L'amante de Porthos

Chapter 34

It was a few hours past midnight and the generous light from the moon was in large contrast to the darkness that descended on Bertrand Bouchette's farm.

Porthos hadn't moved from the kitchen table since they arrived. He stared at his hand which was throbbing with unbelievable pain. It was clumsily wrapped with small wooden sticks and bandages. Owing to the large build of the musketeer and his undeniable strength, there was no knowing – or controlling – his actions once anyone touched his injury, even if to repair it. So, Rochefort took it upon himself to attend to it, so as to avoid any potential injuries to the women of the house. The latter now lounged in an armchair in the living room of his hosts, in an attempt to secure some shut-eye after the excitement of the evening.

But Porthos couldn't sleep. The pain was only a small part of it, compared to the agony in his heart. The image of Marianne's body, lying heavy and lifeless among the hay, half her face covered in blood, kept intruding onto his mind. After the Iron Mask had left, he forgot about his pain as he crawled over to her, lifted her body to his, the tears uncontrollably falling from his face onto hers, mingling with the dried blood and the mud in her hair. For the first time in his life, Porthos felt weak and helpless.

Upon witnessing this moment, Rochefort understood: this was no dalliance.

He didn't know what possessed him to act. Perhaps, he still had a hint of morality left in him after long years of serving and executing the orders of the Cardinal. Or perhaps, despite his best efforts, he was slightly moved by the vision of this invincible legendary musketeer crouched over the body of the woman he loved; like a scene from a Greek tragedy.

He hoisted the girl onto the horse called Thunder, and helped the dazed musketeer mount his horse behind her. He then went back into the manor and quickly found Emilie, who, despite her aversion to the Comte de Rochefort, couldn't help but feel excited as she rode behind him, her arms encircling the waist of a tall, dark and handsome stranger. Just like in the fairy tales.

…

The sun was beginning to wake up, but his eye lids were heavy and he was nodding off on the kitchen table when he heard a rustle of fabric and footsteps coming down the stairs.

The two men stood up, at the ready to provide any assistance should the lady feel suddenly weak and faint. She looked positively yellow and her eyes were sallow and almost colorless. Her hair was tied up and a thick white bandage encircled her head all the way to her eyebrows. Porthos immediately recognized the dress of pastel blue that she habitually wore. The same one she wore that fateful day when they fought at the stables and he left her behind.

Rochefort observed them carefully. The face of Porthos lit up like a shiny coin. It was as if he was given a new life. But she seemed less inclined. She stared at his arm with some degree of sadness, before she walked past him with no acknowledgement. They watched her as she poured herself a glass of water and installed herself on a chair in the kitchen.

She sat fully upright, taking deliberate sips as she stared outside the window at nothing in particular. She was somber, reflective, cold and distant. But there was something different in her manner, a certain pride and resolution – a certain authority - that Porthos had never seen before. For a split second, he was reminded of Athos. He looked away in shame and embarrassment. What could he possibly say to her now? In their first altercation, he had accused her of having no honor. In their second altercation, he flat-out declared her a whore. To her face, no less. Was it even possible to make the situation worse? But he had to remind himself that every time he thought he couldn't make it worse, he ended up doing just that. This time, he will be like Athos. He will have a plan of action which constituted of one thing and one thing only: to say absolutely nothing.

"How did you find me?" she spoke with a thick voice.

"I…" Porthos began, only to realize that she hadn't actually addressed him. She addressed Rochefort, who was standing behind him, his arms across his chest. She addressed her fiancé, Porthos reminded himself. She glanced disdainfully at Porthos, prompting him to lower his head in embarrassment, before turning her gaze at the man behind him.

"I had a reliable informant, Madame," he said frankly. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and he turned to Porthos, "Your brother-in-law."

Bertrand! Of course! He was so worried about his farm, about his family, about Cecile… He did what any man with everything to lose would.

Porthos rubbed his eyes and exhaled profoundly. He had no more allies left.

Marianne only nodded silently. No one spoke for a while.

…

She broke the silence again, "What of my uncle?"

