A/N: First, I'd like to thank the very talented LadyWallace for being such a helpful beta for this story. Acting on her advice, I have split this into two parts, the second of which will be posted in a few days. Second, there is some dialogue in Spanish. I relied on an online translator for this, so if you can actually understand Spanish and it's horribly wrong: I am very, very sorry. Still, after each Spanish line, I've tried to put what was being talked about, so I hope no one gets lost.
Enjoy!
A/N (2014): I have made minor adjustments to correct the Spanish dialogue. Arithanas was kind enough to offer suggestions and I thank her very much for her help. Due to what I've learned from her, I've made minor adjustments to names and such, so those of you who have perused my tale before may notice these.
Summer, 1625
"So, M. Treville didn't say why we've been summoned?" Porthos asked, as he and his friends walked into the throne room. He grinned at a couple of ladies in waiting that they went past.
"No, he didn't," Athos answered, shortly. "His note just said it was urgent."
Only a few months had passed since their triumph over the Duke of Buckingham. D'Artagnan had been admitted into one of the junior guards on a two year probation. For Athos, Pothos, and Aramis, though, there had been no change in fortune, and no reinstatement back into the Musketeer ranks.
Now, the three had been summoned to the palace.
"His Majesty, King Louis, and Her Majesty, Queen Anne!"
The three men knelt as the king and queen entered the room. "Ah, good, you're here," Louis said on seeing them. "Stand up. I have a special assignment for you three."
Getting to their feet, the three men exchanged quick looks. "A special mission, Your Majesty?" Athos said carefully. "Forgive me, but shouldn't you be entrusting this mission to one of your musketeers?"
"But you are my musketeers! The best of my musketeers!" Louis said in astonishment. He paused and started to frown. "Oh, good lord! Did I not give orders for you to return to your ranks? I distinctly remember giving that order. Who did I tell to take care of it?"
"I believe you instructed the cardinal to handle the matter, Your Majesty," Queen Anne volunteered calmly.
Louis glanced at her and nodded. "Yes, of course," he exclaimed. "Well, no matter. I will remind him of this. Once you three have returned, everything will be taken care of."
"Where does Your Majesty wish us to go?" Aramis asked.
"It is the express wish of your queen, actually," Louis said, holding out his hand to his queen.
Stepping forward, the queen graced the trio with a serene smile. "A ship from Spain, the Santa Anna, will be arriving in Calais within four days," she informed them. "You will meet the Marquesa de Molin aboard that ship and escort her party here to Paris."
"Four days?" Porthos repeated skeptically. "That's not much time, your Majesty."
For a moment, the queen looked perturbed. "Unfortunately, the letter containing this information was delayed," she answered, her tone slightly aggrieved. She smiled at the trio again a moment later. "However, I have every confidence you will reach Calais in time."
Athos bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said. "We will do our best."
Queen Anne nodded. "I know you will," she responded. "I would not trust my friend in anyone else's hands."
"Well, off you go then," Louis said cheerfully. "I've instructed Richelieu to have a bag a gold ready for each of you, to cover your expenses for the journey."
He turned away with Anne on his arm. The trio bowed and took their leave. One of the Cardinal's men handed them each a small purse as they went out. "I begin to think we will never find a great cause," Aramis lamented.
"This is something to do," Athos responded.
Porthos tossed his purse, testing the weight. "And, when we are back in Paris, we will be back in the Musketeer Corps," he said jovially. "I think that is something to drink to."
"No time," Athos answered seriously. "Not only must we get to Calais in four days in this heat, we will have to make the necessary arrangements to get the marquesa and her party back to Paris. That will take time. Time we don't have. We need to leave immediately."
Porthos sighed, but nodded. "The cardinal must be furious," Aramis commented. "He's never liked dealing with Spaniards."
"That's none of our concern. Let's just worry about completing our mission."
Amidst insults and threats, Planchet worked quickly to get his three masters packed for their journey. D'Artagnan sat on the table, munching on an apple as he watched the activity in the small rooms. "I wish I was going with you," the boy said.
