"Sire, you must hear me out. I would never have come if I did not bear news of the utmost urgency."
Louise de Savoy leaned over to place a hand on her son's arm. "Perhaps you should at least listen to what he has to say. It may be important."
"Georges Teverant was rescued from his cell in the Conciergerie yesterday," Chauverge announced. "The execution did not take place!"
"I've already heard," Francois replied in a bored voice that was belied by the anger in his hazel eyes. "If that is all—"
"But it was your friend St. Briac who committed this act of treason. And he was aided by his wife. I saw them!"
The king laughed as though Chauverge had made a particularly amusing joke. "St. Briac and Aimée? I scoff at the notion. Everyone knows that Thomas cares nothing for the affairs of state. He'd be the last one to risk his neck for such a cause, and the thought of madame taking part in such a scheme is even more ridiculous. She is in a very delicate condition; her husband would not place her in such danger." He paused to sip his wine. "Before you begin ranting again, let me add that even if such slander were true, I would not be disposed to punish St. Briac. I never felt that Teverant deserved to die. If I could have shown mercy without giving the impression of weakness, I would have done so. I'm glad the man's been freed."
Louise gasped, the rest of the court stared, and Chauverge looked as if he might be physically ill. Aimée felt a wild urge to laugh. St. Briac's mouth twitched as they held hands under the table.
"I've a feeling Teverant will be back at court after all," he whispered to his wife.
"Take this man away," Francois told the guards. "Perhaps some time in prison will teach him about mercy. I'll consider his fate at my leisure."
Later, Aimée was in the midst of peeling a plover's egg and laughing at one of St. Briac's witty remarks when he surprised her by suddenly lifting her onto his lap.
"Thomas, you forget yourself!" she pretended to scold.
"I think not, madame." Ignoring the affectionate glances of those around them, he drew her close and kissed her soundly. "One thing is certain; I can never forget you."
"You're certain that your eye won't wander when the next innocent virgin finds her way into Francois's court?" Aimée demanded, her green eyes dancing.
St Briac reached for her left hand, which had stolen around his neck. "That reminds me, my lady; you are not the only one who has been holding a secret. I have one as well." With his fingertips he turned the ring on her wedding finger with its engraved sentiment Vous et Nul Autre.
"A secret? Pray share it with your wife!"
"Perhaps you have thought that, because our wedding was unplanned, this ring was not a gift from me?" He watched her, remembering the night they were married when he had awakened to find her staring at the engraving, shedding tears. "I should enlighten you. I had this ring made when I went to Vendome to fetch Mignonne for you."
Her heart was pounding in her ears. "But–we did not intend to truly wed!"
"Did we not?" His knowing eyes penetrated to her very soul. "I beg to differ."
"Oh...Thomas!" Tears spilled onto her cheeks.
"Never doubt." He bent his dark, handsome head and kissed the golden band. "You and no other, forever, miette."
The End
Page forward for more by Cynthia Wright
Author's Note
What a wonderful experience it has been for me to be able to resurrect my sleeping novels and see them live again as eBooks! One of the best parts has been the opportunity to edit and freshen them for this second birth. It's been a joy—and no book has given me more joy than YOU & NO OTHER. I think I loved it even more the second time around than during the many months of its original creation.
As I reread and edited, I also thought back to the weeks I spent in France doing research for YOU & NO OTHER. When I planned that trip, I knew that I loved France and wanted to set a book there, but that was all I knew. (My knowledge of French history was pretty firm back to the mid-18th century, but American schools didn't teach much before then.)
I went with Margo, my best friend since high school, and we were only 26 at the time. It was a rollicking 3 weeks, fraught with adventures. We traveled from Paris south to Fontainebleau where I met King Francois I for the first time. He was charisma personified—how could I not have known about him before? I listened to the stories about him, stared at his salamander emblems that were everywhere, and bought a big postcard of his image that I've kept for 30 years. As fate would have it, Francois traveled with us to Amboise (where a wild boar really did storm the chateau), Blois, Chenonceau, and south to Nieuil, where we actually stayed in his own hunting lodge—the same one that opens YOU & NO OTHER. In the morning, we took a long walk in the woods where Aimee and St. Briac met for the first time.
