You and No Other

by Cynthia Wright

  "Knowing our illustrious monarch, I wouldn't doubt it," Aimée replied. She couldn't resist sitting up and drawing back the window curtain for a look.

  The sun had just begun to set, and the effect was quite stunning as the rainstorm blew away, allowing the clouds to break open and let in streams of tangerine and violet light. The coach emerged from the oak and pine trees onto a long road surrounded by parkland. Aimée was anticipating her first view of Chambord almost as much as Suzette was, but her mind was also on the seigneur de St. Briac. More than a week had passed since she last had seen him, riding off on some obscure errand that she was convinced he had invented to escape the Dagonneaux.

  No matter how enthusiastically Aimée and St. Briac had attempted to convince the Dagonneaux of their love, the two women persisted in remaining at Blois, never losing patience. St. Briac, on the other hand, grew more irritable with each passing day until finally he shouted at Aimée one night. They had just put on one of their displays of passion in the garden. The Dagonneau women had passed by without a word and returned to the chateau, at which point St. Briac whirled on Aimée.

  "That does it, I'm finished," he stormed. "I'm leaving. I have important matters to attend to, not a moment too soon, I might add. I feel like an idiot! How long can you expect me to go on this way? A letter came today from the king asking us to meet him at Chambord on the fourteenth day of this month. Perhaps I'll see you there."

  With that he had stalked out of the garden, leaving Aimée to swallow scalding tears. The next morning she went to the stables at dawn to see him off, and St. Briac offered a stiff apology for losing his temper. What remained now in her memory, however, was the taut coolness of the lips that grazed hers in parting.

  "Mam'selle, there it is!" Suzette was leaning out the window and screaming like a madwoman.

  Aimée looked around the curtain and was rendered breathless by the splendor she beheld. The sheer white mass of the chateau stood out in stark relief against the intense green of the forest, bathed in the golden-rose glow of twilight like some incredible vision. Chambord was enormous, the solid expanse of the chateau crowned by a lacy jumble of staggered pinnacles, lantern lights, gables, bell turrets, and sculpted chimneys that seemed to rise like enchanted soap bubbles into the cloud-strewn sky.

  "Can you believe it?" Suzette cried as the coach rolled closer to the entrance.

  For a long minute Aimée was speechless. Finally she whispered, "No, I'm not certain that I do."

  * * *

  The Chateau de Chambord was designed in the basic feudal tradition, boasting a central donjon with four drum towers linked to outer towers by two-storied galleries supported by arcades. King Francois had his study in one of those outer towers. Tonight the spacious room was made cozy by the spicy aroma of mulled wine and a roaring fire that helped dispel the unseasonable chill.

  The king and the seigneur de St. Briac sat side by side in chairs of carved walnut before the great stone fireplace. Thomas had arrived barely a half hour before, soaking wet and in a foul mood. Even the usually outspoken Gaspard had held his tongue as he followed his master through the mud from the stables. Meeting the king in the guardroom, St. Briac had accepted his offer of mulled wine, a fire, and conversation, but he remained distant. Now Francois related the news of his stay in Cognac while watching his friend from the corners of his keen eyes. Thomas still wasn't dry. His chestnut hair and doublet remained damp, and beads of water gleamed on his riding boots.

  "There really isn't much more to tell," the king concluded. "I've spent most of my time saying no to Charles V and working on improving relations with England."

  "This anti-imperial league you've joined with Venice, the papacy, and England—won't it endanger your sons?"

  Francois attempted a shrug. "Charles was invited to join as well."

  "If he freed your sons for a ransom, paid his debts to Henry VIII in three months, restored Sforza to the duchy of Milan, and limited the size of the retinue he intended to take to Italy." St. Briac laughed in disbelief. "Why didn't you include a few more wild conditions while you were at it?"

  Lifting his goblet of mulled wine, the king drank silently for a moment. "I have to think of France first. This Holy League of Cognac will be good for the country, for all of us who oppose the imperialism of Charles V. As for my sons..." He shrugged again in a way that fooled St. Briac not at all. "I don't really worry about them. They are being well cared for. The princes are only children, after all, and probably view this experience as a great adventure. By the time they return home, they'll be speaking Spanish, and I've no doubt that they will have established many friendships that will help them in the future. Even if they have to remain three or four years in Spain, it would not be a tragedy."

