You and No Other

by Cynthia Wright

  Now she nibbled the last of her chicken and smiled at Suzette. "It's almost over, if I can just stay out of the king's sight until we arrive at Blois tomorrow."

  Suzette nodded, but privately she wondered exactly what her mistress planned to do when this journey was concluded. She had spoken of traveling on to her aunt in Brittany, but Suzette knew this would require money they didn't have. Besides, the aunt was a loyal sister to Eloise de Fleurance. So far Aimée's tactic of crossing each bridge as they came to it had worked, but Suzette feared that only disaster would greet them when they crossed the final bridge to Blois.

  They were now truly in the Loire valley, the garden of France. Already Aimée was under its spell. Mild breezes, a dazzling blue sky, shimmering poplars, and an atmosphere that seemed golden with luminous lights filled her with peace and pleasure. Chenonceaux was nestled along the banks of the Cher River, a tributary of the Loire, among enchanted woodlands and rich rolling pastures of vivid green. Tonight the court would rest at the nearby chateau, which Aimée had heard was a rare jewel in the necklace of castles that lent added glory to an already magical region.

  "It's been a wonderful journey, hasn't it?" she murmured to the younger girl. "If nothing else, we've had that much."

  Suzette thought back to the hours of celebration that had accompanied the court's entry into each village or town where they planned to stay for the night. Liveried citizens, trumpeters, and other musicians escorted them into town, and Francois received the town keys and offered his pledge of protection to the citizens. Gifts were bestowed, and then the king rode along a procession under a rich canopy and over a surface covered with sand or rushes. Suzette had never seen anything like it; color and laughter and festivity saturated the air. Even the facades of the narrow houses were hung with tapestries. A service of thanksgiving was offered at the main church, followed by a banquet and merrymaking that lasted long past midnight. Suzette was usually able to join Paul, her squire, for some fun of her own, but it made her sad to see that Aimée's only pleasure came from peeking from around the curtains in her coach or watching from her bedchamber window. Still, it would appear that her mistress preferred such pastimes to life in Nieuil.

  "How is Paul these days?" Aimée asked, her green eyes slanting upward with mischief. "I saw you two kissing yesterday as you watched the procession. Tsk-tsk." She was leaning indolently against the cushions, basking in the fragrant sunlight that spilled in through the coach windows. Slowly, she peeled a grape with her teeth.

  Suzette's fifteen-year-old cheeks burned. "Oh, mam'selle, I hope you won't think me a harlot. I just couldn't help it. You are older than me, after all; you must know that kissing is magnifique!"

  It was Aimée's turn to blush. "Why, who would I have been kissing? M'sieur le Pig from Angouleme?"

  Suzette considered this. "You are so old, there must have been someone. You look as though you know about kissing, mam'selle." Suddenly the girl's blue eyes were alight. "I have it. What about the seigneur de St. Briac? What did you two do all that time in your bed while I was speaking to the king? I wondered about that later, especially after you had me discover his room. Didn't he even kiss you then, when you came to him in his bed?"

  "I bid you to cease," Aimée warned in a low voice.

  "Well, if I were you and it were true, I'd be proud." Suzette pretended to swoon, tipping the basket over in the process. "He is absolutely—"

  "Bonjour!" The door swept open, and there was St. Briac. The interior of the coach was suddenly in turmoil as the two girls scrambled to compose themselves and Suzette clumsily recovered the basket and its lost contents. He proceeded to make polite conversation about his meal, inquired after theirs, and then informed Suzette that she would be riding his manservant's horse the rest of the way.

  "Paul is waiting for you with the horse," he explained. "Gaspard will ride mine. He isn't at all pleased with the scenario, but I did feel it necessary to steal a few minutes of conversation with your mistress." St. Briac's light gaze had been on Aimée the entire time he was addressing Suzette.

  "Yes, monseigneur! Of course!" She grinned knowingly at Aimée and then bade them both a hasty goodbye and ran off to join her squire, lunch basket in hand.

  "Is this safe?" Aimée asked anxiously as he settled not into Suzette's seat but next to her. The two of them filled the small space.

