Of One Heart

chapter 37





June 12, 1533



Moonlight silvered the King's Street Gate, which bridged the thoroughfare, allowing access from the river wings of the Whitehall Palace to the newer collection of buildings, gardens, tennis courts, a cockpit, tiltyard, and bowling alley that sprawled west of the street.

Sandhurst tethered their horses in a darkened court, then stripped off Carson's uniform and the added padding, revealing his sage-green doublet, buff breeches, and boots. To Micheline's astonishment he then caught her in his arms, and she found herself pressed up against the side of a building. His hands curved over her buttocks, aligning their hips as his mouth captured hers. They shared a long passionate kiss, hearts pounding in unison.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to do this," he murmured finally, tasting the sweetness of her parted lips with his tongue.

He'd been hard the instant their bodies met. Micheline arched her hips suggestively against him. "Mon Dieu!" she sighed.

"I don't suppose you'd consider lifting your skirts.... "

"Shame on you!" She couldn't resist one more intoxicating kiss, though, and her tone was less assured when she added, "I should think you'd have more important matters on your mind tonight."

"Nothing is more important than you, Michelle." His smile flashed in the darkness before he gave an exaggerated sigh. "However, I suppose we ought bring this adventure to a close so that I can take you home to bed."

"To sleep?" Her tone was playful. "It's late and you must be fatigued..."

Sandhurst's brows flew up. "Sleep! Oh, no, my love, I had in mind an entirely new adventure. The other events of the night will seem mundane in comparison!"

Micheline giggled softly as he took her hand and pulled her off toward the turreted Palace Gate.

The watchmen were crying "Ten o'clock!" when Andrew and Micheline parted company in the gardens outside the royal apartments. To the east the River Thames glittered under the stars.

"You have half an hour before Rupert arrives," he told her softly. "I'll see you soon."

"But how will you—"

Mischief infected his tone. "It's a surprise. Now, go!"

She was pushed firmly toward the imposing palace steps, and then Sandhurst disappeared into the shadows, his sword hilt agleam in the moonlight.

* * *

It took nearly a quarter hour for Micheline to talk her way into an audience with King Henry. By the time she was admitted to his presence chamber, after passing through endless windowed, tapestry-hung galleries with ceilings wrought in stone and gold, her nerve was beginning to fail her.

In the cavernous presence chamber, Henry VIII sat on his throne of red and gold brocade. It crouched on a raised dais, with a canopy above, serving to make Micheline feel very small and insignificant.

Garbed in rich blue velvet and cloth of silver that was slashed, padded, and encrusted with all manner of gems, the monarch narrowed his tiny eyes at Micheline. Next to him sat Queen Anne, her rounded belly draped with violet silk. Her anxious gaze was fixed not on their visitor but on Henry as she waited to see what he would do.

"Good evening, my lady," he said in tone that made Micheline's heart sink. "I do not remember inviting you to Whitehall for this late interview."

She sank into a curtsy before the dais. "It was very gracious of Your Majesty to see me at this hour. I would not trouble you, but I am here concerning a matter of life and death."

"I thought as much." Henry sighed as if bored, and reached for his wine goblet. "If you've come to beg for Lord Sandhurst's life, you are doomed to disappointment. Any man foolish enough to make advances to my queen deserves to lose his head."

Anne spoke up imploringly. "I have told you, sire, that these accusations are lies! It is true that Lord Sandhurst smiled on me from time to time, but that was long before our marriage, and it went no further. He never touched me!"

Anger reddened the king's face. "Be silent! When you take his part, it makes me think that you encouraged him!"

"The queen speaks the truth, Your Majesty! This plot against my husband was concocted by Rupert and Patience Topping. They meant to see both of us dead and Andrew disgraced, hoping that our titles would pass to them!"

"What nonsense! Why, Topping could scarcely bring himself to disclose Sandhurst's behavior to me. His loyalty to his brother was nearly greater than his loyalty to me, but fortunately he saw that, morally, he had no other choice."

