Of One Heart

chapter 27





April 15-19, 1533



Sandhurst was standing in his bedchamber, putting folded doublets into a carved chest, when Cicely appeared at the door.

"I've brought you some wine," she said hesitantly, holding out the pewter goblet. "And... I came to say I am sorry for the way I behaved."

He was still tense with anger, but the sight of her looking so small and repentant in the doorway softened his heart. Cicely was still a child, after all, and deserved a second chance.

Stretching out an arm, Andrew smiled slightly when she put down the wine and rushed into his embrace.

"Say you've forgiven me!" she begged, her face pressed against his velvet doublet. "You're the only person I love in all the world!"

"Of course I forgive you, child. That goes without saying. But"—he tipped her chin up and stared hard into her tear-filled eyes—"you must never behave that way toward Micheline again. She needs your help to feel comfortable here, and, of course, you will be her sister and should treat her accordingly."

Cicely's lips tightened. "I don't see how you can talk that way. I heard you and Jeremy talking that night in London; you made sport of her! You didn't want to marry her! How do you think it makes me feel to hear everyone saying that you went along with the king's and Father's wishes to marry a stranger—"

"Who is everyone?" he interrupted coldly.

She dropped her eyes. "I went for a visit to our aunt Margaret's in Oxfordshire late in February. I was going mad here, and Rupert had to journey to London, so he took me to Oxfordshire on his way. I stayed until last week. We went to Hampton Court to watch a day of jousting in the tilting field. That was just after you and—your betrothed were there, and the court could talk of nothing else. Of course, I'd heard already that you had decided to marry that woman after all, but I didn't really believe it until Hampton Court."

"Why didn't you come to visit us in London?" he demanded. "And how did you return to Yorkshire? You could have come with Micheline and me!"

"Rupert brought me back. As much as I despise him, it was better than watching you moon over that Frenchwoman."

"I thought Rupert returned here earlier in the month."

"What difference does it make? I met him by arrangement at Hampton Court, and I must say that at least he remembered my existence, which is more than I can say for you!"

Sandhurst put other thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the problem of his sister. "Cecily, sit down." He went to fetch the goblet of wine and took a drink. "I confess that I am at a loss to understand your animosity toward Micheline. I know what I said in London, but that was before I had met the lady. In France everything was different. I fell in love, and she fell in love as well, not with the Marquess of Sandhurst but with a painter named Andrew Selkirk. Don't you see? Micheline turned aside the marriage King Francois had arranged for her in favor of the man she loved. Doesn't that convince you that she is a good person?"

Fussing with the folds of her satin skirt, Cecily would not meet his eyes. "You're besot. It's as if someone's put a spell on you, but it will wear off! As for Madame Tevoulere, she doesn't deserve you. It wouldn't surprise me if she knew all along who you really were."

He sat down beside her and gripped her arm. "Are you in league with our father to bring me misery? Cicely, you know how dearly I love you. We can deal just as happily together in the future as we have in the past, but first you will have to surrender all these nonsensical ideas you have about Micheline. She wants to be your friend."

"She can never be my sister," Cicely replied stubbornly. "You will always be my only sibling. I could never love anyone else as much."

Sandhurst felt as if he were beating his head against the wall. "You try my patience, child. You justly complain about our family, and now someone has come who would happily brighten both our lives. Once I am married, you can visit us at Sandhurst Manor and in London, for Micheline will be there to look after you when I cannot. Why do you turn away from her?"

Cicely was thinking, I don't want her, I want you, but instead she whispered brokenly, "All my life I've loved you best, Andrew. After Mother died, you were so good to me, and lately I almost believed you might let me come to live with you." Tears spilled onto her cheeks. "It's not the same with that woman here. It seems you've forgotten there's anyone else alive in the world!"

"Sweet child, the love between Micheline and me is not the same as the love I feel for you. I am your brother; I shall always love you. Nothing can change that."

Any response she might make was too mean-spirited to verbalize. Instead, Cicely turned and buried her face against him, weeping.

"If you love me," he continued gently, "you must want me to be happy. I implore you to share my joy and extend a hand of friendship to the woman I love."

She lifted her chin. "I cannot change my feelings, Andrew, any more than you wish to change yours. I will try to be polite to her, but I can't promise more than that."

His jaw hardened. "I begin to think that Father is wearing off on you."

