Of One Heart Read online

  Of One Heart

  St. Briac Novel #2

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  Previously published as A BATTLE FOR LOVE

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright 1986, 2011 by Wrighter, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Cover by Kim Killion

  eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  Novels by Cynthia Wright

  (many now available as

  Special Author's Cut Editions

  in eBook format)

  CAROLINE

  Beauvisage Novel #1

  ~

  TOUCH THE SUN

  A Beauvisage/Hampshire Novel

  ~

  SILVER STORM

  Raveneau Novel #1

  ~

  SPRING FIRES

  Beauvisage Novel #2

  (A Beauvisage/Hampshire/Raveneau Novel)

  ~

  SURRENDER THE STARS

  Raveneau Novel #2

  ~

  NATALYA

  Beauvisage Novel #3

  ~

  SILVER SEA

  (previously published as BARBADOS)

  Raveneau Novel #3

  ~

  YOU AND NO OTHER

  St. Briac Novel #1

  ~

  OF ONE HEART

  (previously published as A BATTLE FOR LOVE)

  St. Briac Novel #2

  ~

  FIREBLOSSOM

  Matthews Novel #1

  ~

  WILDBLOSSOM

  Matthews Novel #2

  ~

  BRIGHTER THAN GOLD

  ~

  CRIMSON INTRIGUE

  ~

  coming in 2012: TEMPEST - Raveneau Novel #4

  For Kathy D'Huy – with so many wonderful memories,

  including our trip to England to research this novel.

  And wilt thou leave me thus,

  And have no more pity

  Of her that loveth thee?

  Helas! thy cruelty!

  And wilt thou leave me thus?

  Say nay! say nay!

  —Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542)

  Prologue

  Amboise, France

  September 10, 1532

  "Bernard Tevoulere pitted against Arnaud Guerre in the tournament!" exclaimed Aimée de St. Briac to her husband. "Everyone knows of Bernard's affair with Elise Guerre. It's madness for him to joust against her husband!"

  Thomas Mardouet, seigneur de St. Briac, drew off his helm and took a chair beside his wife in the gallery of the king's chateau at Amboise. Below them was spread the courtyard, where a day-long tournament was in progress. St. Briac had just finished his own joust, teamed with King Francois against two of their other childhood friends. This was all harmless fun and exercise as far as Thomas was concerned, but Aimée did have a point about Bernard Tevoulere and Arnaud Guerre.

  As they waited for the two men to take their places on the field, St. Briac's penetrating turquoise eyes gazed southward over the dreamy Loire River that lay far below King Francois's magnificent chateau. As boys, he and the king had played at jousting here. Now they were men but their friendship endured and so did the games.

  Other games—the inevitable feuds and intrigues that permeated so large a court—hadn't changed either. Thomas and Aimée spent most of their time at their chateau, happiest in that world fashioned around their children, home, and vineyards. However, these visits to court were necessary. King Francois missed his old friend, and it did Aimée good to socialize, but there were drawbacks. The most current example was the joust they would soon witness between the feckless Bernard Tevoulere and his enraged rival, Arnaud Guerre.

  "I saw Bernard while preparing for my own match," St. Briac told Aimée softly, running a hand through his damp hair. "He's deteriorated sharply since our last visit to court. His new life as chevalier to the king has only weakened his character. He was drinking wine and boasting about the fact that he's to fight his mistress's husband..."

  The king had come into the gallery, magnificent in his black and gold armor, and silence reigned until he had taken his place to oversee the remainder of the tournament. Aimée waited and worried.

  Bernard Tevoulere was married to her dearest friend, Micheline. They'd met when Aimée had traveled south, babies in tow, to visit her parents near Angouleme. During the few short years of their friendship, Aimée had returned to Angouleme to see Micheline as much as to reunite her children with their grandparents. When Bernard had become bored with country life and began to spend more time at court, Micheline remained behind in Angouleme.

  "Poor Micheline!" Aimée whispered to Thomas. "It infuriates me to think of her, living alone while he cavorts at court! What a fool he is! Married to the finest woman in France, and yet he leads a double life. I'd almost sympathize with Arnaud Guerre in this joust, if I didn't know how much Bernard means to Micheline—"

  "Micheline's led a sheltered life," St. Briac replied quietly. "And Bernard has changed, miette."

  "Tragically!"

  Thomas reached out to caress his wife's glossy black curls. "Bernard must have been flawed from the beginning; these circumstances have merely exposed his weaknesses. If the man had any honor, he'd realize what's truly important in life and bind himself to the lady he's blessed to call his wife."

  A series of trumpet blasts announced the next contest. Bernard Tevoulere and Arnaud Guerre rode onto the field, pausing before the gallery to salute the king. Bernard, who was neither as tall nor as powerfully built as his opponent, lifted his visor and grinned confidently. While Elise Guerre stood to extend her hand to her husband, Bernard chuckled audibly and received a sharp glance from the king.