"I hesitate to contradict you, sire, but I think that when you hear what I have to say, you'll see things differently."

"This is a waste of my time," the king grumbled. Still, it was hard to be completely indifferent to Lady Sandhurst's anguished beauty. "Go on, then. Tell your story, but be brief!"

A shortage of time left her no alternative. Quickly Micheline related the various accidents and threats of the past few months and ended with an account of the events related to the fire at Sandhurst Manor.

"Rupert thinks that I am dead, Your Majesty, that Patience succeeded in her part of their plan. He can be tricked into revealing his true colors—if you will help."

Henry cocked a skeptical brow. "How do I know that you are telling the truth? And what part do you propose that I play in this scheme? After all, Sandhurst has refused to lift a finger to help his king of late! I really can't see why I should bother."

"I think you are wise enough to recognize the truth in my eyes, sire. In France I was told that you were both wise and just. Please help me now to right a terrible wrong, not only for the sake of me and my husband but for our unborn child and the Duke of Aylesbury. He would want his title to go to the proper person, a good man who will uphold the proud tradition of his family."

Henry shifted on his throne. The girl had appealed to his vanity. If he turned away from her, it would look as if he weren't fair and just! Also, her mention of France had given him pause. Henry had heard that King Francois was quite fond of the former Madame Tevoulere. Perhaps it would be better all around to humor her, just to be on the safe side.

"Very well, then, I'll go along with your plan. I've ever been one for digging out the truth. What do you want me to do?"

Micheline gave him an incandescent smile. "Thank you, sire! I must explain rapidly, for Rupert will be arriving at any moment."

"I beg your pardon!" King Henry exploded.

"It's part of the plan, Your Majesty! Please, hear me out!"

"Colossal nerve," he muttered under his breath while Micheline launched into detailed instructions of all that the king must say to Rupert Topping. When she was finished, Henry's mouth, which was quite small in his heavily fleshed face, curved upward slightly. "An interesting scheme, my lady. This may be more amusing than I anticipated."

At that moment a footman appeared to announce that Rupert Topping was waiting to see His Majesty. The king instructed him to show him up.

"Where may I hide?" Micheline asked anxiously.

"It's a warm night. Why don't you wait on the balcony," Anne suggested.

Quickly she curtsied and exited through the tall French doors. Micheline was backing onto the balcony, closing the doors in front of her, her heart pounding madly, when she bumped into a shadowy figure. Before she could scream involuntarily, a hand came around to cover her mouth. It smelled wonderfully familiar.

"Romantic, isn't it?" Sandhurst's breath was warm against her ear. "A moonlit June night, the Thames shimmering in the distance, the two of us alone on a palace balcony..." His lips grazed her temple. "The possibilities are intriguing."

Micheline heaved a gusty sigh of relief, turning in his arms. "Andrew!" She nearly laughed aloud in reaction. "How did you get up here?" The king's apartments were on the third floor of Whitehall Palace.

"I climbed."

Glancing down the sheer side of the building, Micheline ruefully shook her head. "I'm glad, then, that you didn't tell me beforehand. I'd have been worried sick!"

He smiled down at her as she put up a shaky hand and smoothed his windblown hair. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Rupert Topping entering the presence chamber. Sandhurst laid an agile finger over Micheline's mouth and slowly turned her around. He kept an arm curved close around her and she leaned back against him as they listened through the slightly parted doors.

Rupert was wearing an ill-fitting doublet of purple silk topped by a green jerkin trimmed with rubies and fox. He looked very hot and very nervous as he bowed before the king and queen. Every so often the right side of his face twitched as though it had a life of its own.

"I have come, just as you commanded, Your Majesty!" Rupert declared grandly, his voice cracking. "How may I serve you?"

"I appreciate your efforts, Topping. I know what a strain you've been under—what with Sandhurst's imprisonment and all."

"Such a tragedy," the spindly young man agreed. "I've scarcely had a wink of sleep, trying to deal with the misgivings I have about my role in his arrest."

