"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes."

Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

CHAPTER I

Life at the garrison had finally started to return to its regular rhythms, thought Aramis. The only difficulty was that while on the surface everything seemed the same, life for himself, as well as for Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan, had undeniably changed. Ever since Christmas Eve, a series of events had been set in motion that had altered their lives in ways they could never have imagined.

In the past month, Aramis had been able to spend two secret, blissful nights with Anne at the palace. By serving as a mentor to one of the Dauphin's pages, he now had ready access to his son. Porthos had a pretty widowed seamstress as a new love interest. D'Artagnan had hope for the future, as Constance's husband was dead, and the lad was now free to marry his love. But most startling of all had been the transformation of Athos—and it had all begun with his wish to give a despondent Aramis the chance to see his newborn son.

The new father could not possibly have anticipated that the plan would end up with his friend being seriously wounded during a gunfight. Nor could he have guessed that when Captain Treville sought help from an apothecary near the garrison, he would be forced to return instead with the man's daughter, a young woman named Charlotte Gaillard. Her kind, competent manner had soothed a delirious Athos as she had worked tirelessly to save his life. In the course of his recovery, a teasing flirtation had blossomed into romance.

Even now, Aramis found the speed of Athos' courtship of Charlotte mind-boggling. After all, his friend had been skittish around women ever since his ex-wife, Milady de Winter, had destroyed him by murdering his brother. A brief interest in the Comtesse Ninon de Larroque a year ago had been the only indication that Athos might someday actually consider entrusting his heart to a woman again. However, at the time, he had declared he no longer believed in marriage, and his friends had taken him at his word.

Charlotte, however, was an altogether different kind of woman from Milady and Ninon. She had been raised by her widowed father, and had helped him run his apothecary from an early age. Her gentleness had been a balm to Athos' soul during his suffering from his gunshot wound. However, it was her keen wit and intelligence that had attracted his attention when he had healed. She was a pretty woman, but certainly not the most beautiful in Paris. What made Charlotte unique was her poise and quiet confidence. These traits, combined with her auburn hair and lithe body, had bewitched Athos from the first day he had been conscious enough to actually notice her.

Perhaps most important, though, was that she had the uncanny ability to make Athos laugh. Watching his friend fall in love had been a joy for Aramis. He had long hoped that Athos would one day be able to open his heart to a deserving woman, and there was no question that Charlotte was the perfect complement to the natural moodiness of the Comte de la Fère. She knew just how to handle him when he became difficult, and could deftly turn him from angst to calm with any one of various methods in her repertoire.

They had married less than three weeks after they met, the ceremony hasty by necessity. At the time, both Athos and Charlotte had been accused of crimes that merited a trial by the King, with execution the possible result. Luckily, they had both been found innocent by the Queen, who had presided over the trial in the King's absence. The newlyweds had then narrowly escaped death in a fire at the apothecary, with Porthos and Aramis arriving just in time to save them.

The next morning, though, something had gone very wrong. There had apparently been a serious quarrel between Athos and his wife, and she had left Paris with her visiting cousin, giving no date for her return. Athos, who had still been recovering from the torture he had been subjected to while in custody in the palace dungeon, had sunk into a depression that was punctuated only by bouts of anger directed at his friends.

When d'Artagnan had finally persuaded him to join them for a night at the Wren, Porthos and Aramis had quickly realized that the invitation had been a mistake. Five minutes into the evening, Athos had instinctively returned to his old habit of sitting alone and drinking heavily. The scowl on his face had only darkened further when he had glanced across the taproom to see Milady de Winter enter the tavern.

"You won't believe who just sauntered through the door," muttered Porthos, his tone disbelieving. Aramis and d'Artagnan discreetly followed his gaze, both wincing when they caught sight of the petite brunette. "She's got some nerve, after tryin' to kill both Athos and Charlotte!"

"I'll take care of her," murmured d'Artagnan, shrugging on his doublet and blocking Milady's way when she attempted to breeze by their table.