"You'll get your own chance for adventure, boy," Aramis told him.
"After all, someone needs to stay behind and keep Planchet in line," Porthos said, glaring at the lackey.
In trying to move faster, Planchet tripped over his own feet and crashed into Athos. "Pardon me, sir!" Planchet said, trying to get himself upright. "Sorry, sir!"
"Planchet, will you get out so we can get something done?" Athos snapped. "Go make sure the horses are saddled."
Swiftly, Planchet vanished out the door. "You have to leave right away?" D'Artagnan asked.
"We're not as constrained for time as we were the last time we left Paris, but yes we do have to leave immediately," Athos answered, packing his things into his saddlebags. "There will be things to arrange in Calais. We should be back in little over a week."
D'Artagnan nodded. "Do you know who you're bringing to Paris?"
Porthos poured a goblet of wine. "The Marquesa of Molin," he answered. "Aramis, remind me of how she falls in the nobility ranks."
"She is under only the queen, a princess, and a duchess," Aramis answered. He reached over and snatched the goblet from Porthos' hand. "She's above everyone else."
"This is going to be a fun trip," Porthos remarked with a grin.
Athos hoisted the bags over his shoulder. "If you're done gossiping, we need to leave," he said.
Groaning, Porthos got to his feet. "We'll see you when we return, D'Artagnan," he said, lifting his saddlebags from the floor. He pointed one warning finger at the boy. "Don't drink all the wine. Or, if you do, make sure you replace it before we get back."
"Got it," D'Artagnan said with a grin.
The big man gave him a final glare before clapping the boy on the shoulder and walking out. "Try not to get into too many duels while we away," Aramis advised.
"Listen to M. Treville," Athos instructed as D'Artagnan nodded. "And for god's sake, stay away from the cardinal's guards. The last thing we need is to come back to Paris to find you dead or dying from a fight."
"You three fuss as bad as my own mother," D'Artagnan complained, good naturedly. He jumped up from the table and followed them outside. "Get out of here so I can have some fun."
"Look after Planchet," Porthos ordered, mounting.
The lackey joined D'Artagnan at the doorway as the trio rode off. "I'm going to miss them," Planchet said morosely.
"Yeah, me too," the young boy answered. He shrugged and turned to go inside. "But they'll be back soon."
Due to the summer heat, the three men kept to a slower pace on the way to Calais, to be easier on their horses. They arrived in the city three days after leaving Paris. They found a small inn near the docks to stay in. While Porthos chose to become acquainted with the tavern in the inn, Aramis checked at the docks to make sure they'd beaten the ship and Athos went to make the travel arrangements.
The following day, there was no sign of the ship. The trio took turns staying on the dock, but the Spanish ship didn't arrive. However, when Athos returned to the docks early in the morning, the Santa Anna, was bobbing in the water.
"Arrived around midnight," an old sailor said when questioned. "The foreigners went that way." He pointed down the docks to the very inn Athos and his friends had been staying at. "Here comes one of them now."
A tall man was walking towards them. "Señores, buenos días," he greeted. He stopped in front of the sailor. "I believe these trunks were to be delivered to that inn today."
"The day's not over yet," the sailor answered, leaning back.
Athos almost smirked at the annoyed look on the Spaniard's face. "Are you part of the Marquesa de Molin's group bound for Paris?" he asked, interrupting the conversation.
"Not anymore," the young man answered, looking very relieved. "The vizconde has tried to convince me to stay with them until Paris, but this is as far as the Marquesa requested me to come. This is as far as I go. I return to Madrid with the Santa Anna."
The sailor grinned. "Got a pretty señorita waiting for you, eh?" he asked, nodding wisely.
"The prettiest," the young man said enthusiastically. He made a half, formal bow. "I will inform the vizconde of the trunks. Buenos Días, señores."
"I'll walk back with you," Athos said.