  Moments later the two men on horseback were in position at opposite ends of the lists. Another clarion call signaled the first charge, which proved to be routine as lances struck shields and the horses reared back in reaction to the blows.

  Aimée told herself that there was nothing to worry about. This was only a game, after all, not a fight to the death. Still, she couldn't help remembering another joust on this very field when an enemy of Thomas's had tried to kill him... and there was something about Guerre's bearing that sent a cold chill down her spine. Silently Aimée closed her eyes and began to pray.

  She heard the trumpet, the charge of the horses, a loud crash, and then surprised gasps and cries of alarm from the assembled throng.

  "Sangdieu!" hissed St. Briac. "Guerre struck at Tevoulere's helm!"

  Filled with dread, Aimée opened her eyes to discover Bernard lying on the field, his head bent at an unnatural angle, while Arnaud Guerre remained on his horse, staring dispassionately at the body of his vanquished rival.

  Part I

  Well, fools must strike on the rebound.

  While ladies volley in the air;

  Collectin
g dues Love roams around;

  All Faith is violated there.

  Be hugs and kisses ne'er so rare.

  Join hounds, arms, hawks and lovers' gains.

  For all, at last, make mortals swear:

  "For one short joy a thousand pains!"

  —Francois Villon 1431-?

  Chapter 1

  Angouleme, France

  September 10, 1532

  Soft late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the abundant green woods east of Angouleme as Micheline Tevoulere cantered home astride her huge white stallion, Gustave. She was the picture of beauty in a pale yellow gown that set off her luminous eyes, which were the color of the spring's first French irises. Lifting her face, she tasted the wind, curling brandy-hued tresses flying free in her wake.

  Approaching the modest stone manor house where she had lived since her marriage four years earlier, Micheline felt a familiar shadow steal over her heart. She loved this place, but it hardly seemed a home with Bernard away so much at court. Dismounting outside the stables, she handed Gustave's reins over to the groom and then noticed the other horses in stalls that were usually empty.

  "The seigneur and madame de St. Briac arrived this past hour, madame," the boy explained.

  A radiant smile lit Micheline's countenance. "What a wonderful surprise!" Gathering the books she'd brought back from her father's house, she raced toward the manor's rear entrance.

  Aimée was there to greet her. They embraced warmly, then continued into the spacious flower-filled kitchen, where Micheline set her books on a long oak table and turned to beam at her friend.

  "I cannot believe my eyes! It's as if you dropped from heaven, cherie! I'm so sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. I went to take a pie to Papa, then stayed to search his library for something I hadn't read more than twice before. With Bernard away so much, I'd be lost without books." She paused, shaking her head in renewed disbelief. "It's absolutely marvelous to see you! You're just what I've needed, Aimée."

  The older woman heard the hint of melancholy in her friend's voice, and her heart ached in response. "I've missed you, too, Micheline. Thomas has taken our daughters to see my parents, so we have plenty of time for a long talk. Have you any wine?"

  "What a question!"

  Aimée took a chair and watched as Micheline poured Burgundy into pewter goblets. She was so lovely and unspoiled, so filled with intelligence and heart-melting warmth. Aimée thought not for the first time that all these gifts were wasted in the seclusion of the Angouleme woods. When Bernard and Micheline first married, it seemed a promising union. Micheline's mother was dead, her father bluff and distant, her brother moved to Normandy; only Bernard appeared to nourish the lonely young girl's heart. As an adolescent he had been her best friend, teaching her to ride, to swim, and, eventually, to kiss. By the time they wed, at seventeen, Micheline felt as certain of Bernard as she was of the sunrise. Who could have foreseen that he would turn faithless as he grew into true manhood?

  Micheline set the goblets on the table and took the hand that Aimée stretched out to her.

  "Do you remember when we first met?" Aimée asked softly.

  "Yes—of course! It was just before Bernard pledged himself as a knight to King Francois and went off with the army to Italy. You'd come south with Juliette soon after her birth, and stayed for a month. I don't know how I should have endured Bernard's departure without you. You are my most cherished friend, Aimée! You came into my life just as I was learning that I couldn't rely on Bernard alone to fill my days."

  "And you know how dearly I love you in return," Aimée replied softly, tears stinging her eyes. "It's important to have friends outside of one's marriage—and to nurture other interests, as you have done."

  "Alors," Micheline murmured, dropping her eyes. "I have always had solitary passions, like these books. I thought when I married Bernard that he would share these things with me. Something... happened to him, though.... When he first went away, I told myself that he was helping France. I told myself that his wanderlust would fade. But when he came home, and we conceived a child, he rushed back to court!"

  "I remember, cherie," Aimée whispered. "I was here when you lost the baby."

  "How many times have you been here with me when Bernard has been away? When he finally did return home, he seemed almost relieved about the baby. I don't think he was ready to become a father."

  "Perhaps that was the case." Aimée nodded. "And how do you feel now?"