  His eyes twinkled in the sunlight. "I have the king's blessing, miette. Do you mind?"

  "N-no!" Aimée found that her mouth was suddenly dry. "But, do explain, mon—I mean, Thomas."

  "Well, the fact is that the king did not come to speak to me that night at Gencay as I had expected; apparently he found other diversions. Since then he has been so busy and Anne has stayed so near that he has spared you—or should I say Honorine—barely a thought. However, today the king stole a moment to ask me to discover how Honorine fared. He said that I was the only person who had spoken to you since Nieuil."

  Remembering St. Briac's vow never to lie for her, Aimée turned panic-stricken eyes up to him. "What did you say? What does he think? Does he know?"

  He laughed at her excessive terror. "Fear not; your secret is still safe, mademoiselle. As I told you, I did not lie. He asked if you could still be so ill; I replied that I thought not. The king then wondered, logically I think, why you continued to hide from everyone."

  Aimée's chest hurt from holding her breath. "And?"

  "I offered the theory that you were shy about being thrust into the court, and especially about facing the king alone. I felt that explanation remained within the bounds of truth. Don't you agree?"

  "I have no interest in your truth and lies, monseigneur!" she cried impatiently. "My only concern is remaining undetected."

  "Well, you may not realize it yet, but Francois exhibits uncommon gallantry and respect for the ladies of his court. That is not to say that any of them comes before the king himself." He gave her an ironic smile. "However, his softer side is easily appealed to. I actually think that he was quite touched by my tale of your maidenly shyness."

  "Don't you take that tone with me. I may not be very shy with you, but at least I am maidenly."

  "Through no effort of your own," he couldn't resist murmuring. Catching the little hand that flew up to slap him, St. Briac continued. "At any rate, the conclusion of this tale is that the king decided, after a few suggestive comments from me, that it might be best to allow you a chance to settle in at Blois before confronting you." A dark brow arched. "You are safe, for today at least."

  Aimée was irritated by his arrogance and sarcasm, but gratitude won out. "Oh, mille mercis, monseigneur! You have been truly wonderful. If there is ever anything I can do to repay you, please do not hesitate to tell me." Impulsively, she threw her arms about his neck and found herself looking into turquoise eyes that crinkled with laughter at the corners.

  "Haven't we been over this before? I have asked you to call me Thomas." He saw her face soften into a relieved smile, and his heart seemed to melt. "Besides, your happiness is repayment enough."

  She held fast to his wide shoulders, tingling with the anticipation of his kiss. She willed St. Briac's mouth to crush her own... hungered for it.

  "Miette, you must open your eyes and loose me. We arrive at the chateau momentarily."

  She slid back onto the seat and stared out the window, blinking with surprise. She hadn't even realized when the coach began to move, and minutes must have passed. Her eyes skimmed the long avenue of plane trees.

  "You'll find the story of Chateau de Chenonceau interesting, Aimée," St. Briac was saying lightly, kindly filling the silence. "You see, it was built for Thomas Bohier, the financier for three kings. He had the previous manor razed, then constructed this chateau on the foundation of the old mill so that it spans the Cher River. It's quite remarkable and breathtaking."

  "Will we meet Monsieur Bohier?"

  "I'm afraid not. He died two years ago, and his wife followed only recently. After looking at his debts,
the Bohier offspring had no choice but to turn the chateau over to the king. This is his first visit as owner."

  "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," cried Aimée. "Why in heaven's name should Francois want another chateau? I'll wager he couldn't even count the ones he owned before this, and it will probably be years before he returns to Chenonceau again. It's indecent!"

  "What would you have him do with it?"

  "Why, he should have allowed the Bohiers to have kept or at least given it to someone needy!"

  "Like you?" Thomas suggested, hands raised to protect himself from her ferocity. Still, the merriment in his eyes was visible between his fingertips. "Are you going to carry on this way about each indulgence you find the king guilty of enjoying? That could become quite tiresome, miette, not to mention life-threatening for you. I fear you'll have to adjust to the idea that Francois is the king and, like other monarchs, believes that God himself has elevated him to a higher plane than the rest of us. Francois takes it for granted that he will be pampered and catered to by everyone."