"Are you the escort for the Marquesa?" the young Spaniard asked as they walked towards the inn. When Athos nodded, the man shook his head. "Señor, I pity you. Señorita Marquez is…" The man hesitated, glancing around. "I hope you are prepared for quarreling. Buenos días, señor."
The sailor laughed as the young man walked off. "The pretty girl with the sharp tongue," he said. "The young foreigner is right, Monsieur. You are to be pitied."
Frowning, Athos went into the tavern and confronted the innkeeper about it. "I'm surprised they didn't wake you, Monsieur," the small man said, glancing up at the ceiling. "They arrived in the middle of the night, demanding the best rooms."
"Which rooms?" Athos asked, thinking only for a moment of the amount he and his friends had drunk the evening before.
The innkeeper named three room numbers. As Athos turned to go up the stairs, a man in elaborate, Spanish dress, stepped into the hallway. He cast a condescending look around. "Señor, I require breakfast," he ordered, in heavily accented French. "Immediately."
"Right away, Monsieur Marquez," the innkeeper said, moving hastily to show the man a table.
"Señor Marquez!" the Spaniard corrected imperiously. "I am not some Frenchman to be called this monsieur!"
"You are with the Marquesa de Molin's group?" Athos asked.
The Spanish noble looked Athos up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "I am," he said. "I am the Vizconde Marquez. And you are?"
"King Louis sent me to escort you to Paris," Athos answered, as his companions came down the staircase. "I am-."
"Your name is unimportant to me," Marquez interrupted. "All I need to know is whether you will keep my daughter safe."
Athos' jaw tightened, but he nodded. "My companions and I have everything arranged so that we may begin the journey to Paris this morning," he informed the man. "King Louis and Queen Anne are anxious to see the marquesa."
Marquez laughed. "You cannot be serious!" he said. "On no account are we leaving today. Not only is the marquesa still unwell from the sea journey, but my daughter, Senorita Marquez requires rest as well! We will leave tomorrow and not a moment sooner."
Athos frowned but nodded. "Very well, señor," he said. "If you insist."
Nodding once, Marquez turned his back on them and went to a table. He sat, looking displeased with the arrangements. The three friends took seats on the opposite side of the room. "So much for getting back to Paris within the week," Aramis said.
"So who's the pompous windbag?" Porthos asked. "The Marqués de Molin?"
"No. The Vizconde Marquez," Athos answered. "He made no mention of any Marqués de Molin."
"Well, that is very good news," Porthos remarked. "Do you happen to have the good marquesa's room number?"
Aramis shook his head as the innkeeper's wife came to take their order. "Porthos, you would do well to stick with your procurator's wife," he said. "A foreign noble will only bring you trouble."
The big man shrugged. "I suppose she's old and ugly," he decided. "So, how shall we spend today? The same way we spent yesterday?"
Sitting in the tavern, Porthos was finishing the last of his brandy when he spotted a young woman entering. Dressed in a simple blue dress that emphasized her tan skin, she cast a glance around and then headed for the innkeeper. Her long black hair was in a single braid that hung down her back.
"Is that the marquesa's maid?" Aramis asked, noticing the woman as well.
The innkeeper nodded once and gestured to the right, obviously giving her directions. Pressing a coin into the man's hand, the Spanish woman turned and saw that the trio was watching her. She smiled, pulled the hood of her tan cloak up over her head, and hurried out.
"If I had to guess, I would say that was the Marquesa de Molin," Athos remarked. Aramis and Porthos looked at him questioningly. "She has none of the recognizable traits of a maid, and every manner of nobility."
His companions exchanged looks and stood up. "Well, since we are the escort for the lady, we should do our job," Aramis said. "Are you coming with us, Athos?"
Athos just shrugged. Without waiting, Aramis and Porthos hurried out of the tavern. Porthos searched the now crowded street. "I don't see her," he said. "Which way do you think she would have gone?"
"She was asking how to get to the closest livery stable and was going down to the docks after that," Athos said, coming out behind them. "The innkeeper pointed her in this direction."
He led the way into the crowd. "You have to wonder what would cause a lady to venture off alone in a strange city," Aramis remarked after a few moments. "No ordinary woman would do this."
