Urgent banging at the door of her old family home echoed and awoke Isabelle from where she slept at her desk, still clutching to her book, the candle burnt almost to its silver stand. She heard her evening servant girl hurrying to answer, and quickly wrapped a gown around her bedclothes, anxious to see who would call upon her so late in the evening.

'Mademoiselle!' Sofia, her evening maid rushed up the stairs as she was walking down 'four gentlemen at the door, Kings Musketeers! They ask for you, and seek refuge'

'Thank-you Sofia, I will meet them presently' she hurried down the stairs, anxious that her brother, estranged as they were, may be among them. They stood in the entrance, two men supporting another who was bleeding slowly onto the polished wooden floor. Rene stood, hat in his hands. In the low light she recognized Athos and Porthos, their nods of greeting enough for the time.

'Mademoiselle d'Herblay. My friend is injured and we are retreating. I beg of you a place to tend to his wounds and rest for the night, until our regiment arrives on the morrow' he bowed to her, hiding his recognition, grateful the servants would not recognize him.

'Of course, please, follow me' she gestured vaguely to a room he knew as his fathers' office. He was surprised to see the desk pushed aside and his bed taking the centre of the room.

'In my fathers' later days he sought the comfort of his books. When he could no longer leave bed, it was the last gift I could offer him to allow him to die among the things he loved so dearly' she explained, the room barely touched since his passing. She stripped back the dusty bed cover and Athos and Porthos lay the well tanned young man onto the sheets. She recognised him from the garrison some 2 years earlier.

'You are a good daughter to have allowed him such joy' Rene responded, meeting her eyes, and she saw his worry and concern for his fellow soldier.

'd'Artagnan was shot, we need to extract the ball' Athos said, speaking for the first time.

'Sofia, fetch clean cloth and hot water, and send Jean to the tavern for wine and brandy. He needs to hurry, our guest is in need of pain relief' Isabelle ordered with urgency to the girl standing in the doorway. She looked at Rene, who seemed to know what he was about to do. 'What do you need me to do?'

'Keep him awake and distracted. Talk to him' Rene was grateful his sister was just as sensible as she had always been.

Isabelle knelt by the side of the bed, taking d'Artagnan's hand and stroking his hair away from his sweaty forehead. 'Hello d'Artagnan. Je suis Isabelle d'Herblay'

D'atagnan struggled to focus on her, his eyes finally clinging to her own. 'Bonjour Mademoiselle'

'Having a rough day?' she smiled, her thumb stroking his forehead 'Do you have a wife d'Artagnan?'

Rene tore the bloodstained shirt from his friends shoulder, inspecting the wound, wiping blood away with the cloths Sofia brought and left silently, dismissed with a nod from her mistress.

'Somewhat' he grunted as Rene grazed too close to the wound

'And what is the lucky ladies name?'

'Constance' his lips twitched in an almost smile at the thought of her.

'And is she a beautiful as her name?'

'She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I could stare at her forever' he closed his eyes, succumbing to pain, his body's natural reaction to faint.

'Stay with me d'Artagnan' Isabelle stroked his cheek. She glanced over her shoulder, Athos and Porthos hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed. 'Keep your eyes open and focused on me. D'Artagnan. Tell me more about Constance'

Rene dug into the wound, eliciting a roar of pain as his eyes snapped open, searching wildly for something to focus upon. Her brother was struggling to find the ball, buried in the bone of his collarbone. She watched him, as she talked to d'Artagnan, holding his hand, allowing him to squeeze as he fought with the pain.

Finally, Isabelle had had enough. 'Athos, take his hand and keep him talking' their fingers brushed as he took his friends hand from her. A fleeting glance made her heart leap, and she was instantly ashamed of herself for being unable to control feelings she had worked so hard to keep inside. She moved next to Rene, nudging him out of the way 'Move brother. I know how to remove this ball much easier. Let me do this'

'Isabelle?' Rene stared at her, his bloodied hands tangled in a cloth. 'What do you know of Musketball wound?''

'I've had a similar shot wound before. My hands are smaller, I can do this better' she could feel Athos' eyes upon her as she leant down to see the true damage. 'Forgive me d'Artagnan. This will hurt'

She retrieved Rene's dagger from his belt, and with quick, nimble fingers, pressed the seared flesh down around the damaged bone. She could just see the ball, and she prayed it would come free with minimal prying. She wedged the point of the dagger between bone and ball, and flicked up, the ball shooting up into the hand she held over the wound. Isabelle dropped the dagger to the bed, snatching up a clean cloth she applied firm pressure. Finally Jean entered the room.

'At last' she said quietly. 'I need the brandy. Put the rest in the dining room and ask the chef to prepare a supper' she took the brandy her favourite servant passed her, biting the wax and cork seal off and spitting it onto the bed. 'You need to be prepared to stitch this wound' she looked at Rene briefly before tipping the bottle slightly into d'Artagnans mouth. Athos urged him to drink, the strong brandy capable of dulling any pain.

'Where did you learn that?' Rene asked, taking control and keeping pressure on his friends wound. He searched her face for answers, where he found none, before he turned back and prepared to stitch the wound.