"He was taken by the Iron Mask and his people," Rochefort answered as-matter-of-factly.

"So, he's alive, then?" her voice betrayed a hint of concern.

"Well, we haven't found any corpses or anything to indicate otherwise, so yes. I am inclined to assume that he is alive."

Marianne looked down, her eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"How unfortunate…" she replied, absent-mindedly.

They both looked at her with astonishment.

"I thought you might be relieved," Rochefort ventured.

"Far from it…" She looked up, with terror in her eyes. Marianne related to them everything she overheard that night between her uncle, the Iron Mask and the Comte de Rameau. Especially the part concerning the weapon they had wanted him to build.

…..

Porthos was horrified as he listened to Marianne's account of the night she had fled. To know that he could have taken her with him that night... That all of this could have been avoided… That she would have been perfectly safe with him and… happy.

It was quickly decided that the best course of action was to head to Paris with no delay. To take advantage of the daylight, and also to ensure the safety of Porthos' family, in case those miscreants came looking for the young Comtesse again.

"Besides," Rochefort began when Marianne left the room to prepare herself, "you need to see a surgeon as soon as possible. I'm not sure my skills are adequate."

"I just don't understand how quickly… how quickly he was able to get from the ballroom to the stables," Porthos murmured, almost to himself.

Rochefort laughed heartily, "You imbecile, that would be impossible."

Porthos looked up at him with ire, "Then how would you explain it, genius?"

Rochefort grimaced, "There were undoubtedly two of them."

"I still don't understand what they want with her. What he wants with her."

Rochefort closed his eyes for a minute, "My guess is, they need her to complete this machine somehow, or as an added motivation to her uncle." Which was exactly in the habit of the Iron Mask.

…..

They prepared their horses quietly in the stables. The silence occasionally punctuated by some repressed groans on the part of the musketeer, as he attempted to use his right hand and forgot at the last minute that it had been injured. It was swelling up by the hour and the pain was mounting. Rochefort came to his aid a few times, wounding his pride even more.

"I'm not your enemy," he said to him at some point. "I never desired her to begin with. Just to think of the abominable thought of marrying her," he continued with disgusted.

Porthos stared at him discontentedly with his left fist on his hip.

"Oh, I didn't mean any offence. She's not without her charms, certainly, but good heavens, I could never."

"Then why…" Porthos began.

Rochefort dusted his hands together and approached the musketeer.

"It was an order from the Cardinal."

If anyone understood what it meant to receive an order, it was Porthos. Except that now, and for the first time in his life, he was about to break one.

"And if I ever see you in Paris again before I had explicitly sent for your return, consider yourself discharged from the regiment of His Majesty's Musketeers on the spot, do I make myself clear?"

Yes, Capitaine de Treville had been kind in his punishment. At least kind enough not to discharge him then and there for his atrocious and embarrassing behaviour. For the time first ever, Porthos found himself caring about something – or rather someone – that was more important than his beloved profession.

But he still felt defeated.

"I saw you two in the courtyard that day…" he trailed off and moved away, back to his horse.

"Ah, yes, that," Rochefort stumbled, "About that… Since I had saved your life last night, how about we consider that account settled? Your little Mademoiselle had no part in that."

Porthos looked at him quizzically. Rochefort, who had always been assured and sarcastic was suddenly nervous.

"Do you mean to tell me that you forced yourself on her?" Porthos towered over him like a giant from a fairy tale. Even with his injury, he was still able to illicit fear in the heart of his opponents.

"Let's just say that I had been upset with the Cardinal and reacted in an…ungentlemanly way."

Before Porthos could react, he was stopped by the approaching sound of voices and steps. He kept his fist to himself this time.

…

Marianne walked past him, arm in arm with Emilie, as they headed towards a horse in the corner that Marianne thought had been prepared for her.

Emilie flung her arms around her new friend, with tears in her eyes. The young Comtesse reveled in the warmth and loving friendship of this adorable adolescent. She was herself sad to leave. As she embraced Emilie, she thought of the colorless and joyless life that awaited her, and she tightened her arms about her as if it was the last time.