"You were only doing your duty, weren't you? You were honor-bound to tell what you knew. I shouldn't feel guilty if I were you, Topping. After all, the crime was not yours but his. Correct?"

The twitch was spreading downward to Rupert's arm. Sandhurst listened to him blubber a reply, smiling to himself as he realized that the king was enjoying this little charade. He had the manner of a cat toying with a panic-stricken mouse.

"I hesitate to add to your trials, Topping," Henry was continuing smoothly, "but I received some news this evening that I thought you should hear."

"Oh! I say! That was very considerate of you, sire!"

"Sad stuff, I fear." The king leaned forward slightly in his throne, watching Rupert's face. "It seems that there was a fire at Sandhurst Manor—in her ladyship's bedchamber. Tragically she did not survive."

"What? Oh, my God! It can't be true! This is unthinkable!" Rupert staggered backward, clutching his heart and gaping at the king and queen. "She was so young, so beautiful!"

"Deplorable acting," Andrew whispered laconically out on the balcony. Micheline turned her face up and grinned in reply.

"It certainly is a tragedy." Henry was nodding soberly. "I was thinking that it might be best if you broke the news to your brother."

Rupert flinched in surprise. "Me? Tell Sandhurst? Oh, well, I don't know—that is to say—well, it's just that—"

"Good. You know, my sympathies are aroused by this calamity. I'd made up my mind that Sandhurst should go to the block by week's end, but now I'm having second thoughts. Perhaps the suffering he'll endure over his bride's untimely death will be punishment enough."

Perspiration rolled down Rupert's pasty face. "Very—uh—kind of you, sire, but—I just—that is, do you really think it would be wise?"

"It's not as if your brother is a dangerous man, is it, Topping? We needn't fear for our lives if he's set free!" The king chuckled at this, but there was a wicked glint in his eyes. "After all, there is quite a difference between a man who becomes rather awed by the queen's rare beauty and a murderer. Don't you agree?"

Rupert mopped his brow with a large handkerchief. "It's only that, well, others might misunderstand your mercifulness. Your Majesty!"

"I have a moral obligation to justice, though. I must say, Topping, you surprise me! I expected you to rejoice at the prospect of your brother's freedom!"

"Oh, yes! Of course, of course!" His entire right side twitched convulsively. "It's just that, well, I didn't want to have to reveal this—family honor and all that—but the fact is, Sandhurst is not the man we believed him to be!"

"Is he not?" The king made a show of innocent surprise.

"No! There have been other crimes. The—the treason I hinted at earlier. It's been worse that you know! He mocks your stand against the pope at every opportunity! And—and—I've come to think that Sandhurst is quite evil beneath that charming facade of his!"

"Really! Do go on!"

"This is very hard for me, you understand, but in the interest of justice—"

Out on the balcony Micheline pressed Andrew's hand to her mouth to smother the laughter that would barely be suppressed. Glancing up, she saw her husband bite his lip and cast his eyes heavenward.

"Courage, man!" King Henry was urging. "What is it you have to tell me?"

"This is the hardest speech I've ever had to make!" Rupert cried plaintively. "You see, the fact is—I already heard about Lady Sandhurst's death in the fire."

Henry started in astonishment and glanced quickly at the queen. "You did!"

"Yes, yes, I received word from my dear wife, Patience, who had been staying at Sandhurst Manor with her ladyship and Lady Cicely Weston. It seems that Sandhurst himself left abruptly for London following a terrible row with his wife." He paused here to sigh dramatically and wipe his brow again. The handkerchief was drenched. "In fact... Patience wrote me that Lady Sandhurst's death may not have been an accident after all. There appears to be conclusive evidence that the fire was arranged by—by her husband!"

"God's bones, that is a shock!" The king agreed. "So it's your opinion that the his lordship should not be released from the Tower? That I should speed his execution?"

"It breaks my heart to say it, Your Majesty, but... yes! I think my brother deserves to die! As quickly as possible!"