  St. Briac nodded. "If you say so."

  "Why are you in such a black mood?" demanded the king. "I was looking forward to seeing you, to being cheered by your ready wit. I might as well have Chauverge beside me for all the pleasure your company has imparted."

  "Well, then, why don't you send for him or one of your other sniveling, obsequious cavaliers?" The instant the words were out, St. Briac was ashamed. It wasn't fair to take out his trivial problems with Aimée and the Dagonneaux on this man who worried about matters that affected not only France but the rest of Europe. He felt even more contrite when he remembered that the king had a broken arm.

  "I don't care for sniveling any more than I do for your rudeness," Francois shot back.

  "I apologize. I mean that sincerely." St. Briac rubbed long fingers against his aching brow. "Tell me, does your arm give you pain?"

  "Not really. I feel more pain for the plight of my steed. If only he hadn't chanced on that hole, his hoof landing at that deadly angle... It broke my heart to have to slit his throat." The king sighed and watched as St. Briac rose to refill their goblets. "As for my arm, I was fortunate to have my skilled premier medecin in attendance. He set it with an excellent willow splint. Over that are wrapped these starchy bandages that must be changed periodically. My worst suffering was inflicted by the premier medecin's two helpers, who yanked mightily, using a light winch, to make certain the bones would fit together correctly."

  "A light wench?" St. Briac teased. "That must have been diverting."

  Francois choked on his wine. "Not wench, winch!" He laughed.

  Smiling with mock innocence, Thomas nodded agreeably. "Oh. Of course!"

  "Speaking of wenches, how is that captivating one you are betrothed to?"

  "The last time I saw her she was fine, but that was several days ago. Frankly, I'm not certain if Aimée will even make an appearance here. We didn't part on the best of terms, and to add to my difficulties, I noticed that Blanche and dear Cecile-Anne have arrived. They were lurking in a corner of the guardroom when I came in."

  The king arched a brow thoughtfully. "I begin to understand the cause of your ill temper."

  "You don't know the half of it." St. Briac sprang up to pace across the study. "While you've been in Cognac, those two chiennes have nearly driven me over the brink of madness."

  Just then, a familiar wizened face peeked around the door. "I hope I'm not intruding."

  "How could you do otherwise, Gaspard?" retorted St. Briac.

  The little manservant drew himself up stiffly. "Pardon me, monseigneur," he said in an injured tone. "I thought you might wish to know that Mademoiselle de Fleurance is here. She's gone to her chamber."

  Relief and elation swept over St. Briac and were reflected for an instant on his face. "I'm so happy she didn't feel it necessary to rush," he observed.

  "Would you kindly ask Mademoiselle de Fleurance to join us, Gaspard?" Francois inquired politely.

  "Right away, sire."

  The king watched his friend pace like a caged tiger. At length he murmured, "I wonder if your frustrations are caused not by the Dagonneaux but by your enchanting wood sprite."

  Suddenly alert, St. Briac halted beside his chair. "I don't know what you mean."
/>
  "Simply that celibacy does not agree with you, mon ami. Hasn't it occurred to you that perhaps you're just eager for your wedding night?"

  "You are perceptive, sire, more so than I, I fear." Thomas gave him an ironic smile. "I'm sure there's truth in your observation, though at this point I care not about a wedding night. Any night—or hour!—would do."

  The king chuckled contentedly. "You and I may have reason to feel discouraged, Thomas, but I find it truly heartening that we can still share moments of humor. Laughter breeds optimism, hmm?"

  "So I have always believed." St. Briac sank back into his chair and reached for the goblet of mulled wine. Casting about for a more cheerful topic, he queried, "How fares Anne d'Heilly? Did she enjoy Cognac?"

  "You would have to ask her that," the king replied coldly. "I will say only that Anne has done nothing to ease the burdens that weigh so heavily on my shoulders."

