Again, a huge thank you for all your wonderful remarks, comments, and feedback for this story. Just a few chapters left to go...
Omar paused in his parlor as all four musketeers entered. D'Artagnan's eyes were still red and the bruising beneath his jaw had darkened over the course of the night. White bandages peeked beneath doublet cuffs and blouse sleeves. Omar shifted his feet and grasped his left wrist. "I once again must share my apologies — and I ask for your forgiveness of my lack of… ability… to identify the situation for what it was, and what has happened because of it."
"Have you changed your mind about returning to Paris with us?" Athos asked. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, shoulders back, and his jaw firm.
Omar shook his head. "No."
"Then we must depart," Athos said.
"I'll ready some provisions for you," Felix said. He glanced from Omar to Athos and then toward Aramis, who nodded in appreciation. Felix turned to leave.
"That won't be necessary," Athos said, and looked toward him.
"Nonsense. It's the least I can do." Felix turned and left the room.
Porthos stepped to the table that held the tray of food, and dished jelly onto some bread. He turned toward d'Artagnan with a smile. "At least we can eat somethin' 'fore we ride out," he said, and smiled toward Athos, who shook his head. Porthos shrugged and grabbed more bread.
"Can I at least share with the king your reason for declining his invitation?" Athos shifted his stance, swallowed, and glanced from the windows to Omar, who remained standing beside the fireplace.
"Let him know that my mental capabilities have greatly diminished over the course of the years and given my instability, I send my deepest regrets." He grabbed the fireplace mantle and ran his hand over the smooth curves of the wood.
Athos watched Felix enter the room with a bundle of provisions.
Omar looked toward Felix, who handed the bundle to Aramis. "Have Simon ready their horses —"
"I've readied our horses," Athos said, and ignored Aramis' look of suprise.
Omar licked his lips and nodded toward Felix. "Have him collect the best eight mares from the pasture." He looked toward Athos, watched Felix clasp his hands, and quickly leave the room."Four as a gift to the king," he said, "and one for each of you —"
"We cannot accept, Baron Serres." Athos shook his head.
Omar swallowed and said, "I'm requesting you take the horses… I'll not hear another word about it — you may serve the king, but here, on this land, I ask that you honor my request— and it is the least I can do."
Porthos grabbed a handful of dried fruits and shoved them into his pocket, and turned toward Aramis and d'Artagnan. "I'm hungry," he said with a shrug.
Aramis nodded and cocked an eyebrow as he walked toward the dish to grab some bread.
"What will you tell the king about this?" Omar asked and squared his shoulders as he clasped his hands behind his back. He met Athos' eyes, flared his nostrils, and raised his chin.
"Very little," Athos said. He nodded toward Aramis, who handed d'Artagnan a few slices of bread and a handful of dried fruits. Both men turned and followed Porthos from the room. Athos exhaled slowly, nodded toward Omar, and turned to leave.
"What of the turnkey, Urbain?" Omar said. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and shifted uncomfortably. He looked up as Felix entered the room.
Athos paused in his steps, clenched his fist, and looked over his shoulder. "He's dead," he said, and walked toward the door.
Omar nodded, rubbed his mouth, and then looked out the window.
"They're musketeers, Omar," Felix said, "they are men of honor and…" he paused, "whatever happened… Urbain's death is a burden you need not carry."
Omar parted his lips to say something, but stopped. He looked toward the windows, and then at his wife's portrait. "Make sure they have what they need — they're still exhausted, injured… I will not be responsible for their failure to return to Paris." He grabbed the armrest of the chair and slowly lowered himself to it. He reclined back and shook his head.
Felix nodded. "I will speak with Aramis… he seems more inclined to consider your kindness."
"It's not kindness, Felix," Omar said and stared at the portrait of his wife. "It's forgiveness I seek."
D'Artagnan pressed his forehead to his gelding's shoulder and slipped his arm beneath his neck. The horse, an old friend, knew more about him than even his father had. The odor of horseflesh, leather, hay, and sweat hit his senses, and he felt his heart stop pounding against his chest in a wild rage. He had slept heavily, but it had not eased his exhaustion, nor the burning of his lungs, or the tension and stiffness of his neck. The big black tossed his head, the bit jingled against the reins, and he stood patiently while long strokes ran from his jowl to his shoulder.
"If you treated Constance like you treat your horse… you're liable to have a much more accommodating mistress," Aramis said with a chuckle.
D'Artagnan turned to say something, but stopped himself.
"Don't speak," Aramis said, and winked toward Porthos, who shook his head, "best to give your throat time to heal." He slapped d'Artagnan's shoulder and reached for the reins of his horse.
Porthos whistled and smiled when he saw the eight mares led from the pasture. He looked toward d'Artagnan who smiled, raised his eyebrows, and nodded impressively. Porthos tossed his reins over his horse's head and walked toward the stable hand, spoke briefly with him, while Aramis and watched d'Artagnan mount.
"If you start to feel dizzy," Aramis said, ran a hand along the neck of d'Artagnan's big black, "let me know — I mean it." Aramis pursed his lips and rubbed his chin.
D'Artagnan nodded and motioned toward Felix, who walked toward them with several bags in his arms. Aramis nodded, turned, and walked toward him.
Felix sighed, watched Porthos and Athos separate the mares into two groups of four to be tethered, and then met Aramis' eyes. "While I understand and respect your need to depart, the baron insists you not leave without adequate supplies —"
"What you've provided will be plenty for our travels," Aramis said, and stepped to his left to block Athos' view.
"On the contrary," Felix said, "medical supplies — your hand for instance," he nodded toward the bandage that needed changing, "young d'Artagnan's neck — and the injuries that are unseen." He handed a bag to Aramis. "There's also wine, more food, and some clean blouses that will replace what you're currently wearing. The baron is deeply disturbed by what happened, and while he knows he cannot repay you for your kindness he does seek forgiveness for his," he shrugged his shoulders, and handed additional bags to Aramis, "for his lack of awareness."
Felix sighed, inhaled deeply, and folded his hands together before him. "As for myself… I feel I must —"
"You saved our lives," Aramis said, and lifted the corner of his mouth into a grin. "For what you lack in stature, my friend, you make up for in courage."
Felix smiled, tipped his head, and returned toward the house.