The Beauty of the Mist Read Online Free PDF Page B

young woman whispered quietly. Maria had asked him as she struggled to take his place at the oars. But she knew his soul reached his Maker long before their prayers would.
    “Pablo,” the man repeated shortly, turning to Isabel. “Very well. Tell me, was it your ship? The one that went down?”
    Isabel shook her head quickly in denial.
    “Ah, well.” The man started for the door, but then stopped before Maria and pointed to a small bowl of liquid and some clean dressings. “I’ll leave these with you. You might change her dressing if it begins to smell badly. And Sir John will be down directly. He appears to be impatient to have some questions answered. But don’t worry about your mother, my dear. She is going to be fine.”
    “She is not—” Maria caught herself, “—not going to die, then?”
    “Nay, lass,” the man wheezed wearily, before turning again for the door. “I’ve given her something to make her sleep. I’ll send the lad back in a wee bit. If you need me, have him fetch me.”
    Without any further ceremony, the man shuffled out into the dark corridor with the young boy at his heel.
    Maria waited until the cabin door was shut behind them, then moved quickly to the side of her aunt’s bed.
    “They are Scots!”
    Isabel patted the blanket next to her, and Maria sat down at once.
    “I can see that, my dear,” Isabel concurred, her eyes taking in the elegant furnishings of the cabin. “And not just any Scots. No doubt, this is part of the fleet that your brother summoned to come and take you back to their king.”
    Maria surveyed the cabin, as well. Though her experience aboard ships was somewhat limited, the size of the room surprised her. Running her swollen fingers over the fold of crisp white linen that covered her aunt, Maria glanced at the rich, burgundy damask drape that hung around the bunk, and the matching coverlet. A window seat beneath a small glazed window was covered with velvet cushions, and carved chairs surrounded a table that held fine crystal and several plates of cheese and fruit. An odd discomfort spread through her as she realized where the ship’s commander had put them.
    “This was to be my cabin!” she cried in dismay.
    “You aren’t going to put your old auntie out, now, are you, dear?” the older woman chuckled.
    Maria took Isabel’s hand. “What am I to do? What would they think if they find out who we are?”
    “Does it matter what they think?” Isabel yawned and stretched her body in the comfortable bed.
    “If I am to be their queen...” Maria whispered.
    “You are right.” Isabel agreed, keeping her voice low. “If you are to be their queen, then I’d say, you have already lost any chance at their respect. After all, you’re supposed to be sitting high and dry in Antwerp, waiting for them to arrive, not rowing in the open seas in an effort to escape them. But that’s assuming you ever do become their queen.”
    “I can’t tell them who I am.” Maria said decisively. “I am going to Castile, not to Scotland.”
    “You...” Isabel yawned again. “You are going to Antwerp, my dear. That’s where they are headed.”
    Maria looked at her aunt helplessly. “But I can’t. Can you imagine the embarrassment? I wouldn’t be able to face Charles. He would never forgive me. Being found adrift at sea by the same people sent to convey me to their home. By the Virgin, the shame that would come of it.”
    “I thought none of this mattered. I thought you had resigned yourself to accept your brother’s wrath.”
    “I had resigned myself,” Maria said despondently. “But that was when I thought we could face him from afar. Not when I thought we’d be dragged back and handed right over to him. You know the power that he wields. How persuasive he is. Never in my life have I won an argument with him tête-à-tête.”
    Maria sighed. Though she hated the thought of it, since she was little, she had always let her brother have his own way. Charles was a