Of One Heart

chapter 3





November 12-13, 1532



Micheline retired early that night to her tower chamber with a book of poetry by Francois Villon. Propped against a bolster, she gazed out at the full moon that poured its light across the bed. A candle burned on the table next to her, but she had no heart for reading. It would be so much more convenient, she thought, if cheery surroundings and loving friends were enough to make one happy, but it seemed that moods could not be shaped quite so easily. No matter how many distractions she had, her mind went around and around of its own accord, taking the past apart and putting it together again in an effort to make sense of it, then fretting over the future.

Putting aside her book, Micheline blew out the candle and stared into the silver-blue moonlight. Sleep, she told herself. However, when her eyes closed, she saw images of Thomas, Aimée, and their two cherubs. How fortunate they were! It seemed that any chance of her own for such contentment had died with Bernard.

Micheline tossed this way and that in the cool darkness while memories and questions swirled round and round inside her. Finally, throwing off her covers, she put on a robe and went into the corridor. The chateau was quiet now. Tears burned her eyes as she descended the curving stairway to the moon-silvered gallery. Was there no escape from the pain that had seemingly had attached itself to her very soul?

* * *

The chateau was not as quiet as it appeared. Upstairs, Thomas and Aimée had just indulged in a long, shared bath. She was now sitting up in bed, naked under the covers, while Thomas combed out her long raven curls.

"I'm too tired to listen to the serious side of the king's meetings with Henry the Eighth," Aimée murmured with a yawn. "Save the details of the treaties and subterfuge for tomorrow... but do tell me about Anne Boleyn! Is she very beautiful? Do you suppose Henry will actually marry her?"

"Beautiful? No. But there is a... quality about the lady that some men might find attractive. Francois certainly seemed taken with her—he gave her a diamond worth fifteen thousand ecus. As for her chances to become queen of England, Henry recently made her Marquess of Pembroke, so I would wager in her favor. He's besotted; there's no doubt."

"Do you think the French court life impressed them? Were the entertainments fine?"

St. Briac shrugged, laid the comb aside, and began to caress his wife's shoulders. "Fine enough," he replied absently. "Bear-baiting, and a rather bizarre wrestling contest between Englishmen and French priests... and, of course, the usual balls and masques. Francois left Queen Eleanor at Fontainebleau, so he was free to partner Anne Boleyn in the dances."

Although Aimée was frankly aroused by her husband's increasingly intimate caresses, she could not resist the opening he'd provided for another avenue of conversation.

"So... the court is in residence at Fontainebleau? How I have longed to be there myself lately!"

St. Briac blinked in surprise, but did not waver in his own course of action. Drawing Aimée into his arms, he kissed her throat with warm lips. "I thought that you desired only to spend weeks on end here with me! Before I left for Calais, you could talk of nothing else except the son you intended to conceive before Christmas."

His fingertips were drawing fiery patterns on her breasts. It took every ounce of control Aimée possessed to continue the conversation. "I do still want to conceive a son, but right now there is a more urgent matter that demands my immediate attention."

"Impossible, miette," he murmured absently.

"You've been so busy stealing kisses from me and playing with the babies that you've scarcely had time to notice. I'm talking about darling Micheline!"

"My love, I have the utmost sympathy for Micheline's plight, and I hope that she will stay with us until she feels better, but I fail to see what this has to do with the two of us making a baby!"

Aimée tried to ignore St. Briac's waning patience with the conversation. "Your good wishes for Micheline are admirable, but I have realized that we, as her friends, must play a more active role in her recovery."

Thomas lay back on his pillow. "I hate to say it, but all the signs point to one of your notorious plans."

"How well you know me!" she teased. "We must think of Micheline. You and I have everything that she does not, and a whole lifetime ahead of us in which to enjoy our blessings."

"And how do you propose to obtain our sort of blessings for Micheline?"

"Fontainebleau is the remedy!"

At this St. Briac gave her an incredulous stare. "Fontainebleau?! Surely you jest! A few months at court are more apt to corrupt than bless the unspoiled Micheline!"

"Not if we are there to watch over her!" She leaned toward him excitedly. "She is not ready to think of marriage yet. All I really want for her is to live again! At Fontainebleau, she is bound to feel a spark of interest. You don't understand how desperately melancholy Micheline has been since Bernard's death. She thinks her life is over!"