"Perhaps an 'ordinary woman' doesn't do things for the adventure, or have a hatred of being confined in one place," an accented voice said from their right. The young woman smiled as all three spun to face her. "Then again, I have never been described as ordinary. You three are following me."
"You are the Marquesa de Molin," Athos said.
She nodded once, raising one brow. "I am Doña María Esperanza Fernandez de la Vega, Marquesa de Molin," she informed them. Her tone was matter of fact, without any trace of pride or bragging. She was just shorter than Aramis. "And you are?"
"I am Aramis; this is Athos and Porthos," Aramis introduced. "King Louis and Queen Anne sent us to escort you to Paris."
"Ah, ya veo," the woman exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "Los tres mosqueteros. The three musketeers. I have heard of you. Queen Anne has written me about what you have done for her. I am honored to have such brave soldiers as my escort."
"Señor Marquez said you were resting today," Porthos told her. "Is there something you need?"
"No, not at all," she responded swiftly. "I am not in the habit of lying around all day, and wanted to walk some. Good day, señores." Turning, she started walking down the street. After only a few steps, she looked over her shoulder at the trio who followed her. "Do you intend to follow me every step I take?" she asked, sounding both amused and perturbed.
"It is a strange city, señora, you may get lost," Aramis said.
"It is our mission to get you to Paris safely," Athos added. "It would not look well on our record if something were to happen to you the very day you arrived."
The marquesa shrugged. "If you insist." She made her way down the street weaving between people. Every few steps, she paused to admire some item displayed on a seller's cart. It was while she was fingering a soft shawl that a voice rang out.
"¡María Esperanza Fernández de la Vega! ¿Qué crees que estás haciendo? ¡Te he estado buscando por todas partes!"
Sighing, señora de la Vega hung her head. "Not even an hour," she said. She glanced at her escorts. "Do you by any chance understand Spanish, señores?"
"Enough to know that someone is demanding an explanation from you," Aramis responded.
The woman considered and nodded. "Close enough," she said as an older Spanish woman pushed between Athos and Aramis to reach her. "This is my ever watchful duenna, Carmen. Carmen, se trata de Athos, Porthos y Aramis; Nuestra escolta a París."
The duenna glanced at the men and glared at them with all the suspicion of a mother. The trio bowed slightly towards her. "Excuse me, señores," the marquesa said as Carmen pulled on her arm. "I fear I must return now. I look forward to our journey. Tomorrow at dawn, then?"
"If that is-," Athos started to respond, but the marquesa was already letting herself be pulled down the street.
"This mission just got doubly interesting," Porthos decided.
"Yes," Athos agreed, watching the marquesa vanish into the crowd with her duenna. "A noble woman does not sneak away from her companions without reason."
Porthos shrugged. "That's not the reason I had. And you can't be thinking she's a spy," he objected. "She's no Milady."
Athos shot him a dark look and walked away. "Well done, Porthos," Aramis said, shaking his head.
There was no appearance of anyone else from the marquesa's group. By the time evening fell, Athos had returned to the tavern. As an apology, Porthos handed him a bottle of wine and ordered him to open it. A church bell was ringing midnight when Aramis rose from the tavern table. "We should get our rest," he said. "We have a long journey ahead of us."
"Do you smell something?" Porthos asked abruptly, frowning.
"You mean something besides the smell of fish and unwashed clothes?" Aramis responded, raising one eyebrow.
Porthos scowled. "I smell something burning."
Before Aramis could offer a comment, Athos frowned. "I smell smoke," he said, glancing towards the door leading to the inn kitchen.
A shrill scream sounded over the tavern noise. "¡Fuego!¡Que alguien la ayude! ¡Fuego!"
"Fuego?" Athos repeated, getting to his feet. "Doesn't that mean-?"
"Fire!"A half dressed man came stumbling into view. He pointed at the stairs. "Fire!"
