Thank you as always to wonderful readers and reviewers. I very much appreciate hearing from you. Sorry this is going a bit slower at present, but life is busy and I'd rather post slower than post sub-standard chapters.

Chapter Twenty Six

Porthos chewed on the hardened strip of beef as he rode and tasted the salted meat as it rolled around in his mouth. He had long ago come to know the necessity for travel rations, but he had never grown to like them. He had spent far too many nights as a child feeling the effects of hunger on his body and he would always appreciate anything that filled his belly, but he would much prefer a hearty stew to the piece of leather he was trying to swallow. He glanced across to see Aramis having the same issue and he smiled before the smile quickly slid off his face. In their haste, there was no time to stop and start a fire to cook anything for the midday meal. If they had not needed to rest the horses, he knew that Athos would not have stopped at all.

A few paces in front of him, Athos' shoulders showed the strain of their desperate ride. He'd seen it the night before when they had finally pulled off the road to rest their horses and catch a few hours of sleep themselves. Athos had wanted to pace, impatient to get moving again. Instead, a few well-placed words from Aramis had forced him into his bedroll, pulling his cloak tightly about himself, although Porthos was none too sure if he had gotten any actual sleep. The winter snows were not far off and the chill in the air was barely affected by the fire they had stoked up. As Porthos watched his friend trying to keep himself in check, Athos had been watching Albert. The desperate father sat propped against a log and stared into the depths of the flames. His hands curled around a small rag doll and he absently stroked her hair. Athos found himself staring at that same doll and his mind wandered to a night months before where he had held it in his hands. She had not been able to provide any kind of wisdom then and he had almost tossed her aside. Something about her had stopped him from doing that and he wondered again at the simplicity of a child's plaything and how she spoke volumes without ever uttering a word. His mind trailed off to where her owner might be, along with her avowed protector.

The thoughts that came to mind first went something along the lines of how foolish his young friend had been to fall prey to red guards. An instant later, his own heart berated him as he knew foolishness had nothing to do with it. D'Artagnan charged at life with his heart in the front and no matter what Athos had tried to do to temper that, the young man could no sooner change his nature than change the colour of his skin. Athos had slumped down in his bedding as the thought that overrode everything was that he would not want him to change. Not for one minute. D'Artagnan had not fallen prey to anything. He had chased after an innocent child who needed him. Athos could not fault the depth of honour that Alexandre d'Artagnan had instilled in his son and once again he felt pride welling up within him, waging war with the fear that was already well entrenched there.

Now they just needed to find them before anything else happened and before the snows caught them out on the road.

Albert stared at the doll in his heads and found his mind conjuring up images of his daughter. She loved Marie from the moment she had unwrapped the doll from her wrappings the Christmas before last. Margaux had stitched her at night when the child was asleep and Albert knew how much love had been sewn into every stitch. He gripped the doll to his chest as if somehow he could reach out across the chasm between him and his child and draw her back to him. He felt hot tears pricking at his eyes and he squeezed them shut. He would not cry for his daughter. Grief would not be a part of his future. He would find her and bring her home to her mama.

As Porthos had watched the two men, he had been struck by the similarities between them. Neither would stop until they brought home the one they were seeking. As he'd glanced across at Aramis, he noted his friend observing as well. None of them would stop.

By the time he found himself chewing at a dried strip of beef and chasing his friend along a winding stretch of road, Porthos knew that time was against them and he felt a renewed sense of urgency rising up through his gut. Marie needed them to ride faster. For that matter, so did Albert and Athos.

D'Artagnan watched as Chantal tugged Juliette away from him and he felt himself sagging in relief. The child continued to watch over her shoulder until she was unable to and he tried to smile at her. It took every ounce of energy he possessed to keep himself from simply falling back to the ground and allowing the darkness to claim him. It took a moment for him to register that Yves had begun to tug at the bandage again, but as a bolt of agony shot up his leg, he found his breath seizing in his lungs.

"Sorry," the man muttered as he pulled away the ragged piece of cloth from an even more ragged wound. "This needs cleaning and we haven't got much water."

His words were meant for his own ears only, but as he looked back up, he saw the young musketeer staring at him.

"No time."

"Of course we've got time. I'll send somebody down with a water skin. There's water at the bottom of that ravine."

"No!" D'Artagnan forced himself up onto his elbow. "You didn't hear them! There's more guards coming this afternoon. We need to put as much distance as we can between us and them."

Yves waivered as he considered the new threat and weighed it against the obvious need right in front of him.

