The Highland Secret Agent

by Emilia Ferguson

  “I think the inn-keeper would have finished me,” he chuckled, chewing on some chestnuts. He cracked her one and passed it to her gently. “He looked murderous.”

  Amice giggled. “Well, at least we know he keeps an eye out for his customers. I hope he doesn't make trouble for us.”

  “I'm sure he won't,” Henry demurred. He licked a spot on the side of his left index finger ruefully. “The gravy burned!”

  Amice smiled sadly. “I'm sorry, dear. I wish we had something to put on it.”

  “It's not bad.”

  They finished their simple repast in silence and then, slowly, undressed and got ready for bed.

  “I'll go over there,” Henry said quickly. “You can go behind the bed curtain.”

  “Very well,” Amice agreed. She drew the curtain and slid out of her dress. She did it with delicious urgency, conscious all the time she was undressing that he was so close.

  He could turn round any moment and draw the curtain.

  She slipped into her nightgown. “Ready,” she called. She waited and, when she heard the floor shift, she moved round the curtain and drew it back, clambering into bed.

  He was across the room from her, dressed in the formless night shirt. It hung to his feet, a sheer linen gown from his shoulders, buttoned up the front. She stared at him. He was so handsome. She moved shyly aside.

  “You can sleep here,” she said. Her throat was scratchy, her mouth oddly dry as if she had sucked citrons.

  He sat down, the bed shifting below him. Then he swung his legs onto the bed and slipped under the covers.

  “It's cold outside,” he murmured.

  Amice lay still. She nodded. “It is. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” he whispered. He said something else and it was only as she turned over, turning her back on him, that she realized what it was.

  Goodnight, my love.

  She closed her eyes and squeezed back the tears. She loved him so much! She wanted him so much! She was so touched by those words he spoke. Then, tired out, she fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ON THE ROAD AGAIN

  ON THE ROAD AGAIN

  The next morning Henry awoke feeling deliciously warm. He rolled over and looked at Amice where she laid, head pillowed beside his. She had turned in her sleep and he was looking into her sweet face. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes resting on her cheeks. He felt as if he had never seen anything so beautiful before.

  She was breathing low, even breaths. Her shoulder rose and fell with them, covered by the creamy linen of her gown. It showed her neck, bare and soft, and he ached to kiss her.

  “Amice,” he murmured.

  Her eyelids flickered. He watched her stir and, slowly, come to wakefulness. Her eyelids fluttered and he found himself looking into her brown eyes.

  He let out a breath. If I survive this mission, I will wake up like this every morning – duty notwithstanding – until the end of my days.

  It was a promise to himself. Yes, their families would probably object. Yes, he would likely have to turn his back on his life as the baron's son and spend the rest of it as a humble seafarer. However, it would be worth it. Anything would be.

  She stared at him. Her soft lips drew back in a smile. “Henry,” she whispered.

  “Amice.”

  He sat up in the bed, the pillow behind him. He had to move a little, put just a little distance between them or he would definitely do something he would regret. He coughed.

  “We...we should think about moving on today,” he said cautiously.

  “Mm.” Amice stretched. He closed his eyes. He was not going to think about how stunning she was. He was not going to think about kissing her. He was absolutely not going to think about how wonderful it would be to be on top of her, his arms round her, tongue exploring her even as the rest of him...

  “Let's get up,” he said harshly.

  She blinked. “Well, if you insist,” she said, sounding a little surprised. “Myself, I like to be peaceful for a bit before I hurl myself into the day, but other people...” she muttered, looking at him with big eyes, “other people have other ways of doing things.”

  He laughed. “My dear, I assure you that, were it at all possible, I would spend whole days doing just that. But now, we have a spy to find.” He swung his legs out of the bed and drew the covers over the mattress fastidiously.

  “We do,” Amice agreed. She had got out of bed as well and was straightening the covers, making her side neat and tidy. She went to the dressing table. “It's a sunny day.”

