Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Huge and bejeweled, Henry held out his arms in greeting.

  “Sandhurst! How long it has been since you deigned to grace our court with your presence!”

  Andrew smiled, hearing the note of sarcasm in the monarch’s jovial voice. “My apologies, sire,” he murmured in mock contrition, and bowed. “It is my honor to present to you my future bride, Madame Micheline Tevoulere.”

  “So, for once you have done as you were told. I might flatter myself that it was because my influence was added to the duke’s, but obviously that was not the case.” The king held out a pudgy beringed hand to Micheline, who touched it and curtsied gracefully. “How fortunate we are to have stolen such a beauty from France! I’ll warrant that my friend François was loath to let you go, madame.” A smile spread over his beefy face at that thought. “In any case, I bid you welcome.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am happy to be here.”

  The king raised his eyes to Sandhurst. “You have a gift for turning every obstacle into an advantage, my friend.”

  “In this case, I have only you and my dear father to thank, sire,” he replied, his tone gently laced with irony. “You have presented me with the greatest treasure of my life.”

  Noting the glowing smile the Frenchwoman gave to her betrothed, King Henry cleared his throat in dismay. “I must say, it looks as if the two of you are in love!”

  Sandhurst bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. “Positively, sire. In fact, I can’t help thinking that God must have used you as his instrument to bring us together.”

  The king, at odds with Pope Clement VII over his divorce, was pleased at the notion that Sandhurst might consider him a link with God. Wine and sweetmeats were served, whereupon Henry declared that he must hear the tale behind this happy romance.

  Andrew recounted his tale in an entertaining manner, interrupted from time to time by his radiant ladylove, who could not resist adding an anecdote or two of her own. As the story unfolded, however, the king found himself far more intrigued by the fact that the Marquess of Sandhurst had spent two months at Fontainebleau in the company of François I. As soon as he could do so without appearing obvious, Henry exclaimed, “My dear Madame Tevoulere, you have so charmed me with your wit and beauty that I insist you meet my own Anne immediately! I know that she will be as overjoyed as I am to hear about your betrothal to Lord Sandhurst. I’ll own we never thought this rogue could be tamed by true love!”

  Micheline was loath to be separated from Andrew, but it seemed she had little choice. Minutes later she followed a page out of the audience chamber, reassured by Sandhurst’s parting whisper: “I’ll be with you soon.”

  No sooner had the door closed than Henry VIII turned to his least tractable nobleman. “I would have speech with you, Lord Sandhurst. Sit down, and heed me.”

  Suddenly Andrew wished that he were anywhere but at Hampton Court. Biting his lower lip, he reclined against the uncomfortable carved chair back and waited with a sense of foreboding to hear what his king had to say.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  April 6, 1533

  Henry took a long drink of wine, then swallowed a sweetmeat. “I must be brief.” His tone was deceptively casual. “There’s a tennis match at hand. Will you play?”

  “If you wish it, sire,” Sandhurst replied affably, wondering what was really on the shrewd monarch’s mind.

  “How readily you acquiesce, my friend! It gives me hope! May I be frank?”

  “That would be my preference, sire.”

  “You know, of course, that I met with the French king this past autumn. We have been striving to help each other in dealing with the Emperor Charles V and also with the pope, who has made my divorce such a difficult business. King François claims that his sympathies lie with me, and indeed he has promised to meet with the pope to plead my case. Unfortunately this was not accomplished as swiftly as I had hoped. I could wait no longer to make the Marquess of Pembroke my wife. You understand, I’ll warrant, being eager to wed Madame Tevoulere?”

  “Naturally, sire.” Andrew sipped his wine to hide a smile. No mention was made, of course, of Anne Boleyn’s obvious pregnancy—the real reason for their sudden secret wedding in January.

  “I wish that you would do a great service for your king, Sandhurst. There are not many men I would trust to execute such a plan, but I have always admired your intelligence and ingenuity. Hearing of your masquerade at the French court, I am newly convinced that you could carry off the most delicate of missions.”

  “You flatter me, sire.”

