It seemed to Constance that the world slowed to a crawl in those split seconds. She saw D'artagnans muzzle flash and she screwed her eyes shut waiting for the pain of the ball ripping through her flesh. Instead she felt the hot flash of metal pass inches from her head and heard Maniers scream of pain as blood suddenly gushed from his shoulder, soaking her dress. His hold on her loosened and Constance fell forward, hitting the ground hard as Manier turned and sprinted away from the fierce fighting still going on in the street. As best she could she curled into a tight ball on the ground, eyes still tightly closed in fright.
-Porthos despatched another enemy with the damp crunch of a musket butt to the head, and looked up to catch the moment that D'artagnan fired. Constance hit the ground hard not far from where Porthos was standing, and as Manier sprinted away Athos was hot on his heels, calling out for D'artagnan to follow him. Porthos could see the conflict in the boys eyes, hus duty as a musketeer fighting against his desire to protect Constance. Porthos threw himself towards the woman on the ground, protecting her with his body as her shouted to D'artagnan "I've got her, go after them!" satisfied that Porthos would defend Constance to the death D'artagnan took off after the retreating figures of Athos and Manier.
Constance was kicking and bucking beneath him, too far gone to identify him as not a threat. There was no time to untie her, or even remove the gag in the heat of the battle, much less to take more than a second to worry about the large amount of blood covering her chest and arms, but he picked her up easily and rushed her back to the limited shelter of the shop porch, setting her on the ground behind some tall barrels on the stoop, and knelt next to her, steadying his musket on the top of the barrels as he loaded and fired down the street where Aramis was still fighting.
Aramis fought the wet suction of the mans chest as he pulled his sword from the thugs body and spun to face another enemy. Porthos' musket fired, taking antother man out in a spray of red, and with that final shot, the few remaining thugs still standing seemed to take a joint decision and sprinted away. Aramis remained in a practised ready stance for a moment more, before letting out a long breath, and relaxing, crossing himself and bringing his ever present rosary to his lips. Porthos' voice calling his name drew him from his reverie and looked up to see his brother gesturing from the shop front at the far end of the short street. Sheathing his sword he sprinted over to the barrels that Porthos was covering behind and vaulted the shop front rail to join his brother, staring down at the figure curled into a tight ball in the corner of the porch.
Aramis' blood ran cold at the sight of her battered form and panic sprung at the sight of the blood covering her. Quelling his fears he summoned his medical knowledge, sinking down to his knees by her side and reaching up to remove her gag. Her eyes were still closed as if to shut out the carnage around her, and the second his hand touched her face she flinched violently. "What's wrong with her?" came Portho's concerned voice from just behind him. "Lower your voice, she's terrified." Aramis could recall all too well the all encompassing fear that had trapped him in his own mind, in the dark frozen forest of Savoy. Taking a deep breath he spoke as softly and soothingly as he could. "Constance, it's me, it's Aramis, look at me, you're safe now." A moments pause, then frightened eyes met his own. He smiled down at her, softly placing a hand against the least battered side of her face. " That's it sweetheart. Now Porthos is going to untie you, and I'm going to see where all this blood is from." He nodded to Porthos who quickly came round and gently guided her forward sliding in behind her so as to cut through the ties cruelly binding her wrists. Constance coughed, retching as the gag was removed, her voice hoarse from disuse, so quiet that Aramis didn't catch her words the first time as he searched her frame for injuries, acutely aware of how severely she trembled. "What was that sweetheart?" "It's not my blood", she whispered again, whimpering as the blood returned to her previously bound limbs, "Mostly" her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped back against Porthos. "Constance?" The bigger man asked worriedly, shaking her gently "Can you hear me".
"She's out cold," realised Aramis. "Poor things probably in shock and certainly exhausted. I need to get her back to the house. Be careful with her though, there may be broken bones or internal injuries, I won't know till I can examine her." As gently as if she was made of glass, Porthos slid his arms under her shoulders and knees and picked her up, cradling her against his broad chest.
Quickly he bore her down the street following Aramis to where the mens horses were tied a short distance from the battleground. Expertly Aramis swung himself into the saddle before reaching down and taking Constances unconscious form from Porthos. Jostling her as little as possible he propped her in front of him, wrapping an arm securely around her waist. "You got her?" queried Porthos. Aramis gave a nod, shifting her weight minutely against him. "I'll be at the house, go, find Athos and D'artagnan." With no further hesitation Porthos turned and sprinted off in the direction his brothers had taken, leaving Constance to Aramis's care.