Chapter Three
She stared at the man laying on his stomach, trying to sort out why she felt as she did for him. She barely knew him, she hadn't even heard his first name, and nearly everyone simply called him Captain. He was younger than her father's business partner, her intended, but not by much. Yet so much different, he was strong, his muscles tight and lean; he was not unattractive.
But it was his gentleness that she noticed even more, she knew to have earned such a rank he was a firm man but he was kind to her. More than she deserved, he hadn't needed to defend her innocence, he had never even asked if she was; it was almost as though he didn't care. However, that would be hoping too much, all men cared about being the first for their wife. She would have to hope he would believe her when she told him the truth.
He stirred and she rose, unwinding the bandages again and bathing the wounds with water that she had boiled earlier and allowed to cool. Then pressed the cloth to his forehead; he rested fitfully but at least he rested. He was a man she thought she could learn to love, but for now she could respect him and tend to him. Thinking to accomplish something that might please him when he woke she set to work mending the shirt his men had torn off of him. She knew how to run a house, probably more then most noble women; she could learn to be a soldier's wife. Her mother lost in childbirth and the child, her younger brother weak and sickly the nurse's focus had always been him. Passed off to the other servants Maggie had learned their trades, more like mothers to her than she deserved, she had seen how her father treated them first hand. But their lessons stuck in her mind and now they would be put to practice.
The shirt mended she hung it on the hook with his jacket, his sword and pistol hanging nearby; within reach of the bed. The quarters were small, barely more than one room, partitioned by columns and well placed shelves; tidying would not be much of a chore. And she set about that as he slept, not wanting to think when the last time it had been done, singing a tune she had often heard as a child. It was his moan that drew her back to his side, touching her hand to his shoulder she winced; the fever had spiked again. And he was in pain.
Alcohol might help ease it but she was not strong enough to lift him herself, she would not call his men; they already thought her to be weak. Taking more cloths she soaked his back, his shoulders and washed his face; gently lifting his head each time. A nasty bruise had bloomed where his soldier had struck him, it had been a small kindness but short lived as the soldier proved right; he was not a man to be dragged under by pain. His skin cooled some but she was afraid to move away, it had only taken a few moments for the fever to spike before and he was more restless then before.
Humming softly Maggie tended him through the night, in the morning she rose to check his cupboards and found a slim supply of food and purse of coins; tucking the latter back in its place. She set about making something he might eat, if he was to regain his strength he would need sustenance. The bread that was not the freshest she set it aside, from the few vegetables she could make a decent broth; it would be easy on his stomach at first. Setting about it she did not turn back until she heard him groan; turning to find him struggling to rise again. A stubborn man she thought.
She meant to soothe him back into the bed but blue eyes that refused to beg focused on the chair near the fireplace with longing; he pushed himself to his feet. "I can't carry you."
"Just let me lean on you." His voice was weak, he struck her a man who hated to ask for help.
Drawing close she tried to find a place she could use to hold him that would not hurt him. But his arms wrapped around her shoulders and pushed, using her frame he levered himself forward and struggled to the chair. Letting out a harsh cry when he dropped into it; his back making contact where it shouldn't have. His desire to get up had made her hope that the fever had passed but he was still too warm, though he choose a chair near the fire. Wrapping her hand in cloth she took the pot from the fire and ladled some up. "Try to eat something."
He was silent as he sipped the broth, he finished the cup and she refilled it; hoping he would keep it down. They had not told her if the two men had found out what had been used to taint the whip but he was up and he was lucid; hopefully that meant he would be alright. "Thank you Magdalene."
"I would prefer it if you called me Maggie." Her father, his friends they called her Magdalene, he could draw her name out for so many syllables in his disgust and at the disappointment he found her to be; because she was strong and her brother remained weak. "If you like."
"Maggie it is." He nodded his agreement. "Would you see if Athos or Porthos are in the yard yet?"
…
He watched her go, he would need to remember to speak gently to her, she was still fearful but inside of that there was a woman who seemed determined to survive. A woman who had known only abuse, it would take time for her to truly trust his words. When she returned he heard boots thudding on the stairs, he held out the cup and she took it to refill it; watching Porthos scent the air as he entered. Serge, one of their veterans generally handled the cooking, but it was not a strength.
She brought it back and he reached out, wrapping his hands over hers. "Take that to the table, there should still be some bread to put with it. If I don't offer them some they will get testy; but if I do they are unlikely to leave any."
"So she cooks, lucky man." Porthos grinned as Maggie crossed to the table to eat.
"Help me downstairs and then bring the pot, you can share it." He needed to speak with his men.
Porthos helped him down the stairs and as he settled at the bench he glanced around, it was still early morning but the men would be up; just not willing to surface and let him see them worn from the drink. When the pot was set on the table the three he was looking for appeared, if nothing else food was a lure his men couldn't resist. They settled at the table around him, mugs filled with broth as the split a loaf of bread. He let them have a few moments to eat, the air was still cool and it felt good. Treville knew he needed this fever to break, that was the only way to know he was clear of the poison and the risk of infection.
"Was there any word from the court?"
"We've questioned the magistrate and his attendants, we intend to speak to your father in law on the matter today but we were informed it was his business partner who supplied the man to whip you." D'Artagnan answered, still one of the newest, the young man was a bit more fearful of him than the others.
