You and No Other

by Cynthia Wright

  "I knew it! Sangdieu, what do you think you are doing here, Aimée?"

  Chapter 6

  April 27-28, 1526

  Aimée turned and sat up. It was her turn to be filled with dread. The tone of St. Briac's greeting had not been cordial.

  "Monseigneur, what a surprise! Although I suppose I shouldn't find it surprising that you are in the habit of bursting into bedchambers uninvited and then attacking the innocent female occupants."

  St. Briac blinked, incredulous. Anger and a sudden urge to laugh warred within him. "My girl, you lend new meaning to the word audacious," he told her at last. "Have you no shame?"

  Aimée, slightly relieved by his response, hugged silk-covered knees to her chest and gave him a winsome smile. "I realize that my presence here must come as quite a shock," she ventured, "but—"

  "A shock? You must be mad. In truth, I'm certain of it. Do you long for an early grave? I can think of no other reason for you to tempt fate this way. What do you think the king will do when he discovers you, the only female he despises in all the world, as his bed partner tonight?"

  She swallowed and echoed, "Bed partner?"

  "Can it be that the brazen Aimée de Fleurance is at a loss for words?" St. Briac exclaimed sarcastically. His massive body towered over Aimée and caused her to shrink uncertainly against the pillows. "You foolish girl. What did you think Francois wanted Honorine for, political advice? He bade me stop here to inform her that he would join her shortly, only there is no Honorine." He paused, leaned close to her, and said evenly, "Only you, miette."

  Aimée shivered. "You are cruel. How can you attack me this way after advising me just two nights ago that I must be strong and fight back against the fate my parents were thrusting upon me? When I received the king's invitation to Honorine by mistake, it seemed an act of God. Deliverance! I could only think of escape, but even if I had imagined that I might have to share the king's bed, I still would have gone. At least he would be preferable to Armand Rovicette."

  The corners of St. Briac's mouth twitched. "No doubt such an extravagant compliment would warm our monarch's heart, but the fact remains that even if he did not hate you, you are not to his taste. The lady he invited was adoring and golden-haired. You are neither. Your fate will not be a pretty thing, I fear."

  Aimée gasped. "How can you say such a thing? Have you no sympathy at all for my plight?"

  Sighing, he sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his crisp, dark hair. "Any sympathy I might feel, mademoiselle, is lost under a tide of aggravation. Tell me, does Honorine know you have come to the king in her place?"

  "No," Aimée admitted in a small voice.

  "And what plan did you make for the moment of your inevitable encounter with His Majesty?"

  "None," she whispered, looking away from his penetrating eyes. "I could hardly believe that I would be able to get away at all. If that much succeeded, I just assumed that I would think of another plan. Really, I suppose I've hoped that the king would be so preoccupied with Anne d'Heilly that I could stay in the background, at least until we were far enough from Nieuil that I could leave the court train and take up a new life."

  She was so pitifully desperate that it made St. Briac's head ache. He could feel himself being drawn in to the girl's chaotic scheme but he was determined to resist. "A new life. What sort of a new life?"

  "I don't know," Aimée answered plainly.

  He had been distractedly rubbing his brow, but now he turned his splendid head and looked at her for a long minute. Her heart quickened.

  "This adventure you have made for yourself is quite serious, Aimée. It could turn out to be worse than marriage to Armand Rovicette."

  "But I had to take that chance." Suddenly her eyes swam with tears. "I had to fight, just as you told me."

  Suzette had whiled away the past few minutes folding and then refolding the contents of Aimée's trunks, listening curiously yet attempting to appear invisible. Now a soft knock at the door made her jump.

  "Mademoiselle de Fleurance?" It was the charming voice of Francois I. "Will you grant me a few moments of your time?"

  "Helas!" Panic-stricken, Suzette rushed over to the bed. "Hide, m'sieur. Hurry!"

  Caught off guard, St. Briac found himself being pushed on one side and pulled from the other into the bed. The curtains were closed hastily behind him, and in the next instant he heard the door to the chamber being opened. Suzette was greeting the king, but St. Briac was more concerned with the amusing activities within Aimée's bed.