Before she exited the stables, Emilie turned to her brother and shouted, "This is all your fault! I hate you!" and ran off in tears and sobs.

"Never mind her, she'll come around," Cecile comforted her brother, seeing the hurt look on his face. Then turning towards Marianne, she saw her about to mount the horse in the corner.

"I don't think so, Mademoiselle!" she called out to her.

"Forgive me… I thought…"

"You thought wrong. There is no way I am lending you a horse, not with your abominable skills."

Marianne blushed, embarrassed. She walked towards Rochefort. No doubt he couldn't wait to claim his prize and take her with him – something she was hoping to avoid. But it looks like these last moments of freedom were not to last. No, her colorless and joyless life would begin as of now.

"Not with me," Rochefort grinned coyly, "You'll have to lead his horse. He can barely hold the reins."

Before she could say anything, the cyclops hoisted her up on the horse. Her skirts lifted up completely to her bottom as she parted her legs wide enough to accommodate the girth of this horse, who was as big as his owner. Thanks to Cecile, Marianne was given riding breeches to wear underneath her dress, which came just in handy! No more nudity in public, what a triumph! She thought sarcastically to herself, jubilant.

….

Cecile embraced her brother tightly. "And Porthos?" she whispered in his ear, "Make things right, or else."

He chuckled and held her at arm's length.

"Just because you didn't receive any blatant reproach this time around does not mean I am not displeased. The next time I see you, I hope you will be married, otherwise, I don't wish to see you at all. There!"

He kissed her forehead and her belly in goodbye.

"I love you, Cecile."

"I love you too brother."

…

He mounted his horse behind Marianne. The two women said their goodbyes and Cecile left the stables, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her dress.

"Are you all finished?" Rochefort snapped, eliciting glares from his companions. He drove his horse outside the stables, leaving the two scorned lovers to themselves.

Marianne wasn't sure what to do. The last time she had mounted a horse, it simply bolted while she just hung on for dear life. She stared blankly at the reins. She was suddenly startled when she felt the man behind her inch forward, therefore closing the gap between them entirely. She could feel his large chest on her back, his warm breath on her neck and his crotch on her behind. And oh, his smell! Despite the fact that he had rolled around the floor of the stables earlier, he smelled so good to her, so… alluring.

It was with such effort that she had to keep reminding herself of his last words to her, of the way he had treated her, of her own anger and frustration towards him... and of the mere fact that he was actually not in love with her, as he so eloquently demonstrated earlier in the night.

"Here, hold the rope tightly between your fingers, letting your thumb take the lead on the direction in which you want to go. Like this," With his valid hand, he put the ropes in hers and clasped her fingers onto it. Her body couldn't help but react to this close and intimate contact. After she followed his guidance, he proceeded to show her how to change direction, how to manoeuvre, how to control the speed. She found herself thoroughly interested and fascinated by this impromptu education. He let her demonstrate her newly found skills in leading the horse outside of the stables. After some guidance, his hand having not left hers, she was beginning to grasp the skill of directing the horse, just in time before they had crashed into the fence. Instead, she shifted the beast towards the open gate and they trotted at a comfortable speed to catch up with Rochefort.

As soon as he was satisfied with her performance, he removed his hand from hers and rested it on her back.

"Lean a bit forward," he instructed, pressing on her back slightly, "head up and look ahead," he adjusted her neck. Good grief, she was melting.

And then came the cherry on top: she gasped as both his hands gently rested on her thighs and moved them to part them slightly more, "To give you more room to manoeuvre," he said. He then knelt forward, putting some of his weight on her back, as he adjusted the angle of her knees. She could feel his breath almost in between her breasts. Heavens! Coupled with the up and down movement of the horse, she could definitely… oh God, no!

Porthos smiled to himself, completely aware of the effects this exercise was producing. In both of them, too. Marianne's eyes shot wide-open as she felt his crotch stirring on her lower back.

On his end, Porthos wrapped his arms around her tightly and, before she could react, he spanked Thunder on the behind and they shot ahead with extraordinary speed as Marianne had never felt before. It was exhilarating!