Even the drunks were on their feet and rushing for the door. In the hallway, Athos spotted Marquez with a young Spanish woman and Carmen. "Get out!" Athos shouted, pushing the trio towards the door.
"Perita! ¿Dónde está Doña Maria?" Carmen exclaimed, trying to fight her way back in."¡Voy a por ella!"
"Carmen, María puede cuidar de sí misma!" the young woman urged, pulling on the other woman's arm. "¡Vamos!"
Carmen caught the arm of the man closest to her: Porthos. "Por favor! Doña María todavía está ahí! Por favor, ¡ayúdela!" she begged, her tone pleading. "Por favor!"
Porthos looked over at Aramis. "She says someone is still inside," Aramis translated, frowning in concentration. "A lady named Maria. She must mean the marquesa!"
"I'll go see," Porthos said, turning around.
Smoke had filled the inn already. Taking the steps three at a time, Porthos reached the second floor. The smoke was worse up there. Holding his sleeve to his arm, Porthos pushed open each door as he hurried down the hallway. The last door wouldn't budge. Putting his shoulder to it, he rammed his full weight against the wood.
The lock snapped and the door opened. The fire was raging in the room. On the bed, señora de la Vega lay unconscious to the flames surrounding her. Porthos ran forward, scooped her up, and retreated to the hallway. He kept his head down as he moved.
Following the shouts, Porthos found his way outside. He went past Aramis, who'd joined the bucket line that had formed. Athos was snapping orders to the men who kept coming to see what was happening. Porthos spotted Marquez and headed for the Spaniards.
"Perita, por favor, despierta," the old woman pleaded, reaching for her mistress.
Even as he moved, a bucket of water came down on him from behind. Porthos spun around as Aramis lowered the bucket. "You were on fire," the former priest-to-be stated, looking more than a little amused at having to perform such a service for his friend.
There was a gasp from the woman Porthos still held as water dripped onto her face. She opened her eyes and started coughing. "Is she all right? " Aramis asked. "Should we send for a physician?"
Carefully, Porthos knelt and laid the young woman on the ground. The old woman hovered, patting the woman's cheeks. "Send for a physician," Porthos said, looking at Aramis.
"Carmen? ¿Qué ha pasado?" the marquesa said hoarsely. "What's happened?"
"Pera, ha habido un incendio. ¿Me entiendes?" the old woman said swiftly, her tone soothing. "Este hombre te ha salvado."
"Carmen!You are always worrying over Maria, when you are to look after us both!" señorita Marquez demanded, storming forward. She scowled at the other women.
Carmen straightened and glared at señorita Marquez."Aramis! Porthos! There is still a fire!" Athos shouted, getting his friends' attention.
"Señora, are you all right?" Porthos asked.
Dark brown eyes turned to him. "Sí, señor," señora de la Vega said, nodding her head once. She coughed and sat up. "Go."
Shrugging, Porthos stood and grabbed the bucket Aramis held out to him.
The dryness of summer had exasperated the situation, allowing the flames to spread to the nearby building. It took over an hour for the fire to be quenched. Finally, dripping water, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis walked towards the group of Spaniards.
"Well, now what are we to do?" Marquez immediately demanded before the conversation could go any further. He gestured at the charred inn. "Everything we brought was there!"
"I'm sure everything can be arranged," Athos told him sharply He glanced over the small group. "Is everyone all right?"
With Carmen's help, señora de la Vega stood up. "Gracias, señor, we are well," she said. Her hand went to her black hair. "The vizconde is incorrect about one thing. Not all of our trunks were brought to the inn."
A nearby man whistled. It was only then that the woman seemed to realize she was dressed in only a white, now damp, shift, her feet bare on the cobblestones. She wrapped her arms around her as her appearance caused more catcalls to sound.
"Here," Aramis said, taking off his wet jacket. He held it out to the woman.
"Gracias, señor," she said gratefully. She draped it over her shoulders, pulling it closed over her chest.
"We will check your rooms for anything that may have survived the flames," Athos told her. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll find you another inn to stay at."