When Sandhurst himself emerged soundlessly from the balcony, King Henry barely blinked, though inwardly he was astounded. He cleared his throat to avoid an immediate reply to Rupert, watching with one eye as Andrew drew his sword and walked up behind his sniveling half-brother.

Rupert literally jumped into the air when he felt the prick of the sword tip at his back.

"Rupert, I am desolated to learn your true opinion of me!" Sandhurst said with deft sarcasm. "All these years I have basked in your devotion, only to discover that you really don't like me!" His tone was laced with laughter. "I'm crushed."

"Your Majesty! The guards!" screamed Rupert. "Call the guards! Have this man arrested before he kills me too!"

The king merely reclined in his throne, enjoying the show.

"I have some good news for you, Rupert!" Sandhurst was saying. "My wife isn't dead after all. Aren't you relieved?"

On cue Micheline walked in from the balcony and made a wide circle around the two men, staring at Rupert with frosty blue eyes. Topping himself was too upset to speak; his entire body quaked against Andrew's sword point.

"However, the bad news is that Patience was caught in the act of setting fire to Micheline's bed. When Cicely intervened, she tried to dispatch her as well, but luckily my sister had thought to bring a candlestick with her. Let us say that justice was done." He paused strategically. "What? No tears for your dear wife? Don't tell me that you're concerned only about your own survival!"

"Don't listen to him!" Drops of sweat fell from the point of Rupert's nose. "He's lying, Your Majesty! He's always hated me!"

"That's rather a strong word," Sandhurst protested. "Detest might better describe my feelings. Why is that, do you suppose? I've often thought it odd that I never felt even the smallest twinge of familial affection for you. It's occurred to me, from time to time, that perhaps you're not really a relative at all!" His sword cut through Rupert's jerkin and doublet, finding his bony back.

"Your Majesty!" he begged, trying to summon tears.

"You're going to die anyway, Topping," Henry said dispassionately. "Tell the truth or I'll allow Sandhurst to save the headsman the trouble."

"All right!" Rupert shouted and sobbed at once, cracking open like a walnut. "It's true! I'm not the duke's son! My father was the ferrier in Giggleswick! He was a drunkard, though, and wouldn't marry my mother, and so she began looking to see if the Duke of Aylesbury wouldn't like to have her back as a mistress. She hung about the castle to no avail, and eventually the frustration became too much. Mother decided to take control of fate. She pushed the duchess down the stairs one day, and after that it wasn't long before the duke weakened enough to take us in."

Micheline was stunned by these revelations but saw that Andrew wasn't. His chiseled face showed no reaction except for a gradual whitening of the scar above his mouth.

"Sandhurst wasn't much of a son, and though I hated the duke myself, I knew that my only chance for success would be to court his favor. Everything was progressing according to plan until Sandhurst actually obeyed the old man for once and married this French chit!"

"You followed me to Fontainebleau, didn't you?" Andrew demanded coldly.

"Of course I did! Not that I thought there was the least chance you'd fall in love—but it did seem wise to try to nip the thing in the bud. I did my best, but unfortunately madame was frustratingly resilient."

"It was you who shone that mirror and frightened my horse!" Micheline cried as the pieces came together.

Nodding, Sandhurst interjected, "And he doubtless put something in your wine the night you dined with Rabelais and became so ill."

She was aghast. "Rupert! You pushed me down the steps at Aylesbury Castle! The same steps where the duchess met her death."

Topping merely shrugged in reply. Then, shocking everyone, he suddenly drew his own sword and spun around awkwardly to face Sandhurst.

"You think me a coward?" he cried.

A brow arched coolly. "Indeed."

"I am more a man than you know." He swung his blade up against Sandhurst's with surprising force.

"You make me a gift, mewling." Laughing, he caught the sword with his own weapon and deftly thrust the smaller man away.

Rupert wore a slightly crazed look as he began circling. He held the side-sword out and made an awkward lunge toward Sandhurst, who responded with a soft chuckle.

"Come here, little one," he taunted. "Let me remind you of the sharpness of my steel." In the next instant, he thrust his blade forward, just missing Rupert's chin, and cut the laces on his doublet so that it fell open.

