Will all respect due to The Three Musketeers, BBC version, and its source M. Dumas, I present a little love story. Forgive me if I drift back and forth in time for a little while.

Comptesse

As comfortable as the riding gear had ultimately proved to be, it had been a relief to discard it and the bindings around her chest once she'd reached her own rooms at the chateau; especially after so many days of endless wear and jostling on the back of her horse. Living her life in manor houses, with regular access to water and clean clothing had spoiled her a little for such niceties, and a single night at an Inn along their road had provided only a very brief respite from the journey; at least it had brought a physical one. The memories of that night threatened to haunt her for a great deal longer than the time it would take for sore muscles to calm and dirt to be washed away. She cast the sodden bandages that that provided her disguise into a basket for washing and rubbed some feeling into her skin with her palms.

Three Days Prior

They'd taken a large room, the attic in fact, set up with a table and a few pallets, a perfectly reasonable arrangement for a troop of men travelling to Paris, hoping to beat the winter snows. The innkeeper had delivered some roasted hens and some pitchers of ale, and had been compensated for it. Once those were dispatched, the others had gone to see to the condition of the horses, and to, no doubt, avail themselves of the tavern below, to warm themselves with more than just food. Athos had declined their invitation, likely because he was their captain, and of them all, his was the ultimate duty to keep her safe. It would do no good for the reputation of their ranks if her gold were to arrive safely in Paris without her. He had left the room to give her a few moments of solitude in order to discard the tunic and pants she had disguised herself in, in favor of a shift; the only clothing she'd brought with herself. Proper attire could be obtained once she reached her family's house: the tailor was likely already awaiting her arrival; and the basics she would need would have been laid in by the ladies of that household.

The men had created a bit of a privacy curtain for her, around one of the cots in the corner, so she hadn't seen Athos return, only heard him at the door, and then at the table, the heavy thump of a bottle contacting it, echoing in the small space. He'd taken one glassful of the deep red liquid by the time she'd gathered herself up into some semblance of modesty, and was pouring a second when she came out from behind the curtain.

"Is everything alright Athos?"

They had developed a bit of an easy friendship; -at least she had thought they had- over the course of the first few days of travel. It made her comfortable enough to inquire as to his state of mind, and to expect a response.

He turned his head away from the drink towards her, his deep-set eyes even more shadowed by the flickering candlelight in the room. She watched him take a deep breath in silence, his chest rising beneath his vest, then falling slowly. He nodded, not an answer, with no expression on his face except a hint of the respect he had always paid her. He looked tired, which was to be expected she supposed, they had ridden without more than a few minutes break all day, and the previous night had been spent on the road, where no one had managed much sleep despite the roaring fire and the shelter Porthos had constructed. It certainly wasn't the type of bed she was used to, not that she complained, not that any of them complained. They deserved the few hours of rest that the tavern offered. Athos seemed to have found his in the bottle on the table, not the last bottle she would see him with.

Present

Her brother had ensured that she had hairbrushes and pins, as well as a clean shift and robe and a meal in her rooms. Their party had arrived after sunset, the Musketeers had been provided with rooms for the night, and a communal meal. She imagined they were likely well into their cups by then; Athos especially as she had seen the staff carrying a bottle of port for him when they had dropped off her meal. And once again, she did not begrudge them the reprieve. They had fulfilled their duties in a most exemplary fashion and all had arrived safe if not completely sound at the chateau just on the environs of the city. She had been a little disappointed that they had lost the light before they had arrived, her family's home was a beautiful place, even in the winter, and she had spent the last few hours of the journey imagining it from her memories of leaving it when she'd been twelve.

The staff had kindly brought water for a bath, to warm her bones finally and clear the road from her skin. Sinking into it she let her head slip below its surface, listening to her own heart beating in the echoes, the memory tightening around her chest of that familiar pounding.

Three days ago

She didn't know exactly why she'd gone over to him, not really, or perhaps she just didn't want to admit it to herself? She knew that there had been an attraction on her part; he was a handsome man, with his slightly rumpled hair, dark eyes, and full mouth; one that spoke with such elegant words, acknowledging her intelligence and not just her position. It had been glorious to talk to him as they rode; hearing about the politics of Paris, and not the gossip that other visitors brought, thinking that was what she, as a woman would want to hear about. There was such an easiness about it. It would have been hard not to look favorably upon him given all that just for a start. But there had been more, a mutual respect, or at least it had seemed that way as they had ridden beside each other. Perhaps it was simply the loneliness of a foolish widow driving her forward, or the beginning of a new phase of her life? Whatever the impetus, she laid her hand lightly atop his shoulder as he looked up at her, his pupils wide, eyes liquid.

"What is it that haunts you Athis?"

"A great many things Comptesse."

His voice was flat, not at all she thought, the emotion his eyes betrayed.

"I may be small, but I have broad shoulders if you might wish to unburden yourself?"

His hand, strong, calloused, cold from its tight grip around his cup reached up to cover hers; she trembled, though the room was warm.

