Athos slowed until he was riding alongside Constance, "Tired?"

Constance glanced at him apologetically. "I'm sorry. I had such high hopes I would prove to be a stoic horsewoman."

Athos laughed lightly. It had been a long day's ride from Paris, with an early start and many miles covered before they finally returned young Henri to his mother. Constance had handled the trip admirably, maintaining a steady pace for much of the journey. The musketeers were watchful, as her pace slowed, so too did theirs, and for the last hour they walked the horses through the woodland as dusk approached.

"You've done very well," Athos inclined his head toward her, "After all you carried a precious cargo on the journey."

Constance smiled at the memory of the baby, warm against her chest. "He was precious," she said softly. "We did a good thing today".

"You played an important role in Henri's return, Madame Bonacieux," Athos said, "His mother will be eternally grateful."

Athos was glad to see her tired face brighten at that thought. Constance deserved to feel pride in her part of the mission. Just a day earlier, Aramis, D'Artagnan and Athos himself had discussed the merits of asking Constance to accompany them on the trip. It was a brief discussion for they all felt Constance had been placed at quite enough risk for one week; she had already been involved more than any of them liked in the mission to protect the child. While Athos understood the ruse which led to Constance's presence in the kidnappers' house, he knew, just as the others did, that the presence of an innocent civilian invariably complicated matters during a rescue effort. Despite the fact that Constance had proven more than capable of helping and protecting herself, the three agreed, if they could protect her from further involvement, they should do so. Her involvement dismissed, Aramis set about looking for a wicker basket secure enough to hold a baby safely.

It took the arrival of Porthos to point out the obvious flaw in their plan.

"Let me get this straight," Porthos said as he produced an apple and began to peel it with a small blade. "We're leaving Constance behind, which means one of you," he waved the knife around the three of them, "plan to stop in the various villages along the way and ask for a wet nurse every time the kid gets hungry," Porthos sliced into the apple and eyed them all pleasantly, "Four musketeers and a starving baby, looking for a wet nurse. That won't look strange at all." He eased back on the bench and watched the others mull over that image.

"Well, that's our plan scrapped then," Aramis said brightly, "Constance, it is." He rose from the stable bench, anxious to settle on a plan, the others knew, so that they could leave Paris and relieve the agony of a grief stricken mother many miles away. Pacing, he talked through the details, "Constance can come up with some womanly excuse as to why she can't nurse Henri herself, in order to employ the…" Aramis paused, "talents of a wet nurse. We will look like the routine escort for the child of some lord or another." He cast a look sideways out into the night, "If we set out at dawn, we should be there by late afternoon."

D'Artagnan frowned and instantly drew the attention of Aramis, who sighed in frustration. "What now?" Aramis asked insistently, "How is that not a perfect plan?"

Shrugging slightly, D'Artagnan raised his hands defensively, "Well, we can't get back in one day. Constance will need to come up with some excuse as to why she is away overnight."

Aramis waved away that concern. "Is that all?"

D'Artagnan considered that for a moment. "Yes."

"Then there is no cause for concern, Constance is nothing if not inventive, the plan is set," Aramis grimaced, and then amended, "once Constance is agreeable."


As it transpired, this was the only plan Constance would agree to. It appeared she too had been contemplating the manner in which the child would be returned to his mother, for she declined to allow them in when they arrived at the Bonacieux home. Under no circumstance, Constance informed them from behind the safety of her front door, would she hand baby Henri over to the care of four men who were incapable of getting through a single day without skirmishing with the red guards, or fighting off some crazed assassin or incurring the wrath of some virgin's father.

Aramis looked mildly affronted at that. He raised an offended eyebrow to the others "They're never virgins."

D'Artagnan hushed him and moved to lean against the door, "Constance, if you would just let us in to explain…"

"Not until you give me your word, all of you." Constance insisted from behind the door. "You have to take me with you." They could hear the slight break in her voice, "Henri is too far little to be left alone." There was a pause, her tone lifting in suspicious outrage, "Porthos? If you try to break in my window, you can stay behind and mend it."

A bemused Porthos backed away from the side window and shrugged at the others. "Was only seeing if she had any food cooking. I'm starved."

Athos raised a silencing hand, "Madame Bonacieux," he said, his voice firm and reassuring. "Rest assured, we have no desire to part Henri from you until he is safely returned to the arms of his mother."

Nothing stirred.

"Constance," Athos told the door with a ghost of a smile, "I give you my word."

That evidently did satisfy her, for the lock sounded, the door was pulled back and Constance appeared before them, her expression still wary. "When do we leave?"

"Just after dawn," Athos said, "Can you have the child ready?"

"You'll need an excuse for your husband," D'Artagnan began, "We won't return until Thursday afternoon."

