I'm so sorry for the delay in finishing this, but I'm getting there. Thank you for your lovely comments and reviews.

Chapter Twenty Nine

"D'Artagnan!"

The ragged bunch had appeared in the trees ahead of them and instinct had taken over as Athos chased them down. He had been shouting his brother's name as he ran, expecting a response. While he could not make out faces, he could see several men ahead of him. One turned back towards him and he was momentarily shocked to see it was not a man, but a gangly youth. A couple of women screamed in fright as he charged towards them, but he ignored all of them, intent on finding just one face. Only a few paces behind him, he could hear Albert calling his child's name with similar anticipation.

"Papa!"

For all their words of faith at finding them, it was almost an unbelievable moment when Juliette stood up from the dirt and stumbled into her father's arms.

"Papa! You found us!" Sobbing quickly took over as Juliette flung her arms around her father's neck and he crushed her to him.

For his part, Albert could not manage to speak as he choked on the emotion welling up from the pit of his stomach. His beloved child was filthy and her clothes were shredded. Never in all her life had he seen her in such a state and yet at that moment he considered her the most beautiful child on the face of the earth. He rained kisses over her head as he allowed tears of joy to run down his cheeks.

The moment was cut short as Juliette slowly pulled back from him.

"Papa, Louis is sick." Albert looked at the distress written across his daughter's face and he glanced across to where the Musketeers were all suddenly gathered in a huddle. He had barely noticed the other prisoners as he scooped his daughter into his arms, but he felt his stomach lurch at the sight. He lifted Juliette up with him as he stood up and he felt her arms wrap back around his neck.

It was only a short distance, but the few steps felt interminable as he closed the gap. He had come to know the trio he had traveled with and knew that Aramis was the most open with his emotions. The look he saw on the man's face chilled him to the core. Albert stepped a fraction closer and gasped at the sight before him. He quickly tugged at Juliette's face and shifted her sideways, attempting to shield her from what she already knew.

Athos grasped at d'Artagnan's shoulder and pulled him closer as he kept up a stream of words. Albert watched as the man he had come to know as the least talkative of the trio, seemed intent on waking up his friend by sheer volume of words. He wrapped his arms around the young man and cradled him against him as Aramis ran expert hands over his patient. When it was clear that his leg was his only injury, Aramis leaned back and considered the wound.

"How long ago did this happen?"

Yves was crouched down across from him and he frowned.

"Two days ago. We've had nothing to tend it with since it happened." The edge of guilt in the Yves' voice barely raised a flicker from Aramis, but Porthos studied the man's face closely. There was something else there, but he could not decide what it was. He forced it aside as currently unimportant and returned his attention to Aramis. He knew his brother's mannerisms so intimately that it didn't need words for him to know just how dire things were. D'Artagnan was dying.

"I need a fire, hot water, rags … and …" Aramis' voice trailed away to a whisper as his speech reverted to Spanish. Porthos caught Athos' eye as both of them knew their brother was praying. Athos tightened his grip around d'Artagnan and prayed himself that they were not too late. His angry words, thrown at God all those days ago, came back to haunt him. Would God punish him for his audacity?

"Be merciful," he whispered into the matted dark hair below his chin.

Porthos had already gone for kindling to start a fire and Chantal was busy rummaging through the saddle bags looking for what Aramis would need. She was no herbwoman, but as a mother she had patched up her fair share of injuries. She was surprised to find bundles of dried herbs within the leather bag and for the first time she felt a faint glimmer of hope. The man tending to his friend had more knowledge than it appeared, if his supplies were anything to go by.

By the time the pot of water was boiling, Aramis was still debating what he would need to do. The wound was clearly infected as pus and blood seeped from underneath a barely adequate, but filthy bandage. He threw the rag into the fire, determined to remove any trace of the infection in whatever way he could.

"What happened to his leg?" Aramis glanced around at the faces nearest to him and found them all shaking their heads at him.

"We don't know." Yves looked at the young man who had saved them and frowned. "He forced one of the guards over the edge of the gully and when he returned, he was injured."

"And you didn't think to ask what happened to him?" The anger in Aramis' question was valid and both Yves and Chantal looked at each other. Guilt shone in her eyes as Chantal finally responded.

"Things happened so fast. We were suddenly free and we needed to get away. He kept insisting we could deal with his leg later and …" she swallowed a gulp of air as she struggled to continue. "And we had nothing to treat him with anyway. We … I suppose we were hoping we'd find help. Or that you would show up … like he said you would." Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she considered how poorly they had cared for the young man who had risked everything to help them. "I'm so sorry. We had nothing to help him!"

Aramis found his anger refocusing on the situation rather than the people around him and he nodded curtly. "Was the guard armed? Could he have been shot?"

Chantal nodded her head as the tears continued. "They all had pistols and muskets. When he dragged the guard over the edge, he … when he came back, he had a pistol and … I suppose it could be."

Aramis looked up to see Athos silently watching him. "I need to know if there is a ball still in there. The wound does not go through and it could be the source of the infection." Before he could ask for it, Porthos had already placed the edge of his dagger into the flames, in anticipation that Aramis would need it.

Albert scanned the faces around d'Artagnan and knew what was coming. He still held Juliette in his arms and knew that he needed to remove her from the scene. She had endured enough and he would not allow her to watch her friend being tortured. He could see Athos gripping just as tightly to the young man in his arms and felt a pain run through his chest at the sight. He had finally found his lost child, but at what cost? Would the lad that he considered as a son, pay the price for her safe return? He closed his eyes as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

The scene in his bakery played behind his eyelids and he remembered the last words d'Artagnan had spoken to him before he disappeared.

