Disclaimer: I do not own Young Blades

Chapter Two: The Road to Le Havre

Le Havre, a costal city about 100 miles from Paris, rested mere miles from the mouth of the Seine River. The road to the small town followed the rivers every twist and turn. But, the river was not what consumed Jacques' thoughts as the early morning sun rose slowly overhead.

The road didn't just lead to the coast, but past an area she knew quit well. Her home had been not far from the river, just off the road. It had been five months since she had stood over her father's grave, wishing he could see her. But that was back when she thought she could handle anything and had almost cost d'Artagnan his life and freedom because of her infatuation with Charles Stuart. She had hidden herself since then, never shirking her duty, but it was hard to serve her king when she now questioned why she was even doing it in the first place.

Her family was gone. Her brother lived, but she'd never see his face again, never hug him or hear his comforting voice. She longed for her family, and the feeling was poisoning her. Why was she fighting when all that she had started fighting for was gone?

It didn't seem to make a difference whether they thwarted another one of Cardinal Mazarin's plans. He still held Louis in his grasp, and Jacqueline Roget would never be anything more than an outlaw. What once had been her salvation and dream had become a curse for her life. She was trapped in that uniform.

She looked at the back of the man who rode in front of the carriage. She loved him. She was certain of it, but she had no one these days. He flirted with her, but that was all it was. She would never have the family she wanted, not with him, not in France, and d'Artagnan would never leave. After all, he was a d'Artagnan. His family was legendary, and she was a Roget, common but proud.

Jacques slowed her horse and slowly trailed behind. She was almost home. It was but a short distance, and she wanted nothing more than to be home at that moment. Jacques stopped her horse completely, watching her friends continue on without her.

Siroc, who had been riding at the rear with her, had not noticed her trail behind. His mind still focused on their conversation the night before. Jacques didn't belong? Out of anyone, Jacques Leponte belonged to the musketeers. Of this, Siroc was certain. He had been thinking on the matter the entire night and still had not found a solution. He wouldn't let Jacques leave, not without a fight. He would tell d'Artagnan and Ramon of his plans when they stopped in the evening. After all, they were all friends and they did have the right to know what Jacques was planning.

Siroc came out of his thoughts, completely resolved to do what he needed to do to show his friend that he should not leave. He turned to speak to Jacques, and then suddenly pulled back on the reins of his horse. Jacques was gone. "D'Artagnan! Ramon!" he yelled. There had to be another reason, a logical one, as to why his friend would just disappear in the middle of a mission. He wouldn't leave, not when he had a duty to perform.

Ramon, who had been driving the carriage, stopped the horses when he heard his name and reached for his rapier and stood up, scanning the road side.

D'Artagnan quickly spun his horse to face Siroc and pulled his rapier as well. "What is it," he demanded, his eyes searching for any sign of danger.

The inventor was a little startled by his friends' reactions. They had anticipated some form of trouble. Trouble always followed them, but he hadn't expected them to jump out of their seats. "Jacques is gone," he said quickly, bringing his horse up beside d'Artagnan's. Siroc grabbed d'Artagnan's arm. "He said he was going to leave," Siroc paused. "He said he was going to leave the musketeers."

D'Artagnan, uncertain that he had heard Siroc correctly, kicked his horse and rounded the back side of the carriage. She was gone. He cursed to himself.

"Is there a problem?" A lady's head stuck out of the carriage door. Her light brown hair was pulled back from her faced and curled. Her brown eyes fixed on d'Artagnan.

If he said the wrong thing, the Lady Isabel would report it to King Louis, which could end Jacques' career and her life if she was discovered. "Jacques is missing, milady."

Jacques could see her house. She stopped her horse and just stared at the small frame. It seemed like a lifetime ago she had run through the very field she was in now, chasing Gerard and battling like musketeers. Jacques swallowed hard, trying to remove the lump in her throat. She would not let herself cry. Soon, she would be on her way to find Gerard and she wouldn't even be able to look at her home from a distances. She had decided. She was leaving when the mission was complete. She just didn't know how to make her friends understand that she needed family more than this life.

Siroc's voice interrupted her thoughts. She could not hear his words, but she knew his voice. Something was wrong. Something had made him call out. She kicked her gray mare hard and turned back to where her friends would be. She pulled her blade as she turned through the grove of trees on to the road. Her horse snorted and fussed but she kept pushing, she had to help her friends. Her blood rushed with fear and anticipation.

Jacques slowed her horse when the carriage came into view and lowered her sword when she saw no immediate danger. A woman's laugh echoed. "Musketeer Leponte is right behind you," she said. The lady shook her head, amused at the situation, before ducking back inside the carriage and shutting the door.

Jacques stopped next to d'Artagnan. "What's wrong?" she asked breathlessly.

D'Artagnan grabbed her wrist. Jacques tried to pull away, but instead horse and rider were forced backward by d'Artagnan and his horse. He was furious with her. "Where were you?" he demanded through clenched teeth, breathing through his nose and barely controlling his rage.

Jacques could only stare into his dark eyes. She had to think quickly. She needed an excuse. "I was —" She stopped speaking and glared at d'Artagnan. He was hurting her wrist. She tried again to pull away, but instead was rewarded by him strengthening his grip.

"Where were you?" he demanded again.

"I thought I heard something. I was checking it out," she finally said as she managed to finally pull her arm away from him before looking away. She bit her lip, feeling a little guilty about lying to him.

"You're lying," he shot back. Jacques started to protest but d'Artagnan cut her off. "Is it true? What Siroc said?"

Jacques pulled her horse away to put some space between them and looked at Siroc. Siroc and Ramon were staring at their friends, each had their own opinion about the scene in front of them but neither voiced it. They had both felt relieved when they saw Jacques racing up, but it was quickly replaced by the same anger d'Artagnan felt. Jacques shouldn't have left his post. "It would help if I knew what Siroc said, d'Artagnan." Jacques didn't even try to disguise her feminine voice as she hissed her response.

"Are you planning on leaving the musketeers?" His words were calmer and even this time. He silently prayed for the answer to be no.

She looked back at d'Artagnan as he spoke, his eyes bore into hers. Jacques took a deep breath. "Yes."

She kicked her horse to take the lead position in front of the carriage.

"Why?" D'Artagnan yelled at her back. His hands trembled. He wanted to do something, to say something to make her change her mind. But he couldn't, not in front of their friends.

Jacques rubbed her wrist before turning around to face her friends. She was on the verge of tears. "Because I have no one here I care for. I plan on joining what's left of my family." She spun back around and kicked her horse. As soon as she had spoken, she regretted it. But there was no taking it back. She had said it more to hurt d'Artagnan, but there was still truth in her words. "Let's get going, Ramon. I'm sure the lady would like to arrive in Le Havre sooner rather than later."

Ramon picked up the leather reins, flicking them to usher the horses forward. Siroc, Ramon and D'Artagnan all looked in turn at each other. Had Jacques turned around, she would have seen the pain that her three friends felt.