Constance apparently viewed that concern with the same disregard as Aramis. "I'll take care of that," she said firmly "Bonacieux only returns from business tomorrow afternoon himself," She bit her lip, mildly distracted as her thoughts raced through all the things that needed to be done, "How shall we travel?"

Athos glanced over her small frame. "You can ride?"

Constance eyed him doubtfully. "I'm an average rider, but I'm stubborn. I'll get there."

Athos nodded, satisfied with that. "D'Artagnan will help you guard the child overnight."

Porthos smelled the air wafting from the kitchen. "If that's beef stew, I'll help him."

Porthos's legendary appetite roused her smile. "Well," Constance said, "If Henri and I are relying on all of you for protection over the next day or two, it's in my best interest to ensure you're well nourished."

They trooped inside, Porthos pausing to explain himself, "For the record, I wasn't planning to break a window to get in. I could have just asked D'Artagnan to use his key."

"That would have been difficult," Constance said briskly, pulling bowls from the dresser, "Seeing as I took it from his room before he even stirred this morning. I wasn't taking any chances of being left out of this trip."

Porthos eyed her, entirely impressed with her plotting. "Ever wonder," he murmured teasingly to D'Artagnan, "What it would be like if she wasn't on our side?"


By the time they reached the inn, Constance looked utterly spent. D'Artagnan and Porthos had ridden ahead to arrange rooms while Aramis rode beside Constance in companionable silence, Athos at the rear. "Finally," Constance murmured, as Aramis slipped from his horse and turned to help her from her own.

Aramis smiled at her, "You must be exhausted." He caught her easily, setting her on her feet. A young stable-hand appeared and began to tend to the horses, once Aramis had secured his weaponry.

"I am," Constance paused, "and starving. I don't know how you lot ride into battle. The ride there would be exhausting enough for me."

"Perhaps we won't have Treville arrange your commission just yet then," Athos said teasingly, appearing by her side. He indicated toward the inn, "Shall we?"

She nodded and accepting Aramis's guiding arm, they picked their way through the darkness into the inn.


The three paused in the doorway and were, to Constance's discomfort, the instant focus of attention. Curious eyes rested on the newcomers who were, Constance admitted to herself, an unusual sight. One woman hemmed in by two of the King's finest soldiers, their armory and bearing clearly signifying to all present that some of the legendary musketeers were in the their midst. She glanced around the establishment that was to house her for the night. Constance wasn't entirely sure she would call it a respectable establishment in fact, she revised as her eyes lingered on a working girl at the bar, she was quite certain she wouldn't. Faces leered at her from a nearby table and Constance was suddenly glad she wasn't here alone.

Aramis clearly sensed her discomfort, for he took her elbow gently and guided her in from the doorway, "Everything alright?"

"Just dandy," Constance said crisply, tightening her wrap, a futile attempt to protect herself from ogling eyes. "Interesting accommodation you've arranged."

"My apologies," Aramis flashed a bright smile. "The only other option is occasionally frequented by tradesmen; I was concerned someone known to your husband might stumble upon you in our company." He winced slightly as he too spotted the prostitute at the bar, "Perhaps I had forgotten just how unsavoury this place appears to fresh eyes."

Aramis cast a quick look around the rest of the inn and not for the first time, Constance marvelled at how the musketeer carried himself. He appeared perfectly relaxed, the polar opposite, she knew before she glanced, to the demeanour cast by Athos. Beside her, Athos stood in imposing silence and his inspection of the room was slow and intimidating as he raked a careful gaze over the crowd, his eyes filled with watchfulness and warning. Everything about Athos, Constance thought to herself, suggested danger should you cross him. Aramis on the other hand, remained as he was, deceptively at ease. He waited for Athos's subtle nod of approval and led Constance on, smiling pleasantly around the room, as though he was in one of Paris's finest establishments, peopled by nobility and gentry. His gait was light, his posture beguilingly relaxed and yet Constance knew, were she to blindfold him, the musketeer could give her a definitive account of the position, manner and possible threat posed by every person in the inn. Should one of those be foolish enough to act as a threat, Aramis would doubtlessly make them regret it, for beneath the smiles and charms, she had learned, Aramis was every bit as lethal as Athos and the others.

Aramis was eying her curiously, misreading her thoughtfulness. "Constance, there is no chance an acquaintance of your husband will see you here."

"You don't have to convince me of that," Constance said, instinctively stepping closer to him as they passed a staring, portly man. She was relieved to see Porthos appear and wave them toward a booth, "I'm quite confident that no person in any honest trade," she threw a scathing glance at the woman at the bar, "has ever crossed the threshold of this establishment."

She reached Porthos who waved her into the booth. "Don't we bring you to the nicest places?" he said with a warm laugh, so that despite herself, Constance smiled tiredly as she sank in beside D'Artagnan, Aramis slipping beside her. Athos joined Porthos in the seat opposite.

