The Queen's Captive Read Online Free Page A

never before seen Richard despondent. During everything they had lived through, he had always faced the challenges head on, alchemizing dangers and turning them to his advantage, whether outsmarting the bishop of Norwich’s henchmen or bedeviling the Church’s murderous inquisitors. It almost seemed that he’d thrived on it. But this—being unable to provide for his family—had unmanned him. Honor did not know how to help him.
    When she rejoined her guests, Adam was rummaging in his burlap sack and pulled out a sleek, black pelt. The women gasped at its opulence, and Dorothy Hales exclaimed, “A sable!”
    Adam draped it around Isabel’s throat. “From the forests of Russia, Bel.” She beamed as she stroked the silken fur. “And what do you think of this?” he said. He lifted out a carved wooden figure the size of his hand, a Russian peasant woman so plump she was pear shaped, with clothes and a kerchief painted in bright red and yellow and green. He set it in Isabel’s hand, then winked at her. “Watch.”
    He pulled off the top half of the figure. Nested inside was a surprise: another figure, identical but smaller, a baby replica of the original. The guests cried “Ahhh” in delight.
    “They call it a matroshka, ” Adam said.
    “From the Latin root, mater, I should think—mother,” John Cheke said helpfully. “What a quaint fertility symbol.”
    Isabel turned scarlet, tears springing to her eyes even as she kept smiling. She pressed her face against Carlos’s broad chest as though to hide her embarrassment. He wrapped a protective arm around her, his face beaming pride. “She was going to tell you later. Isabel is—”
    “With child,” Honor blurted. She’d guessed it the moment she saw Isabel’s happy tears.
    Isabel turned back, sniffling and smiling, and nodded to her.
    “When?” someone asked.
    “Wedding night,” Carlos said, grinning.
    Isabel playfully swatted his shoulder. “April,” she said.
    “A little April fool, just like its mother,” Adam said, and before she could snap a retort he kissed her cheek.
    Honor nudged past the guests and enfolded her daughter in her arms. “Oh, my darling.” She held Isabel so tightly it sent a stab of pain through her tender rib.
    Isabel saw her flinch and quickly let her go, whispering, “I’m sorry, Mother.” She knew how near death that bullet had left Honor. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes, yes, fine. And so very happy for you.”
    The news of the baby sparked new life into the party and the guests threw themselves into eating and drinking with fresh gusto. Some bombarded Adam with questions about how the Russians lived, while others heatedly debated the Spaniards’ harsh rule in Peru, where Carlos was headed to captain the governor’s cavalry. And the dancing began. Honor wanted to hurry upstairs and give Richard the sweet news about the baby, but Henry Killigrew tugged her out to join the dance and was bowing to her to the strain of “Greensleeves” when Adam came to her side.
    “Can I speak to you?”
    His sober look was so at odds with his cheerful mood moments ago. What is wrong? Honor wondered. She excused herself to Henry and followed Adam to a deserted alcove behind the bowl of spiced wine.
    “I’ve been round to the Kortewegs,” he said to her quietly. “It’s off. No betrothal. No wedding.”
    Honor was shocked. “But, I thought you and Margriet had an understanding.”
    “We did.”
    “What changed her mind?”
    “Not her. Her father.”
    “Why? He found you suitable enough at Michaelmas.”
    “That was before Cadiz.”
    Honor felt it as a blow. Margriet Korteweg, daughter of a wealthy Antwerp burgher; Adam Thornleigh, son of a near-bankrupt. “He’s refused his consent?”
    Adam nodded. He watched the dancing as though he was considering joining in, not for fun but for a diversion. He looked angry, Honor thought. And sounded angry. Not in an ominous way as though he meant to strike back, more like he had