"You have my word, I will not stop until any threat against them is eliminated."

Albert knew the world d'Artagnan moved in was sometimes dangerous, but a part of him had chosen to believe that with the might of the Musketeers behind him, nothing that bad could happen. As time has dragged on and both his daughter and her self-appointed protector had not been found, his weary thoughts had turned more fearful. As he considered what Aramis was about to do, he could not help but feel responsible. After all, if he had just gone to the authorities and not the Musketeers, none of them would have been caught up in this. But then his daughter may have been forced to endure alone. His heart was racing as he forced that thought aside and refused to listen to it. He could not deny that a part of him was relieved that d'Artagnan had been with her. Porthos watched as Albert moved away from the group with Juliette pressed tightly against his chest. The father had already swathed his cloak around her and Porthos nodded as he watched them go.

Aramis held the blade in his hand and hesitated. It was not like he had never gone searching for a ball in a wound before. Since finding the group and seeing d'Artagnan collapsed on the ground, his friend had not yet regained consciousness. Considering what he was about to do, Aramis felt that was perhaps a mercy. He locked eyes with Athos who nodded slowly at him. He held fast to d'Artagnan's upper body as Porthos leveraged himself against the leg Aramis was about to go to work on. Yves held his weight against the other leg as Aramis edged the tip of the knife into the wound. The pungent odour of infection wafted up as he prodded deeper into the reddened and puckered hole. He forced himself to keep digging, praying that he would not find any lead within the wound.

Suddenly he heard a groan and d'Artagnan began to buck against the hands that held him down. His eyes shot open and Aramis noted the mixture of pain and confusion that glared back at him.

"Let me go!" Athos pulled at his shoulders as d'Artagnan struggled against him. Aramis held the blade in the air and tried to get his friend to focus on his face.

"D'Artagnan! It's me! Aramis."

Either the words had not registered or the pain was overriding them because d'Artagnan continued to struggle in Athos' arms.

"Juliette! What have you done with her?" Fear underscored the anger and Athos rushed to reassure him. Before he could, d'Artagnan was still trying to force himself upright.

"I'll kill you! Where is she?" The last of his reserves seemed to drain away and d'Artagnan suddenly slumped back against Athos, his breath coming in heaving bursts.

From deep in the treeline, Juliette heard the screams and her name being called. Images of Red Guards flooded her mind and she screamed in response.

"Louis!"

Albert dropped onto a log and cradled his child up against him, while somehow trying to block her from hearing the commotion behind them. Juliette was trembling in fear and he could only imagine what was going through her head.

"It's alright, mon chéri. It's alright. "

Juliette lifted her face to watch her father and frowned at his words. "They are hurting him! Papa, why are they hurting him?"

Albert brushed a hand against his daughter's cheek to wipe away the tears and he smiled gently at her. "Remember what your mama has to do when you skin your knees? She has to wash them and get all the dirt out. It bleeds and you cry sometimes, but Mama has to make it better?"

Juliette considered the words and frowned at the memories.

"It hurts when Mama does that for you, but afterwards, it gets better."

When Juliette didn't speak any further, Albert continued on. "Louis has a bad wound in his leg and Aramis has to clean it before it can get better."

Juliette sucked on her lip as she thought about the idea. "And then he will get better?"

Albert had seen the wound when Aramis first lifted the bandage. His heart had sunk as he considered just how bad it looked. He kissed the top of his daughter's head before he smiled down at her.

"And then he will get better!" As Juliette snuggled back into his chest, he raised his eyes skyward.

"At least I pray he gets better!"

Aramis watched with relief as d'Artagnan gave up the fight to stay conscious and sagged against Athos. He slowly prodded at the wound once again and when he got no response from his patient, he dug deeper. Eventually he concluded that either the wound was not the result of being shot, or somehow d'Artagnan had removed the ball himself. Either way, there was no lead left in the wound and was not causing the infection. Judging by the dirt along his breeches, Aramis had already surmised the wound had not been cleaned in any way.

Athos could feel d'Artagnan's heart pounding wildly as Aramis did what he must. Despite sitting still in the frigid air, he was not cold and he could feel the heat radiating off his friend's back. By the time Aramis was done with cleaning the wound and wrapping a herbal poultice into place, Athos felt physically exhausted. Emotions crowded for his attention and he pushed them all down until he could deal with them later. Or not at all. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched Aramis move about and his mind began to wander.

"Athos? You hear me?"

Athos startled out of his thoughts as he saw Porthos crouched in front of him.

"I said, we're going to scout out the area. See if we can find any shelter for the night."

"Good idea."

Porthos looked at him with concern, but kept his mouth shut as he rose to his feet.

Yves was busy dragging further timber onto the fire and stoking it up. Aramis reached for the water pot he had used before and set it to boil again. Even though he could not name them, Athos recognised the small pouches of herbs that Aramis had laid out. He was making something for both the pain and the fever. Athos glanced down to see that d'Artagnan was still soundly asleep against him and he felt both relief and worry. Aramis' poking and prodding at the wound should have awoken him again. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his need for sleep and for the moment, Athos was content to allow him to sleep, somehow trying to convince himself that the young man he held in his arms would come through his ordeal unscathed. The alternative was just not an option.