Devil's Plaything

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: An idle moment of respite leaves time to reminisce about the past; and proves fortuitous to a wolf in sheep's clothing. This is an entry for the Fete de Mousquetaires March challenge, with the theme of "Idle Hands".


Awareness came slow – muddled with thoughts of deceit; flight; rescue – and of being lost in a piercing green gaze of bittersweet memories. The decadence of silk sheets, soothingly caressing her skin felt foreign and out of place next to such bleak dreams of grime; depravity; and then – maybe regret.

In that surreal space between sleep and wakefulness – the look on his face conjured up on one hand a feeling of smug, delighted mirth; and on the other, such sadness, that bordered on despair - almost.

When she pried open her eyes, the remnants of gunshots, men screaming for their lives – drifted away and slid beneath the shutters – where streams of daylight filtered through.

She frowned, put the near death experience at Evreux out of her mind and placed it alongside those many other moments in her life. Moments that she chose to suppress and were buried beneath a cool facade; later to be summoned forth as incentive to drive her forward. She stretched her limbs – with arms overhead, until her shoulders popped; knees flexed and toes tingled with delight.

Smiling, she tousled her dark tangled mass of hair with a certain amount of forceful triumph. Today was another wonderful day. A day filled with new possibilities. Rolling to her side, she snuggled down deep into the soft feather mattress. She hugged the pillow close to her breasts and pressed her smile into its folds. Landing on her feet was hard business – but she had done it…..again.

By the slant of the sun's rays that slipped through the cracks into the room – noon had come and gone. To sleep this late was a luxury. To be unhurried; left alone to her own devices – was a rarity to covet. She would treasure this moment for as long as it would last. For in her experience – good fortune such as this never lasted long.

Groaning with pleasure, content to lay – still; she relished this time to herself. How wonderful to hear the workings of the palace go on outside her door and know that all she was meant to accomplish this day was to lay idle and wait for her King.

To only wonder – what would please him; make him smile; forget his wife and erase the troubles of state from his mind. She sighed deeply, twirled a strand of hair about her finger; whispered cheekily to herself, "Consider only him"; and laughed.

To be Idle; silent or tranquil had never been a strength of hers.

As a child, she was put to work early begging in the streets; smiling for coin; picking pockets or stealing food from the market. There was never time to lie late in bed; to play with other children or to day dream of another way of life.

There was only living – surviving – from day to day; hour by hour. Quiet moments were relegated to deep, dreamless sleep of the exhausted. Then it would all begin again.

Peering over the warmth of her blanket, she watched with aloof contempt as servants filed into the room; drew the bath – brought in bucket after bucket of hot, steaming water. Young girls, in crisp clean uniforms carried in her meal on silver trays and set the table. Adolescent, freckle faced boys stoked the fire in the hearth.

After some moments of furious flutter – they all backed out of the room; reluctantly curtsied or bowed at the waist and ground out "Milady" with forced respect – before softly closing the door behind them. She could practically hear their eyes rolling with disdain as they scurried out in the hallway to their next chore.

She knew what they said of her – how they spit out the side of their mouths after speaking her name. Out of earshot, but through the grapevine, she knew they hissed words like - "lazy"; "idle", "worthless" and "snake" to describe her.

She raised an eyebrow and chuckled at their downstairs antics. Their reaction to her brought back memories of her leisurely days at the de le Fere estate before it all went to hell. Those were the days when she had want for nothing – had put the hardships of her childhood and her time at the convent behind her.

Behind her, where the nuns had swept her from the streets and trained her up in the art of cooking; cleaning; mending; scrubbing and washing until her hands cracked red and raw. There was never an idle moment such as this among the good nuns of the Order of St. Benedict. If so, the quiet hours were filled with learning; reading; or on bended knees, praying reverently to a God who had abandoned her long ago.

Pushing up from feathered pillows – she swung the blanket aside and stretched bare arms above her head and took in the opulence around her. Gilded mirrors – ornate door handles; sheer canopies; priceless vases; vintage chairs – all glared back at her – the pretender.