  "Oh! Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps the situation will improve now that you are here at Chambord." St. was relieved to hear Aimée's hesitant voice follow a knock on the door.

  "Sire? Monseigneur?"

  The king bade her enter, and Aimée felt her heart leap at the sight of St. Briac. He had risen, along with his friend, to welcome her, but he was not smiling. Still, his mere physical presence made her giddy. It was as if a void that she had been trying not to recognize had filled suddenly with a warm, bittersweet rush of emotion.

  "Have some mulled wine," Francois was saying, conscious of the tension in the air. "It's a pleasure to see you again, mademoiselle. I do hope your journey was not too unbearable on account of the rain." He bent to press smiling lips to Aimée's hand and then passed the goblet that St. Briac had filled for her. "Tell me, my dear, how do you like my place in the country?"

  "I am spellbound, sire. I never even imagined that such a chateau could exist!"

  While the king explained his future plans for Chambord, St. Briac studied Aimée from under hooded lids. Again she had taken uncharacteristic care with her appearance; all the haphazard edges were smooth. A gown of deep rose velvet and ivory satin encrusted with pearls displayed the graceful curves of her throat and breasts. He was surprised to see that she wore a modest shakefold under her gown that served to emphasize the dainty proportions of her waist. Once again, ebony curls were demurely tamed under a crispinette, and a small mirror hung from the obligatory cordeliere attached to her sapphire-studded girdle. St. Briac couldn't help wondering, a trifle suspiciously, why Aimée had suddenly become such a paragon of fashion.

  "Will you not greet your betrothed?" Francois prompted him.

  St. Briac lifted his eyes to Aimée's and found them poignantly wide and dewy. "I cry pardon. I was only admiring Mademoiselle de Fleurance's extraordinary beauty. Her appearance is a match for any lady of your court. Who would believe that only a few weeks ago we mistook her for a peasant in the woods of Nieuil?"

  There was an undercurrent in his tone that gave both the king and Aimée pause. Francois mustered his wits and spoke up first. "Who indeed? Mademoiselle de Fleurance is proof that even a king can be mistaken. You are truly fortunate to anticipate the joy of taking such a lady as your wife."

  "Exactly so." St. Briac arched a wry brow and moved to kiss Aimée's hand. "How good it is to see you at last, miette. You are well?"

  "Yes." Her mouth was dry. "I am very happy to be here. It is difficult to believe that Chambord is not even completed." Unable to endure a lull in the conversation, she hurried on. "Do you know, I could have sworn I glimpsed a bishop when I came across the courtyard. I've only ever known one, but I do recall that little arched cap and the long embroidered coat trimmed with fur."

  "You are most observant, mademoiselle," Francois replied, charmed by her guilelessness. "The bishop d'Angouleme accompanied me from Cognac for a brief stay here."

  "Well then, he's the one I know. It's been a long time, but I thought I recognized him. The bishop d'Angouleme used to be our priest in Nieuil. He christened Honorine and me." She sipped her wine, welcoming the current of warmth that flowed down through the tightness in her breast. "It must be wonderful for you to have him here, and for Marguerite and your mother."

  "Marguerite will be equally pleased to see you. Often, while we were in Cognac, she spoke of you with great affection."

  "She is a wonderful woman, sire. I don't think I ever met a lady quite so lovely and warm. I envy her peace with life."

  Francois considered this. "I know that she strives for that state of grace, but even Marguerite yearns like other mortals. I long to see her achieve complete contentment." He noticed then that his friend had wandered over to the fireplace, staring into it as he drank from the silver goblet. "Speaking of my sister, I have just remembered an appointment with her. I'll leave you two alone." Thomas had turned his head, and the king gave him a measured glance. "Until we sup, then."

  Formal good-byes were exchanged before the heavy door swung shut and Aimée found herself confined in the otherwise empty study with St. Briac. Emboldened by the mulled wine and her irrepressible pleasure in his company, she crossed to the fireplace and put a hand on his forearm.

  "You're wet. You came on horseback?"

