Of One Heart

chapter 36





June 11-12, 1533



Micheline arrived in London the next evening after a long ride on Primrose. Although it was pleasantly warm, summer also meant an intensification of some of the worst smells she had ever endured. She rode behind a groom through the city's impossibly cramped, twisting streets, following him to the home of Sir Jeremy Culpepper. Micheline feared that Rupert might be at Weston House, and she had no intention of alerting him to the fact that she was still alive.

They drew to a halt in front of a tall, narrow, half-timbered house in Drury Lane. Micheline dismounted quickly and handed Primrose's reins to the groom, then rushed over to pound on the door.

Jeremy himself opened it. Never had Micheline seem him looking so drawn and worried. Her heart, which had been pounding madly, seemed to stop for a long moment.

"Andrew—" she gasped, fearing the worst. "Is he all right?"

If Culpepper was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. Waving her into the entryway, he said, "Come in and sit down. Are you alone?"

"I came with a groom. We just arrived from Gloucestershire."

He spoke to a servant, ordering food and water for the groom and horses, then he took Micheline into a small parlor and poured goblets of wine for both of them.

"You've heard the news?"

A cold, sickening chill swept over her. "No. That is—I have news of my own, but you go first. I want to hear about my husband. Where is he?"

Jeremy ran a pudgy hand through his curly hair. "Sandhurst was arrested last night. He's imprisoned in the Tower."

"The—Tower?" She drew a harsh breath, remembering the pirates hanging in chains from the Tower walls, not to mention the countless stories she'd heard about the rat-infested dungeons with their instruments of torture. "Andrew—arrested?! On what charge?"

"It's not entirely clear to me. I went to Weston House this morning and Rupert told me the news. Apparently Sandhurst's been accused of attempted adultery with the queen, and there was something about treason as well. I gather someone overheard him making derogatory comments about King Henry."

"Adultery? Treason?" Micheline was livid. "This is madness! You probably think that I would believe the first charge, but—"

"Why do you say that?"

"Didn't Andrew tell you what passed between us the night he left Sandhurst Manor with you?"

"Your husband does not discuss such things with other people, not even me. I nearly went mad at Fontainebleau trying to get him to tell me what was going on between you two!" He flushed. "I wasn't prying, you understand, but my own life was affected."

"I must go to him at once," Micheline said suddenly, oblivious to what Jeremy had been saying. He'd opened his mouth to reply when she pounded her fist on the chair arm and exclaimed, "Rupert is behind all of this! I could kill him! When I think of the times I tried to persuade Andrew to be more generous in his treatment of that weasel, I am so angry at myself! He's been absolutely right all along, and it's I who've been wrong!"

Baffled, Jeremy gulped his wine and said, "I beg your pardon?"

Micheline spilled out the story of all that had transpired the night before at Sandhurst Manor, digressing briefly to add details about the threats she'd received since coming to England and the "accidents" while out riding and on the steps at Aylesbury Castle.

"I was such a fool! I thought Iris Dangerfield was behind it all! I took Rupert and Patience at face value, believing that act of theirs! Now I realize that those two would do anything to achieve their goal—and the first step involves killing Andrew, me, and our unborn child."

"And you believe that Rupert arranged Sandhurst's arrest?"

"Of course! He probably paid someone—or better yet, two or three people—to go to the king and denounce Andrew. He wouldn't make the accusations himself, but I've no doubt that he's somehow taken credit for all of this."

"It's not hard to imagine Rupert standing before King Henry and mourning what he had to do for the good of the country," agreed Jeremy.

"The charges are awfully serious, aren't they?" Micheline mused rhetorically.

"Life-threatening, I should think."

"Rupert made certain that Andrew would have no chance of reprieve. He's very smart! Rather than killing us both outright, he and Patience decided to take a more difficult route in dispatching Andrew. People might have been suspicious if we'd both died 'accidentally.' I'm sure, too, that he felt Andrew's disgrace would make him look better when he usurped his place as Marquess of Sandhurst!"

Jeremy poured another goblet of wine, noticing that Micheline had not touched hers. "I confess, my lady, that all this has set my head spinning."

"We haven't time to discuss it any further, either. I must go to Andrew immediately, and then we have to concentrate on finding a way to free him."

"I don't know if they'll allow him a visitor at this hour," Culpepper said doubtfully.

"You'll let me stay here, won't you? You understand that I cannot let Rupert see me? Good. Then show me where I can freshen up. I'll see if I can repair my appearance sufficiently to ensure the guards' cooperation at the Tower."

Jeremy had to smile at that. The Marchioness of Sandhurst might be a bit dusty, and her curls were tangled, but her eyes sparkled with a new kind of passion. She looked simply dazzling.

