Of One Heart

chapter 30





April 20, 1533



The wedding party adjourned to the great hall, a long, magnificent room with an oak-beamed ceiling, a huge fireplace with an elaborately carved overmantle, and white stone walls hung with priceless tapestries.

The marriage ceremony now seemed but a prelude to the real purpose of the day: serious gluttony and merrymaking. The next few hours passed in a blur for Micheline. She could scarcely hear the conversation at her table over the shouts of laughter. Meanwhile, dish after dish was offered, and it seemed that most of those present partook of them all. There was oyster pie; lettuce stuffed with forcemeat; spinach froise;; venison stewed in beer; salad of watercress, herbs, and cabbage; honey-glazed capon stuffed with apple, raisins, and almonds; and fried artichokes flavored with orange. More dishes were passed that Micheline declined, plus bowls of juicy new strawberries and an assortment of cheeses.

Throughout the feast, wine and ale flowed freely. Micheline sipped fragrant Burgundy wine from a jeweled goblet which intensified the currents of warmth she felt when Andrew's lean-muscled thigh pressed through her skirts under the table. Every time their hands brushed, color stained Micheline's cheeks. Even during their first supper together at Fontainebleau, she had not been so undone by his nearness. Shyness mingled with excitement in her breast when she thought fleetingly, constantly, of what lay ahead for them that evening.

Dozens of toasts were proposed, including several by Rupert Topping, who appeared to have imbibed too freely. At one point he staggered to his feet and shouted, "I propose a toast to the most splendid brother any Englishman has ever known!" He took a hearty swig, spilling on his doublet of purple satin, while the similarly overfestive guests drank along with him. "And a toast to Lady Sandhurst, whose beauty and charm make her the only woman in the world worthy to become my brother's wife!"

"Hear, hear!" exclaimed the king, drinking heartily. He and Anne Boleyn were seated across the table from the bride and groom. There had been little chance for conversation, but now, as the toasts subsided, Henry leaned forward, his beefy face ruddy with wine, and addressed Micheline. "I can scarce find words to tell you how pleased we are that you are now an English marchioness, Lady Sandhurst!"

Micheline made a demure reply, then looked at her husband with radiant eyes.

"In fact," Henry went on determinedly, "I wish that the two of you would consider traveling to France in the near future! What attractive ambassadors you would make! What do you say, my lady?"

Sandhurst intervened at this point. "We mean no disrespect, sire, but as I have already explained to you, Micheline and I would like to remain in England for the time being."

The king's hands clenched, betraying his displeasure, but his smile barely faltered. "Will you not allow your wife to answer for herself?"

"I fear I must agree with my husband, Your Majesty," Micheline said clearly. "I am eager to settle into our new life together and to enjoy England. One day I might like to return to France, but only to visit dear friends. I've no desire whatever to linger at the French court again. That was part of another lifetime for me."

Henry's lips thinned. "I can only hope that the two of you will reconsider." He gave Sandhurst a hard stare.

Anne Boleyn had been watching this exchange with increasing disquiet. "Can we not speak about something more cheerful? Pardon me for saying so, sire, but I think we should leave this couple to enjoy their wedding day!"

The king glared at her, but further conversation was interrupted by another toast from Rupert.

Watching his half brother weave and ramble incoherently, Andrew looked at Micheline, a smile playing over his mouth. "Have you had enough?" he whispered.

"Easily!" The mischief in his expression nearly made her giggle.

Sandhurst leaned over to speak to his father, who nodded approval, then waved away the servants who approached with curd and cheese tarts and orange pudding. Rising, he addressed the assembled guests.

"My wife and I would like to thank you all for coming today to share in our happiness." He nodded toward King Henry, hoping to allay any ill feelings. "We'll stay for one dance, then I trust you'll understand if we take our leave." He paused, smiling. "I have a great deal of respect for tradition, but today I hope you won't be disappointed if we dispense with the bedding of the bride... and attendant customs. I've waited a long time for this day, and I'd like to undress Lady Sandhurst myself."

* * *

The sun had just set when Sandhurst closed the paneled door to what had been Micheline's chamber but tonight would be occupied by both of them. The white stone fireplace danced with a freshly lit blaze, sending shadows capering happily over the walls while the sounds of music and dancing drifted in from the hall.

