Torment and Heartache
Chapter Eleven.
Darkness enveloped her as she was dragged againt her will along the cold stone ground, what was it that covered her head, it felt abrasive against her skin, her gown hemline was rended beyond repair. Anne felt her stomach churning, her mouth dry, her throat sore. The gripping hands that tugged at her arms hurt a great deal, she cried out in gasps as the voices sneered and mocked her. Anne closed her eyes as she winced through her ordeal, her face moist with the tears she had shed with sheer agitation, her thoughts turned to Constance, the young woman had been literally thrown into a cell, alone in the cold gloom. Where were they taking her, she couldn't hear Rochefort's voice, she felt herself shiver, it was icy cold, her skin practically blue.
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Rochefort sat alone at the long table, a table that had been long abandoned and left to rot in the vacated chateau. He poured wine into a goblet and reclined back, he sipped slowly as he scanned the ancient surroundings, rotting picture frames still adorned the worn out decor, a fire had been lighted in the huge fire grate even though the chill still lingered. Candles had been placed around the chamber casting their orange flickering hues around the walls.
A sudden rapping on the large door prompted the Comte to glance towards the din of voices.
"Bring her in." he yelled hoarsely.
The doors were instantly pushed open.
Anne whimpered slightly as the abrasive hood was pulled off her head. Her hair had become unruly as it came loose around her shoulders, strands hanging over her face, she was suddenly and abruptly flung to the floor, she felt the instant heat warming her and thought again of Constance in the freezing cold cell.
The young monarch winced as she endeavoured to break her fall, catching her open palms on the uneven and rugged floor.
"Leave us." came the typical tones of Rochefort's terse voice.
Anne was on her knees, she lifted her head slowly, sweeping away the long tresses that impeded her vision. There he was, staring down at her, that sneering grin playing on his lips, that same demeanour he wore like cloak as he wandered the palace.
"Forgive me dearest majesty, I do hope you are not hurt, my men can become rather brutal at times."
Anne peered up at him from her kneeling position, she felt like she wanted to vomit even though there was nothing to bring up. She couldn't help but think of Constance alone in the darkness.
"You are on borrowed time Rochefort...once the musketeers find us you are finished, the king will have your head for this sedition." rasped Anne hoarsely.
Rochefort walked slowly towards her, the sneering grin remained like a mask as he neared her and peered down into her face.
"The musketeers will never find you here, they are on another wild goose chase as we speak, if anyone should lose their heads it is them, Tréville and his flunkies are the ones on borrowed time dearest majesty."
Anne had clenched her fingers tightly with agitation as he spoke, her hands soiled and blistered.
"You have always underestimated the kings musketeers, you really think they do not know the way your deluded mind works."
"Come now...enough talking of those jesters...we shall dine together."
Rochefort suddenly and abruptly out stretched his arm and grasped her wrist.
Anne recoiled back from his advance with a gasp.
"Do not touch me, I want to go back to Constance, she needs me."
Rochefort grinned and gripped her tightly pulling her to her feet.
"YOU...will dine with me...or I shall have d'Artagnan's whore thrown into the river, that is ofcourse after my men have had their pleasure with her.
Anne swiftly brought up her hand to slap his face before he caught her forearm tightly in his fist.
Rochefort grinned smugly and glared into her face.
"Why your majesty...I have never witnessed such wrath...alas the frailty of a woman doth linger."
Anne was trembling with anger as she stared at him, she watched as he walked to a chair and pulled it from the table.
"Do sit dearest majesty...I shall have the food served at once."
The queen teeted unsteadily, her legs felt like they would give way, she swiftly gripped the back of a chair.
"I do not want your food, I want nothing from you, you are a deluded mad man." sneered Anne.
Rochefort grinned.
"I suggest you sit before you fall majesty, we do not want you ailing before we sail to England." he scoffed.
Anne stared at him intensely.
"England?
"Sit!...Now! he pressed. "or d'Artagnan's whore dies."
The queen did as she was told.
Rochefort opened the large decrepit doors.
Two of his men stood awaiting their orders.
"Serve the food now." he demanded.
Anne shuddered suddenly as the fire crackled loudly, she stared into the flames. Her mind wandered, would the musketeers find them, had Rochefort really sent them on a wild goose chase, would she see Louis again, she pressed her lips together, she could feel the lump in her throat beginning to form, tears were stinging her eyes.
Her muse suddenly waned as Rochefort sauntered behind her chair and picked up the wine pitcher, she watched as he poured wine into two goblets, his eyes glancing towards her as he placed a goblet down front of her.
"Your favourite I believe majesty...nothing better than a rather fine Bourgogne wine."
Anne glared at him.
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Night time had come and gone as the musketeers rode along the desolate snow covered but bumpy road. Though the snowfall had waned, the conditions had made their journey more perilous. The sky was heavy and ladened with more snow.
Athos suddenly halted his canter, coming to a stop, the others followed suit. The horses snorted emitting their misty breaths into the cold air practically mingerling with their human riders.
"What is it? asked Aramis.
Athos turned before pointing ahead.
That ridge, I recall seeing something on the map, I believe we may be closer than we thought."
The others followed Athos' eyeline, ahead of them was what looked like a ridge of snow covered rocks, the land around them was blanketed in fresh snow.
Porthos reached into his pocket and retrieved the map, the big musketeer began to scrutinise the parchment.
"It will be dark soon...Porthos, Aramis, ride around to the left of the crag, stay in the trees until dark, d'Artagnan and myself will go to the right, soon as darkness falls we will set up surveillance at the top, if my memory serves me well that chateau is on the other side."
"Your right Athos." growled Porthos suddenly and holdingup the map. "This is Mosen Crag."
Aramis reached for his scope and peered through the lens, his brow furrowing as he scrutinied the land ahead.
"Not that high really, should be easily enough to scale."
"Well what are we waiting for gentlemen, lets go." added d'Artagnan giving his horse a slight nudge.
The others followed suit.
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Constance sat with her legs crunched to her chest, she rested her arms on her knees, her tear stained face was ashen with the cold, a lone candle was the only light she had, the young woman bent her head and sobbed, would she ever see outside again, was this to be her last resting place, she thought of the queen, what did that evil reprobate want with her.
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TBC...
Hi Guys,
Hope you are all staying safe in these strange times.
Thank you for you comments, love them.
Will try and update ASAP!
Take Care
Pippa xxxx
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