An Honorable Heart
Chapter 3 - Constance

"You're awake," said a female voice. Footsteps knocked against floorboards in a quick, efficient stride and Jacqueline opened gummy eyes to see a woman place a bowl and copper pitcher onto the bedside table. She was young, in her mid-twenties, with curly auburn hair and a soft, round face that was as pretty as it was sweet. "Good. I thought maybe something was wrong with ya."

For the second time that day, Jacqueline sat up in the unfamiliar bed with a groan. Her head still felt tinny and sore from this morning, but the hollow twinge that skittered up one side every time she drew breath was completely new. "Where am I?"

Apart from whatever was cooking in the kitchen, the air smelled faintly of soap and dyes. Every second surface in the room was covered with all manner of fabric; folded, rolled or draped across chairs, tables, clothing lines and miscellaneous furniture.

"My husband's house," the woman replied, pressing a cold compress to Jacqueline's temple. "And you have a lot of explaining to do."

Jacqueline furrowed her brows. "I would be happy to, Madame if I had even the slightest idea of how I got here."

She remembered leaping out of a window and then running and desperately weaving in and around people, carts, wagons on the streets, at one point even leaping over a small flock of geese that poured out from an alley.

The rest was a dizzy, weakened blur.

"You mean you don't remember falling at me feet?" The young Madame shook her head. "You bumped into me in the market—knocked me over, really—and begged me to hide you, and then you just… keeled over."

"Wait," Jacqueline stared at her in disbelief. "You took a stranger home with you?"

"You were injured man," the Madame defended, then she frowned. "Or, at least I thought you were a man—"

"Are you all right?"

"—you could have gotten robbed!"

"—meaning no offense, of course, it's just that you have very strong features and—"

"—or killed!"

"—you were wearing those clothes—"

"—I could have been a murderer."

"—and I wasn't going to just leave you lying in the gu—wait, are you?"

"What?"

The woman's brows crooked together and she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "A murderer?"

"No!" Jacqueline exclaimed, wide-eyed. "And for God's sake, I'm not a man either." She pushed the wet cloth and the woman's hand that held it away from her and dropped her face into her hands. The stress, the nerves, the losses of the last few day were marching up the pillar of her throat, like siege-men about to take one last swing at a battered gate. "Oh, everything is such a mess."

The mattress dipped a little as the young Madame took a seat on the bed beside her. "Tell me about it," she said, putting a warm, affectionate hand on Jacqueline's shoulder. "It might help."

Jacqueline was reluctant, but her eyes felt annoyingly prickly and hot and, at the promise of an understanding ear, the burden of it all suddenly seemed too heavy to carry alone.

So it all came tumbling out like water out of a wooden pail. The journey to Paris to join a convent, the attack on the inn, her father's death, his funeral, all the way up to the scuffle at the inn this morning (leaving out the more embarrassing and sordid details from the night before).

The woman was very quiet as she listened, nodding at some points, shaking her head at others, her brows furrowed and her eyes full of glassy understanding.

"That is a lot to handle for one person," she said once Jacqueline was finished. "No wonder you're so… turned around."

Jacqueline gave her a watery small. She felt better, lighter, even if her nose was red. "Thank you, Madame," she said earnestly. "For your kindness and for saving my life."

"Constance." The other woman smiled kindly in return, offering her handkerchief. "My name is Constance Bonacieux."

"Jacqueline Charlise de Batz d'Artagnan of Lupiac and Gascony," Jacqueline sniffed, taking the proffered cloth and blowing her nose, unaware of Constance's suddenly wilted expression. "Though I'm beginning to think I might as well be calling myself Jacques."

"Or just d'Artagnan." At Jacqueline's curious look, Constance shrugged. "It is ambiguous enough and Jacques is my husband's given name."

Jacqueline nodded. 'D'Artagnan' had been the name she gave Milady the night before in a fluster. She wondered where the woman was now. Half-way to hell, I hope, she thought bitterly. She and this Athos fellow would really make the perfect couple.

Athos.

Jacqueline's stomach bottomed out at the remembrance of the name and she glanced towards the window. It was already the late afternoon and the day was slinking away much too quickly.

At once, she was out of bed, ignoring the riot of aching pains and muscles incited by the sudden movement and walking over to pluck her belongings off the nearby chair.

"I'm sorry," she explained, pulling on her brother's warm, honey-brown tunic and doing up the clasps. "I've already over-stayed my welcome. I must go."

Constance stood and turned around to look at her in confusion. "Wait. What? Where do you think you're going?"

"The musketeer's garrison." Jacqueline found her gloves and slipped them on, already anticipating the weight of a blade in her hands. "I have an appointment with Athos."

"Athos?" Constance frowned. "I know him." Then, recognizing the sudden tension in her new friend and putting two and two together, her eyes widened in realization. "Wait. That's that man who you think—no, it can't be. He's one of the most honorable men I've ever met. He wouldn't kill anyone in cold blood."

"Then perhaps you don't know him as well as you think you do," Jacqueline replied, a tinge of frustration kicking into her voice. She decided she liked the young Madame and it annoyed her that she would stand for such a snake like Athos. There was no doubt. There couldn't be any doubt. "He's the one who killed my father, Constance. I'm sure of it. And every second he's left breathing is a travesty."

She slung the sword belt over her shoulder, buckling it in place, and then strode out of the room, a suddenly very anxious Madame Bonacieux at her heels.

"You cannot be serious," the other woman exclaimed, following Jacqueline through the kitchen. "Even if he is guilty, you should leave this to the proper authorities. Athos is a trained solider, an accomplished swordsmen. One of the best, in fact. And you're just a…"

"…Woman?" Jacqueline paused at the front door and turned around, looking down at the shorter woman from her considerable height. She frowned. "How much you underestimate our shared sex, Madame."

"Don't be an idiot," Constance snapped. "You're still hurt and you don't have any idea of what you're going up against. Not even a clue!"

Jacqueline sighed loudly. Reason. She didn't want to hear it. She was in a race against time, against the very real possibility that she might lose her nerve and Constance's prattling was only poking and prodding at the fear and doubt she already felt kindling inside her chest.

"You are not your brother, Jacqueline," Constance pressed on desperately. "It is heresy for a woman to act as a man. Even if you survive by some God-merciful miracle, you will be burned at the stake."

"Lucky for me, I am already pretty convincing," Jacqueline replied coolly.

Constance shook her head. "You've gone mad! Duelling is illegal in Paris! You will caught and hanged either way!"

"I don't care," Jacqueline growled. "Trust me when I say that it is Athos that you should be worrying about, Constance. You can tell him d'Artagnan is coming for him, though if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer if you kept it as a surprise." She turned to roughly push the door open. "Thank you again, Madame, for all your assistance."

She then stepped outside.

Short chapter this time, but we see d'Artagnan make his (her) debut next chapter. Also: we meet the boys.