Marquez scowled. "Señores, perhaps you don't realize it, but we are nobility," he said, putting his arm around his daughter protectively. Athos focused on him with narrowed eyes. "We will not be treated in this manner."
"Then, go back to Spain," the marquesa said sharply. She smiled at the musketeers. "Wherever you find a place, I will be satisfied, señores."
Athos turned to his companions. "Aramis, you and Porthos check to see if their belongings survived," he ordered. "I will escort them to another inn for the rest of the night."
As Athos led the Spaniards away, Aramis located a small lantern and led the way into the blackened inn. Other looters were already combing the remains. Carefully, he and Porthos made their way up to the second floor. "It's definitely worse up here," Aramis remarked.
"This was the marquesa's room," Porthos told him, gesturing to the last room.
The room was destroyed, as were several other rooms on that side of the inn. Giving up, Aramis and Porthos went to find Athos.
At the inn, everyone who had been displaced from the burned out inn was crowded together. Fighting through the crowd, Aramis and Porthos found Athos sitting in a corner. "And where's the marquesa and her companions?" Porthos asked.
"The marquesa went off with one of the maids," Athos answered with a shrug. "Señor Marquez has gone to find someone who will listen to his complaints."
Porthos reached for the bottle with a groan. "Late night," he commented.
"Perdón, señores," Doña Maria called out, weaving her way through the tables. She was now dressed in what looked to have been the best dress of a maid. "Would it be possible to leave for Paris now?"
All three men stared at her incredulously. "Now?" Athos repeated. "Señora, it's the middle of the night!"
"There is a full moon," the marquesa answered. "I am anxious to get to Paris. If it is not possible, you only have to say so."
"If you want to leave Calais now, we'll leave now," Athos said, getting to his feet. "But shouldn't you wait to…" he waved his hand to indicate her appearance. "Clothes?"
The woman smiled, clearly relieved. "Gracias, señor," she said. "These clothes will suffice until Paris. I will inform the vizconde and Margarita that we will be departing."
She turned and hurried out of the tavern. "For a woman who nearly lost her life, she's being extremely calm about it," Aramis commented in admiration.
"Porthos, track down our driver and make sure he isn't too drunk," Athos ordered.
"I thought everything burned in the inn!" Porthos complained, helping hoist the last of the two trunks onto the carriage.
"These apparently had been left on the docks by mistake," Athos answered, climbing up to strap the luggage down. When he jumped to the cobblestones, he spotted the Spanish party coming towards them from the inn. "Señora, your carriage is ready."
Nodding, señora de la Vega smiled and climbed in. Señorita Marquez was scowling when she climbed into the carriage. The duenna, Carmen, was scolding the youngest woman steadily. Marquez also looked displeased.
Aramis closed the carriage door and walked to his horse. Athos signaled the driver. The man cracked his whip and the horses lunged forward. Athos, Porthos and Aramis rode behind the carriage through the streets.
Soon after sunrise, señor Marquez demanded they stop for a meal. Since they were stopping to change horses anyway, Athos consented to allowing time for a meal. Señorita Marquez, however, chose to remain in the carriage, her arms crossed and her nose in the air.
"What brings you to Paris, señora?" Porthos asked over the simple meal of bread and cheese.
"The queen," the young woman responded simply, smiling with fondness. "I was one of her lady in waiting when she was InfantaAna. She has summoned me to Paris to retake my position."
"The marquesa was a great favorite of the queen, when they were together in Madrid," Marquez added, his tone somewhat mocking. The marquesa shot him an annoyed look, but didn't deny it.
"Any particular reason why you didn't come to Paris with the queen when she married Louis?" Aramis asked. "I assume, if you were a favorite, she would have wanted you to come."
The marquesa looked down at the table. "She did, and it was my wish as well," she said, very quietly, "but my father had made other arrangements. I was married to the Marqués de Molin when she married King Louis."
"Where is the marqués now?" Porthos asked. "Its not often a husband will allow his pretty wife to travel without him."
