Of One Heart

chapter 2





St. Briac-sur-Loire, France

November 12, 1532



It was a chilly but sparkling afternoon when St. Briac returned home from the month-long meetings between King Francois I and Henry VIII in Calais and Boulogne. As he rode up the long, curving road to his ancestral chateau, a smile played over his mouth in anticipation of the reunion with his family.

Chateau du Soleil shone in the sunlight, a marvel of soaring white towers against the backdrop of the dark forest of Chinon. It was a castle of fairy-tale proportions but it hadn't seemed enchanted to him until the day he brought Aimée there as his bride. Now, accompanied by a groom and his wizened manservant, Gaspard Lefait, he dismounted before a courtyard that commanded a stunning view of the meandering Loire River. Dusting off the buttery suede doublet that accentuated his tanned, rakishly handsome face, St. Briac headed for the arched stone doorway. All his senses ached for Aimée.

"Thomas! You're home!"

He tried not to betray his disappointment when his aunt, Fanchette, hurried from the gallery to welcome him. "It's good to see you, ma tante." He hugged her well-cushioned body. "It feels as if I've been away forever."

Thomas smiled down at the woman who had run his household since the death of his mother more than twenty years ago. She had raised his brother, Christophe, from infancy, and even after Aimée became mistress of Chateau du Soleil Fanchette remained. The two women lived together in harmony.

"I'm missing my wife," St. Briac said frankly. "Where is she?"

"She and Micheline went for a walk in the woods, but I expect they'll be back soon. Don't fidget, Thomas! It's time you learned patience!"

"You needn't talk to me as if I were Christophe, old woman," he teased. "Even he is grown now and at the university. When will you realize that we are men?"

"Probably never," Fanchette responded dryly.

St. Briac walked into the gallery and began to pace, but soon the sound of a commotion upstairs intruded on his thoughts of Aimée. Fanchette stood off to one side and tried not to chuckle as she watched her nephew stop and incline his head.

"Has your lust for your wife caused you to forget your daughters, monseigneur?" she wondered. " 'Twould seem that they have arisen from their naps...."

"Forget them?" he scoffed. "You insult me!" Striding to the foot of the curving staircase, St. Briac called, "Mes anges! Come down and give kisses to your poor papa!"

His shouts were met with distant squeals of excitement followed by the patter of little feet, and then the sight of two sweet faces on the top step.

"Papa! Papa!!"

St. Briac ascended and caught them up in his strong arms before they managed to clamber down three steps. Amid much hugging, giggling, and kissing, he gloried in the scent of their sleepy toddlers' skin, the silky texture of their curly hair, the sight of rosy cheeks, and eyes that sparkled with excitement and love for their adored papa.

Though Juliette was three years old and Ninon nearly two, they still seemed to be babies to St. Briac. They expressed their thoughts clearly these days, yet their little bodies were dimpled, their faces round and sweet-smelling, and he could still easily fit a daughter in the crook of each arm.

Sometimes Thomas thought about the first child born to him and Aimée. Justin would have been deep into his sixth year now. There were moments when he imagined how his son might look and act had he lived. St. Briac could picture him laughing, running in the sunlight with a puppy, and then he'd force the thoughts away. Justin's death, after a year of life, had been a tragedy, but it had brought Thomas and Aimée closer together than ever. And time had brought these two rosy-cheeked little fairy princesses. The pain of Justin's loss made Thomas appreciate his daughters all the more. Aimée still longed ardently for another son, but Thomas felt no void. His heart was full.

"Papa," Juliette implored, "promise not to leave us ever again! We missed you frightfully!"

Ninon nodded solemn agreement, her chin quivering as if she might cry. "Promise, Papa!"

"We'll be together for a long time," he said, smiling. "And if I do have to go away again, for a bit, you know I will always come home to you and your maman."

"Where is Maman?" Juliette demanded.

St. Briac turned his head to gaze out the tall gallery windows. "I wish I knew," he murmured in response.

* * *

Out in the woods, Micheline and Aimée tramped over a carpet of rusty leaves, each lost in thought.

"Thomas is due to return soon, isn't he?" Micheline queried, reading her friend's mind. "You must be missing him terribly."

"Well, yes, of course...." Aimée was very conscious of Micheline's continued grief, and although she had missed Thomas desperately, part of her had been glad to devote all her attention to her friend. Surely the sight of Thomas, who could not conceal his love for his wife, would have daily sprinkled salt over Micheline's wound. Two months had passed since Bernard's death and only lately had Aimée seen Micheline smile, and even laugh, with any sign of true pleasure... and now Thomas was coming home. What effect would that have on Micheline's progress?

"My dear friend," Micheline said, stopping to take Aimée's hand, "please do not hide your feelings on my account. I'm very happy for you and Thomas."

"Cherie, it is so unfair that you should have to bear such terrible grief!" Aimée exclaimed, hugging her near. "I wish that I could take away your sadness."

"I fear that only time, and God, can do that. I know you understand my meaning after losing your little Justin. And you have helped, Aimée, by bringing me here to be with you." She paused, then continued gently. "But your husband is coming home. You must return your attention to him and your children... and I should go back to Angouleme before winter."

"No!" Aimée exclaimed. "You must not even think of that yet!" Seeing that Micheline would not be so easily dissuaded, she took her friend's arm. "Let us talk of this another time. The girls will be waking from naps, and you promised to teach the cook your recipe for braised wild boar with red wine. Tante Fanchette has been anticipating it so—she'll scold us terribly if we're late!"

Micheline smiled and yielded. Emerging from the forest, the two friends paused to appreciate the beauty that lay below them. The autumn sun danced over the vine-covered hillocks, down to the peaked towers of Chateau du Soleil and the luminous Loire River that swirled lazily in the distance.

For a moment Micheline forgot her heartache. The beauty of the day and the love of her friend warmed her heart. Life seemed sweet.

As they approached the chateau, Aimée's step quickened. "This may sound silly, but I've learned to trust my instincts. I think Thomas may be home!"

Micheline felt a queer mixture of emotions when they entered the chateau's great hall and discovered St. Briac sitting in a carved chair near the window, a daughter on each knee. The three of them were engaged in private conversation, heads bent. Juliette held fast to her father's big hand and kissed it repeatedly.

Aimée watched in silence, glowing, then spoke up at last. "Poor Maman! No kisses for her! No one even cares that she's here!"

"Oh, Maman!" cried Ninon, instantly sympathetic.

Laughing, St. Briac crossed the room carrying his daughters and Aimée met them halfway. The little family hugged while Micheline stood in the doorway, her own heart swelling with bittersweet emotions.

At length she called, "Ninon! Juliette! I'm going to cook a wild boar. Won't you come and help me? He has very long tusks!"

The girls squealed and Thomas set them down. As they hurried across the floor, he grinned at Micheline and gave her a fleeting wink.

"Greetings, madame," he called to her as his arms stole around Aimée's waist. "And many thanks."