"I may as well go, since we seem to have exhausted the only subject you are conversant with these days." Giving her brother what she hoped was a frosty glance, she stood and swept out the door. Rounding the corner, however, she nearly collided with Micheline, who was standing there as if frozen, her eyes swimming with tears and one hand covering her mouth.

"Eavesdropper!" Cicely accused.

"I didn't mean—" Micheline tried to explain, but the girl had already turned away and started down the corridor.

Suddenly Sandhurst was behind her, enfolding her in his arms and drawing her into his bedchamber. He closed the door, then led her over to the velvet-curtained bed.

"I am sorry," he whispered against her hair. Micheline's arms were wrapped tightly around his neck as she wept quietly. "My sister seems to have been transformed into a little witch in my absence."

She managed to control the urge to make the same declaration she had at Hampton Court, that she hated this place and wished they'd never come. However, Micheline hadn't forgotten the conversation that had followed that particular outburst. Somehow, she must find a way to cope with Aylesbury Castle and everyone in it. This was even more important than the challenge of dealing with the English royal court, for this was Andrew's ancestral home and these people were his family.

"Cicely despises me," she said. "What have I done to earn her ill will?"

"You have done nothing. It is time my sister learned that I do not belong to her."

Micheline raised her tear-stained face to his, and Andrew bent to kiss her. "Perhaps the problem is your mother's death," she mused. "It must have left a tremendous void in Cicely's life, and she's looked to you to fill it. When I put myself in her place and imagine living here with your father, Rupert, and Patience, it's easier to understand how she must feel."

"Believe me, I've agonized over this for the past five years, and my guilt has only increased as she's gotten older."

"I heard what she said about hoping that she might come to live with you. Andrew, couldn't she do that now? Is there any reason why Cicely couldn't make her home with us?"

He was stunned. "You can't be serious! As a new bride you would actually welcome the presence of that rude little vixen?"

"It might make all the difference for her. Certainly her attitude toward me would have to change, but I wouldn't expect miracles overnight. However, if I began to fear for my life, she would obviously have to leave!"

Micheline smiled a little at what she had meant as an exaggeration, but Sandhurst gazed absently out the window, his face grim. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, I love you for making such an open-hearted suggestion." To prove his point, he bent and kissed her long and slowly, groaning a bit when her lips clung to his as he raised his head. "This is torture. Did you come here solely for that purpose?"

Her smile faded. "No, I came because I found myself growing rather panicky at the thought of having a room so far from yours. Silly, I know, but after Hampton Court—"

"No, it's not silly at all. We'll arrange for Mary to share your chamber again, and I'll see that there's a proper lock on the door."

"I know that there's nothing to be afraid of here—except, perhaps, carrying on a conversation with your father!—but I can't seem to quell these unreasonable fears. I'm sure that they'll pass with time, and once we're married, I'll be much better! What could I fear with you in my bed?"

Sandhurst pressed warm, smiling lips to her throat. "Your only worry then will be the possibility of never sleeping again...."

"Andrew," she continued tentatively, "since I've mentioned the duke, I may as well ask you—is there anything I should do differently to win his favor? I tried to be tactful this afternoon, but he didn't seem to appreciate any of the things I had to say."

His body tensed against her; Micheline sensed him withdrawing. "For God's sake, don't even consider saying what you think he wants to hear! Go on just as you have, speaking the truth. It's a game! If he senses your weakness, he'll pounce and try to control you just as he controls that sniveling half brother of mine."

Micheline sighed. "I wish we were already married—and alone at Sandhurst Manor."

"As always, fondling, we are of one mind." He paused, mentally reviewing all that had happened that day. "In fact. I see no reason to linger in Yorkshire any longer than necessary. We shall be married as soon as it is humanly possible. I told the king a fortnight, so if he decides to come, he'll arrive in time. Why should we delay?"

Micheline gave him one of her blinding smiles. Suddenly filled with joy, she teased, "Patience warned me that you might grow overeager to exercise your rights as a husband!"

Sandhurst grinned. His right hand slid slowly down to the base of her spine before drawing her body firmly against his. "For once, Patience is absolutely correct."

* * *

An interminable, tension-laden supper that night in the drafty hall only strengthened Sandhurst's resolve. He waited until everyone else had retired before approaching his father.

The duke was back in his favorite chair in the solar, peering at a book under the light of a brace of candles. When Andrew walked over and sat down opposite him, the old man pretended not to notice.

