Thank you to very one who has continued to follow along on this little tale. It is sincerely appreciated.

Part 3

It had never been like this, wondering what to do, what she should or could do. Before it had been maids who had helped her into shapeless white shifts, she'd waited for her husband under the blankets of her bed. The act had been gentle, his kisses kind, and his professions of love wholly honest. But this, this was all new.

It had been bold on her part to curl her fingers into his shirt and hold him there before her, bold to take his kisses and feel his body pressed against hers, but to now feel his hands upon her waist, feel the pull that opened her robe to his gaze, that made her knees weaken such that she thought she might collapse to the floor again, that was the heart of abandon. She felt her lips part, heard her slow breath escape as she let her eyes close to just act as her heart insisted. The fingers she had tightened into the linen of his shirt pulled upwards carefully, freeing it from the waistband of his leathers, brushing against his bare skin, knowing that they both trembled with the contact. His strong hands pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it over the trunk at the foot of her bed. She stepped backwards, her arm extending so that her fingers continued to rest on his chest. He followed that step closer to her bed, his hands reaching for her hips as gentle as a promise. Looking down shyly she could see her own chest rising and falling beneath the fragile white shift. She could feel the fluttering anticipation in her gut.

"May I?" Aramis whispered, brushing his hand up along her side, fingering the ribbon that held the runching at her bodice. It took her the length of a careful breath until she could answer him with a nod of her head. Aramis rested one hand atop her chest curling the ribbon in between his fingers, and lifted the other hand to tip up her chin to gaze into her eyes, and bring his mouth down to cover hers. She felt the brief tug at the ribbon, and she felt the fabric slip off her shoulders to come to pool around her ankles. The shiver that took her was less from the cold, and more from the feel of his chest pressed against hers, his hands now circling her bare waist, fingers coaxing her backwards towards the bed in their wordless dance.

"Would you come to bed still wearing your boots?" She whispered into his ear. His laugh was like the chiming of bells as he released her and she slipped under the linens to hide herself. He sat on the trunk, alongside his discarded shirt and worked his boots off, setting them aside. As he rose she watched him put his hands on the waistband of his leathers, turning slowly to face her.

"Yes?" He asked, his head cocked a little to the side in question.

"Yes." She replied.

The shadows did little to conceal Aramis from her, though she turned her head away demurely as he let the last of his clothing fall away and he joined her under the covers. She turned carefully towards him in the bed, minding her still bandaged arm, taking in his beautiful smile, the way his eyes sparkled in the glow of the tapers and the way the shadows highlighted the tight muscles across his chest.

"I will never hurt you." He whispered.

"I know."

"But if there is anything I do, any touch, anything that makes you uncomfortable, or hurts you, you must tell me to stop Marie, please."

"I will Aramis."

"It's just," he reached for her, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers, "that you are so beautiful, I might lose my head, and I would never forgive myself if I caused you pain."

It was she that came to him, brushing her lips over his, feeling his arms encircle her and crush her to his chest, deepening the kiss, tangling with her, stealing her breath from her lungs. Aramis coaxed her onto her back, and, hovering over her, kissed her mouth, then her cheeks, then trailed down her throat, the tip of his tongue tracing along her skin, eliciting an unbidden moan from her, her head tilting backwards, taking in his attentions. The covers over her were pulled away by Aramis' hand, and his mouth, warm, insistent, lit on her chest, kissing her breast bone as his fingers carefully traced under her breasts, cupping them, and kneading them as she arched into the force. She cried out as his mouth took them as well, suckling against her, her left hand twining into his hair.

His hips rolled against hers, his desires obvious against her tender skin, his hand following their movement, drawing down her body, between them, curling around her thighs, parting her for him. His warm breath followed those hands; still raising gooseflesh with its caress. She expected the force of his flesh next, for that was always how it had always been, her vessel filled and her husband's motions against her, then his release. But it was not Aramis' body that he brought to her then that let slip the passions in her cry. It was his mouth that came tender between her legs, his touch fragile as she trembled beneath him, trying to catch a breath when her chest seemed to only flutter. Muscles tensed, her lips parted, her voice was stilled as Aramis' movements intensified until she could hold back no longer and gave herself to him completely, collapsing into the bedclothes as the wave stole her every sense.

She felt his fingers curl into hers, strength, confidence, desire radiating in his grip. Opening her eyes she met his; pupils wide, his heavy breaths audible. He remained hovering over her, begging with those deep brown eyes, for more.

"Please?" She whispered her own plea to him, and felt his body enter hers on a swift, deep stroke.

The way he moved brought life anew to a body she had thought was exhausted beyond any further action. She pushed herself against him in time, watching his face as his tensions grew, his eyes closed and the muscles in his jaw tightened around each panting breath. Resting her left hand against his arm she felt the power in the cords under his skin; even as he froze for an instant, his eyes flying open, looking down at her with a wide-eyed wonder. His release touched her very core, as did the way his countenance softened when its tides took him. He swept her up so tenderly and cradled her to his chest as he rolled his back onto the bed, kissing the top of her forehead, even as she tried to wipe her own tears away clumsily with her bandaged hand.

"Thank you." His words were nearly lost in his kisses. She let slip a tiny sob. "I have not hurt you have I?"

"No, I am well, it is just that, I have never felt so," she hunted for the word she wanted, "cherished, by anyone." She whispered.

"You are cherished." His embrace of her became tighter, flat palms against her chest and her belly pulled her into him. "You will always be cherished."

