Free The Queen's Gamble by Barbara Kyle Page A

back, stretching his legs out farther to the fire, content to be in this fine room in this fine house, and yet sensing again—an odd feeling that sometimes struck him—that he didn’t belong in it. Strange, since he was worth as much as Thornleigh, maybe more. He wondered if he would ever get used to the fact of his own wealth. Him, the bastard son of a camp follower. Never even knew who his father was. And look at me now, he thought, feeling more wonder than pride. In his mind his success was linked with Isabel. He had done it all for her.
    He glanced at the window where a light snow was falling. Where was she, anyway? Gone to buy Christmas gifts, the chamberlain had said, but she’d been out for hours. He wished she had taken a manservant with her. This could be a rough city. He had friends in Spain who were shocked at the liberty English women took, going out into the streets with no male kinfolk. But Carlos had seen Isabel manage situations rougher than most people ever had to face.
    Still, it was getting late.
    And in more ways than one, he thought. Time for them to get home to Trujillo. Past time. He had a lot to see to. The troubles with the Potosí silver mine, for one thing. He had invested a lot in the mine, maybe too much.
    “There, good as new.” Thornleigh had fixed the wheel. Nico beamed his thanks and took the toy over to Carlos and ran it back and forth along his father’s thigh to show him it was working. Carlos absently stroked the boy’s hair, still thinking about the mine. He needed information about the problems and was hoping for a letter from Enrique Hernandez, his majordomo. He had told Enrique to send it to the Spanish embassy.
    “So,” Thornleigh said. “What’s your opinion?”
    Carlos wanted no part in this developing war, and he hoped Thornleigh wasn’t expecting that he did. He could honey the facts, tell the old man what he wanted to hear. Put this English problem behind him and sail back home with Isabel and Nicolas. But he and Thornleigh had been through a lot together. Carlos had no stomach for lying to him.
    “The Scottish rebels might hold their own against the French for a while,” he said. “The Scots are tough fighters. But they’re not soldiers. They never come to the field with more than two weeks’ rations. And if it comes down to a battle for Edinburgh, that means the fortress at Leith, which the French hold, and the Scots have none of the big ordnance they’d need against those fortifications. If the French stand on the defensive until the Scots exhaust their provisions, the Scottish fighters will head back to their homes, and their leaders will be forced to yield. Then the French will be in an ideal position to march into England—they’d have a victory under their belts, and massive troop strength, and seasoned commanders. And England?” He shrugged. “No standing army. Few able captains. The Queen could raise a force of experienced foreign troops if she could afford it, but does she have the money?”
    “No,” Thornleigh conceded bleakly. “She’s nearly bankrupt.”
    “And unless those troops are levied right away, they’ll arrive too late.” He looked Thornleigh in the eye. “The French have come when your new Queen is weak. England cannot be defended. If the French want to take her, they can.”
    He watched the full weight of this estimate sink in. Thornleigh rubbed his forehead, thinking. Carlos hoped the old man would not cling to delusions of victory. He had found that people’s delusions were often impossible to shake. “What does Adam say?”
    “That he has a job to do. Defend England. That’s all he sees.”
    “And you?”
    Thornleigh turned to him. He said soberly, “I think you’re right.”
    Carlos was surprised, but relieved. His father-in-law was a realist after all.
    “That’s why I want to ask a favor of you.” Thornleigh lowered his voice, although Nico was oblivious to their talk, busily playing with his toy on the floor.