The street in the back alleys of Paris was quiet, perfectly and unusually still, seemingly deserted but for the sharpshooters at almost every window, crouching behind carts and barrows, their weapons cocked and focussed, waiting for their targets to appear. It was a perfect spot for ambushing musketeers, and like any good trap an irresistible bait was knelt in the centre of the street, hands firmly fastened behind her back with course rope, blindfolded and gagged so she couldn't alert her would be rescuers of the danger till it was too late. Constance's breath hitched in her throat, and she gagged again against the fabric in her mouth, teetering on the edge of panic as she strained her ears to make any sense of the scene. It seemed as if all of Paris was holding its breath as she heard the distinctive rumble of horse and cart at the far end of the street, a brief pause, then the entire word seemed to explode around her.
Two days previously.
Constance fussed around her kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the meal she was cooking; dodging around the four men gathered in the room, without pause she knocked Porthos' feet from off the table, and shot Aramis a stern look as he snorted in amusement into his drink at Porthos' surprised expression. Athos watched the scene from his usual spot in the corner, while D'artagnan reached for her as she passed, pulling her down onto his lap and nuzzling her neck. Playfully she briefly slapped his hand away, kissing him briefly on the mouth before returning to her carefully cooked meal.
It had been six months since her husband had left. Constance had known for a while that business was poor, but she had no clue as to the severity of the problem till she woke up one morning to find that her husband had crept out of the house in the night, taking with him all of the couples money, Constance's few pieces of jewellery and any item of value in the house, even down to the candle sticks. Destitute and facing eviction and starvation on the streets Constance had made her way to the musketeer's garrison to the only people she knew would not judge her or desert her. True to their reputation as gallant soldiers they had instantly agreed to help. Within hours Aramis had come to her door with a small bag of coins, unpaid debts to the business that the soldiers had seen collected. Within a few weeks it had been decided that as Constance would need to take on lodgers and her large comfortable house was convenient for both the garrison and their favourite taverns that it made sense for them to move in to her home. In addition to the financial security the arrangement afforded, Constance took great comfort from the safety and security that having four musketeers in residence provided, shielding her from the worst of the towns gossip about her husband's flight, and the scandal of a still technically married woman sharing her home with so many men. In their turn Constance cooked their meals, fixed their uniforms, and on the all too frequent occasions that one of them returned injured, acted as a very capable nurse. Occasionally she even had a part to play in their missions, when only a woman's touch would do. The day after her husband's abandonment D'artagnan had come to her, and re professed his feelings for her, and now it felt like they had never been parted. For the first time in her life, with these men around her Constance had finally learnt what contentment felt like.