  "Do you expect me to just smile as though I were witless and get in line to grovel at his feet?"

  "Look here," St. Briac replied more sharply. "No one invited you to be here today. I would only suggest that you give him a chance. Underneath the trappings and ceremony, our king is a very good man." He stared at her evenly. "I wouldn't be here if that were not the case."

  Properly chastened, Aimée turned hot cheeks toward the window and looked out as the coach drew near the chateau. Stone sphinxes marked the entrance to the forecourt. Gardens were laid out on either side, carefully tended in the newest Italian style. A moment later, the coach crossed a bridge and came to a halt on a rectangular terrace surrounded by moats filled with water from the river. St. Briac pointed toward the large keep that stood to the right of them.

  "That's the Tour de Marques, all that remains of the original chateau that once stood on this spot. And there"—he gestured out the window—"ahead of us on the river is Bohier's marvelous new creation. Do you blame the king for accepting it?"

  Aimée drew a surprised breath, staring. Never in her life had she seen a structure of greater elegance and beauty, and its charm was increased because it sat on arched piers, spanning the River Cher, and was reflected in the rippling blue water. The very sight was intoxicating.

  "Architecture is changing," Thomas remarked, looking briefly out the door to see how long it would be before the entire line of coaches could gather on the terrace. He wanted to wait until the two of them could melt into a crowd before leaving their own vehicle. "You'll see it more and more at these chateaux where the rich have been able to afford alterations, and people like the king can simply build anew."

  It was perfectly clear what he meant. In the past, when her own family home had been built, fortification dictated building styles. Now, obviously, beauty and grace were the ruling factors. The Chateau de Chenonceau loomed up between fields and woods in the midst of a lazy bend in the river, its towers awash with golden sunlight.

  "I would swear that I am having a vision," Aimée managed to breathe at last.

  "It's quite real, and at this moment so is our need to get you out of this coach undetected." Seeing that she still stared dreamily at the chateau, St. Briac gently tapped one flushed cheek. "Aimée!"

  "You have my full attention," she told him primly.

  "Good! The king has just stepped from his coach, and I will go to join him. You wait here until we are inside. Do not open the door until Suzette or Gaspard comes to fetch you. I will occupy Francois in the meantime."

  He shook his head and gazed upward for a moment as though unable to believe that he was saying these things. "Thank God this nonsense will be at an end tomorrow." Opening the door, St. Briac paused and looked back at Aimée with narrowed eyes. "Be careful. And just remember—if you are caught, I will deny all knowledge of you and this mad plot!"

  Chapter 8

  April 31, 1526

  Although it was past midnight, Thomas was wide awake in the kitchen of the Chateau de Chenonceau. The conversation at supper had spoiled his appetite. Louise, the king's mother, had ranted on about Semblancay and his assistant in deceit, Teverant, who had slipped away from the court train on the third day. Chauverge had looked more than ever like a weasel as he egged her on, agreeing that someone must be punished for Semblancay's treason while signaling for her glass to be replenished with wine. The king himself seemed to hear little of this, even when St. Briac spoke up to defend Teverant. His mind was on his sons and the treaty with Charles V that he must confront very soon. Finally, after a huge amount of wine was consumed and the chatter grew unbearably loud, St. Briac left for his chamber on the first floor, across from the one shared by Francois and Anne d'Heilly.

  For two hours Thomas attempted to sleep. He tried to ignore the boisterous shouts from the dining hall; he tried not to think of his friend Georges Teverant, who had certainly left their party out of a fear that would seem entirely justified; he tried to dismiss the worries of the king from his mind. However, it was the insistent reappearance of one face, one voice, in his thoughts that kept St. Briac from slumber. Finally, after the chateau had grown quiet, he cursed Aimée and his rumbling stomach and then threw back the covers and put on a soft white shirt, gray breeches, and hunting boots.