  “Mm,” Henry nodded. “First one we've had.”

  “It is,” Amice agreed. She stretched and he closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the careless display of magnificence that was her simply inhabiting her body.

  He coughed again. His throat was very tight! He knew it was because he was focused entirely on his longing for her. He rinsed his face in the icy pitcher. There! That ought to cool his head.

  He chuckled as he toweled face and hair, reaching for his tunic. He stopped.

  “Turn round,” he said quickly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He heard her shift in the seat and cautiously drew the nightwear over his head. He was wearing a pair of breeks but nothing else. He drew on trousers and turned round to lift his tunic from the bed. To catch her staring.

  “Amice!” he scolded. He felt himself blush and she blushed too. They were both giggling helplessly now, like naughty children. His shoulders shook. “The idea!” he said, with mock affront. “And there I was believing that you were looking away!”

  “I'm so sorry,” she said, her broad grin belying her words. She giggled. “I am awful, aren't I?” She shook her head, shocked. He laughed.

  “No, you aren't. I have to admit I'm not in the least upset about it. Now come on,” he added with a grin. “We really ought to have some repast. We have to go.”

  Amice nodded. “Now,” she said, standing. “I am going to draw the bed curtain and I will absolutely not countenance any watchers.”

  “You have my word,” he said solemnly. They both giggled.

  “Henry, I'm serious,” she said firmly.”

  “Very well. I promise.”

  He went and stood on the other end of the room, near the door. He could hear the sweet sounds of her moving about behind the screening presence of the curtain and he let his imagination take wing. He was flushed and aching with longing by the time she appeared.

  “Ready,” she said. She saw his expression and her face fell. “You didn't peek. Did you?”

  Henry grinned. “No, my dear. I promise. I was here all along.”

  “I believe you,” she said, looking at him trustingly from under her brows. “Now, let's go and find some breakfast.”

  “Yes.”

  Laughing, his heart feeling light in ways it had never felt in his life, or at least in any of his remembering, he followed her down the stairs to the dining room and breakfast.

  The diners all gave them a wide berth. The inn-keeper gave Henry a dark glance but brought them breakfast. The red-haired spy did not arrive.

  As they ate, enjoying the breakfast of fresh baked loaves and hard-boiled eggs and milk, they discussed their plans.

  “We need to go back to the manor,” Henry said. He was angry now. “I need to find out what that man is playing at.”

  “You mean the duke?” Amice asked, frowning. “Shouldn't we just ignore it? As long as we can stay out of his reach.”

  “I can't ignore it,” Henry said, shaking his head. “First, because I need to find out what's happening – it's my duty to the crown to do so. Second, because that man could have killed you. It can't go unanswered.”

  Amice shook her head. She was smiling though, the expression gentle on her sweet lips. “You don't need to be angry about that anymore,” she said. “We should just forget about it.”

  “Mm,” Henry agreed reluctantly. “I know it's what I should do. I might put you in wo
rse danger if I don't. But I can't rest until I find out why he's doing this. Does he know who I really am? Or does he think I am the French spy?”

  Amice raised a brow. “I didn't consider that. How will you know?”

  “I don't know yet,” Henry said softly. “We might have to think about that as we go along.”

  “Very well,” Amice agreed. “Well, if we have a good breakfast, we'll be better able to consider that.”

  Henry laughed. “Sensible as always.” He reached for another slice of the loaf. “I like that.”

  Amice blushed. “Thank you, dear.”

  He helped them both to more bread and they sat in contented silence, watching the inn come slowly awake. Out beyond the window, a cart left the yard and at another a man hefted bags of grain, carrying them awkwardly into the storehouse.

  Henry chewed on the fresh-baked bread and considered their various different options. If we go back to the duke's home, what can we do? We can't exactly rush in and confront him. We know how many guards he has in there.