"I think that such things should not be shared with a lady my Comptesse."

"A terrible scandal then, such as would offend my sensibilities?"

"I suppose that would depend on your point of view." His lips curled up slightly in a sad sort of smile. It inspired some boldness in her.

"I consider myself to have a rather broad world view."

"I believe that Comptesse. But you do not deserve talk of such ugliness, not in such a peaceful place."

Indeed, it was surprisingly quiet considering what she knew must be going on below them in other rooms and in the tavern.

"Will your friends be returning soon do you think Athos?"

"Not too soon I think." He swung his legs around the bench he had been sitting upon. Her hand slid away from his shoulder and he caught it up in his own.

She swallowed, suddenly a little nervous, hearing her voice quivering.

"Then we might perhaps have a few more moments alone?"

"We might." He stood, still holding her hand, looking down at her, his free hand brushing away a strand of the blond hair, now free from its ties. She closed her eyes and listened to her stuttering breath, quiet unfamiliar. As he drew a little closer to her, his own breaths were also audible; as audible as her heartbeat suddenly became as she felt his body press against hers, pushing her backwards against the rough wall of the attic.

Present

The water around her suddenly did not feel so welcoming as the sequence of events came back to her, jumbled as they were, confused by the emotions they had raised. It was a moment in time that brought back feelings of recrimination, and she admonished herself for her foolishness as she tried to crawl out of the tub with some imitation of grace. She felt that if she could wrap herself in a robe, disguise her body into something formless, that somehow she could push the memories away forever. She belted it fiercely and picked up a brush to try to run it through her damp hair, but found her hands trembling so much that she could not hold it tightly enough, the paddle falling to the floor with a clatter.

She would have cursed, but her voice came out more like a sob.

Three days ago

His mouth on hers had been insistent, it was sweet from the liquor, and laced with a passion she had never felt. When she'd married she'd been only twelve, her husband much older. He'd been kind and gentle with her, pressing nothing on her till her womanhood had emerged. By fifteen she'd had her first son, by eighteen her second. By twenty-five there had been two miscarriages, and a daughter who had not survived past her first year. By thirty she was a widow. In all those years, never once had he laid an angry hand on her, and never once had he kissed her with the determination and desire that Athos offered.

The ladies in the kitchen and her maids had spoken of passions such as that; behind their hands, with giggles and hushed words, about how a man could make you feel when he lay with you. She had never thought that she would experience such a thing; indeed, she wondered whether or not the stories were even true, that men could act in that manner. Words she had heard from them tumbled from her mouth when Athos gave her leave to breathe. His hand, now untangled from hers had grabbed at her shift, bunching the fabric into his fist, his hand brushing upwards along her leg. She chanced to move her own hands down his sides, curving them over the small of his back, pulling his body closer to hers, sighing 'I am yours'. He froze.

"You should not make promises that you are not prepared to keep Comptesse." He whispered as he pulled away from her.

She was breathless, confused, and suddenly cold, her heart pounding against her chest, echoing in her ears violently.

"Who says that I am not prepared to keep them?" She challenged.

"I do." He turned back to his bottle on the table, picking it up and taking a harsh drink, eschewing the glass. "You should get some sleep. Tomorrow's ride will be long."

Present

She grit her teeth together, holding back tears that threatened, and reached for the brush from the cold stone floor. She ran it ferociously through the brown tangles of her hair, wanting the pain to help her focus her thoughts away from what Athos had done, away from how he had made her feel; foolish, angry, confused, and certainly sleepless that night.

Three days ago

She had tossed and turned practically that whole night, starting every time the door opened and closed again, half fearful that she would open her eyes to see his hands pulling back the makeshift curtain, half anticipatory that he would. And she cursed herself in the morning for that foolishness that had left her with blurry eyes and frustrated hands as she tried to buckle the leathers over her shoulder so she could once again take up her guise as a man. When the clasps slid out of her grasp for a third time she cursed out loud. She had thought she was alone.

"Comptesse?" Long fingers curled around the rough edge of the curtain, cautiously drawing it back.

"Aramis?" She felt her cheeks begin to turn red with embarrassment; she was a Comptesse, a gentile lady, and one who tried to demonstrate her self-sufficiency to others with proper manners and correct diction; certainly not by cursing out loud like a groom with a misbehaving horse.

"May I offer some assistance?" He did not let on any affront at her outburst.

Aramis was another of the Musketeers who had come to act as her guard. A tall man, a foot or more towering over her when he stood in his boots, dark brown hair tied back with a few errant strands of bronze framing an angular jaw, eyes an brown/black that reminded her of the clouds that foretold violent storm. He did not wear the same ruddy complexion of his companions; Athos and Porthos. Though he too wore the short beard and mustache that was the fashion of the time; even if the musketeers' were somewhat more unkempt than those of the nobles that she was more accustomed to seeing.