Señora de la Vega smiled and looked up. Before she could answer, though, there was a scream from the courtyard. "Margarita," the marquesa sighed as the men jumped up from the table. She followed them out to the courtyard.
A scruffy man was half in the carriage. Striding forward, Athos and Porthos grabbed the man and hauled him out. They tossed him to the ground. Porthos stepped on the man's wrist, forcing him to let go of the small dagger that was in his hand. Marquez drew his blade.
"Let me kill the dog!" he growled, starting forward.
"¡Papá!¡Él trató de matarme!" señorita Marquez wailed, scrambling out of the carriage. She ran to her father and threw her arms around him. "He called me Doña Maria! He thought I was her! How could he accuse me of such a thing? I do not look like Maria, do I?"
Crouching down, Athos stared at the man. "Were you sent to harm the Marquesa de Molin?" he demanded.
"I don't know anything about a marquesa!" the man answered, his tone whimpering. "I was just searching for any loose change. I wouldn't have hurt her."
"Monsieurs, I believe this man has been robbing many travelers that stop here," the innkeeper said, looking at the man coldly. "He has caused my business to suffer. Allow me to deal with him."
Considering the offer for a moment, Athos nodded and stood up. "If you are ready, we will continue," he said to the marquesa.
Silently, señora de la Vega nodded once and moved to the carriage. "You expect me to travel after this shock?" Señorita Marquez demanded, her eyes wide. She clung to her father much tighter. "Eso es cruel, Doña María! ¿Cómo esperas eso de mí? Papa, ¡no lo permitas!"
"Oh, be quiet, Margarita! It is not cruel," señor Marquez said impatiently. She watched as Carmen pulled the young woman off Marquez. "Get in the carriage."
"Paris is not going to come quickly enough," Athos muttered as Señorita Marquez began to rage at the duenna, her father, and the marquesa. "Señorita, perhaps next time you will stay with the group and this won't happen again."
"How dare you?" señorita Marquez demanded, whirling on him. "My life was threatened, and you dare blame it on me?"
Her glare faltered as Athos stared at her. "Señorita, you will get in the carriage now, or you will walk to Paris," he said evenly. Taking a step back, the young woman closed her mouth and got in the carriage very, very quickly. "Thank you, señorita."
Porthos held out his hand to señora de la Vega. "Señora, may we continue?"
"We may," the woman answered, unable to hide the amused smirk. She accepted his help into the carriage.
Catching Aramis' eye, Porthos shrugged at the former priest's amused expression. "What?" he asked. Shaking his head in response, Aramis walked away.
The rest of the day passed without incident. When the sun began to set, the carriage stopped at another small inn. Carmen herded her two charges to their rooms without delay, and the two young ladies had their evening meal sent up to them.
Marquez retired to his room soon after eating his own meal, declining to have a drink with the three other men. Thankfully, no fire or other emergency interrupted that night. The travelers were back on the road a little after dawn.
Mid-morning, Athos dropped back a ways, to get away from the never ending complaints of señorita Marquez. Even if she was speaking Spanish, the man found the whining in her tone annoying. Aramis and Porthos also slowed their horses to keep pace beside him.
"Now I understand why the Spaniard I spoke to on the docks in Calais offered me his condolences," Athos remarked.
"Señorita Marquez is an unlikely companion to the marquesa," Aramis said. "I wonder why the marquesa brought her along."
Athos looked over, his expression wry. "Perhaps you could ask her when we stop next."
The sharp crack of a gunshot rang out. Before the three men could react, the carriage lurched forward violently as the horses bolted. "Porthos, stop the carriage!" Athos ordered, spurring his horse forward. "Aramis, with me!"
Kicking his horse's sides, Porthos raced after the out of control carriage. Slowly, he gained on it, moving past the main body of the carriage. The driver was slumped over, the reins dangling down. As Porthos moved to jump over, the horses swerved sharply and the carriage went onto two wheels. It teetered precariously for half a second and then crashed onto its side.