The first thing Micheline noticed was a delicate gold casket that reposed in the middle of the bed. "What's this?" she wondered, picking it up.

"Perhaps someone left it as a wedding gift."

Pleased, Micheline lifted the carved lid, but her expression changed to one of horror when she saw what lay inside the the little box. Nestled in folds of white satin was a gold wedding ring, broken in half. "Andrew! What can it mean?"

Immediately he took the box from her and closed the lid with a snap. "A cruel joke, no doubt perpetrated by someone who desired to taint the joy of this night." Gathering her into his arms, he whispered, "You must forget about it. Forget about everything save the two of us."

Oddly enough, Micheline was able to obey with ease. Her bliss was such that nothing else could intrude.

"Let me dispose of this," he said. "I'll be only a moment."

In the corridor he had the good fortune to encounter Jeremy Culpepper.

"Take this evil thing and destroy it," Sandhurst said flatly, showing his friend the contents of the casket.

Culpepper's eyes widened and a cold chill ran down his spine. "Who would do such a thing? Iris Dangerfield?"

"I know not, and for tonight I do not care." His sculpted profile was hard with anger. "Later, though, I intend to find out. Too many sinister events have been taking place lately, and I mean to discover who is responsible."

With that he turned away and reentered the chamber, smiling at his wife as he closed the door. "Now, where were we?"

Curiously nervous, Micheline perched on the edge of the bed, conscious of the hot blood that stained her cheeks. She watched apprehensively as Andrew lit a candle and placed it on the table next to the bed. The lean lines of his body in profile as he bent over filled her with a skittish passion.

"I want to see you," he said huskily, "the first time we make love as husband and wife."

"Oh." Her lips formed the word, but no sound came out.

"What's amiss, sweetheart?" Sitting down beside her, he raised one slender hand to his mouth and kissed the ring on Micheline's wedding finger. "Surely you're not afraid of me!" This last word was emphasized fondly, as if he found her shyness rather amusing.

"No..." She gasped involuntarily when his mouth found the pulse at her wrist, then the tender heart of her palm, his gaze as intimate as a caress. "No, of course I'm not afraid of you." A tremor of arousal traveled downward to the place between her legs.

"I know." Understanding and playfulness mingled in Andrew's smile. Now he merely held her hand and looked into her eyes. "In the past, our lovemaking was unexpected. Perhaps you're feeling uneasy because tonight it's inevitable... and you're my wife."

She nodded mutely.

"Fondling, try to remember that our love is all that really matters. This"—Sandhurst drew her against him and kissed her with frank desire, then murmured against her cheek—"this is just a physical expression of that love. As long as our feelings are genuine, we cannot disappoint each other."

Micheline warmed to his tender, eloquent words yet a part of her remained afraid. It was as if the past were trying to pull her back, back into the safety of solitary existence. The responsibility of loving Andrew suddenly seemed overwhelming. Could she possibly make him happy? Already she feared that he might be disappointed on this first night of their marriage; how could she be enough for him year after year, for the rest of their lives? The future stretched out ahead of them in her mind, fraught with risks and possibilities for failure.

Inevitably Micheline thought back to the day she had married Bernard Tevoulere. It had become apparent to her lately that she hadn't known then the true possibilities love held, yet she had been more confident on that first wedding day than she was now. She realized that she had been far more naive at seventeen; that fact alone gave her pause. But if she hadn't been able to fulfill Bernard, how could she possibly be enough for someone like Andrew?

As usual, Sandhurst gazed into her troubled eyes and guessed her thoughts.

"Michelle," he said quietly, "put aside the past and future. Let us deal with the present, moment by moment."

She sighed heavily. "But—"

Putting a forefinger under her chin, he tilted her face up so that she could not avoid his penetrating eyes. "I love you." He touched his mouth to hers and their lips clung. "I want you."

Those poignant words were her undoing. Micheline's doubts fell away as she gave in to the magic of his nearness. He affected all her senses. There were moments when just the sound of his low masculine laughter could set the embers of desire aflame inside her. Now, her worries were lost under a rising tide of arousal.

"I want you, too, Andrew," she said shakily. Reaching out, Micheline caressed the muscles that tapered down to his narrow waist. Even through the velvet doublet she could feel the vital warmth of his skin. "I love you."

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there." His tone held a gentle note of finality.