  Henry’s little eyes grew penetrating. “I would like you to return to France after you and Madame Tevoulere are married. I understand that she is a great favorite of King François, and once it becomes known that you are indeed the Marquess of Sandhurst, no doubt the two of you would be the toast of that court. I would have you cultivate the king’s friendship, so that you might win his confidence… and travel with him when he meets with Pope Clement. There is much that you could learn through your various connections in the French court, and this service would earn you my sincere gratitude. As you know, I am quite generous with those who serve me well.”

  A muscle clenched in Sandhurst’s jaw. Setting down his goblet, he met the king’s stare unflinchingly. “I appreciate the compliment that you pay me, sire, but I am afraid that I must decline your request. My first concern at the moment is Micheline, and the new life we are embarking on together. You know my family, and I am sure you will understand that they, combined with her adjustment to a new country, culture, and title, constitute a challenge that demands all our attention for the moment. I’m afraid that right now we cannot consider returning to France, and I trust that you, newly married yourself, will appreciate my need to put Micheline’s needs first.”

  Sandhurst didn’t add that, in any case, he would never spy on King François, nor did he care for whatever forms of gratitude Henry might care to show.

  “What other Englishman would dare refuse his king?” Henry wondered in a voice that betrayed anger and grudging admiration. “I hardly know how to react! This time I’ll let your rebelliousness pass, since you have, after all, done my bidding by agreeing to marry Madame Tevoulere. In the future, though…”

  “Your Majesty has a benevolent spirit,” Sandhurst assured the king as humbly as he was able, adding his most engaging smile for good measure. “Ascribe my foolishness to Cupid! No doubt his arrow has affected my reason! Let’s away to the tennis courts, sire. Once you’ve beaten me soundly, your humor will improve.”

  *

  Downstairs Micheline followed the page into a wing that was peopled with servants wearing blue and purple livery. Embroidered on the doublets was the legend “La Plus Heureuse.” This made Micheline bristle before she ever met the future queen. How dare she proclaim herself “the most happy”—in French, no less!—when she was married to that pompous, corpulent man upstairs? Obviously the woman had no idea what happiness could be!

  Gradually it began to occur to Micheline that she and Anne Boleyn might have different conceptions of the word. When she entered the bedchamber of the marquess, after being announced by a properly liveried page, Micheline found herself in a setting even grander than the one upstairs. All the wood was gilded, and carved with lover’s knots that featured the initials H and A entwined. Golden vases filled with red and white roses reposed on every piece of valuable furniture, and the enormous, elaborately carved bed was hung with tissue of gold. In the midst of all this a young woman stood in a chemise, corset, and shakefold, surrounded by what Micheline assumed were dressmakers. Fabulous gowns that defied description were draped over chairs while Anne Boleyn chose from dozens of furs that were held up for her inspection.

  When the page announced Micheline, Anne turned to greet her with a smile.

  “Ah! You must be Sandhurst’s little French girl! Do you speak English?”

  “Yes. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

  “Oh, my! Andrew’s goo
d fortune has triumphed again! He’s found beauty and intelligence in one package—and it was all by chance! Do sit down, madame. Would you care for some wine?”

  Feeling rather overwhelmed at this point, Micheline accepted. A goblet of gold embedded with diamonds was presented to her. Anne Boleyn had returned her attention to the furs, and Micheline watched her with interest.

  The future queen was not beautiful. Her skin was sallow, her face was rather long, and she had almost no bosom, yet there was a compensating loveliness about her black eyes, slender neck, and finely arched brows. Micheline had heard that Catherine of Aragon was sober and pious, so it seemed likely that Henry had been drawn more to Anne’s vivaciousness than to her physical beauty. This thought gave her hope for the king’s character.

  “All right, I’ve decided.” Anne turned to her guest. “What do you say, Micheline? Will not this gown of white tissue look best with ermine?”

  “Oh, yes!” Enthusiasm seemed proper. “It will be lovely!”

  “Well, then, good! That will be all for today,” Anne told the dressmakers.

