Panting, Isabelle bowed to her opponent, sheathing her sword and collecting the small pile of coins laid in wager upon the table. Of course, in the arrogance of man he had assumed that this mere woman would not be able to defeat him in a duel. With the last 5 pieces of silver in her pocket she laid down her wager, matched and doubled with confidence by her opponent.
She had him defeated easily, but chose to let the fight wage on a little longer, just to allow him his dignity. He was on his knees still as she turned and left the tavern. Once in the poorly lit street, she legged it, the rhythmic taping of her leather boots against the pebble stones the only sound she focused upon until she was satisfied that she was not followed. She walked quickly among the shadows, enjoying the anonymity the men's trousers, shirt and hat brought to her.
She lived within a stones throw of the Musketeers garrison, yet she strove to avoid it, often walking three streets out of her way to reach home, without being forced to gaze upon that cursed fleur de lis. That damn symbol of the kings men, the one she had been so proud to see her brother wear.
She ducked into the Church of Saint Paul, as hooves carrying red guards trotted past, she ensconced herself in a shadowy pew, watching the late night mourners, the homeless sheltering from the cold, the mothers praying for the safety of their sons in war, the fathers begging the lord for a good, wealthy man for their daughters. She dipped her head, clasped her hands and repeated a prayer she had uttered what must be a thousand times before.
'Lord give me the strength to fight the battles my brother has left unfought. Make me fast, make me accurate. Let my aim be true and my hand faster than those who would seek to destroy me. Grant me victory over my foes, and those who would seek to harm me and mine' she murmured, raising her eyes to the figure of Christ upon his cross, before crossing herself and kissing the tiny medallion of her brothers she left about her neck at all times.
She prayed for her brother day and night, the only family whom she had ever truly loved. He had died in an ambush, killed in cold blood. She had vowed, upon receiving the note of his death, to avenge his death. To ensure that he had not died in vain.
She reached her rooms not long before dawn, first streaks of brilliant pinks shining brightly upon the clouds. Isabelle admired the beauty from her window for a few moments, before closing the shutters tightly blocking any light from the room. She would rest now, her duel had earned her enough to keep her hunger at bay for the week, enough to pay her small rent. She stripped herself bare, washed her dirty hands and face, and stretched upon the small, but soft, mattress. It was cool enough in the early spring morning that she was comfortable beneath her quilt, drifting into the pleasant darkness of sleep easily.
My first published Musketeers fic. please R & R, love to hear your thoughts. thanks 3
aj.