* * *

The Tower of London was far more than just one building. The name referred to an entire fortress, with the turreted, whitewashed palace keep built by William the Conqueror at its center. This was known as the White Tower, but there were many other buildings within the ramparted walls, as well as many other towers, which were used for everything from housing the king's menagerie of lions and other exotic beasts to sheltering prisoners of the crown.

Exactly what sort of existence a prisoner suffered in the Tower depended largely on who he was. If a man had rank and privilege in life, he usually was given fairly comfortable quarters. In Sandhurst's case, these consisted of a large stone room in the Garden Tower, with windows that overlooked the Thames, the moat, and the Traitor's Gate on one side and the Tower Green, where condemned prisoners were beheaded, on the other. He had a bed, table, and chairs, and a chest for storage. Best of all, if Sandhurst had been disposed to look on the bright side, his guard was unusually amiable and brought him adequate amounts of food. He'd barely touched it this first day, but realized that in time he would be grateful for the fact that he wouldn't suffer from starvation before meeting the headsman.

There was even a seemingly endless supply of candles. Andrew had too much on his mind to sleep, in spite of the fact that he'd lain awake the night before. Sitting in one chair, his booted legs propped on the other, he stared at the guttering candle flame and tried for the hundredth time to unravel the coil in which he found himself tangled.

" 'Ey there, yer lordship!" It was Carson, the guard, his key clattering in the lock before he threw open the door to the tower room. "Look what I found wandering about on the Water Lane! Such a pretty thing, none of the guards've been able to resist her pleas to see you. Almost makes me wish I were a prisoner!"

"What are you driveling about, Carson?" Sandhurst straightened, but his voice broke off at the sight of Micheline, haloed in the torchlight. "Good Lord."

"Against the rules, you know, havin' visitors at this late hour, but you aren't the first. The lieutenant'd have my head if he knew—" Carson paused here to guffaw at his own joke. "But this seems a special case. I'll allow you a quarter hour with your wife."

The burly man took his leave then, eyes a-twinkle, and Sandhurst stood slowly, scarcely able to believe that Micheline was real.

"Can it be you?" he wondered hoarsely.

Clad in a summer gown of apricot silk, her cognac-colored hair shining as it spilled over her shoulders, Micheline looked beautiful—and totally out of place in what were supposed to be surroundings of utter deprivation.

Meanwhile, her eyes were feasting on the sight of him. In view of all the trouble Rupert and Patience had caused within twenty-four hours, it seemed a miracle that Sandhurst was standing here, whole and strong, before her. He wore boots, buff breeches, and a white linen shirt without a doublet in the balmy June night. Micheline searched his face for clues to his mood. Might Andrew still be angry with her?

"I'm very real, but do you want me?" she asked softly in reply to his first words. Crossing the floor, Micheline knelt suddenly on the damp stones a few feet away from her husband. "My lord, I beg your pardon and your forgiveness for every wrong word I spoke night before last. I was cruelly in error."

Sandhurst quickly lifted her up into his strong arms, burying his face in her fragrant hair. "Forget about it, fondling. I have." Their mouths came together and both of them were jolted by a powerful current of feeling. "God's death, Michelle, how can you be here?"

Tears glistened in her eyes. "How could I be anywhere else? Oh, Andrew, I wish we could spend this time mending the trouble I caused the other night, but there are more urgent matters to deal with. We'd better sit down. I have so much to tell you!"

Holding fast to his hand, she quickly related what had transpired at Sandhurst Manor, from the almond soup to the fire and the death of Patience Topping. "Your sister saved my life, and the manor as well, Andrew. She was extremely brave."

"It sounds as if you two are truly sisters now as well," he said softly while his mind sorted out all that Micheline had told him. "How is Cicely?"

"I saw to her burns as best I could and sent a page to the village to bring a physician. I also left instructions that Patience's body should be buried in the village churchyard. It was uncharitable of me, perhaps, but I didn't want her grave at Sandhurst Manor—reminding us..."

Rather distractedly Andrew pressed a kiss to her hand and answered, "No, you were quite right. Too bad Yorkshire is so far away and it's so hot. I'd have preferred that she was returned to her family's village of Bubwith."

Micheline hurried on to more pertinent conversation. "You see how it was, though, don't you? I mean, the connection—"

"With Rupert? Oh, yes, I see," said Sandhurst thoughtfully. "It's perfectly clear now. I only wonder I didn't suspect him before. Remembering his unexplained absences from Aylesbury Castle these past months, a great deal becomes plain. Not just the incidents at Hampton Court and Aylesbury Castle, but also your riding accident and strange illness while we were still in France."

