Free Threads of Silk by Linda Lee Chaikin

with two riders as small as children. “The Queen Mother’s dwarves,” she whispered. The sight sent a shudder along her nerves.
    The twosome left the horse with the hostlers and marched resolutely in quick, short steps toward the court entrance, with their black capes over crimson waistcoats fluttering like bat wings in the wind.
    “Romulus and Remus, the twins,” Fabien said wearily.
    The dwarves raised their heads in unison and looked up toward the balustrade.
    “Go down to meet them. Find out what treachery they bring,” Fabien said to Gallaudet.
    When he’d gone, Rachelle flung her hand to her forehead and paced.
    Fabien snatched up his scabbard. “I should never have remained here waiting for the lettre from Madame. I knew I should have ridden out this morning! Even my men-at-arms are restless. I am playing right into her trap.”
    Rachelle rushed to him, gripping him desperately. “Non, you did the honorable thing to write to Madame.” Even so, she felt a dart of guilt.
    She was the cause of their delay. Had it not been for her, they would be on their way to Dieppe to rendezvous with Capitaine Nappier.
    His arms tightened around her. “Honorable? Perhaps, but she’s had time to arrange her traps. If nothing more, I should have sent you ahead with Gallaudet until I knew what the duchesse would say.”
    “Non, I would not go without you.”
    He smiled, but there was a flash of steel in the blue gaze. “You will, and must, do what I tell you.”
    “Perhaps I should return with the dwarves. I will face her and convince her that I cannot marry Maurice. You go on to Dieppe with your men. Perhaps I will soon be able to slip away.”
    His mouth tipped with a cynically amused smile. “That would be nearly impossible, ma belle. I would kill if need be before allowing you to be taken captive.”
    She stared at him. The hard glitter in his intense gaze convinced her.
    “Fabien, mon amour, do not even say it.”
    “Rachelle, you do not understand. The Duc of Alva is at Fontaineb-leau, his blood boiling to take me in chains to Spain for sinking his galleon. The Queen Mother has her plans, and Maurice his. And my plans oppose all three of them.”
    “You should not have come for me,” she cried. “Your life is in danger now because of me!”
    His eyes narrowed. “I came for what I wanted, and I expect to have you in marriage.” He loosened his hold on her. “The dwarves have seen you, so we will bluff them with our boldness and portray cooperation. It will confuse them, and give us more time.”
    “They turn me cold. I am sure one of them entered Grandmère Dushane’s bedchamber when she lay dying and removed the poisonous gloves.”
    “Yes, the gloves . . . another of Catherine’s distinctive ploys.”
    “Then you, at least, believe as I, that she did it?”
    “I know what her royal ambition is capable of, and that sort of poisoning is typical of her past tactics.”
    “After Grandmère’s death I sought for the gloves in the Louvre appartement and could not find them, yet the ladies-in-waiting said she’d left them on her bureau after returning from shopping. Only later did one of them tell me she saw “a small ghost” coming out of Grandmère’s bedchamber late one night after her illness deepened. It must have been one of the dwarves; she described him perfectly.”
    “I am not surprised, chérie. The Queen Mother must have instructed one of them to remove the evidence. They rival only Madalenna in doing her bidding. The motive for your grandmère’s death remains a mystery, but I suspect the Queen Mother discovered that you had entered her private chamber, taken the key to the listening closet, and passed it to me. While she spies on others, she cannot endure the thought of someone spying on her. I think your grandmère and Madeleine were simply part of her long, vengeful reach.”
    “And yet the red gift box she gave me was the only one that did not contain poisoned gloves.”
    “So