. “How long until I'm fit to ride again?”

  “My dear sir. I understand your frustration,” he said. “But you must have patience. A week of rest is worth a month of attempted action, passed in agony, in my opinion.”

  Henry chuckled and it hurt so he stopped. “I agree, Father.”

  “Good. So, when I prescribe a week in bed, I expect to be heeded, young man.”

  Henry nodded. In some ways, it was a relief to have someone take charge. “Yes, Father.”

  As the physician finished his work, Henry sighed. Now he was stuck in this place, badly injured, with a man who wanted him dead and all alone. I think Amice has decided she hates me.

  At least, I think Adair suspects something. With Amice on his side...he shook his head. She might be enamored of the fellow, but she wouldn't betray him.

  She's flippant, not cruel.

  All the same, as he lay there listening to the physician quietly leave, he felt as if she had wounded him worse than the brawler had. He had trusted her, slept beside her. He had loved her. He knew that now. Why did he know that now, when it was too late? I am a fool.

  He heard footsteps in the hallway. The fire had died down now, and he could barely see anything other than the ruddy glow of the coals in the grate. He tensed. Who was there?

  He sat up in bed, wincing as the bandage moved and the wound pulled painfully. He breathed through his mouth and waited. Clop. Clop. The footfall was coming closer.

  Henry rolled sideways, planning to ambush the prowler. He slid out of the bed onto the floor, glad that his arms held his weight as he reached down. He was invisible now, concealed in darkness. He was also blind.

  The door opened and he wished he could see who entered. All he could see was the patch of faint light where the night was less dark out beyond the door than here. The footsteps stopped.

  Then, so slowly, so quietly, someone tiptoed in. Henry held his breath. Whoever it was meant to kill him. He had no doubt about it. He lay very still, keeping his breath regular. It was rasping in his throat and he could feel his heart thumping, loud and hard, in his chest.

  The footsteps scuffed towards the bed. He felt his muscles tighten. Don't move. Don't breathe. Shut your eyes, or the reflection from the edge will give you away. He shut his eyes.

  Whoever it was reached out to touch the bed. Stopped. He heard them step closer, clearly wondering where the person who was supposed to be asleep there had gone.

  There! He saw the sway of cloth as the person moved. They were heading to the end of the bed. They were almost in the firelight, and he could almost see them coming closer and closer...

  Light. Warm and golden, it shone in through the open door.

  “Henry?” a voice said. He knew that voice. Amice!

  He wanted to shout out. However, whoever it was, they had heard too. They turned in the doorway. Amice screamed. Henry stood up then, as whomever it was rushed at her.

  “Amice!”

  She moved and ran toward him just as the would-be murderer ran out. Amice slipped and almost fell into his embrace.

  “Henry! Oh, dearest...” she sobbed. He held her close, his arms tight around her warm, shivering body as she sobbed against his chest. “What happened?”

  He sighed. He was still shaking. As he slowed down, he was suddenly aware she was wearing thin linen. So was he, as far as that went. He was in his night attire. So was she. He stepped back.

  “Amice, my dear,” he said. “We shouldn't...”

  “I won't leave you.”

  He smiled. “Sweet of you, dearest.”

  “I can't risk it coming back.” She spoke harshly. “Besides, if whoever that is hasn't left, I want to be with you.”

  Henry chuckled softly. He knew it was dangerous. Apart from the fact that whoever it was might be in the castle – if anyone saw her in his chambers their reputations would both be finished.

  At this point, does it matter? I'm not even who I say I am. And as myself, I have no reputation to speak of. For her sake, though, I ought to refuse. But...

  “I will be safe,” he insisted. His voice was rough. He wasn't sure whether the person would return that night, and the thought of being in here alone when they did was unpleasant. The thought of having her here, though, was...too good.

  He shivered, though not from tension. He sank down onto the bed. She was already sitting there. He stared.

  She wore her hair down, and it hung about her sweet form like
a curtain. Her body was sweetly curvy, her full breasts tight and pressing at the fabric of the loose-cut dress. She sat with her head bent forward, the flame of her hair bright around her, long arms loose beside her.

  “Amice,” he said gently. He slid down into the bed, aware that there was nowhere for her to sleep. “You cannot stay here.”

  “I will not leave,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Well, I'd rather that you didn't, if I tell the truth.”

  Her eyes widened. “But, Henry?”

  “What?” he asked. She looked so taken aback that he had to laugh. “What is it, dearest?”

  She smiled at him. “You are the most...” she shook her head. “You were so cross!”

  “Me?” Now he was really confused. “I wasn't cross, dearest. Sad, yes. But cross?”

  “Sad?” Amice stared at him. “That was you, sad?” She shook her head again. “Why were you sad?”

  He chuckled. “You needn't make it sound like I was dancing naked in front of the queen's council chamber. I was sad because I thought...” he shook his head. “Forgive me, dearest.”

  “Forgive you for what?” Her voice was suspicious. He had to smile.

  “Forgive me for being a little possessive of you. I know it's stupid of me. I mean, I only...” he trailed off. She was spluttering.

  “You were possessive of me? How? When?” She sounded angry, but she was smiling.

  “Earlier. When you were...” he trailed off. “I shouldn't comment. I have no claim, no right to.”

  “Comment on what?” she asked. “Henry, for the love of reason, will you just tell me?”

  He chuckled. “If you insist.”

  “Mm.”

  He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. The light from her lantern was spreading warmly through the room and he could see the glow of it waver and dance on the beams. Her skin glowed in the lamplight and it flamed brightly in the copper river of her locks.