Our journey took us to dozens of other unforgettable places, but I already knew in my heart that King Francois I would be a centerpiece in my next novel. My challenge was to create a hero who could stand toe to toe with him, and then some! St. Briac definitely fits the bill, I believe! He is my own dream hero. I love a man who can make me laugh and who has a wicked twinkle like his. Sigh!
One other place we went in the Loire Valley was Usse, where I saw the magical chateau that became St. Briac's Chateau du Soleil—not just in this book, but also in OF ONE HEART, SPRING FIRES and NATALYA.
I'm doing a blog post on my website, with photos from my original trip to France to celebrate the release of YOU & NO OTHER. It's the first in a series of posts that deal with the inspiration and research behind my novels. I hope you'll come over to my website to read it and sign up for future installments: http://www.cynthia-wright.com
I invite you to rejoin Aimee & Thomas six years later in OF ONE HEART as they return to the court of King Francois with their newly-widowed friend, Micheline. This book (previously titled A BATTLE FOR LOVE) features an irresistible English hero, Andrew, Lord Sandhurst. Enjoy—and as always, I appreciate every one of you and thank you for reading my books!
Excerpt from
Of One Heart
St. Briac Novel #2
by
Cynthia Wright
Previously published as A Battle for Love
In 1532 France, Aimee and St. Briac from YOU & NO OTHER are concerned for their lovely friend Micheline Tevoulere after her husband is killed in a joust. Micheline doesn't know that Bernard had been flagrantly unfaithful to her, and Aimee is determined to help her find happiness again. They take her to Fontainebleau to winter with the court...
Chapter 4
Chateau de Fontainebleau
December 16, 1532
Late-afternoon sun gilded the great trees of the forest. Oak, hornbeam, wide-girthed chestnut, and birch had shed their autumn finery to begin the long rest through winter. Naked gray branches arched toward the sky, impervious even to the thundering hooves of horses, packs of tired hounds, and fine-looking gentlemen riders returning from yet another successful hunt.
Bursting from the forest, the hunting party made for the palace gates, above which shone imposing high-roofed sandstone pavilions set in rhythmical order, their ornaments, pilasters, and capitals decorated with Francois I's bold F.
The king's horse galloped first through the gateway, hooves clattering over the cobbles of the magnificent Oval Courtyard. As grooms rushed forward to relieve the men of their horses, the king stole a private word with his old friend Thomas Mardouet, seigneur de St. Briac.
"That was a fine hunt, mon ami, but I am dusty and drenched in sweat. Let us have a cold plunge before we sup."
St. Briac had been craving the company of his wife, but one look at the bold, determined profile of the king made him sigh inwardly and reply, "I am at your service, sire." To guard their three-decade-old friendship, Thomas had always taken care never to accept favors or rank from Francois, yet the fact remained that one did not refuse the king when he made requests in a certain tone of voice.
They walked leisurely across the cobbled
courtyard toward the arched doorway that would lead them into the new appartements des bains. The Chateau de Fontainebleau was in the midst of a series of elaborate transformations. Ever since the king had decided, several years earlier, to spend more time near Paris, this once-modest hunting lodge had been the focus of dramatic changes. Much of the time Fontainebleau was noisy and dirty, filled with scaffolding and workmen, but slowly the grand new Fontainebleau was emerging.
A new wing had been added to the keep, and so far housed the king's dreamed-of baths and sweating rooms. Upstairs a long, splendid gallery was being constructed, and Francois had already begun to recruit the finest artists from Italy to ensure its perfection. He was extolling the virtues of Rosso and Primaticcio to Thomas when a familiar figure appeared on the stairway next to the entrance to the appartements des bains.
"You go on, Thomas," the king murmured. "I'd like a word with Madame Tevoulere."