"You mock me!" His face was red and wet with sweat.

"At your invitation, good sir." Watching as Rupert hopped in an awkward circle around the room, Sandhurst merely stopped and raised his eyebrows.

Suddenly, Rupert summoned all the skill from years of practice and came forward with a flurry of thrusts that made Micheline cry out in alarm. Steel met steel, flashing, until Sandhurst drove him back. Then, unable to resist, he flicked his sword out once more to pare away s ruby button that decorated the front of Rupert's jerkin. It clattered to the floor and rolled away.

Rupert was panting hard now and his arm had begun to tremble. "Why don't you just kill me?"

"And put you out of your misery?" Sandhurst drove him back against a wall embellished with gilded panels and held the razor-sharp tip of his blade under Rupert's quaking chin. Torchlight from a nearby sconce threw shadows over the beaten man's face. "That sounds far too merciful for you, and far too messy for me. I've better ways to spend what's left of this night."

The king had summoned guards who now came forward to haul Rupert Topping off to the Tower of London. Henry gave instructions that he should have one of the rat-infested cells in the Bell Tower rather than accommodations befitting a gentleman.

Micheline ran to her husband, clinging to his neck as he slipped his sword back into its scabbard.

"Quite an exciting entertainment, eh, my sweetheart?" Henry was saying to Anne as he heaved himself to a standing position.

"I'm glad it all turned out so happily," agreed the queen.

Wrapping a strong arm around the shivering form of his wife, Sandhurst said, "My heartfelt thanks for your help, sire. And I hope you'll overlook my premature departure from the Tower."

"Considering the circumstances, yes. And I won't even ask how you came to be out on that balcony! Now, if you'll excuse us—"

"Perhaps Lord and Lady Sandhurst would prefer to sleep here at Whitehall after their ordeal," Anne wondered.

"You are gracious, Your Majesty," Andrew replied, laughing softly, "But I mean to spend this night in our own bed!"

* * *

Sandhurst was suffering from the kind of extreme exhaustion that kept him wide awake. He lay on his back in the great bed at Weston House, bathed in the moonbeams that come just before the dawn. The night was balmy, and all he needed to keep warm was Micheline. She curled against him, soft and trusting as a kitten, her rich hair spilling over his bare chest.

Andrew's left arm was bent behind his head, while his right encircled his wife's back so that his fingers rested on the curve of her hip. From time to time he opened his eyes, thinking about the events of the last few days, about his marriage, about Micheline, and what lay ahead for them.

It was difficult for Sandhurst to realize that they had known each other only a few months; life before Micheline seemed hazy to him. She was the center of his existence, yet the time they'd shared so far had been mostly fraught with turmoil.

The one oasis of peace had been the few weeks they'd spent alone in Gloucestershire following their marriage, and he looked forward to returning there to share a lifetime of contented tranquility with Micheline, and soon, with their child. Smiling ironically, Andrew thought of the years he'd spent trying to elude the specter of boredom. He'd believed then that tranquility and boredom were synonymous somehow.

Caressing Micheline's silky hair, Sandhurst considered the tumultuousness that always seemed to color their lovemaking. Tonight had been no exception. Passion had crackled in the air as they came together, expressing physically all the emotions that had no words. There was never time to linger. It seemed that whenever they touched, mutual arousal flared almost instantly into a storm of wild proportions.

Andrew wondered if the future would bring calmer times. He longed to explore each inch of Micheline's body with tantalizing slowness. He wanted to savor her. Given both their passionate natures, it seemed unlikely that the storms generated by their love would ever repose for long, but the prospect of variety was definitely appealing.

Micheline made a soft purring sound in her sleep. Glancing down at her parted lips, and then to the creamy curves of her naked body, Andrew smiled to himself. Slowly he turned on his side, brushing his mouth over the satiny line of her neck and caressing her breast with exquisite gentleness.

"Mmm..." she murmured happily.

"My sentiments exactly, Michelle," Sandhurst whispered. "There's no time to begin like the present."