"He's not in the mood," he said evenly. "Leave him be."

"You don't know Athos the way I do, d'Artagnan," she replied, her eyes sharpening at the challenge. "He will certainly want to hear what I have to say."

"Haven't you caused enough problems already?" he snapped, frosty sarcasm lacing his words. "I suggest you turn around and go right back to whatever hole in the wall you are currently calling home."

"That would be the Louvre." Her smile of triumph was dazzling. As d'Artagnan's mouth hung open in surprise, she pushed past him and approached Athos' table, sliding with grace into the chair opposite him. Deftly lifting a clean goblet off the tray of a passing waiter, she poured herself some wine from the bottle on the table, then tilted her head back, looking appraisingly at her ex-husband. He stared back at her, his gaze stony.

"Trouble in paradise?" she inquired, her expression solicitous. "I hear your wife has been gone some three weeks now. How does it feel to have an empty bed again?"

A hand shot out and trapped her wrist in a vise-like grip. "I feel I have made my feelings about you abundantly clear, but in case you have misconstrued my words, I will make it plain once more-we are done. I have no desire to ever see you again, let alone speak to you. I would highly suggest that you leave me in peace, before I am tempted to carry through with the vow I made when you left Paris the first time."

"Even if you wanted to, which I doubt you do by the desire I sense in those deep blue eyes, you are now powerless to lift a finger against me."

"Any desire you sense is purely your overactive imagination. At this point, I would rather make love to a scorpion. So pray tell me why you think I could not kill you in a second should I so desire."

Milady raised her goblet to her lips and drank deeply, then ran her tongue over her upper lip, feeling a thrill of satisfaction when Athos looked away, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He still wants me—he just can't admit it. Five minutes alone in a room with him, and he would forget he ever married that common girl.

"I have a new position, and I wanted you to be the first to know-just in case you need to find me."

"I could care less what you do. It is not necessary for you to keep me apprised of your activities at all times."

Milady leaned over, and cupped his chin delicately in her hand, forcing his lifeless blue eyes to meet hers. "Oh, you will care when you hear this, my husband. I am now the mistress of the King of France, and as such, am untouchable—at least in all the ways that concern you."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she waited for his reaction.

"Congratulations," came the cold response. "Leave it to you to reach the heights of success-as a whore."

"And leave it to you to once again spectacularly fail at keeping a woman happy-and to resort to keeping company with the only real friend you have—a bottle of alcohol." She stood up and smoothed her skirt, her composure having returned. "I must get back to the palace…the King has need of me, you know." She dimpled a smile at him. "I would wish you luck at repairing your rift with your bride, but that wouldn't really be sincere, would it?" Turning her back on him, she made her way out of the tavern, her scornful laughter floating in her wake.

As she emerged into the cool evening air, a hand seized her arm. "Was that really necessary?"

"Aramis, you are definitely losing your touch." Turning, she slanted her eyes at him in a manner that could best be described as provocative. "Is that any way to greet a lady?"

"Not quite, but we both know I am not looking at a lady, am I?" he replied, his manner deceptively nonchalant. "I am warning you- stay away from Athos. The last thing he needs right now is for you to be harassing him."

"Harassing him?" She arched an elegant eyebrow at Aramis, then lifted her lips to his ear. "You misunderstand my intentions," she breathed. "I was merely informing him of my new position. It would be quite awkward if he found out I was the King's new mistress by being asked to escort me to the His Majesty's bedroom for a tryst." Drawing back, she smirked at the expression on his face.

"You are unbelievable," observed Aramis, shaking his head in disbelief. "Just when I thought you couldn't do anything more despicable, you worm your way into the bedroom of the most important man in the land, then flaunt it in Athos' face. I suppose Richelieu was just a warmup for you?"

"Richelieu, like Michel the apprentice, had outlived his usefulness. You can rest assured that I did not spend time mourning his untimely passing."