Sleep came much more easily that night. But the wished for storm did not come, only the sounds of the house coming to life again that forced Marie's eyes to flutter open. She felt instantly cold, and realized that she was alone under the quilts of the bed, for an instant her heart sank; until the first crackle of the fire drew her eyes to the hearth.

Aramis knelt there in front of the slowly growing flames, adding larger pieces of wood to the grate, coaxing warmth back into the room. She watched him without speaking, her eyes taking in the sight of him. His shoulders were broad and strong, the muscles capping them, as wide as the leather pauldron he had worn with the insignia of his service. There were old scars across his back jagged and white tearing the otherwise healthy skin like cracks in a parchment. But despite that, his back seemed as solid as the chest that had held her that past night, his form tapering to his waist, the body beneath still just as tight. It made her smile, the comfort and familiarity they seemed to have bred in only a single night; though perhaps it had been longer than that, perhaps it had been the length of their winter journey that had sown and germinated the seeds of whatever this now was.

It was hard not to think, as he knelt there in front of the flames that were beginning to catch, just how very different their lives had been to that point. As she looked at those scars, and the muscles, she wondered how they had truly been cast into each other's orbits. She had lived a life of privilege, raised in a good home, plentiful food, books to read, tutors and opportunity; even as a girl. She had wanted for very little, certainly nothing material, while Aramis had not grown up in that manner, he had worked for everything he had, it was obvious. His hands, though soft, were strong; embedded with calluses from wielding a sword, a pistol, and a bow, were so ingrained as to be part of him it seemed. The scars on his back spoke not only of battle, but also of a harsh punishment from some other source. Marie had seen people whipped before, the idea had never pleased her, but such decisions had been out of her hands. She would never forget the lacey patchwork of welts such a beating raised. It pained her to see them on his skin. The hair that fell forward over his face was kempt, but had not been cut by a skilled hand; while hers had always been brushed and braided, and pinned. His posture reminded her of a penitent, one at prayer, so still, yet so powerful in stature. Even his nakedness bore that out, as if he presented himself to God in his only pure, honest form. It was hard to keep the tears from pooling in her eyes again, looking over at such grace, frightened to disturb it, wondering at the power of her own sins in comparison to him; he who was so pure. As if he sensed that discord, he raised his head from his prayers and turned slowly to look at her, a smile blooming on his face.

"Good morning my Comptesse."

"If I am your Comptesse, would that make you my Musketeer?" She replied in a quiet voice.

"If that is what you wish."

She did not look away as he stood up and walked back to the bed, slipping beneath the quilts with her. He was beautiful, just the sight of him made her tremble.

"Are you cold? I wanted to start the fire up for you again so when you woke it would be warm."

"I am not cold." She professed, even as she held the blankets up around her breasts.

"And so morning has come."

"It has."

"And what now my Comptesse?"

It was a conversation neither of them seemed to wish to have; so quiet were their voices.

"I don't know Aramis. I know what I wish for, but it is a selfish thing. I should not speak it."

"I wish you would." He stroked her cheek.

"Aramis." Her smile was sad.

"I would stay if I could Marie."

"But you cannot, you have a duty to King and country. And so I must watch you leave."

"Do you wish me to go now, before your servants arrive to attend you?"

It would have been simpler to let him steal away, to lie by omission to everyone, perhaps even to herself, to pretend that nothing had happened between them, that she had spent the night alone. Yes it would have been easier; but she had nothing to be ashamed of in her choice of companions. Of course, those thoughts only considered her feelings; what of Aramis' desires?

"Perhaps you would prefer that the others not know?" She asked him.

"They are my brothers, I will not lie to them, unless you command it of me."

"Then we are at a stalemate. For I would do what you would ask, and you would do what I would ask."

"You have only just arrived in Paris Marie, perhaps it would be best if no one spoke of liaisons with your guard. There will no doubt be many men of higher status than I who will seek your attentions. You should be free to engage with them."

"What do you mean?"

"Your name, and your title will draw admirers, your brother may have already chosen a husband for you."

"He will do no such thing." She knit her brows and pursed her lips at the thought. "Such was not the reason for my return to Paris."

Aramis grinned.

"No, perhaps he will not. But there will be men my Comptesse." He cradled her cheek in his palm. "Your reputation must remain unsullied by the gossip of servants."

She sighed.

"I had hoped to take a graceful retirement from such things."

"You will be expected at court at some point. My name is not so much appreciated there. It would be best perhaps, if I did leave you before we were discovered."

"It would not be my wish, but I understand your reasoning Aramis, and we will do as you suggest."

He leaned over and pressed a simple kiss against her mouth.

"Let me help you to dress, and I will re-bandage your arm."

The help was appreciated, especially the tenderness he showed as he sat her down at her dressing table and began to brush out, and then braid her hair for her. A skill that came from familiarity she thought, as his fingers danced through the plaits, wrapping and pinning it up as efficiently as she could have done herself, but for the loss of the use of her right hand. She watched him in her dressing mirror, concentrating on her, only joining her reflected gaze as he placed the last of the pins.

"When will I see you again Aramis?" She hated how her voice trembled as she spoke, and how her eyes were glistening with tears as she looked at him, already feeling the loss.

"Perhaps I could return to you on Sunday, and escort you to services? If you would like that."

The heavy weight on her chest lifted just a little.

"I would like that very much."

His grin was back, and she watched him in the mirror as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"And after church, I shall take you to heaven."