  What did he think he was going to do? Storm into the great hall and accuse the duke of Cullver of trying to kill him? He was a spy: all of Scotland would applaud the duke for that. How could he find out whose side the man was on? The only way he could think of was via Adair.

  “Henry?” Amice asked.

  “Mm?” Her words startled out of a world where he confronted the duke and faced his own death.

  “If we make good time, we might reach Dunkeld in five days' time.”

  “Oh.” Henry frowned. “Well, you are the one who knows where we're going.” He was surprised by the tumult of feelings that her statement raised in him. When we get there, she'll be so pleased to be back with her family, she'll likely forget all about me. After all, for all our closeness on this journey, she is one of them. I don't belong to her world.

  “I suppose so,” she said quietly. Henry frowned, wondering what he had done to upset her. She's probably just overwrought, he decided. I am being unfair. After all, we both narrowly escaped death yesterday.

  They finished their breakfast and Henry stretched, and then made a decision. “I think I have to go back, my dear. But you should stay here.”

  Amice gave him one of her special looks. One of the ones that questioned his sanity. “I'm not letting you go anywhere alone.”

  “Amice...” he sighed. “Please. It's for your safety.”

  “Oh.” She looked at him blankly. “So you expect to leave me here in a town where I know no one, while you go off and get yourself killed. Because that's so much safer for me.”

  “You have a point,” he admitted.

  “I do that sometimes.”

  Henry roared with laughter. “There's no one like you in the whole world, I hope you know.”

  “You can thank your lucky stars for that,” she said with a smile. “Were there, we'd drive you barmy.”

  He shook his head and reached a hand across the table to hers. “No. No, you wouldn't. If there were more people like you, the world would be a much better place.”

  Amice sighed. “You shouldn't say such things.”

  “Not even when I mean them?”

  She just smiled. “Oh, Henry.”

  He patted her hand fondly and raised a brow. “Shall we go?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Yes.”

  They had a dangerous enemy to confront and a spy to find. Time was running short.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  UNCERTAINTY AND FLIGHT

  UNCERTAINTY AND FLIGHT

  The road back to Cullver was long and winding and Amice was in a subdued frame of mind. She rode beside Henry silently, the woods around them quiet except for the slight rustle of a bird somewhere in a thicket or the wind in the bare branches.

  Amice watched Henry as they rode. She had a sense of such foreboding in her heart. She drank in every sight of him, trying to commit as much of him to memory as she could: The way he sat so straight in the saddle. The wind gently tousling his soft blond hair. The way his blue eyes softened when he smiled. Each tiny detail was precious to her.

  When we get to Dunkeld, it will likely be goodbye. She tried to imagine her parents' reaction to her love of Henry. What would she tell them? That she couldn't marry the man to whom they had promised her, because she had decided to marry an English spy instead? She chuckled.

  “What, dear?” Henry asked. He gave her a sad smile. He looked as worried as she felt.

  She shook her head. No need to burden him with her thoughts. “Nothing. I just had a funny thought.”

  “Oh.” he raised a brow, as if he wanted to know what the funny thought was about, but she didn't want to say and he didn't insist.

  A twig cracked in the woods and Amice stiffened. She was getting needlessly jumpy, she told herself. The last thing the duke would expect was them returning to his manor. Even so, she felt horribly uneasy.

  Crackle. Crack.

  More twigs breaking. Along with a rustle in the leaves. Amice stopped her horse. Henry turned round.

  “Did you hear that too?” Henry whispered.

  “Yes.”

  They both stopped and listened. Amice could feel her heart thudding in her chest and her palms were slick with sweat. She expected an arrow to appear at any moment. At length, a deer appeared in the clearing. Henry let out a long sigh of relief and the deer heard him, taking off into the bushes.

  They both grinned.

  “Whew!” Amice said. Henry chuckled.

  “Indeed. I'm starting to get jumpy.”

  “Me, too.”