  "I miss him! Desperately!" A starry tear clung to her thick lashes. "I'm confused. Sometimes, I feel that we are almost strangers, but when he's away, it's the Bernard of years past that I continue to yearn for. I gave him my heart when we were so young! That is who I wait for. Do you think he will ever come back to me?"

  "I think that the man you married still lives, and always will, in your heart. And I think that he would have returned to you, in time... but that's no longer possible." Aimée crouched beside her friend's chair and gathered her into her arms. "Bernard won't be coming home. He was killed, accidentally, in a tournament at Amboise."

  Micheline's exquisite face went white with shock and disbelief. "No! No! Mere de Dieu! It cannot be!"

  Holding her near, Aimée stroked her hair. "I'm here, dearest. You won't be alone. Thomas must accompany the king to meetings with Henry VIII at Calais and Boulogne. You must come home to Chateau du Soleil with me until he returns. We'll take care of each other, cherie."

  Chapter 2

  St. Briac-sur-Loire, France

  November 12, 1532

  It was a chilly but sparkling afternoon when St. Briac returned home from the month-long meetings between King Francois I and Henry VIII in Calais and Boulogne. As he rode up the long, curving road to his ancestral chateau, a smile played over his mouth in anticipation of the reunion with his family.

  Chateau du Soleil shone in the sunlight, a marvel of soaring white towers against the backdrop of the dark forest of Chinon. It was a castle of fairy-tale proportions but it hadn't seemed enchanted to him until the day he brought Aimée there as his bride. Now, accompanied by a groom and his wizened manservant, Gaspard Lefait, he dismounted before a courtyard that commanded a stunning view of the meandering Loire River. Dusting off the buttery suede doublet that accentuated his tanned, rakishly handsome face, St. Briac headed for the arched stone doorway. All his senses ached for Aimée.

  "Thomas! You're home!"

  He tried not to betray his disappointment when his aunt, Fanchette, hurried from the gallery to welcome him. "It's good to see you, ma tante." He hugged her well-cushioned body. "It feels as if I've been away forever."

  Thomas smiled down at the woman who had run his household since the death of his mother more than twenty years ago. She had raised his brother, Christophe, from infancy, and even after Aimée became mistress of Chateau du Soleil Fanchette remained. The two women lived together in harmony.

  "I'm missing my wife," St. Briac said frankly. "Where is she?"

  "She and Micheline went for a walk in the woods, but I expect they'll be back soon. Don't fidget, Thomas! It's time you learned patience!"

  "You needn't talk to me as if I were Christophe, old woman," he teased. "Even he is grown now and at the university. When will you realize that we are men?"

  "Probably never," Fanchette responded dryly.

  St. Briac walked into the gallery and began to pace, but soon the sound of a commotion upstairs intruded on his thoughts of Aimée. Fanchette stood off to one side and tried not to chuckle as she watched her nephew stop and incline his head.

  "Has your lust for your wife caused you to forget your daughters, monseigneur?" she wondered. " 'Twould seem that they have arisen from their naps...."

  "Forget them?" he scoffed. "You insult me!" Striding to the foot of the curving staircase, St. Briac called, "Mes anges! Come down and give kisses to your poor papa!"

  His shouts were met with distant squeals of excitement followed by the patter of little feet, and then the si
ght of two sweet faces on the top step.

  "Papa! Papa!!"

  St. Briac ascended and caught them up in his strong arms before they managed to clamber down three steps. Amid much hugging, giggling, and kissing, he gloried in the scent of their sleepy toddlers' skin, the silky texture of their curly hair, the sight of rosy cheeks, and eyes that sparkled with excitement and love for their adored papa.

  Though Juliette was three years old and Ninon nearly two, they still seemed to be babies to St. Briac. They expressed their thoughts clearly these days, yet their little bodies were dimpled, their faces round and sweet-smelling, and he could still easily fit a daughter in the crook of each arm.

  Sometimes Thomas thought about the first child born to him and Aimée. Justin would have been deep into his sixth year now. There were moments when he imagined how his son might look and act had he lived. St. Briac could picture him laughing, running in the sunlight with a puppy, and then he'd force the thoughts away. Justin's death, after a year of life, had been a tragedy, but it had brought Thomas and Aimée closer together than ever. And time had brought these two rosy-cheeked little fairy princesses. The pain of Justin's loss made Thomas appreciate his daughters all the more. Aimée still longed ardently for another son, but Thomas felt no void. His heart was full.

  "Papa," Juliette implored, "promise not to leave us ever again! We missed you frightfully!"

  Ninon nodded solemn agreement, her chin quivering as if she might cry. "Promise, Papa!"

  "We'll be together for a long time," he said, smiling. "And if I do have to go away again, for a bit, you know I will always come home to you and your maman."

  "Where is Maman?" Juliette demanded.

  St. Briac turned his head to gaze out the tall gallery windows. "I wish I knew," he murmured in response.