Micheline watched as his fingers, strong and graceful all at once, unlaced her gown. She could feel the heat and moisture between her legs, and then she was reaching to unfasten his doublet. Andrew lowered the bodice of her gown with tantalizing slowness, bringing her chemise with it, until her breasts were bared, round and glowing in the firelight. Dark rose nipples stood out and he bent to kiss each one in turn, lingeringly, until Micheline moaned with pleasure.

Slowly he removed her clothing, savoring each precious inch of her as it was revealed to him. His fingertips traced the lines of her throat, the edges of her breasts, and down over her hips and belly, trailing fire. A hungering throb came then between her legs.

His doublet came off, revealing the powerful contours of his torso to her. Micheline slid her arms around him and drew near to press her cheek to his warm chest. An unexpected wave of emotion swelled within her and she blinked back tears as she listened to the beating of his heart. Andrew lifted her higher, into his embrace, and kissed her in earnest. His tongue told her all that he wanted to do. The last of their clothing fell away until they both were naked and he reached out to pull back the green velvet counterpane.

Micheline looked over to discover that the sheets were strewn with tiny colorful flowers: yellow primroses, violets, and lily-of-the-valley bells. Her eyes swam with tears.

Sandhurst drew her into his embrace and they knelt pressed together for long minutes, exploring and tasting each other's mouths. He fit himself between her legs so that she could feel the power of his need for her. Yearning broke in long, exquisite waves over Micheline's body as she melted against him, her fingers traveling over each taut muscle in his back and shoulders, then down to the hard curves of his buttocks.

Soon they were lying amid the fragrant spring flowers. Micheline loved this extra gift of sight, for in the past they had made love in darkness. She basked in the warmth of Andrew's caramel-colored eyes and gazed euphorically on his candlelit face, the corded muscles that joined his neck and shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the lean beauty of his chest. Even as Micheline gloried in the scorching kisses he trailed over her body, she was watching him move. Never had she imagined such a combination of strength and elegant grace.

Sandhurst knew exactly where and how to touch her. His mouth found the sensitive nape of her neck, the bend of her arm, her inner wrist, then lingered over her breasts before blazing a trail down her belly to the insides of her thighs. His fingers slipped into the nest of curls between her legs and she throbbed, aching, as he touched her in ways more intimate than she had ever imagined.

"So, so beautiful," he murmured, kissing her there.

Micheline writhed against him until the waves of sensation drew her up higher still and carried her to a place she had never known existed. She lay gasping, pressing against him. Sheer passion had burned away all intruding thoughts. As much as she wanted to touch and kiss Andrew's body, the need to feel him inside of her overrode all else.

"Please!" she whispered. Her eyes were drawn helplessly to his erect manhood. How beautifully he is made! she thought, aching for him.

When Sandhurst finally rose to deeply kiss her mouth, Micheline reached to wrap her fingers around him. His member was hard as steel, yet warm, pulsating slightly against her palm.

"Oh, Andrew," she whispered, her voice breaking on a sob, "I love you."

He drew back to stare at her. "Michelle, you are more than my wife. You are my mate. For all our lives."

And then he came into her into her, filling her, moaning aloud at the sensation of her sweet, moist warmth tightening around him. They arched together, moving fervently, the sound of their gasps filling the room, until another wild surging climax shook Micheline's very soul. Sandhurst found his own shuddering release in the next instant. When his breathing slowed a bit, he lifted his face from the cloud of her hair and ran the backs of his fingertips over her damp brow. Their bodies were still united, and a slow smile spread over his face that said more than words ever could. Micheline felt as if she were floating on a cloud of utter bliss.

Later, after they had shared quiet caresses, Andrew poured one goblet of wine for them both and they lay against the pillows, sipping. She arranged flowers over his chest, then he went a step further and put primroses in the damp curls between her legs.

The sight of his flickering grin ignited a fresh fire of love inside of her.

"I have never been so pleased to be a woman," she exclaimed suddenly, "a woman mated to the most splendid of men..."

He laughed, basking in her radiance. "Life is sweet, indeed."

"I am so happy, Andrew. That's what frightens me. Does anyone deserve to be so happy?"

"Only you, my heart," Sandhurst assured her. He reached over to set the goblet of wine on the table by the bed, then returned to find Micheline's lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. Unable to help himself, he obliged, adding, "And me, of course!"