Anne
"Can we speak freely, sir?" a man asked cautiously. His voice seemed familiar, but she could not identify the speaker. A Red Guard. She had never paid much attention to them. They were somewhat useful, but easily bribed-and that made working with them very dangerous. The typical Red Guard was quite dim and incompetent...and she could not tolerate the way they treated women.
"Yes. Go ahead!" came the impatient reply. "I'm waiting for your report." That voice she knew-the Red Guard lieutenant Lorac. She quite disliked the man, so the idea of listening in on his secret conversation pleased her. She heard the sound of a glass being placed on the table.
"It's done, sir. Treville and his men are dead. We are ready to get her out of the country. The ship is waiting in Le Havre."
"Already waiting? Why?"
"By explicit order. The journey will take some time."
"That's not our problem. We have to proceed with the plan."
"Yes, sir!"
Anne froze. As she thought over the snatches of conversation she had heard, the events of the last few days-and weeks-suddenly fell into place, giving her a clear picture.
If Treville was dead, the only her they could be referring to was the Queen. Milady watched as lieutenant Lorac passed by her hiding place, unaware of her presence.
I don't really care for the Queen...however, her disappearance is unlikely to benefit me. The King will likely go in search of a new wife… Anne makes things relatively easy, as she is too proud to pay too much attention to me…
Milady slowly emerged into the empty corridor. Anne's fate was not the only factor which influenced her. She had been humiliated, and she craved revenge. She had no real proof that Rochefort was involved. However, his sudden departure from court, and the dramatic show he had made about receiving a letter from his dying mother, had made her suspicious. She had not believed a word of the letter, though it had been written with a flowing, feminine hand.
Louis would never believe her. He was still a child who was without a father and estranged from his mother. The King had never truly learned to live on his own. He had looked up to the Cardinal as a father figure, and after Richelieu's demise, he had tried to cling to Treville. When rejected, he had put his whole trust in Rochefort-despite the fact that he had a faithful, loyal person at his side-his wife. Never once had he recognized her. He did not deserve her.
A plan started to form in Milady's mind, and she hastened her pace. She needed time before dinner to change her dress and freshen her makeup.
The servants were waiting to help her. She gave them their instructions, then let them do their work with her hair, corset, and dress. Meanwhile, her clever mind was refining her plan.
First, she needed to wear out the King. That would not be so difficult, as his stamina had not improved. To be honest, she actually felt that he his strength had waned a bit. I really should pay more attention to this. Someone could be using a slow-acting poison on Louis.
Even if she was right in her suspicion about Rochefort, what could she do? The King had made it clear in the past that he did not appreciate receiving intelligence from his lover. Her only role was to be naive, silly, and completely in awe of him. So she played the part that the King expected. The luxurious life that she led in the palace was well worth it.
If Constance were here, she could have given some hints to the Queen's confidant. Madame Bonacieux was a brave and independent woman, and she had some degree of influence over the damn musketeers, whose duty it was to assure the King's safety.
But obviously, I have to do their work for them!
The King arrived at his private dining room at the same moment she did. The chamber was richly decorated, and conveniently stood adjacent to the royal bedchamber. She curtsied, and he took her hand in his.
"My darling! It's so good to see you!" His eyes dropped to her breasts, and remained there. "You're as gorgeous as ever."
Resisting the impulse to roll her eyes, she summoned her most seductive smile.
"In your presence, Your Majesty, a woman cannot help but flourish."
A smug grin spread across his face. "Oh, and so intelligent!"
"You're too generous, Sire," she whispered, kissing his hand. Her tongue caressed his fingers in the most provocative way possible.
He shivered, murmuring her name. In that moment, she knew she had won. He would accept any and all pleasure that she offered him.
He's nothing but a spoiled child. I am just another plaything…
Completely losing himself in his desire, he gasped, "You are a wonder, Anne."
"You are the lover every woman dreams of," she purred.
In their worst nightmares, she thought with disgust. He was one of the dullest lovers she had ever had.