"Everyone is looking at us," Constance told D'Artagnan uncomfortably. "I mean everyone."

"They're probably trying to work out what you did." Porthos said. He had already managed to secure some food and was cutting enthusiastically into a loaf of bread, the cheese and ham board already having received his attention.

Constance stared at him, "What I did?" She caught a subtle glint of humour spark in Athos's eyes. "What I did?" Her tone had a demanding edge.

"Well," Porthos began to load the bread with cheese and meats, "We're musketeers, so they know what we do. You know," he nodded helpfully at her, "apprehend the wicked, the mad and the bad." He munched into his makeshift meal, "They're just trying to work out which one you are exactly.

Athos shook his head, "Porthos…"

"They're not," D'Artagnan said with conviction.

"Obviously not," Aramis agreed, his voice warming with charm, "You look far too respectable to be in our custody," he inclined his head in respect, "they imagine you are under our protection."

Constance turned to glower at Aramis, watching with some satisfaction as the charm faded slightly from his smile. "Why on earth," she asked, in a tone she usually reserved for a child or a simpleton, "would anyone believe that you bring someone under your protection to this den of inequity? You know full well that Porthos is right," Constance glanced out at the inn full of vagabonds and unsavoury types, most of whom were still observing their little group with interest, "They all think I am some sort of criminal." Her heart sank at the very idea, the thought that people imagined she was in the custody of musketeers, too humiliating to contemplate. She glared around the table at the men, who were now grinning quite openly at her predicament. "Be quiet," Constance said, quite unnecessarily, for none of them had said a word, "and for heaven sake, just try and make an effort to look as though we are friends, rather than prisoner and captors," Constance nudged Aramis, "You could try squeezing in with them for a start, I mean, I'm barricaded in here like I am.."

"A particularly crazed criminal," Porthos said in agreement.

Constance ignored him, turning her frosty attention to Athos, "And you might try smiling. You practically look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders and everyone in here will think I am the cause of it. Can't you try and look as though you are enjoying yourself?"

Athos eyed her mildly. "Why?" he asked finally, "Do you care what they think?"

D'Artagnan hid a smile, "She doesn't like to be thought of as the criminal kind."

"That's hardly unusual." Constance said indignantly, "I'm a respectable married woman."

"Remember when we first met? You accused me of thinking you were a… well," D'Artagnan trailed off under Constance's withering stare. He raised a placatory hand, "Let's just say, Constance really doesn't like to be thought of as the criminal kind."

"Oh just shush," Constance said, horror growing, as the innkeeper approached, "Just everyone try and act relaxed."

"You might try," Aramis said smoothly, reaching for a drumstick, "taking some of your own advice."

"Hello there," Constance said, overly brightly, as the innkeeper reached them.

"Madame," He nodded curtly, then cast an inquisitive glance around the booth. "Safe travels?"

"So far," Athos said quietly. "What meals can you offer?"

It seemed to Constance as though the entire inn had hushed and were straining to eavesdrop.

"Just the one," the innkeeper said, "Beef pie."

"That will suffice," Athos said, "Along with a jug of wine."

"And some more bread and meats," D'Artagnan added.

The innkeeper glanced around the men, their brief nods confirming nothing more was required, his eyes finally resting with undisguised interest on Constance who was by now, nodding at him cheerfully. "I'm his sister," Constance blurted, waving toward D'Artagnan.

The innkeeper looked confused. So did her companions for that matter.

"You're his sister?" The innkeeper's eyes narrowed.

She felt Aramis groan softly beside her, while the others seemed to take a sudden grim interest in the table. No rescuing her from this one, Constance realised, inwardly reminding herself to tackle them later on this sudden disappearance of the infamous musketeer chivalry.

"Yes," Constance forced a breezy smile, "You know, in case anyone," she swept a hand vaguely toward the wider room, "was wondering who we are. I'm his sister." She nudged D'Artagnan, transferring her uncomfortably bright smile to him, "Isn't that right?"

D'Artagnan winced slightly, loyalties caught for a moment. He evidently stuck with the side of sanity, for he shrugged slightly, glanced up and settled for a polite, apologetic smile. The innkeeper shot him a sympathetic look.

"Of course I should have guessed," he said, with a short laugh, "Musketeers routinely take their sisters out on patrol."

Constance's face darkened. "Oh just bring us something to eat, will you?"

The innkeeper grinned toothily. He poked Aramis in the arm, "Just make sure she behaves, I don't want any trouble." He turned and shuffled away as Aramis struggled to suppress a grin and Porthos exploded into hearty laughter. Head in hands, Constance groaned in his wake. "What was I thinking?" That was awful."

"It was," Athos confirmed, "among one of the most socially awkward moments of my life."

Aramis patted her comfortingly on the arm. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, jerking a thumb at Athos, "I think he's relaxing."

END OF CHAPTER TWO