  A maid scurried forward to help her mistress slip into a gown of deep violet that was encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. Anne sat down near Micheline while another maid brushed out her dark silky hair.

  “I’ll wager that you are a happy girl,” she said to Micheline, sipping her own goblet of wine. “You’re doubtless in love with Sandhurst.”

  “Truth to tell, I am.”

  “Who could resist him?” She paused to appraise the young Frenchwoman and pursed her lips slightly. The chit was a beauty. Anne had been surprised to hear from Rupert Topping that Sandhurst was going along with this forced marriage, but now it did not seem so unbelievable. There had been many moments during the years since she’d won the king’s favor when Anne Boleyn had felt an almost overpowering attraction to the Marquess of Sandhurst. At times, lying in Henry’s smothering embrace, she’d wondered what it might be like to make love with Sandhurst instead, and in her worst moments Anne had thought that if he showed even a hint of attraction to her, she would leave behind the prospect of becoming queen and go off with him. Of course, that never happened. Sandhurst was rarely at court, and when he was, he was unfailingly affable but he always kept a barrier up between himself and the rest of the world. Besides, it had all been a foolish fantasy on her part, Anne thought now. All women wanted Sandhurst because he was unattainable, and her own longing had grown out of the years of frustration that preceded this final month before she would at last become queen of England. Many times it had seemed that it would never happen, but now that she was growing larger with Henry’s child, they had announced their January wedding, and in just a few weeks she would wear the crown of queen!

  The dreamy, faraway look in Anne Boleyn’s eyes made Micheline uneasy. Casting about for another subject, she offered, “It was kind of the king to invite us to Hampton Court. I particularly enjoyed the journey up the Thames.”

  “We are always pleased to have Sandhurst among us,” Anne said, smiling, “and, of course, everyone has been eager to meet you. But tell me, how is your king? I am very fond of François, and of France! You know, I lived at the French court when I was a child.”

  Before Micheline could reply, the door opened and a page announced, “Lady Dangerfield to see you, my lady.”

  “Oh, wonderful! Show her in!”

  Iris swept into the chamber, her coppery curls ablaze in the sunlight. She wore a gown of blue and heliotrope satin, several necklaces of pearls, and a ring on every finger.

  “Greetings, my lady, and congratulations!” she sang.

  “Thank you. Iris.” Anne, her hair now caught up in a gold coif, rose to embrace her guest. “Do you know Madame Tevoulere?” Her dark eyes traveled from one lady to the other, well aware of the situation.

  “We have not met,” Iris replied coldly.

  Micheline stood up. “Good morrow. Lady Dangerfield. I have heard a great deal about you.”

  Like everyone else, Iris registered surprise at the sound of the girl’s perfect English. Her green eyes widened, then narrowed.

  “I should offer you congratulations as well, madame,” she said softly, “and I wish you luck. You’ll need it to succeed where so many others have failed.”

  Lifting her chin with its tiny cleft, Micheline replied. “I appreciate your good wishes, my lady. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to Lord Sandhurst.”

  “You can’t hide behind him just now, madame,” Iris said with a wicked smile. “He’s gone to play tennis with the king, and they will probably be occupied for hours.”

  *

  Micheline sat in her spacious Hampton Court bedchamber, her indignation growing by the minute as she waited for Andrew to return from his afternoon of male camaraderie. It was nearly time for supper, and still he had not knocked at her door. For her own part, she had bathed again while Mary aired out her gown, and now, with her hair freshly dressed, Micheline looked even more beautiful than she had that morning, for anger stained her cheeks with color and put sparks in her eyes.

  “Where can he be?” she demanded of Mary.

  The young girl squirmed uncomfortably. “No doubt there’s an explanation, ma’am. Lord Sandhurst is a very thoughtful man. Why, ever since I came to his household, he’s always been frightfully kind. Most noblemen wouldn’t even notice a common little kitchen maid, but Lord Sandhurst is so considerate—”

  Micheline rolled her eyes. “Mary, if you are going to be my lady’s maid, you ought to have the decency to at least pretend to take my part at times like this!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she agreed meekly.