She yawned and hopped from the bed – landing lightly on plush throw rugs that protected her unslippered feet from the cold marble floors. Tip toeing toward the tub, she sat on the floor and skimmed her fingers over warm delicately scented water and thought again of those restful days, when she and her husband would lay silent in a tub such as this one – in each other's arms; toes shriveled white and pale from the cooling water.

In those days, when she was idle – all she would do to keep busy was to collect forget me nots; twine them together; strewn them about the estate, wear them around her neck and in her hair.

Unlike Catherine, she could not paint; or draw to pass the time – but instead would study the form of her husband in bed; in fields; amongst the hay, and trace with her finger the crease at his brow; his temple; his jawline – then the perfect curvature of his lips. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered how very beautiful he was. How his body seemed to her – a work of art to explore and admire.

Hours would go by before they felt the pull of desire – so enthralled she would be by the penetrating green of his eyes; the curl of hair at the nape of his neck; the thickness of his lashes; the strength of his nose. In this moment she could actually feel the tone of his arms, chest – the slimness of his hips.

Milady stood abruptly to her feet – as the heat on her cheeks traveled hot to her neck. She laid her hand there to cool the surprising flush and breathed deep to help push down the thought of him. Absently she stroked the circular scar beneath her fingers and a jolt of adrenaline shot through her senses bringing her back to the present. Stunned, she pulled her hand away as if burned.

Quickly, she removed her night gown, stepped into the tub; and submerged down beneath the warm water.

She would do this – banish him, his face – his body; his touch; those eyes from her mind. She held her breath and tried to let him go.

When she came up and gulped in life giving air – the world was clear to her again. Richelieu was dead; Gus was dead; Anne and Olivier were dead – Athos was…..

The tepid water sent a shiver down her spine. A sense of foreboding gripped her heart; and she trembled with apprehension. The unknown of the future weighed heavy on her chest. Pushing wet ringlets from her forehead – she sighed with exasperation; and slapped down on the water with such vigor that it splashed out and cascaded onto the floor.

Was she not the mistress of the King of France? Had she not survived humiliation and certain death at the hands of first Richelieu – then her husband, again? Good fortune had come her way; and visiting the past was not a useful way to spend these precious idle moments.


After putting on her undergarments; eating her meal; having her hair properly coiffed – Milady wandered the room bored beyond belief. She sat with resounding purpose down in a plush velvet chair and wondered what to do with herself.

Shopping was an option, with the generous stipend from his Majesty – but just how much shopping could one do? She had all the clothes, hats, gloves, shoes any one person could possibly want or need.

Perhaps she could find amusement in bullying around a servant; or making the Queen feel uncomfortable in her own home; or just produce some gossip to torture one of these pathetic hangers on that populated the palace.

How wearisome it was to have nothing to occupy her mind. She stood to her feet, pattered to the window and threw open the shutters. Sunshine beat down on her and she covered her eyes to adjust to the blinding brightness.

Smiling with contentment, she took in a breath of cool fresh air and filled her lungs to capacity. When she could see plain again – there below stood Rochefort – watching her, as if he'd been waiting all morning to catch a glimpse of her at this very window.

She leaned over the sill; stared straight into his dead unblinking eyes and knew he wanted something untoward from her. He had been lauding his authority over her for some time now and thought himself above her. Richelieu had taught her much. Here below stood a lesson in treachery she had paid heed to.

The devil himself smiled a malevolent grin and waved for her to come join him in the garden.

So – she surmised – her idle moment was over; her respite…but a second. Rochefort had some chore she dare not refuse. There must be some nefarious errand that only her special talents could fulfill that needed executing. That he must have something to force her cooperation was evident.

The sisters were right all along – idle hands were the devil's playthings; and here he was, ready to pull the strings.

Milady turned away from the window deep in thought. She would prepare herself for this audience with the wolf in sheep's clothing. Here was the wolf – the devil himself – that hid himself among the ordinary; that would try and take what luck she had fostered. She would attempt to match his cunning and hope to turn the tide.

Clenching fists at her sides; she readied her armor and summoned up her resolve to survive. After all her battles and near death escapes, she was determined that he would not be the one to lead her to complete ruin.


Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this entry to the Fete de Mousquetaires March challenge. Please let me know what you think! If you would like to participate, please go to the Musketeers Forum page titled Fete de Mousquetaires to learn more about the rules and how to enter.