and she had loved him. Who could say what would have become of Micheline if Bernard had not helped her bridge the gulf from adolescence to womanhood?
With a bittersweet sigh she looked down at the letter in her hands, rereading it. She was engrossed in the ending when Sandhurst called her name.
Looking up, she saw him leading Hampstead up the hill. Her heart contracted in a familiar way at the sight of his strong rider's body, clad today in slate-gray velvet, and his hair ruffling back from his handsome face in the breeze. Reaching his wife, Sandhurst gave Hampstead a light slap to send him back to the stables, Percy frolicking behind, then dropped down into the fragrant grass.
"My God, you're beautiful," he told her softly.
Micheline wore a simple low-necked gown of yellow velvet, cut high at the waist to drape over her ripening belly. The sun brushed her loose brandy-hued curls with fire, and her eyes shone as she smiled.
"So are you, my lord."
"Beautiful?" He frowned in mock consternation. "That's an opinion best kept in the family. Speaking of which—how fares my offspring?"
"Very well!" Micheline lay back in Sandhurst's embrace, watching as his hands curved expectantly over her belly, waiting. When the baby kicked, he flashed a grin.
"Three more months! It seems a lifetime!"
"Anticipation is half the fun," she replied, kissing the hard line of his jaw, then held up the parchment. "We've had a letter from Thomas and Aimée. She gave birth to their son last month!"
"So they had a boy. He's healthy?"
"Yes. And you know they lost a son before, their first child, so this baby is especially precious. They named him Etienne."
"Stephen," he translated absently. "Very nice."
Gazing up at his profile, she sighed a little. "Will you be disappointed if this child is a girl?"
"You know better. As long as it's either a girl or a boy, I'll be content." When Micheline didn't laugh at that, Sandhurst watched her for a moment. "You're not married to King Henry, you know. Just because he thinks that Anne failed him by presenting him with a baby girl last month—"
"Odious man. I could almost smell the queen's despair when we saw her at Greenwich after Elizabeth was born. The way the king was behaving, as if the birth of a lovely, healthy child could be cause for disappointment!"
Andrew continued to watch Micheline as she gazed out over the hills. "What of you? Has this letter from France made you homesick?"
"My home is here," she returned quietly.
"Perhaps we might visit the St. Briacs next year. Would you like that?"
A dazzling smile lit her face. "That's a wonderful idea! Could we take the baby? And Cicely?"
"I don't see why not."
Micheline buried her face against his warm neck. "Oh, Andrew, how I love you."
He took her back with him to lie in a bed of daisies. "And I love you, Michelle." He smiled into her iris-blue eyes. "As always..."
"...we're of one mind!" She laughed.
"And one heart."
The End
Page forward for more from Cynthia Wright.
Return to magical 16th century France for the enchanting romance of Aimee & St. Briac
Excerpt from
You and No Other
Special Author's Cut Edition
St. Briac Novel #1
by
Cynthia Wright
King Francois I has just returned to France after being imprisoned by Emperor Charles V. He and his favorite knight, Thomas Mardouet, seigneur de St. Briac, have gone with the royal court to a hunting lodge in Nieuil, France. This excerpt opens in the woods nearby.
Nieuil, France
April 25, 1526
"Aimée, you must come home with me now. Maman insists!"
"I will not go unless you give me a reason." Aimée de Fleurance settled herself more comfortably against a birch tree. She was seated in a bed of new grass and moss sprinkled with tiny violets and yellow primroses. Overhead, budding spring leaves made a bright, lacy canopy pierced by delicate shafts of sunlight. The woods were at spring's sweetest peak.
"It's a surprise. I promised not to tell you." Honorine was all of seventeen and much more proper than her eighteen-year-old sister. She pointed her perfect nose skyward.
"In that case, I intend to finish my cheese and wine... and my poetry."
"Certainly I will not remain here to soil my gown even one more minute." Honorine glanced disdainfully at Aimée's crumpled blue frock. The bodice was more richly colored than the skirt, with close-fitting sleeves that puffed out gently at the shoulders and a low, square neckline that emphasized the girl's prettyy bosom. "It obvious that you have no such considerations for your appearance."