  They rode along in silence. The woods were thinning out, the sun shining out through the high clouds to show them the gray wall that marked the boundary of the manor grounds.

  Henry stopped his horse. “What shall we do?”

  Amice swallowed hard. “Should we go in?” An idea was starting to form in her mind, a dangerous but plausible one. Henry shook his head.

  “If we go in just like this, we'll be as good as prisoners.”

  “Mm.” Amice cleared her throat. “I have an idea. What if I go in alone, and confide in Adair that something has happened to you? If the duke thinks you're dead, he won't try and kill you.”

  Henry stared at her. “Brilliant!”

  Amice blushed. “Thank you, dear.”

  Henry was grinning. She could see he was thinking hard, taking the idea and expanding on it in his mind. “If you're staying there,” he began, “and the duke is waiting to hear confirmation of my death, then mayhap I can sneak in and look around. I need to see his private correspondence.”

  Amice frowned. “I don't want you doing anything dangerous, dear.”

  “I don't want you doing anything dangerous, either,” Henry countered hotly. “I just said I'm going to be sending you unaccompanied into the duke's clutches. We can each take a risk.”

  Amice sighed. “Henry, you should stop worrying so much about me.” She shook her head, a weary smile on her lips.

  “I will when you stop worrying about me,” he retorted.

  They laughed. After a long silence, he reached out a hand to her. “Amice?”

  “Yes?”

  “I...if something happens to me, I need to know this.”

  “Know what?” Amice asked softly.

  “I need to know I told you how much I admire and love you.”

  Amice stared at him. She swallowed. Her words were in her throat and she couldn't say them. Her eyes stung and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I love you, Henry,” she whispered.

  He looked into her eyes. She could read the love in the depths of them, sweet, strong, and true. She turned in the saddle and reached a hand to his cheek. He reached up to it and kissed the back of her fingers. Squeezed it hard. Then turned away, coughing.

  “We should go. We need to plan what we must say.”

  “Yes,” Amice nodded. “I already have some ideas.”

  Henry nodded. “Good. Well, you've shown what a fine actress you are, so I tru
st you will manage just perfectly.”

  Amice giggled. “Thank you, Henry.”

  “My pleasure.” He looked at her with a wistful expression.

  “What?” she asked, her own throat tight with controlled tears.

  “That is the image of you I will always hold in memory.” He shook his head. “With your hair loose and the mist on your eyelashes, smiling at me.”

  Amice coughed. She reached for a handkerchief. “Don't, Henry,” she said, voice muffled by the cloth as she dabbed at her flowing tears. “Don't talk like that. We'll both come out of this alive.”

  “I hope so.”

  She gripped his hand. “I know it.”

  He nodded. “Very well. I know it too. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Now. When I'm in place, I'll come out on the ramparts. Then you'll know what to do.”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Good idea. Go safely.”

  “Take care.”

  She rode.

  The sentries were on the lookout posts, the gate that led into the manor's courtyard closed. Amice cleared her throat. She was still in the cover of the trees, though in a moment she would be in view of the lookout posts. She brought her role to mind. Distressed lady, witness to a murder. Then she squeezed with her knees, urging her horse to a canter.

  She shot up to the gate, hair flying around her face, wind streaming and catching her dirty blue velvet cloak.

  “Who goes there?” one of the sentries called.

  “Help me!” Amice shouted up imploringly. “Oh, please!”

  The man started hauling on the rope to raise the gate. “Come inside.”

  Amice slowed her horse and entered the manor at a walk.

  “My lady,” the guard said gently, walking down from the guard post. “What ails you?” He rested a hand on her arm, and Amice stiffened so he withdrew respectfully.

  “I am Lady Amice,” she said shakily. “Daughter of the thane of Dunkeld. I am a friend of Lord Adair...I need to see him. Please?”

  The man nodded briskly. “Of course, my lady. I will send word to him at once. But follow me. He would have my skin for target practice if aught harmed you.”