  "Get in," she whispered against his ear. "Get down!"

  He obeyed without argument. Aimée held the covers back, draped them over St. Briac, and pushed him downward next to her. He wondered briefly whether she realized that this would hide his large body even less effectively than it had hers should Francois decide to investigate, but then her warm nearness obliterated all thoughts.

  They lay there together, not daring to move, as Suzette informed the king of her mistress's illness. In the confusion Aimée's small foot had become trapped between St. Briac's hard-muscled thighs, and her silk shift had ridden up so that he discovered a smooth bare leg under his hand. The curve of her hip, he realized, was just inches away, not to mention other tantalizingly uncharted territory. Best of all, her hands were in his hair, holding him close as if to ensure his stillness. Her creamy breasts, nearly exposed by the shift's deep, square neckline, brushed the side of his face. St. Briac could hear the anxious thump of her heart as he inhaled her scent.

  Dimly, the two of them heard Suzette suggesting that she and the king should continue their conversation in the corridor to avoid waking Mademoiselle de Fleurance. He assented, and the door closed behind them. Aimée stirred, abruptly flooded with embarrassment as she became fully conscious of St. Briac's intimate proximity.

  "Shh," he cautioned. "They could come back."

  The sensation of his face turning against her breasts sent a stunning jolt of desire through her body. Ever so softly, St. Briac's parted lips grazed her skin. His breath was warm, stirring feelings that she'd never imagined. She lay rigid, barely stifling an urge to whimper aloud. Acutely conscious of his chiseled male lips, Aimée finally did sob with pleasure when his mouth caressed a taut nipple through the silk of her shift. Then she felt the heat of his tongue through the thin fabric and began to tremble. Reflexively, her leg drew up and came in contact with something hard—a long vertical ridge between St. Briac's hips.

  "Parbleu," she breathed, realizing what this thing must be and why it was so drastically altered.

  "Aimée." St. Briac moved to free himself of the covers, to take her in his arms and kiss her delicious lips. The girl was simmering with desires and passions she didn't even comprehend.

  Suddenly the bed curtains were thrown open. "You can come out now, monseigneur," Suzette exclaimed. "It must have been very hot for you under those blankets. The king is gone. He prays for the return of your health, mam'selle, and to that end is having a cup of brandy sent to banish your fever."

  St. Briac pressed long fingers to his eyes and smothered an expletive. He couldn't get up and face that dim-witted maid until his obvious desire subsided, but fortunately Aimée had moved away to sit on the edge of the bed. Although her profile was averted, he could see clearly that her cheeks were aflame.

  "You're right, Suzette, I was very hot under those covers, and my suffering was to no purpose. You ladies forgot that the king himself sent me to this chamber, and so it would not have surprised him at all to find me here. In truth, he probably wonders why I did not return to inform him myself of 'Honorine's' illness. I'll wager that he's gone to my rooms to pursue the matter further and cannot understand what has become of me."

  Aimée was burning with shame over her wanton urges and the knowledge that he was well aware of them. When St. Briac swung long booted legs over the side of the bed and stood up to go, her desperation surfaced.

  "Wait, please!"

  He glanced up from s
traightening his doublet and arched an amused brow. "I am at your command, mademoiselle." His gaze flicked toward the bed as if to taunt her.

  Aimée blushed anew but would not be silenced. "I beg you, monseigneur, to have mercy and help me. There is no one else."

  "No. You have brought nothing but trouble to my life since the moment we met and I would be a fool to allow myself to become further entangled in your affairs. Au revoir." He nodded at Aimée and Suzette in turn and then forced himself to turn away and leave the chamber.

  * * *

  Gaspard LeFait waited in the corridor, his gray eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What have you been up to now? Cuckolding your own king? You are shameless, monseigneur!" The little man clucked his tongue several times for emphasis.

  "Francois has yet to sleep with the lady himself, you meddler, so I fail to see how it would be possible to cuckold him." He strode past the manservant, adding, "The situation was quite different at any rate."