Micheline was rather taken aback by these deductions Tiny hairs stood up on the back of her neck as the true extent of Rupert's villainy became apparent. "I was so obtuse! I completely misjudged him!"

"Not completely." Sandhurst gave her a grim smile. "He really is a bumbling fool, lucky for us, or he'd have succeeded in doing away with both of us long ago."

"He must be behind your arrest, though! How can we ever convince the king of your innocence, Andrew?"

"Rupert certainly aimed straight for Henry's weak spot... his jealous possessiveness of Anne. No doubt the king's rage has blinded him to other considerations." Sandhurst stared in the distance for a long minute, his eyes hard. Micheline could feel him thinking. Nearly overcome with anxiety, she reached out to caress his sleeve and felt the tensile strength of Andrew's shoulder and arm, betraying his own state of mind. Still, when he spoke again, his tone was almost jaunty "There's only one thing for it, I suppose. We shall have to maneuver Rupert into giving himself away in front of King Henry."

"We?" she echoed.

"I ought to be present, I think. I've a few questions of my own for that reptile who calls himself my brother."

A smile flickered over his mouth, setting off a wave of elation inside of Micheline. "But how?"

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her deeply. "Are you up to participating in an escape from the Tower of London?"

Micheline blinked in the face of his amused nonchalance, then slowly a radiant smile lit her countenance. "I shall cancel my other social engagements on your behalf, my lord."

Sandhurst's brown eyes gleamed as he chuckled, "I rather thought you might."

* * *

"I do not believe I am doing this!" Sir Jeremy Culpepper muttered under his breath, glaring at Micheline as they approached the Tower of London's barbican.

She nearly giggled, as much from nerves as amusement. "I know you don't mean that, Jeremy!"

"You do?" Pausing in the moonlight, he scratched the false white beard wrapped around his double chin. "Sandhurst has coerced me into taking part in some bizarre adventures in the past—one of which involved you, my lady—but this is unquestionably the topper!"

"It was I who coerced you, not Andrew," Micheline corrected him. "Stop complaining! Past experience should have convinced you to trust his plans."

"You're as mad as he is. Two of a kind!"

"Such lavish flattery!" She laughed, then whispered soberly, "You're certain the message was sent to Rupert?"

"Finchley took care of it this afternoon. He bribed a royal page to deliver the note personally."

"Good." They were outside the barbican. "Here we are. Behave yourself now."

At the sound of their voices a guard appeared. "Who comes there?"

"Oh, good eventide, Sergeant!" Micheline greeted the man as if they were old friends. "It's nice to see you again!"

"Lady Sandhurst?" he wondered doubtfully. The woman really was too beautiful; Sergeant Pease ached just looking at her. Her hair flowed loose, like liquid silk, and there were rosebuds pinned in it that matched her low-necked gown. The sight of the upper portion of her ladyship's delicious-looking breasts made him salivate.

"You remember me! How sweet!"

"I hope you haven't come to see your husband. It's past nine o'clock. Too late. We lock the gates at ten, you know."

Her face fell tragically and tears welled in her eyes. "Say that you will overlook the rules this time, Sergeant, please! I'm late only because I've brought my husband's aged father, the Duke of Aylesbury. He wasn't feeling well enough to go out earlier today. Won't you grant him a few minutes with his son? I promise that we shall take our leave well before ten o'clock!"

Lady Sandhurst's appealing tone wore away at Pease. "Well..." He glanced over at the bent old man who stood wavering in the arched doorway. "I can hardly say no, Your Grace. I have a son myself and can appreciate how you feel. I hope Lord Sandhurst will find a way out of this predicament." This last was spoken in a strained tone, for the sergeant knew there would be no reprieve for a man accused of trying to seduce the queen.

Micheline had taken Jeremy's arm and was already turning away when Pease said, "Pardon me, my lady, but you'll have to show me what's in your basket."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Just a few things we brought for my husband. Clean clothes, you understand." She lifted the cover and pulled out a shirt-sleeve. "Now that you mention it, though, there is something here that I'd like you to have—in return for your kindness." Reaching down, Micheline withdrew a bottle of wine. "It's one of my own, from France. I do hope you'll enjoy it."

The sergeant blushed in the light of her smile. "Very kind of you, my lady. I appreciate it."

"If you'll excuse us, then—time is short!" As they walked hurriedly toward the Middle Tower, Jeremy pulled his soft velvet bonnet lower on his brow. "You're a little minx, Lady Sandhurst!" he muttered, amused in spite of himself.

"Call me Micheline." She smiled.

At the Middle Tower Micheline told the guard, "Sergeant Pease has given us permission, but we must be brief!" barely pausing to hear his reply.