"Talk to the partner first, but speak to the servants; they abused her and I want to know how." He needed to build her trust before she would tell him any of it and that would take time; he wanted to know now. As he finished a messenger rode in. "Has there been any word from the King?"
"If you have recovered his majesty would see you this morning." Treville nodded his agreement and the messenger fled, likely with a list of several more errands to run.
"Have you recovered enough?"
He glared at Athos, though he knew it was a question all of his men would be thinking, Athos was just the voice. "I'm still breathing aren't I? Then I am fit enough to do my duty."
Though he did not look forward to sitting astride a horse, however he still had a garrison to run and men to see to. Dispatching men to see to various tasks throughout the city took more energy than he wanted to admit, and he did not argue when Athos slid under his arm to help him up the stairs. "I will go with you."
Treville did not argue, he strapped on his uniform the thick leather settling uncomfortable against his torn skin and fastened his sword. The ride to the palace was slower than usual but he remained upright and dismounted without help; fighting to keep his body steady. Walking in to the garden however his body began to rebel, his joints felt weak and the sun made his body burn.
Forcing himself to focus he picked a point; a trick he learned a long time ago. Useful for managing boredom as well as pain, he choose the table between the two seats, focusing his gaze and keeping his body at attention. Two decorative glasses, the King's and Queen's, when he heard footsteps he turned as the royals approached, it was one thing for his men to see him hurting but he would never allow the King to; it was his duty to always protect the King.
He bowed as they took their seats, and waited while wine was poured, the King would make himself comfortable before conducting business. Treville listened and waited but suddenly a memory faint and vague played through his mind as the Queen lifted her cup; her face shifting slightly as she sipped. Why was her drink a shade paler than the Kings?
The wine had come from the same bottle, he had noticed that before; but did he know what it meant? Pale wine, bitter wine it meant something. His blood ran cold, and he felt Athos ease closer, trying to remember his wife's words; she had sung as she worked in the night thinking him asleep.
"Treville, I see you have recovered. I need a regiment to escort me into the country tomorrow." The King spoke but he struggled to focus on the man's words, trying desperately to recall his wife's.
"I will see to it Majesty." He nodded, privately hoping that was all the King wanted.
"Have your men learned anything of the offense? Punishment is one thing but anything further is a disgrace."
"My men are investigating the matter." At least he hadn't called it fitting, the punishment had been named before a man was named to take it.
"Then we should not keep you, Treville; I will expect a full report."
Thankful for the excuse he bowed and moved with more purpose and energy than he had; he needed to know. Treville mounted and urged his horse into a trot; not waiting for Athos. By the time they reached the gates Athos was beside him, and as he struggled up the stairs the man's hand supported him. "Athos I need a moment with my wife."
The door opened and Maggie looked scared, Athos leaned around him. "His fever is back up."
"I am fine." And an elbow to the chest made his musketeer choke on any more advice he had. "I need to talk to you."
Treville stumbled as he shut the door, adding some measure of privacy. Her small hands pressed to his chest, his arm. "You are warm to the touch, let me get that coat off of you."
"No, listen to me Maggie." He needed to sit, if he stayed on his feet much longer his legs might give out. "You were singing last night."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." She skittered away as he lowered himself into the chair by the desk.
"You didn't bother me." He took her hand, pulling her close. "Maggie last night you were singing something. Tell me the words."
Her cheeks turned pink and she looked to her feet and to the side. "It's just rhyme, I learned it when I was a child. It is herbal treatments, about burns, infections and such, it is a handy way to remember things."
"And how to make a woman barren?" He cupped her jaw, in this moment she was scared of him; but he needed an answer. "Tell me Maggie."
"Yes. But it is only a part of the song. I swear I would never use it to prevent your child…"
"No, Maggie that is not what I am worried about." Now he had terrified her, soldiers were so much easier; it was a good thing for them to have a bit of fear for their captain. Shifting his grip he pulled her onto his knee; calming herself. "Maggie I saw something today, something I have seen a hundred times before and thought nothing of. Tell me the words to that part. I know it is pale vine and something about wine."
"Pale, vile vines, make bitter wine. I swear I would not do it to you." She squirmed in his lap and Treville tightened his jaw; she was not uncomfortable to hold. "It is only a rhyme."
"I am not worried about that. I mean that." He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. "What would it taste like?"
"It gives a bitter taste, but in wine it is tolerable; the wine just does not taste sweet." He had twisted some of the words in his head but it was close.
"Is there another way to give it to a person?"
"I've known women who pour it into a glass, it is almost clear, and allow it to dry, at most the wine is a shade or two lighter…"
"Coating the inside of the glass, it would mix as the wine is poured." That was how it had to be done, it was a gamble; but was it one worth taking? Some would think it a risk worth taking, a barren queen might be put aside as a king needed only one thing from her. It was unusual for a young woman to be barren for so many years, and many questions had been raised given only a few years after the wedding there had been a child she had lost suddenly. But could it happen under so many noses for such a time? "You've had to use it."
"I didn't have a choice."
"I believe that, but someday you are going to tell me the truth of it." Now to prove what he believed. He had served the King well for many years, it would be an embarrassment if he was wrong; but a risk he needed to take. "Will it do anything to a man?"
"He probably wouldn't drink as much."
"Good." Because he would be having a taste of the Queen's wine.