  "Different?"

  St. Briac whirled on him, his eyes blazing from high above. "I am exhausted. You are wrong. It is none of your affair, anyway. Now leave me in peace! I have enough aggravation without further contributions from you."

  The little man was stunned. Such a rude outburst was completely out of character for his merry master, who usually could manage to jest under the most trying circumstances.

  He watched the tall, wide-shouldered figure stalk down the hall, and then he heard a door slam as St. Briac disappeared into his chamber.

  "A perplexing turn of events to be sure," Gaspard mumbled under his breath. He stared for a moment at the door of the mysterious Mademoiselle de Fleurance before turning to descend the stairway, bound for his own bed in another part of the village.

  * * *

  Moonbeams slanted through the window at the end of the corridor. They were the only source of light as Aimée crept barefoot through the cool, dark silence that lay between midnight and dawn. It had taken a great deal of coaxing and finally harsh warnings to persuade Suzette to venture forth and investigate until she learned which chamber had been assigned to St. Briac. Now Aimée felt each door, counting her way toward the one she sought. The latch in question lifted noiselessly, and in a moment she found herself in St. Briac's chamber. Spangles of moonlight and the embers of a dying fire barely penetrated the darkness.

  Torn between determination and the urge to flee, Aimée finally made her way over to the massive bed. Heavy curtains were tied back at the posts, granting her a view of the bed's occupant. Aimée didn't need a candle to identify St. Briac. His sculpted head and torso, bronzed against the white bedclothes were unmistakable. For a long minute she indulged in the luxury of staring, her eyes lingering on his tapering chest, the strong column of his neck, the smudge of lashes against the curve of his taut cheekbones, his sleep-mussed hair. Finally Aimée leaned forward to touch St. Briac's hard forearm.

  "Monseigneur?" she whispered.

  Instantly he bolted upright, reaching for the sword that was propped against the bedpost. Terror-stricken, Aimée was certain he would run her through and ask questions later. She turned to flee, but St. Briac was quicker. What felt like iron hands caught her wrists; she found herself sprawled across his lap, with only a thin sheet between herself and his nakedness.

  "God's life, it's you! Aimée, will you never cease plaguing me?"

  "I had to talk to you, monseigneur," she whispered urgently.

  His grip relaxed only slightly. "In the dead of night? Can I find no peace even in sleep?"

  "I feared there would be no other opportunity to plead my cause to you."

  "So you stealthily entered my room? Foolish child. You are fortunate I did not kill you. Aside from that, what if I had been awake?"

  "It seemed unlikely at this hour."

  "I might have been enjoying the company of a pretty girl or two from the village." His eyes sparkled in the shadows.

  "You have the manners of a pig!" Cheeks aflame, she struggled to free herself, but he held her effortlessly. In her battle for escape, Aimée felt her face pressing St. Briac's chest; its warmth shocked her so that she sat instantly upright and silent.

  "It is not my manners that are in question but yours," he said tersely. "Tell me what you want so that I can go back to sleep."

  This scene was not going the way she had hoped it would, but Aimée plunged bravely ahead. "I had to beg you to reconsider your refusal to help me, monseigneur. Tonight's events and all that you told me have made me realize how very foolish I was to think that I could avoid the king. Will you not consent to aid me at least in small ways?"

  St. Briac sighed. The ache of unsatisfied desire had fueled his temper earlier that evening; it had not taken long for his heart to soften a bit toward the girl, but she'd be the last to know that. "This predicament is one that you have made entirely, Aimée, and I am not obligated to assist you in any way."

  "I know that. I appeal only to your charity, to your gallantry, to your—"

  "Enough." He put a hand over her lips and for an instant was keenly aware of their soft, moist contours.

  Aimée meanwhile reveled in the smell and touch of him. Then the hand was drawn away abruptly; she saw that St. Briac was looking out the window.

  "Why should I do this, mademoiselle?" he asked. Unfortunately for you, I am not one of those knights of old, ruled by the code of chivalry."