They walked under the Byward Tower with equal ease and then arrived at the Garden Tower itself. The flaxen-haired guard met them with a look of astonishment. Briefly Micheline gave her explanation, punctuated with charming smiles and melting glances, and moments later the guard was letting them into Sandhurst's chamber.

"Dear Father!" exclaimed Andrew. Crossing the stone floor, he clasped Jeremy against him. "How good it is to see you!"

Culpepper's response was muffled. In the doorway Micheline stood beside Carson, the guard, and sighed. "You've all been very kind to allow this reunion."

"Rather touching, isn't it?" Carson allowed generously.

"Father, I would like you to meet my guard," Sandhurst declared, gesturing for Carson to come forward and join them.

Jeremy pasted on a feeble smile. "Eh?"

"Quite an honor, Your Grace!" The guard took two steps before Micheline walked up behind him and struck the back of his head with a brick she'd taken out of the basket.

Andrew caught the man in his arms and glanced up at Micheline. "Well done," he praised her.

"No time for chitchat!" Jeremy exclaimed hysterically. "We'll all go to the block if we're caught!"

"Nonsense," Sandhurst soothed his friend. "Help me out, won't you?"

The two men dragged Carson to the bed, undressed and then covered him, positioned so that he was facing away from the door.

"Poor Carson. He was so nice to us," Micheline reflected while Andrew donned the guard's uniform. "I think he deserves a reward."

"Depends on what you have in mind!" Sandhurst laughed, lacing the guard's ill-fitting breeches.

Micheline took five gold crowns from the basket and held them up. "Perhaps these will ease his headache tomorrow." Reaching under the blanket, she put the coins in Carson's hand.

"Please!" Jeremy was beside himself. "Let's get out of here!"

"How do I look?" Andrew inquired, pulling on Carson's Tudor bonnet.

"Ridiculous," his wife decided, "but not ridiculous enough. You'll need some padding."

While Micheline stuffed wads of clothing up the doublet of his uniform, Sandhurst stared at her so intensely that hot blood rushed to her cheeks. When she had finished, she wrapped her arms around his expanded waistline and pressed her face to the hard breadth of his chest. The even beat of Andrew's heart nourished her spirit.

"God's bones! Are you two ready?" demanded Jeremy.

"Quite, but I don't think this is the proper time or place." Seeing his friend's eyes bug out with exasperation, Andrew walked over and patted him on the back. "Don't look so worried, old man. This is just one more escapade to recount to your children!"

"I'd like to live to produce them!" Jeremy shot back hotly.

"I think he wants to go," Micheline informed her husband.

"Lord knows I've been ready ever since I arrived!" Andrew laughed again.

The comical-looking trio emerged onto the twisting staircase that spiraled down through the Garden Tower. Outside in the night air, Sandhurst inhaled the breeze off the Thames and gave Micheline a brief, meaningful grin. Then he put his arm around Jeremy, who sagged against his old friend as if he were ill.

Micheline was looking on with convincing anxiety as they came under the Byward Tower.

"The duke collapsed from the shock of seeing his son," Andrew muttered to the guard. "I thought it best to help him out before the ceremony of the keys."

The story worked until they came to Sergeant Pease. He heard Sandhurst out, then peered doubtfully at him in the darkness. Warm fog had rolled in off the river, making it difficult to see.

"Is that you, Carson?"

Fearing the worst, Jeremy let out a tortured groan. "I'm dying!" he gasped.

"Please, take my father-in-law to our carriage!" Micheline said to Andrew in an urgent tone. Turning back to the sergeant, she could see by the way his eyes followed the two men that he would wait only a minute or two for "Carson" to reappear. His distraction was such that Pease didn't notice her step back behind him and reach for the bottle of wine she'd given him earlier. An instant later he lay slumped against the stone wall of the barbican.

Lifting her skirts, Micheline ran to catch up with the two men. "We've only a few minutes!" she cried. "They'll find him when they lock the gates!"

Sandhurst clasped her hand as the three of them sprinted to reach the horses tethered at the top of Tower Hill. He lifted Micheline onto Primrose, then swung up on Hampstead, patting the stallion's neck.

"God's teeth!" Jeremy ejaculated. "Let's be away!"

Tossing his guard's bonnet into the street, Andrew laughed with relief. "You brought my sword?"

"No valet could be better!" cried Jeremy, brandishing the weapon.

"My thanks to you, old friend. Go home to the safety of your bed. My wife and I are bound for Whitehall Palace, where we shall effect act two of this drama!"

As the horses broke into a trot on Byward Street, Micheline looked over to meet Sandhurst's gaze. In spite of the danger that infused the very air they breathed, she had the sensation that he was kissing her with his eyes.