St. Briac arched an eyebrow, but left his friend alone to greet Micheline.
When she reached the bottom step, Francois exclaimed, as if surprised, "If it isn't the loveliest lady in all France! How do you fare this afternoon, madame?"
"Very well, Your Majesty." Micheline flushed slightly and dropped her eyes. Clad in a simple gown of dark blue silk which was properly modest for a widow, she nonetheless felt his hazel eyes sweep the curves of her body. Eager for distraction, she produced a book from the folds of the cloak she carried. "I hope you won't mind, sire. I took you at your word and borrowed this from your splendid library. I thought I might read in the garden."
"Mind? Have I not told you that all I have is yours for the taking?" Francois grinned at his own subtle wit, then leaned forward to read the title of the volume Micheline had chosen. "Roman de la Rose! An inspired choice, my dear. 'Twill do you good to read of romance. I've worried that you might have forgotten such pleasures!"
Micheline hardly knew how to reply. When the king reached for her hand and kissed it, the uneasy flush in her cheeks intensified. "I mustn't keep you from your bath, sire. Au revoir."
Francois watched as Micheline walked under the archway leading to the elaborate gardens. The sight of her hair, gleaming in the sunlight, and the gentle sway of her hips made him sigh. Finally he turned and went to join Thomas inside the bathing room. Quickly the two men shed their sweaty garments and walked down the flight of wooden steps that led to the great square pool. It was five feet deep, with two spouts that provided hot and cold water. Priceless paintings and statuary decorated the perimeter of the room.
"Ah!" exclaimed the king. "Could heaven itself be sweeter?"
St. Briac ducked his head under the water and emerged to shake the cool droplets from his hair. "I must agree, sire, that God Himself would doubtless be content here."
Servants appeared with jeweled goblets of strong red wine and plates filled with crusty bread, oysters from Cancale, strawberries from the king's greenhouses, and tempting little wedges of Auvergne cheese. The men, hungry after their exercise, ate contentedly.
“I feel that life is finally settling into place after the changes of recent years,” Francois reflected.
St. Briac watched him plunge into the water and swim across the pool. Indeed, there had been changes. Two of the king’s young sons, who had become hostages to Emperor Charles V in place of their father, had been ransomed in 1529 after three years. The negotiations for their release had been effected by two women, one of whom was Louise de Savoy, the king’s mother. “The Ladies’ Peace” ended years of war, but in return for the safe return of his sons, Francois had to reconfirm his marriage by proxy to Charles V’s sister Eleanor.
Francois had paused to rest against the gilded edge of the pool beside his friend.
“The death of my mother continues to grieve me,” he said suddenly.
“Yes, sire. But it has only been a year, and she was your trusted advisor. You continue to adjust.”
At length, Francois remarked more jauntily, "I do find myself intrigued with this subject of change. How boring life would be if nothing ever changed. Take women, for instance...."
Biting back a smile, St. Briac waited, knowing what was coming.
"Here at court," the king continued between bites of strawberry and cheese, "the women change like the seasons and most are forgotten. A few, however, stand out like roses in a field of daisies."
“Ah. Yes.”
"One lady in particular…"
"Micheline?" he wondered innocently.
"Oui!" Francois averted his eyes, and took a long drink of wine. "Micheline has made an entrancing change in the court. Apparently you lust after your wife alone, my friend, but even you must admit that Madame Tevoulere is a female of exceptional loveliness." He sighed, smiling. "Most astonishing, however, is her mind. I can discuss even Roman history with Madame Tevoulere! My own complaint is that she continues to maintain a certain level of reserve when in my company. Could it be possible that she is immune to my charms?" He laughed at such a ludicrous notion, but his tone took on a low urgency. "Thomas, couldn't you speak to her? Assure her that I only wish to know her better?"
St. Briac's amusement waned. "Sire, if you imagine that I can intercede, I must dispel that notion. Aimee is trying to help Micheline recover from the shock of her husband's death, to learn to enjoy life again. She would not want her heart broken, even by her king."