"Nonsense."

"I know you have not forgotten what we suffered after little Justin's death. Unspeakable grief! But at least we had each other. If we do nothing to help our friend, who knows how long it will take before something or someone comes along to make her take an interest in life again?"

She had said the one thing that could make his heart clench in empathy. "You're determined about this, aren't you?"

A tide of love swept over her as she heard the surrender in his voice. Wrapping her arms around him, she said, "Part of the reason I feel so strongly about this is that I'm certain Micheline has never been truly fulfilled in life or love before."

"That's a safe assumption considering the character of her husband. I've never been one to speak ill of the dead, but frankly Micheline is well rid of Tevoulere."

"We must be very careful to keep the truth about Bernard from her. It would destroy her! She nurtures an illusion that he was meant to be her mate for life."

St. Briac made a noise that succinctly expressed his opinion on that subject.

"And yet," Aimée continued, "I feel that even Micheline realizes, deep inside, that her marriage was not all it could have been. Bernard was the only man she's ever known. She simply doesn't know what she's been missing."

"I doubt that she'll make that discovery at court."

"Perhaps not, but she'll have entertaining distractions. She's like a wounded fawn, Thomas. First she has to heal and learn to enjoy the simplest pleasures; it may be quite some time before she's ready to think of love."

"I yield, my lady." St. Briac smiled, kissing his wife's hair. "We shall go to Fontainebleau for the winter, at least. Do you suppose, though, that in the meantime—"

Aimée turned her face up to joyously receive his kiss. He tasted the sweet secrets of her mouth and drew her closer to feel her softness against his hardness. "How I missed you, miette," he whispered.

She gloried in the hot swirling spiral of passion, giving herself over to it as St. Briac's mouth burned her throat and then found her breasts. Now that the matter of Micheline was resolved for the moment, Aimée could concentrate on her husband. He was, she believed, the most splendid man in France.

* * *

It was long past midnight when Thomas fell asleep. Aimée listened to his heartbeat, wide awake, dozens of plans circling busily in her mind. Gradually her sixth sense told her that Micheline might be awake as well.

St. Briac's long, elegant fingers were curved around her waist, keeping her near even in sleep. His fatigue from the arduous journey home was such, however, that he didn't stir when Aimée lifted his hand and crept out of bed. Donning a velvet robe, she lifted the latch and tiptoed out into the dark corridor.

Micheline sat near the bottom of the curving white marble stairway, leaning against a baluster fashioned of black wrought-iron grapevines. The moonlight was brighter than ever, flooding the gallery through the tall windows that opened onto the courtyard. Aimée approached Micheline carefully. She was so still that she seemed unaware of her friend's presence, but then, as Aimée drew near, she whispered gently, "Has the moon kept you awake as well, Aimée?"

"In part... the moon and thoughts of you." Aimée perched beside her.

"I'm sorry. Don't worry about me. You should be giving your attention to your family."

"I have love enough for all of you," she replied warmly. "Will you tell me why you are still awake?"

"I try to sleep, but Bernard is in my dreams. It's very hard."

"I have some news that might cheer you up," Aimée said suddenly.

"I would be so grateful!" replied Micheline earnestly. "I long for escape from this melancholy. It is like being lost in the woods, endlessly..."

"Perhaps my news will provide a way out. Thomas and I have decided to join the court at Fontainebleau for the winter, and we insist that you accompany us. You've never been to court, have you?"

"No." Micheline had always thought that she wouldn't enjoy court life, but deep inside her she realized that had only been her way of hiding her disappointment when Bernard did not invite her to accompany him.

"It's all quite gay!" Aimée declared brightly. "There is so much to do. You'll have new gowns and new friends.... There will be little time for sadness. I know it will be good for you."

She stared out to the moon-drenched courtyard. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it would be the best thing for me." She paused, then turned to search her friend's face with eloquent iris-blue eyes.

Aimée reached out to touch Micheline's cheek, her own eyes swimming with tears. "It won't be easy, but if you have courage, you'll discover pleasure in living again."

"Do you truly believe it is possible?"

"Absolutely! I can't promise that you'll find your proper path at Fontainebleau, but I am convinced that it exists—and at its end lies happiness and fulfillment that you have yet to even imagine."