"I cannot seem to fasten this frustrating clasp here." She gestured at the brass pieces, still separate in her hands, holding back the curse words more modestly than before.

"Please, if you would allow me to help?" He waited for her permission before approaching her, or touching her.

"I would be most grateful sir."

He grinned, an odd, crooked sort of smile that inspired a response in kind. For a moment, she could push away the memories that had left her so out of sorts. He had the leathers in place in short order and held out his hands for her sword belt. Owing to his size in relation to hers, he knelt down on his knees in front of her, and reached his arms around her waist to buckle the belt, slinging it low on her hips, as his was. Not knowing what exactly to do with her hands and needing to keep them out of his way, she let them rest gently on his bowed head, not thinking about the type of scene it would make; not until the door was heaved open, and Athos stalked in.

He looked them up and down in only a second, eyes narrowing to an icy stare, not at all like wide-eyed innocence of Aramis' eyes.

"If you two want something to eat before we leave you had better come down now."

He spun with a violent swing of his arms and slammed the door behind him.

She'd spent the rest of the ride to Paris at the side of Aramis and Porthos, Athos unwilling to talk to her at all, saving the necessary commands and directions. She could not have failed to see the glances that passed between those brothers as Athos barked orders; not that they spoke a word against him. Aramis had been the one to come to her aid from then on, not that she required, or requested much from that point forward. At night around the campfires, the voices only rose when Athos retired to his bottle. Everyone was uneasy, but at least they stayed focused on the path and their surroundings, and not in idle talk. It had been a blessing to be greeted by her brother, no matter the hour.

Present

The knock on her door was purposeful, calling for attention in much the same way as the delivery of her dinner had been. Checking that her robe remained modesty tied she rose to open the door, expecting the servants to carry away the now cold bath water. But it was not they. The man before her, lit from the back by the torches in the hall was too tall and too large to be any of the good folk who scampered about the cold hallways seeing to her family's needs. No this was a musketeer, and it was Athos.

"Good evening." She greeted him with civility, trying to choke back the feelings that accompanied the flip-flop of her gut at the sight of him.

"Comptesse."

His voice was just as rich as it has always been, the noble French accent that exposed an upbringing much like her own; one of privilege. Though she had heard him curse under his breath, she had never yet heard vulgar words slip past his lips, a sign of decent breeding, something not easily forgotten, even in the company of soldiers.

"Are you in need of something? My understanding was that my brother had seen to your needs, and those of your men." She felt her right arm tighten involuntarily around her waist.

"He has, he has been most generous."

"I am glad to hear that." Her breeding, like his, supplied such a response by rote, she was pleased at the automatic response, not knowing what else she might say, now that she was alone in his presence once again.

"We will be departing in the morning for the garrison, our tasks discharged. I had wished the opportunity to speak with you once more before then. Privately."

She stepped backwards into the room, a tremble in her hands as she did so; wondering if he would follow, knowing that he would, wondering which man would take that step, and if she was prepared for whomever emerged.

"At the Inn," he began as he moved towards her. She looked into his hooded eyes, not even hearing the door close behind him. "You offered yourself to me."

She took a deep breath and let it slip pass her parted lips slowly, gathering her strength.

"As I recall, you seemed receptive to that, at first, with a most passionate kiss."

She watched tension ghost across his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

"It was."

"Then you pushed away from me sir, leaving me alone to my own confused thoughts."

"And you went to my brother for your comforts."

"What?" Breeding or not, she could not suppress the shock that accompanied the outburst.

"I chose to respect you, to protect your honor, to walk away. But you, you proved my assumptions incorrect, and took Aramis to your bed in my place."

She would not have believed that she could have felt more cold, but at that statement she was positively frozen, too stunned to even respond before he took another step towards her.

"You are not a lady, you are a whore."

She raised her right hand to slap him across the face, spitting at him with her outrage.

"Get out!"

He caught her at the wrist before she could make contact, and held her firmly.

"How dare you!" She hissed at him. "You are jealous. And you have no right. I felt your body pressed against mine. I am a widow, not a virgin, I know that you wanted me."

"I never said that I didn't want you."

"But you chose your drink, not me."

"And you chose Aramis."

His grip tightened to the point of pain. She held her voice against a scream, speaking through her teeth, glaring into the black eyes.

"You would turn to him, a man who has women throwing themselves at him wherever we go, a girl and a bed in every quarter of Paris."

"I have been with no man since the death of my husband. Yours was the first kiss I had received in all those years. I thought you were a gentleman."

"And I thought you a lady."

"I did not sleep with Aramis. He did nothing but find me in the morning and help me with my leathers." The pain became so severe she finally cried out. "You are hurting me!"

His face might have looked as shocked as hers had been only a few seconds earlier; if she had been able to see her own face to judge. He dropped her hand, which she immediately cradled to her breast.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, too ashamed to even look her in the eyes.

"Get out."

"I am so sorry."

"Get out or I will scream."

He backed away and closed the door as he left, allowing her to finally dissolve into tears.