  Remembering that Mary had said her sister was a pastry cook here at the palace, Micheline said, “I’m sorry if I seemed rude; certainly none of this is your fault. You’re excused for the evening, Mary. I shan’t need you until morning.”

  “Oh!” Her heart-shaped face lit up. “Thank you, ma’am!” At the door she turned, adding, “And I don’t think you’re one bit rude! I think you’re wonderful!”

  Alone in the huge chamber, Micheline murmured, “I’m glad someone does.”

  Then she straightened, listening. Were those voices on the other side of the connecting door? Had Andrew returned to his rooms without even stopping to apologize to her? Fresh outrage sent her marching to the paneled door and caused her to pound on it with her fist.

  “Andrew? Are you in there? I wish to see you right now!”

  “Then by all means, enter!” he invited her, sounding infuriatingly amused.

  Micheline threw open the door and boldly entered his chamber. To her consternation, she discovered Sandhurst lounging in a steaming bathtub in front of the fire.

  The ever-discreet Joshua Finchley was arranging his lordship’s clothing on the bed, but the sight of Micheline’s shocked expression made him swallow in embarrassment.

  “You may leave us, Finchley. I won’t be needing you again tonight.”

  Gratefully the older man made a hasty exit.

  Micheline stood paralyzed on the far side of the room, unsure of what to do or say until her betrothed inquired casually, “What happened to you this afternoon?”

  She gasped, incredulous. “What happened to me!?”

  “Didn’t I just say that?”

  The fact that he was naked in the bathtub suddenly meant nothing to Micheline as she marched across the chamber and exclaimed, “I was not the one who sauntered off to play tennis for hours on end after promising never to leave the side of my betrothed!”

  “Am I to assume that you are angry?” Sandhurst tried with little success to look concerned, but his mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled.

  She found this expression of his particularly appealing and tried to steel herself to resist. “How observant you are, my lord!”

  He had been soaping his chest but paused now and reached out to touch her hand with wet fingers. “Sarcasm does not become you, fondling. You must know that I had no choice but to
play tennis with the king, any more than you had a choice when he decided that you must meet Anne Boleyn. Besides, I meant for you to watch our match. I bade Lady Dangerfield show you the way to the tennis court’s gallery.”

  Helplessly Micheline felt herself soften. When he gazed at her and spoke in that low, masculine voice, anger was impossible. “Lady Dangerfield?” she repeated rather plaintively. “Why would you give that woman a message for me? She hates me, Andrew!”

  “The king and I passed her on the stairway, and she said she was bound for Anne Boleyn’s chamber. It seemed a logical request at the time.”

  “Well, she never told me. Your precious Iris is a witch! How could you have loved her for so long?”

  “I never loved her; I’ve told you that. In any case, she didn’t become a witch until you appeared on the scene.”

  “Do you know what she did? She did say that you had gone to play tennis, but merely indicated that this pastime would separate us for the afternoon. Then Iris and Anne Boleyn took me out to the garden and introduced me to a lot of strangers who stared at me as if I were very odd. It was horrible! After a few minutes the two of them drifted off to converse with their friends and left me alone with a boring man named Cromwell. I didn’t even know I was allowed to watch your silly tennis match!” She paused, thinking, and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t suppose that Iris happened to turn up in the gallery?”

  He began soaping his chest again, watching as if to make certain he didn’t miss a place. “Now that you mention it… I do believe I might have seen her there.”

  Micheline paced angrily beside the tub. “I knew it! That witch! I hate her, and I hate this place, and I wish we’d never come!”

  “Fondling, come here. Sit down beside me.” He indicated a low stool near the fire. After a moment she grudgingly obeyed, and Sandhurst reached out to take her hand, muscles playing over his shoulder and arm. “This is part of the reason I wanted to bring you to court before our wedding. I’m a marquess, and you would be a marchioness, and we should always have to spend some time at court, if only to keep the peace with King Henry. I have enough trouble as it is dodging his efforts to transform me into a faithful courtier.”