"If only my Queen thought the same…" he moaned.
"You must forgive her, Sire. She was raised to perform her wifely duty and give you an heir, not to master the art of physical pleasure," she murmured, her voice silky. Then she turned her attention to focusing on making him forget everything.
The poor Queen knew nothing about lovemaking when she married you, you idiot! It was your duty to teach her the secrets of the bedroom. But how could you possibly teach anyone to find her own satisfaction when you are always so focused on yourself? I can't recall ever being with another man who is such a selfish lover!
Her thoughts went back to her husband. How attentive he had been!
Why do I hate him so much?
Because I still miss him…
The King gasped her name in ecstasy, and she swallowed her bitter tears. She waited for him to fall asleep, then slipped from the bed. She had already hidden some clothes in the dining room. It did not take her much time to change into the clothes of a man and leave the palace.
She went directly to the stables, careful to elude the musketeer patrols. They were well aware she was the King's mistress. The last thing she needed at this point was to be questioned as to why she was out roaming the grounds in the middle of the night, dressed in men's clothes.
Milady entered the part of the stables used for the messengers' mounts, and selected a horse. A sleepy stable boy appeared, hastily bowing when he saw her.
"What can I do for you, Madam?"
She looked at him, her expression full of distress. "I need a fast horse. I have received a letter informing me that my dear sister is dying. I cannot leave her to die alone! The only problem is that the King is too concerned about my safety to let me go….but I must!"
Tears filled her eyes. She had the memory safely locked away in her brain, but let it out whenever she needed to gain someone's sympathy by crying.
Olivier so furious and merciless when he found his brother dying in my arms. The same brother who had just tried to rape me… Olivier's fury, my lame excuses, my useless attempts to make him understand what really had happened… The anger in his eyes, the hatred, the disdain. It makes me cry every time
"Of course, Madam. I'll get the horse ready immediately-and if you will need to change horses along the way, I can give you a list of places where that can be done."
"Yes, please," she whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes.
The boy did his best. Within ten minutes, she was riding away from the palace. A list of inns that provided exchange horses was safely tucked away in her saddlebag.
Why don't the musketeers ever use such places? Are they too attached to their horses?
Or are their animals trained differently?
She did not like the fact that she was even thinking about the musketeers. She hated every second she spent thinking about the musketeers or about Athos-even if she was riding to meet him.
However, in the dark winter night, her unwanted thoughts and memories seemed to be her only companion. Fortunately, the roads near the capital were well maintained, and one could travel in darkness without fear of a horse stumbling.
She breathed in the crisp air. Glancing up at the cloudless sky, she bit her lip savagely at the painful memory. She saw herself lying in the grass in Olivier's arms as they gazed up at the stars. She loved it when he called the constellations by their strange, poetic names. The passion in his low voice made each one sound like an intimate caress. She wanted to forget his touch on her skin as much as she missed it. No one had never treasured her the way Olivier had.
But if he had really treasured you, he would have listened to you.
He would have given you the chance to explain-and he would have believed you.
She urged the horse into a gallop, wanting to blame her tears on the rough rush of the air on her face.
It was near dawn when she reached the first inn that the stable boy had told her about. She entered, and demanded a new horse. The innkeeper, a plump man in early fifties, appeared to be too sleepy to ask any questions. However, there was something suspicious in his manner...she could see unspoken fear in his eyes, as well a slight tremor in his hands.
"You seem troubled…" she said, careful to put a note of compassion in her voice.
"The roads are dangerous my lady," he murmured, shifting uncomfortably.
"Is there a specific danger I should be aware of?" she asked, her eyes widening in mock terror.
"There are bandits who are attacking travellers. A large group made its appearance two days ago."
Bandits were always more active at the end of winter, when food supplies were running short.
"You should send a message to the nearest town to ask for some guards," she told him. He glanced at her once more, and she felt there was something he was not telling her.
"And get my family killed?!"
"So why are you telling me about it?"
"You're a woman. I just felt I needed to warn you."
A woman using the King's messenger horses. She could carry the message further.