"How can you suggest that I could harm so glorious a creature as Madame Tevoulere?" Francois protested in outrage.
"It might be a matter of circumstances more than intention, sire." Suddenly the water felt cold and tiresome and he longed to be elsewhere. "You know as well as I that you are married. For my Aimée, that would be obstacle enough, but there is also the matter of Anne d'Heilly, who has been your favorite for many years. It would not be an easy matter to displace her, even if you wanted to, and I doubt you truly could want that."
King Francois frowned, displeased by his friend’s words. Only from St. Briac would he tolerate such a conversation. Besides, he was not at all certain at that moment that he would not have given Micheline Anne's place at court and in his heart. Micheline seemed unobtainable, and for the King of France, such a challenge was virtually irresistible.
* * *
Francois was not the only person at Fontainebleau who contemplated Micheline Tevoulere. Even as he and St. Briac were talking, Anne d'Heilly sat at her writing table in her private chambers, worrying and planning. She was frankly scared. For years she had been secure in her position at court. The king might take other women, but they meant nothing; even this new queen, Eleanor, meant nothing to him. Why, Francois could scarcely bear to sleep with his own wife! Night after night he came to Anne instead. She was proud, too, that he trusted her judgment. Since the death of Louise de Savoy, Anne had gradually taken over for the king's mother, giving him advice in her place. Anne d'Heilly had more power than any other woman in France. That very autumn Francois had taken her to Calais and Boulogne for the meetings with Henry VIII—while Queen Eleanor had remained behind.
Putting down her quill, Anne glanced distractedly at the pages she had just written, then rose to stare at herself in the mirror. Everyone said that each year increased her beauty, and she believed them. Fair curls brushed her brow while her wide eyes seemed bluer than ever. Her figure remained diminutive, its curves sweeter and more feminine than they had been when she first met King Francois, at age seventeen.
"Micheline Tevoulere is no lovelier than I!" she whispered aloud.
That was the crux of her dilemma. Anne had instantly sensed the king's attraction to the newest member of his court, but after a fortnight's brooding she was no closer to finding a solution that she could effect on her own. She couldn't fight the girl; Micheline did not appear to covet Anne's place as mistress to the king—in truth, she seem to have no interest in Francois at all beyond that of respectful subject. At last Anne had realized that this was the basis of the girl’s appeal. Micheline Tevoulere was the first woman in years who was
not his for the taking, and that was the very reason he wanted her.
Anne knew now that there was only one solution to her problem. Madame Tevoulere must be removed from the king's sight, from the court itself. Returning to her writing table, she thanked providence for allowing her to become friends with the king of England so recently. She dipped her quill into the ink and finished her letter by subtly reminding Henry VIII that she would repay any favor he might grant her. The English monarch was eager for Francois I to intercede with the pope regarding his divorce and impending marriage to Anne Boleyn.
"I am a romantic," she wrote Henry in closing, "and it warmed my heart to see the love between you and your Anne. I hope that the two of you can be married... and I shall do everything in my power to persuade my king to share my view if that happy event comes to pass."
* * *
As Anne d'Heilly was signing her name to the letter to Henry VIII, Micheline Tevoulere had been joined by Aimée in the gardens below, and they strolled aimlessly, unaware that others who wielded control were contemplating Micheline's future.
Even in December Fontainebleau was a place of unrivaled beauty. In winter the garden's hedges were clipped to form artful green tunnels that led into dormant flowerbeds, punctuated with urns and sculpture. Micheline did not regret coming here. The constant activity was a welcome change from the period of darkness following Bernard's death. During the day she rode or walked with Aimée or one of the other ladies of the court. Meals were events, attended by hundreds of people, and nearly every night there was a ball or a masque or entertainment of some sort. Lovely new gowns had been made for Micheline, and she enjoyed the warm admiration of nearly everyone she met—especially the men. However, in spite of the invitation in their eyes, which was sometimes voiced aloud, she could not bring herself to respond. The thought of even being kissed by anyone but Bernard remained forbidden.
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