"I can see that," retorted Aramis. "After all, the Cardinal has been in the grave less than forty-eight hours, and you are already serving as the monarch's new plaything."

"Plaything?" she clucked her tongue in mock disapproval. "I prefer to think of myself as providing him solace—of being a refuge for the poor man. After all, the Queen has disappointed him in almost every possible way. Other than finally producing a son, that is. But the delivery of an heir does make one wonder. After all those years of barrenness, the child seems a manifestation of a miracle—or perhaps of adultery."

Aramis' eyes blazed in response. "Mind your tongue when you speak of the Queen! You are not fit to breathe the same air she does!"

"Such fire, Aramis!" Her body seemed to coil itself in readiness, as a snake does before striking at its unsuspecting prey. "One rarely sees such a level of devotion in an ordinary soldier. But perhaps you are anything but ordinary in the eyes of the Queen."

He fell silent for a moment, his face becoming impassive. "All musketeers are expected to have unquestioning allegiance to the Crown. Such loyalty is obviously a concept you find difficult to grasp, having served no one but yourself throughout your entire life."

As he left to return to the warmth of the tavern, she called out after him, "Don't be a stranger! Stop by and say hello when you are next in the palace."

Ignoring her, Aramis pushed his way through the increasingly convivial crowd, finally sitting back down next to Porthos. "Where's d'Artagnan?" he growled, finishing his goblet in one swallow. "I thought that the plan was for him to escort Athos home. After all, taking Athos out to cheer him up was the lad's bright idea…which now appears to have failed rather miserably."

"I told 'im to leave," Porthos muttered. "He was getting' antsy lookin' at the clock, and it's not even eleven. Constance seems to have dramatically altered his habits."

"As did Charlotte for Athos," sighed Aramis, filling his goblet with the last of the wine. "I know I've asked you this before, but you are quite sure you have no idea what their quarrel was about?"

Porthos shook his head. "When I escorted her to Denise and Madeleine's village, she wasn't exactly in a chatty mood."

His friend's dark eyes flashed in frustration. "I just cannot imagine what would have made Charlotte upset enough to actually leave Athos—for any period of time, let alone three weeks. After all, he already knew about Milady—that story had been told before they even married. And why didn't he try to stop her? They were deliriously happy. It makes absolutely no sense."

Aramis eyed Athos, who was hunched over his goblet, his gaze focused on his wine. "And Denise was able to shed no light on the matter?" Porthos grunted noncommittally.

"Am I to interpret that as meaning that you and the lovely widow found other things to discuss?"

"You can interpret it to mean whatever you like," replied Porthos with a serene smile. "The bottom line is that my personal life is just that—personal."

"Why is everyone insisting on pairing off?" groaned Aramis. "Am I to have no one to keep me company at Madame Angel's in the future?"

The big man rolled his eyes. "As if you go to Madame Angel's to spend time with me. How stupid do I look, Aramis?"

Sitting at his small table, hat pulled low over his eyes, Athos turned away from the sight of Aramis and Porthos engaging in lighthearted banter. It was getting more and more difficult to be around his friends in anything other than a strictly professional situation. At first, it had bothered him, but now, he had gotten to the point where he just didn't care. His mind increasingly wandered during briefings, and he had caught Captain Treville regarding him with a troubled expression more than once.

All I want is for this nightmare to just go away. I want Charlotte back in my life, and I want her to look at me with the trust and love she used to-not with the disappointment and hurt that was written all over her face the morning she left. The fact is that there is nothing I can do to change the past. Annette was my first love, and our daughter is a lasting legacy of our time together. Charlotte wants and deserves an explanation, and after seven years, I long for one as well. The problem is that any inquiries I make run the risk, no matter how small, of impacting innocent lives…lives that I vowed to protect by my silence. What on earth am I going to do?

I couldn't stay away long...the plot bunnies were keeping me awake at night. Let me know what you think...