"Get me up. We need to get out of here."

By the time Chantal returned with a fresh strip of bandage, torn from someone's petticoat, she knew she had walked into a battle of some sort. Yves looked like he was going to argue about something, while the young man on the ground struggled to get up. She had caught the last of the words and knew he was right. There were more of those animals on the way and the only advantage they had was whatever distance they could put between them.

"At least let me bandage that leg first, before it starts bleeding again."

She reached down and laid a hand on his shoulder as d'Artagnan watched her face. She smiled wearily and nodded as if he had spoken. Without waiting for him to agree, she simply went to work on wrapping the cloth around his thigh and tried not to wince as she noted the sour smell of infection. As she glanced up at him, she could see that he knew as well as she did what she was hiding back under the strip of fabric. It was all she could do to swallow back her tears as she reached out a hand to help him stand up. Yves tugged at his other elbow and between them, they soon had the young man on his feet.

Juliette shuffled on the spot, impatient to see what was going on and somehow knowing that she was being blocked from something important. She kept a hand clamped over her mouth, trying to stop her lip from trembling. Louis looked strange as he took a step towards her. His face was scrunched up and she chewed on her lip as he moved closer to her. She wanted to run and grab hold of his hand, but his hands were otherwise occupied holding onto the shoulders that held him upright.

He pointed towards the pistol that Chantal had flung aside earlier.

"We'll need that."

The words were clipped and dull and one of the women whose name he couldn't recall stepped forward and tentatively lifted it off the ground. She held it as if it would turn and bite her at any moment.

"And that. I know." Yves had already seen the sword laying nearby. "And his weapons." He nodded toward the guard's body behind them. Others moved to strip the two bodies of anything of use, including the heavy cloaks. D'Artagnan noted that Juliette was no longer wearing the cloak he had wrapped her in and he frowned slightly.

"We need to get the other cloak I was wearing. It's back over there by the rocks." He inclined his head the way he had come and somebody else scrambled over the rock to retrieve it. As Chantal and Yves held him propped up, d'Artagnan found his voice returning. He lifted his head and surveyed the group before him, feeling a sinking doubt that he could really manage the next stage of his cobbled-together plan. Somewhere within him he felt the stirring of words that Athos had spoken over him. The wash of emotion caught him by surprise and he blinked to clear his head.

"Listen up. We don't have a lot of time before more guards show up to meet us. We need to move from here. Gather up anything that is of use. Make sure we get those water skins and any cloaks or weapons. We need to find a town and get help."

Before I die.

The words cut across his speech and he sucked in a sharp breath. Juliette edged closer as she stared intently at his face. He wanted to say more, but didn't trust himself to hold it together any longer. His leg was burning and his body ached from the short-lived fight with the guards. What would have amounted to nothing more than a dull ache in the practice yard, felt like a torrent of abuse as his body reminded him how bruised and battered he really was.

As the group began to gather up what they could find, Yves leaned closer. "Where do you suggest we go? We can't continue that way or we'll run into guards. If we return that way, they will simply follow us and overtake us. They will surely be moving faster than us."

D'Artagnan chewed on his lip as he considered what he already knew. "We turn east. That canyon opens up not far back from here. We take an unexpected trail and hopefully they will continue back towards Paris. There are villages out that way. We'll find help. Somebody who can get us all home."

"Then at least let me send somebody to fill those skins and they can catch up with us. We need water!" Yves pushed the point because he had no guarantee they would find water anywhere else, any time soon.

D'Artagnan nodded at him before pointing back the way they had come. "We need to get moving. As soon as possible. Send someone for water, but we need to move!"

Yves frowned at him as he spoke. It was only the presence of the child in front of him that forced him to hold his tongue. He agreed with the theory of the plan except for one small detail. The area where the canyon opened up to the east was not going to be a simple stroll in the woods. It was a wooded slope that would require them to climb. He glanced down at the fresh bandage Chantal had tied around the musketeer's leg and wondered just how far the young man would make it up the slope. He found his earlier promise ringing in his ears as they eventually began their trek back down through the gully. He grasped hold of the hand that gripped at his shoulder and vowed that for as long as he could, he would not let it go.

The child settled into step beside them and she alternated between picking her steps and watching her friend intently. Fear shone in her eyes and Yves found himself desperately wanting to wipe it away. Thoughts of his own family spurred him on and he found a new wave of determination welling up within him. This child and her guardian would be safely returned to their families or he would die trying.