  The kitchen was located deep in the chateau, so close to the pillared foundation of the one-time mill that at times the river swirled about its windows. Although the nobility had long since departed for their beds to prepare for tomorrow's journey into Blois, St. Briac discovered that the kitchen fairly brimmed with high-spirited servants. The enormous room was lined with polished dressers, cupboards, and shelves. In the middle stood a long oak table, paneled and set on trestles. A barrel of pungent red wine had been opened; the cups had been filled again and again from the look of the assembled crowd.

  St. Briac was on the verge of turning back toward the stairway when Suzette called out, "Monseigneur, can't we help you?" The other girls giggled suggestively, but she went on with no more than a blush. "Are you hungry? There's fondue and toast and—"

  "Rabbit with prunes," exclaimed an old woman with the authority of the head cook. Before he could reply, she was reaching for one of the copper pots that gleamed against every available space of white wall.

  Suzette's young squire was pressing a large cup of wine into St. Briac's hands. Moments later, he found himself eating heartily of the delicious rabbit that had been stewed with prunes and drinking several cups of wine. Finally, some of the crowd showed signs of tiring. The high-pitched voices quieted, and St. Briac turned to Suzette.

  "I hope that your mistress was completely safe from anyone who might be awake before you left her alone," he murmured in a tone that was far from light.

  "But of course, monseigneur! She was fast asleep, and I made certain that His Majesty had retired as well before I left to join Paul and our friends."

  St. Briac believed her. He knew well enough that the stone corridors of the chateau were dark and quiet, yet uneasiness stole over him. Francois had been unusually dispirited and restless tonight, and Anne had been complaining of malaise once again. There was no guarantee that the king was as fast asleep as Mademoiselle de Fleurance. A little voice told him that the entire matter was no affair of his; Aimée had leaped headfirst into this dangerous undertaking without the slightest push from him. There was no reason for him to interrupt his pleasure, but...

  "My hunger and thirst have been pleasantly satisfied," he told those in the crowd who paused to listen. "I am grateful."

  Everyone bade him good night, and moments later he was climbing the staircase back to his room. A high vaulted hallway of white stone divided the ground-floor chambers. Even in the dim light, it was possible to pick out of the motifs of the enameled tiles on the floor Bohier's motto: "If it comes right, I'll be remembered."

  St. Briac was aware of a careless warmth imparted by the wine. He could give way to sleep
if he chose, and yet... He was just a few steps from his own room when the door across the hallway swung slowly open.

  "Thomas," a familiar voice hissed in relief. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

  Somehow he was not surprised. "I might ask you the same question, sire. I've been down to the kitchen for a late meal. Was that your intent?"

  "No." Francois gave a sly grin and eased the heavy portal shut before crossing over to his friend. "I've grown bored with this tiresome malaise of Anne's and have decided that the time is ripe to have a friendly little chat with Mademoiselle de Fleurance. A man can endure only so much when it comes to women and their moods."

  St. Briac's common sense told him to turn his back and go to bed, but some other maddening instinct interfered. "Pardon me for saying so, Your Majesty, but don't you think it is a trifle late for a social call? The young lady has surely been long abed."

  "I hope so." The king laughed softly. "You needn't look at me that way, Thomas; it was only a jest. I don't intend to steal into the maiden's bed unless she invites me." He was already starting toward the stairway and found St. Briac keeping pace. "I'll simply have that servant of hers wake her, and perhaps we can share a goblet of wine. I merely wish to soothe the poor girl's anxieties about what lies ahead... you know, life at court and all." He winked at his friend, who managed a wan smile.

  Halfway up the stairs, St. Briac realized that he could not accompany the king to Aimée's chamber without looking like a fool. There seemed to be no recourse except to say good night and leave Francois to continue on alone. He knew he should be glad that the matter would be resolved, the lie exposed, and his involvement ended at last. But standing there on the stone step as Francois disappeared around the corner to the upper corridor, he was troubled by an unnerving concern for Aimée's welfare. What would happen to her? He had just turned to descend, when Suzette appeared on the landing below.