"Father, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

A long minute passed before the duke glanced up. "A rare occurrence! How fortunate that you happen to be here at the castle rather than in London or Gloucestershire or France! One of life's happy coincidences, hmm?"

"Quite," Sandhurst agreed laconically. "Would you be terribly disappointed if I got directly to the point?"

"Not at all." These conversations with his son reminded him of the fencing matches he'd engaged in when he was younger. Certainly the rules were the same. "I am eager to get back to my book."

"This won't take long. I've come to tell you that Micheline and I would like to be married as soon as possible. There has been so much in her life that's new and I think it would be beneficial to get on with the wedding so that I can take her to Sandhurst Manor for a bit of peace. I said a fortnight to King Henry, which would be tomorrow. Why not have the wedding two days hence?"

The duke smiled wolfishly, watching his strong, handsome son. Andrew was better-looking than he had ever been. More than once he'd wondered what upward turns his own life might have taken if he'd been blessed with such physical gifts.

"Next you'll tell me that this urgency on your part has nothing to do with your desire to bed that saucy French minx!" the old man snorted. "I'd have thought you were man enough to spread her legs back in France!"

The scar that cut into Sandhurst's lip went white . It took every ounce of his control to refrain from striking his own father. "I'll ignore that vulgar speech—this time," he replied in a tone quietly laced with danger. "I'll ride tomorrow to inform the priest and any friends that might like to attend of the wedding date. Jeremy traveled north with us so that he might be present, and no doubt his parents will come too. If there are others you care to notify, kindly inform me by tomorrow morning."

The Duke of Aylesbury pursed his lips. "As usual, you have taken matters into your own hands. Far be it from me to interfere!"

* * *

Micheline slept fitfully in her comfortable feather bed. She would doze and dream, then wake to change positions, staring up at the two narrow windows that overlooked the Yorkshire countryside. Bright shafts of moonlight streamed into the room, annoying her to the extent that she finally scrambled up to close the bedcurtains on that side.

Mary occupied a little truckle bed nearby. It was good to have her there; since Hampton Court, Micheline dreaded the idea of being alone in the darkness. However, the little maid breathed loudly in her sleep.

Midnight came and went. Micheline dreamed that she lay in Andrew's arms, soaking up his warmth, nestling against his lean-muscled chest and listening to his heartbeat as he slept. In reality she felt lost in this huge bed, and was unaccountably chilled in spite of an abundance of covers. Half-conscious, she turned onto her stomach and burrowed into the pillows, pretending they were Andrew.

A distant sound, a rattling, gradually brought her awake again, wondering fuzzily what could be making that irritating noise. It seemed to be coming from the door.

Her eyes opened and her heart began to pound. The rattling had stopped, and she reminded herself that she was safe, for Andrew had attached a heavy iron lock to the bedchamber door, not unlike the one that Henry VIII took with him from castle to castle to ensure his privacy and security.

Had someone been trying to open the door in spite of the lock? Memories of that terrifying night at Hampton Court returned in a flood.

"Mary? Mary, are you awake?"

"Hmmm?" the girl mumbled.

Micheline threw back her covers and rushed over to the maid's little bed. "Did you hear that noise just now? That rattling at the door?"

Mary propped herself on an elbow and blinked in the moonlight. Her mistress was positively wild-eyed. "No, ma'am, I heard nothing! Was it like that scratching sound at the king's palace?" She'd been told that story the next day and ever since had felt rather uneasy about sharing Micheline's rooms. Now, however, Mary began to wonder if the Frenchwoman might have an overactive imagination.

"No—no, it was different, as though someone were trying to open the lock."

"Pardon me for saying so, ma'am, but I wonder if you might have dreamed this. You're still nervous after that other night. Perhaps the sound you heard was part of your dream and it only seemed real."

"You're absolutely certain that you heard nothing at all?" Micheline persisted.

"Nothing." Mary's voice was firm.

"Well," she sighed, "perhaps you're right, then. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

"That's all right, ma'am. I've had nightmares myself. You know we're safe with that lock Lord Sandhurst put on the door. Why don't you go back to sleep and order up a happy dream about your bridegroom?" The girl beamed in the shadows. "You ought to be far too happy to let a little rattle at the door disturb you!"

"You're right, of course. Thank you, Mary."

"Good night, ma'am."

Micheline crawled back into her bed and closed her eyes. Silently she repeated, "It was only a dream," until sleep came at last.