  For a moment Aimée was silent, marshaling her courage. She had to remind herself of the way his body had responded to hers, of his growing passion and clear frustration when they had been interrupted. Taking a deep breath, she murmured, "This is all I have to offer, monseigneur."

  Alert, St. Briac turned his head and looked hard at her.

  She was a vision in the moonlight, glossy curls spilling down and framing her lovely face, but his gaze was drawn to the neckline of her robe. With delicate hands she was drawing it open until he could glimpse the pale, perfect swell of her breasts and then the crests, fresh and pink as spring rosebuds. Inexplicably, rage welled up in him and he reached out to pull the edges of her robe together.

  "What do you take me for? An animal, completely lacking scruples? Do you actually imagine that I would demand your body in return for my protection? Incroyable!" He broke off at the sight of tears spilling from Aimée's stricken eyes. "Now what is wrong?"

  "You despise me. I have shamed myself forever."

  Against his better judgment, St. Briac gathered her into his embrace and stroked the silky curls he longed to kiss. "No, miette. I do not despise you, but what you have just done was an insult to us both."

  She wept into his chest. New and confusing emotions swirled within her. "You find me disgusting."

  "Far from it." His voice was soft with amusement.

  "I only thought that after what happened before, this might be the only thing that would convince you. I have heard of men who even use women against their wills or who employ all manner of tricks to—"

  "Spare me the details," St. Briac interrupted dryly. "Suffice it to say that I am not one of those men."

  "What about the young girls you spoke of earlier? You would have used them both at once without even becoming acquainted with them?"

  "Do you see any village maidens in my chamber?" he inquired a trifle testily. "I was not serious, Aimée."

  "Oh." Her tears had stopped, and she knew that the time had come to sit up, but the sensation of snuggling within the strength of his embrace, listening to his breathing, was too delicious.

  At length, St. Briac could bear no more; his powers of resistance were strained to the breaking point. Gently, he lifted Aimée away, and immediately a breeze chilled his chest. "Miette, you must go, before we...fall asleep. As for your offer, I believe I do understand what prompted you. I can only tell you that if one day we ever should make love, your motivation must be drastically different."

  She nodded and stood, fresh tears stinging her eyes. This had been a singularly humiliating experience from which nothing ha
d been gained except St. Briac's contempt. At the doorway she whispered, "Bonne nuit, monseigneur. I apologize again for disturbing you."

  "Don't fret." He paused, regarding the forlorn figure that waited in the shadows for his farewell. "Just to prove that I don't despise you, I'll agree to help with your charade."

  Suddenly she was whirling back into his arms, kissing his face all over and sobbing, "Merci, merci, merci!"

  St. Briac forced himself to be stern, holding her away from him. "There are conditions."

  "Anything," Aimée cried joyfully.

  "I will help to steer the king clear of you if I happen to be nearby at the appropriate moment, and I will try to warn you if you are in danger of discovery, but I will never tell him a lie for your sake. Is that clear?"

  "But of course, perfectly clear. Oh, monseigneur, I owe you my life!" She sank to her knees beside the bed and attempted to kiss his hand, but he snatched it away.

  "Get up! Return to your own bed and try to sleep. You'll need a clear head tomorrow for the entry into Poitiers."

  "As you say, monseigneur!" she sang as, beaming, she backed up all the way to the door.

  It was all he could do to smother the laughter Aimée so effortlessly evoked. "Before you collide with that portal, there is one more request I would make."

  "Name it, and it shall be done, monseigneur!"

  "Kindly cease using that term of address. You wear it out."

  "But then, by what name shall I address you?"

  "My own will do." He settled down into the pillows and closed his eyes. "Thomas."

  Chapter 7

  April 30, 1526

  On the fourth day of her journey, Aimée found herself enjoying a midday meal in the village of Chenonceau. Suzette had brought it to her in the carriage. The king, Anne, and the small group closest to him had been lured by an enthusiastic innkeeper to dine in one of his private rooms. Aimée had delighted in the conspiratorial wink St. Briac gave her as he passed through the inn's arched doorway.