UNCERTAINTY AND DOUBT
As they rode away from the port, Henry felt his spirits lift, only to feel them sink again with a growing unease. They were reaching the end of their travels, he realized, frowning worriedly.
The chief worry, of course, was what her family would think of him. He was foreign. Worse than that, he was English. The tensions between the two countries were high. Would her family accept him? Probably not.
If the duke's attitude is anything to go on, I doubt it.
The duke had certainly known he was English. That he had discovered while at the castle. He had read a letter the man had sent to the local bishop, denouncing Henry and asking for pardon for the murder.
He wouldn't have referred to me as a cursed English swine if he thought I was French, I don't think.
That was what he had written in his latest letter home. He had little else to report besides the fact that his presence had been detected. That in itself was likely enough to see his spying come to an abrupt and decisive end. However, he was happy with that.
“Henry?” Amice called to him.
“Yes?”
“Look. We can see a ship.”
“Yes.” There was a merchant ship heading out of the harbor, into the bay, the wind stiff in white canvas sails.
I can be a simple sailor if I leave. I would rather be a simple sailor wed to Amice, of course.
He looked out of the corner of his eye as they rode together. She was so beautiful, her back straight as she rode, her hair loose and washing about her shoulders like red rain.
She grinned at him, spurring her horse ahead and he sighed. He knew one thing. His life would be empty without her. He could almost wish that the assassin had killed him in the inn, than think of facing life without her now.
“Whee!” she shouted, riding along the sea cliffs, her hair streaming back, the blue cloak billowing behind her.
During their stay at the monastery, she had acquired some plain linen sheets and sewed herself a gown of sorts, a long tunic that she belted at the waist. It was shapeless and creamy-white but it suited her. He watched her, drawing breath at the beauty of her.
She was like no woman he had ever known. He had met plenty of women, and had many lovers, but none of them had captivated him the way she had. He was hers, and he would love her always.
“Henry?” she called, riding back to him. She was breathless, her face flushed, and his whole body ached as she looked up at him, her pink lips moist and alluring.
“Yes?”
“When I rode up to Queensferry, we stopped at a town called Seafirth. I think we should stop there tonight, yes?”
Henry shrugged. “You're the one who's done this before,” he said mildly. She grinned.
“I suppose so, yes. Well, luckily I remember the way.”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Or we'd be in trouble.”
She laughed. “Oh, Henry. I can't wait to be home again!”
“I'm sure,” Henry said. His heart contracted as she said it. He didn't want the journey to end, he realized. He had been on the run for so much of it and now that they could finally relax a little, she was impatient for it to be over. He sighed.
“I hope the monks deliver my letter,” he said, changing the subject as she rode alongside him.
“I'm sure they will,” she commented. “With their network of different abbeys, your letter couldn't be in better hands.”
“Indeed,” Henry nodded. He also had less concern about the duke intercepting it. Why would anyone expect his letter to travel with the monks?
“What did you find out?” Amice asked. “You don't have to tell me, of course,” she demurred. “I understand if you would rather not.”
He smiled. “Well, I can tell you that the duke knew who I was.”
“Oh,” Amice frowned. “How did you discover that?”
“Well, I don't think he'd call me an English swine if he didn't know.”
Amice covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no! I'm so sorry he said that. My countrymen can be rather forthright in their expressions.”
“Mm.” Henry said, frowning. “If...” he paused. He wanted to ask how he might be received at her home, but he didn't wish to worry her.
“What, Henry?” Amice frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said, smiling. “I was just thinking about...if we have to change horses, where will we do that?”
“Oh.” Amice paused, considering. “Well, we did it at Gorling. But I suppose we could change earlier?”
“No, our horses are fresh,” he said, then sighed. “I wish we hadn't had to leave your beautiful horses behind.”
Amice glared at him. “Don't remind me. I cried for two days about that.”
Henry closed his eyes. “I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't know that.” He shook his head. “How ill was I?”
“You were very ill,” Amice said. “Oh, Henry. I thought I would lose you, too.”
“That bad, eh?” he shuddered. He could still feel the way the wound tugged at his chest and he could remember some incidences of waking, his head in thudding torment, his body iced, and sweat dripping from him. However, it was all lost under the delirium of fever.
“Father Bruce was very skilled,” Amice commented. “I wish I could have thanked him properly.”
“Well, mayhap we will have a chance to thank our helpers,” he said. “I wish I could find Ainsley and thank her, too.” He had told Amice about the woman who had helped him escape the brawling.