"Can you tell me more about the threat?"
"Yes… they have local guides...and some of them are masked." He lowered his voice, and said quietly, "I cannot tell you any more, Madam. Your horse will be ready in ten minutes. May I offer you some hot broth and fresh bread in the meantime?"
She accepted, but left as soon as she could. Turning at the doorstep, she gave him a sad smile. "Thank you."
"May God keep you safe, my lady."
Fortunately, I know how to keep myself safe.
I doubt God wants to have anything to do with me.
She left the inn. The sky to the east was already reddening. The landscape still lay submerged in sleep. Tendrils of fog curled over the fields. She urged her horse forward, and the animal obeyed instantly.
Why are the musketeers more attached to their horses than to their wives?
What a stupid thought! Olivier wasn't a musketeer back then.
Why can't I forget him?
She cursed under her breath, and kicked her horse into a gallop, trying to forget by losing herself in the pace. She passed a few riders and carts, but nobody tried to stop her. After all, she galloping along the road in a black cloak, clearly hiding a weapon. No one in their right mind would even consider detaining her.
Many people started out on the road before dawn in order to take advantage of the short amount of daylight. However, she doubted any were riding during the night. After all, to do so was dangerous-insane, actually. And yet she would do it again. She needed to return to Paris….to the King.
Provided that Athos doesn't kill me. However, I'm not in Paris, so he should not feel the urge to keep his word.
She hoped Louis would not be too upset with her. If her royal lover was angry with her for absence, she doubted that saving the Queen would make any difference. She had had the forethought to leave a book about the Spanish Armada on the night table, along with a few plans for model ships. She could only hope that the King would focus on them. He loved to spend time building his small, useless boats.
What a waste of time...just like seamstresses making clothes for dolls.
Milady reached the crossroads. There, the main road met several smaller trails leading into the fields and the nearby forest. She chose one of the trails that she recognized from a map she had seen some time ago, and followed it through the empty landscape. She hated the countryside at this time of the year. Everything seemed dead and barren.
The mud on the road was very effective at slowing her down. She cursed under her breath, then smiled wickedly. Here she could curse as much as she liked. She did not have to pretend to be someone else.
Someone else?
Who am I really?
I don't think I even know anymore.
I only know whom I wished to be…
The sun had started to cast long shadows when a distant shot alarmed her. She stopped to listen to the sounds. Another shot followed, and then after a longer while two more. Her horse shifted uneasily beneath her, his ears pinned back against his head.
A fight. Not a hunt.
Or rather, a hunt for a human being. An armed human being.
Milady urged her horse back into a gallop. She needed to hurry, as she knew that the last part of her journey had to be made at a slow, cautious pace. To do otherwise would be to risk instant discovery. She passed through the gate that led to a large estate. No more shots were heard, and her horse calmed down a bit. She stopped near the fountain in the garden, trying to assess the situation. From this vantage point, she had a good view of the manor house, which was situated a bit lower.
No people were visible outside the building, but she did spot four horses. She cautiously approached a row of evergreen bushes. Dismounting, she tied her horse to a small leafless tree, hoping it would would not easily be seen. Then she set off stealthily, heading in the direction of the buildings.
The dusk was on her side. If anyone was watching the grounds, it would be difficult to distinguish her shadow from the dark shapes of plants and sculptures. She passed by a masked body that had been shot in the head. She came across another body near the horses. He had been shot through the heart. With this information, it was not difficult to figure out from which window the shots had been fired.
Finally, she reached the door. She opened it slowly, then slipped inside.
She leaned against the wall, straining her ears to pick up any sound. There was only silence. The fight must have been over some time ago. She quietly made her way towards the room where she suspected the marksman was. She knew all too well who the marksman was-and she also knew that he would listen to her. He seemed to be a man who understood the value of good information, irrespective of the source.
Reaching the door, she opened it slowly, putting herself in a position where she would not risk being shot. After a few moments, she glanced inside, then froze.
My thanks to Riversidewren for betaing!