  "Yes." The memory of the long day's miserable journey was reflected in the look he bent on her. Still, his face seemed magnificent to Aimée, every curve and plane accentuated by the firelight. "I don't suppose you have any news that might cheer me? I saw Blanche and Cecile-Anne Dagonneau when I came in. I'd hoped that you might have accomplished alone what we were unable to do together."

  "No, I didn't. I can see that you are gravely disappointed, though. After all, if the Dagonneaux were out of your life, I would be too."

  "Don't pretend that I've tried to force you out against your will, Aimée. From the night I discovered you at Gencay, you have cried incessantly to be free, not only free of your family but free of the court and of me."

  "And then you could carry on your affair with the duchesse de Roanne?" she heard herself shout.

  St. Briac rolled his eyes and then pressed a finger to Aimée's pouting lips. "I've a feeling that this discussion is out of control. Ghislaine has nothing to do with our predicament."

  She stalked away to a window that overlooked the park, now cloaked in violet, and the forest that stretched to the horizon. Ghislaine Pepin had a great deal to do with her predicament, but that was not what he had referred to. Once more she asked herself whether it might not be best to find some way of abruptly ending her involvement with St. Briac in the hope of lessening the pain that would follow. Yet, discipline over the joy of the moment had never been in her nature.

  "Thomas, look at this. There's something written on the windowpane!"

  He crossed to her side and stared past Aimée's pointing finger. The last silvery-pink gleam of dusk illumined the words that had been scratched into the glass:

  Souvent femme varie;

  Bien fol est qui s'y fie.

  "Often does a woman change her heart; mad be the man who will trust her," St. Briac whispered aloud. His first thought was of the king, sitting at this very spot, turned with his diamond ring against the window when he'd entered the study tonight. Then he remembered the general melancholy of his friend, which had been a welcome mate for his own, and Francois's enigmatic remarks about Anne d'Heilly.

  " 'Twould seem that even the heart of a king is vulnerable," he murmured, almost forgetting that Aimée stood at his side.

  For some reason Aimée felt attacked, indirectly at least. Thomas's assumption that the harsh words had been engraved on the window by the king seemed to transform them into some kind of decree. Would St. Briac take such advice to heart?

  "I would have expected such sentiments to be expressed by a woman," she observed at length.

  ' "And why is that?"

  "Isn't your sex more famous for its inconstancy?"

  St. Briac stared at her for a long minute and then turned away. "It's debatable. I suppose in the end it comes down to the chara
cter of the individual."

  "I couldn't agree more."

  "The fire is making this room too warm for me. Why don't we go up on the roof? There is something I wish to discuss with you."

  Full of misgivings, Aimée nodded and followed him out of the study. St. Briac led her down a long corridor and a flight of stone steps that opened into the guardroom.

  "I suppose you must have seen this stairway when you arrived today, but it's impossible to appreciate it until you've climbed it to the top."

  St. Briac was gesturing toward the enormous double spiral staircase that constituted the centerpiece of the chateau. Its two flights twined around a single core that featured openwork arcades.

  "You see," St. Briac explained as they started up one set of white stone steps, "the flights cross each other's paths without ever meeting, and because of the pierced center, two people going up or down need never lose sight of each other."

  "Yet cannot touch..." Aimée's voice was almost inaudible.

  "Pardon?"

  "Nothing. I was just talking to myself." Impulsively she threw him a dazzling smile. "It's a habit one falls into when alone too long."

  They climbed upward, passing other people, who were almost but not quite within touching distance. The staircase rose uninterrupted like a pair of long-stemmed intertwining flowers toward the roof. There, to Aimée's astonishment, it emerged in a single spiral that revolved above the terrace inside a magnificent lantern that was at least a hundred feet high. All around her lay a kind of aerial village with little streets and squares that crossed each other around the huge lantern and the other fanciful ornaments that crowded the roof. There were as many chimneys as there were days in the year, and each seemed unique in size and shape.

  "An interesting idea, don't you think?" St. Briac drew Aimée out from the staircase. "Francois conceived of this as a kind of fairyland where the court could escape from the tedium of staying here at Chambord, so far from towns and people. When we go out to hunt, the ladies frolic here on the terrace, waiting for us to return."