“Yes.” Amice nodded. “Mayhap my father could find her somehow when he is next in Edinburgh.”
Henry frowned. Was she already seeing a future when he was in England? He shook his head. If he had half his wits, he would too.
The wind blew in from the sea, cold and salty. He breathed it in. It would be good to be back on a ship again. He made himself focus on that, and forget about the immediate difficulties of parting.
That night, they stopped at the village of Seafirth. Henry followed her to the inn and they requested a room for the night.
Upstairs, they entered the room cautiously. It was a small one, with a single vast bed dominating the space. A window looked out onto the horizon. Amice closed the door behind them and fussed at their packs, seeming distracted.
Henry looked out of the window, looking at the sunset, trying not to think about her and the fact that they would, again, be sharing a bed.
I don't know if I can keep myself away from her.
She gasped and he turned round, his loins aching with his need for her.
“What is it, dear?” he said, but his voice was tight in his throat and he had to cough to clear it.
“I just had a thought,” she said. “I have your handkerchief. “H.Q., it says. I just realized that I do not know your family's name.”
Henry stared at her. He laughed. “Quinn,” he said. “I'm Captain Quinn.”
Amice nodded. “Quinn,” she said. Then she laughed. “I can't quite believe it! I've been traveling with you all this time, and we are only just introduced. Pleased to meet you, Captain Quinn.”
He grinned. “Lady Amice. I am pleased to be able to make your acquaintance, finally.”
They were both helpless with giggles, then. Still laughing, he leaned forward and kissed her, gentle and slow. She sighed and her lips parted. Her arms folded round him and he felt his whole body responding to hers. He drew her against him, his loins hard with his need. She leaned forward and he tripped, collapsing onto the bed.
They lay together, surprised and breathless. She was beside him and he looked into her eyes. She leaned down to kiss him, her soft breasts pressing against his chest. He groaned and embraced her, pulling her against him.
His tongue thrust into her mouth and his whole body tensed with desire as it did so, the sweet warmth of her mouth on his making him mad with longing. His body was taut with need and he wished he could turn over and lie atop her, take off that beautiful, shapeless dress and move into her.
She was pressed against him, her mouth locked with his and her arms were round him. He stroked her hair, kissed her, and let his hands stroke her back, running down her spine to her soft buttocks. He could feel them through the linen, the muscles firm and he wanted to touch them, to feel them against him.
He groaned and sat up, his whole body pulsing. He shook his head.
“I'm sorry, Amice,” he said sadly. “You cannot imagine how much. But I cannot.”
She looked at him with wide brown eyes. “I know,” she whispered. Her own voice was tight. He sighed.
“We should have our repast,” he said ruefully. “And then sleep.”
“Yes.”
They were both subdued when they slipped downstairs into the dining room. A supper of fish and ale soon restored their spirits, however, and they were talking and laughing again before long.
Amice told him a bit about her family – it seemed she lived with an unfathomable number of aunts, uncles, and cousins.
“That's remarkable,” he said. “It was just me and Father, almost all my life.”
“Oh,” Amice said, covering her mouth sorrowfully. “That's terrible.”
Henry laughed. “Not really. I mean, I didn't know any better, did I?”
She laughed. “Oh, Henry.”
“What?” he said.
She just grinned and his hand found hers and squeezed it. He sometimes thought that if he lost her, he would lose his heart. She was so much a part of it already.
That night, they tiptoed up to the bedchamber. Amice reached for her belt and untied it. He felt his whole body shudder when he saw her do that.
“Don't look,” Amice whispered. He nodded. He turned his back and obediently looked the other way. He turned round in time to see her take the tunic over her head, her long pale back and two round, hard buttocks exposed. His breath caught in his throat and he thought he might actually collapse from need. She reached for her night attire and the shapeless dress covered her from view. She turned round and he heard her sit on the bed.
“Ready,” she called. “Your turn.”
“I would ask you not to look,” he said with a grin as he reached for his shirt, and then turned to face the opposite end of the room, “but I suspect you wouldn't listen anyway.”
She laughed. He heard her delicious giggle and it fired his poor body to greater longing still.
“No,” she said.
“No what?” he asked as he turned round, shrugging on the shirt.
“No I wouldn't.”
They both laughed and slid into bed.
“Goodnight,” she whispered.
“Goodnight.”
He heard her turn and stifled a groan, then turned round himself, closing his eyes tightly.
He had expected to be tormented by his body and its need, but he was much more tired than he thought he was and, before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.