Caught in the harness, the carriage horses were fighting to get free. Señorita Marquez shrill screams let Porthos know she, at least, was still living. "Are you all right?" he shouted, pulling his horse up sharply. He jumped to the ground and hurried for the door of the carriage. "Señora?"
As he reached, the door was shoved up and over. "We are all right," señora de la Vega called out, her voice unsteady. Her head came into view. "Was that a gunshot? Is the driver all right?"
There was another gunshot, and the bullet ricocheted, sending bits of wood flying. Porthos ducked instinctively. "Stay down, señora!" he called out, searching the side of the road. He saw a flash of silver from beside a tree, and drew his sword.
Throwing down a musket, a man in dirty, scruffy clothing came charging forward. Steel clashed against steel. Though Porthos initially thought the man was a common highway robber, he quickly revised his opinion as his opponent came at him with speed and skill.
It was only when the man looked over at the carriage, that Porthos was able to make a fatal hit. The man fell to the ground.
Señorita Marquez could still be heard crying hysterically from inside the carriage. The marquesa, however, seemed to have decided to take matters into her own hands. Her elbows on either side of the open door, the young woman was pulling herself out of the overturned carriage.
Quickly, Porthos strode over and climbed up onto the side of the carriage. "Señora, if I may," he said, reaching down. He grasped the woman under the arms and pulled her up. He set her on the side of the carriage. "We'll have you on solid ground momentarily."
"Gracias, señor Porthos,"the marquesa said. She looked down into the carriage through the open door. She shook her head. "Where is señor Aramis and señor Athos?"
Porthos gestured down the road. His two friends were finishing off two men. "Ah, I see," señora de la Vega said, sounding unsettled. Kneeling down, she swung her feet over the side of the carriage and pushed off. She looked at the dead man in the road and closed her eyes.
"Maria, ¡No me dejes aquí!" señorita Marquez screeched as Porthos helped Marquez out. "Don't you leave me here alone!"
Shaking her head, señora de la Vega ignored the demand and hurried over to grab hold of the lead horse. She spoke softly to it, trying to calm the animal before it harmed itself.
"Look, señorita, you have to get out so we can figure out how to get this thing back the way it's supposed to be," Porthos said, crouching at the doorway of the carriage. He shook his head. "Señor Marquez, will you talk to the girl? She's your daughter."
"Margarita, the sooner you calm down and accept the man's help, the sooner you will get out," Vizconde Marquez said wearily. He jumped to the ground and went to help calm the horses.
Looking around warily, Athos and Aramis hurried up. "Aramis, use your silver tongue and convince this…girl that we can't get this carriage upright until she's out of it?" Porthos requested, his patience running thin. "I can't seem to get through to her."
Grabbing hold of the side of the carriage, Aramis pulled himself up. "Señorita, please," he said, looking down into the carriage. "We really have no time for this."
Athos took over for th marquesa at the horses' heads and she walked to the side of the carriage. "Margarita, please will you be sensible for once?" she called out. "Por favor?"
"Sé sensata tú si quieres, María, pero yo no estoy acostumbrada a tales indignidades,"came the angry, tearful response. "¿Qué crees que estás haciendo?...do not touch me! I am of noble blood, and a...a peasant like you cannot-Let me go!"
This last, in perfect though accented French, came in response to Porthos, who'd lost all patience, reaching down and grabbing the young woman's wrist. "Margarita, please, be quiet," Marquez said, tiredly as Athos freed the horses, and tied them to a fence post.
The marquesa smiled and turned her back on the carriage. Her breath caught as she saw the barrel of a musket pointing out from beside a tree. "Señores!" she exclaimed, jerking back as a fourth man stepped into view.
Spinning around, Aramis jumped to the ground, landing in front of the lady. He was already drawing a dagger from beneath his jacket. He flung it in the same moment that the gun fired. The highway man fell to the ground and Aramis reeled back a step.
"SeñorAramis!" señora de la Vega exclaimed, grabbing onto the man. She managed to keep him from hitting the ground with too much force. She pressed her hands against his shoulder, her face pale. "Señor!"