We're getting closer to the end of the series. A few more chapters to go and then the last story. It's going to be a bittersweet ending, that's for sure. Thank you everyone for your wonderful support!
Chapter 16
The knock at the door caused Aramis to stand and open it. Ninon stood before him. Her dry hair was elegantly pulled away from her face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but her confidence remained strong. The gown she wore accentuated her slender frame, and for a moment, it reminded him of the first time he had met her: beautiful, sophisticated, and challenging.
"May I?" Ninon asked and waited for Aramis' approval.
Aramis stood to the side and allowed her entry.
"He looks so still," she said as she walked to the bed. She took a seat on the edge of the mattress and gently grasped Athos' exposed hand. "He's cold," she said and turned toward Aramis with a look of concern.
Aramis shut the door, retook his seat, and nodded. "I believe it's from his blood loss — his hands and feet are cold despite his fever."
"Is that normal?" Ninon asked and gently cupped Athos' hand in hers. She rubbed the top, trying to bring warmth to his fingers. She gently ran her fingers over the white bandage around his wrist and then looked at the bandage farther up his arm.
Aramis shrugged. "I've seen it before." He rubbed his face and then hung his head.
"When was the last time you slept?"
Aramis looked at Athos and then at Ninon. "I don't remember."
"Isabeau offered me a room for the night," she looked out the window as the early morning light peeked past the dark clouds, "or what is left of it. You should use it to get some rest. I can sit with him."
Aramis leaned back with his left elbow on the armrest, and gently pulled at his mustache. "I should stay… he's…" he swallowed with a look of defeat and sorrow. Exhaustion laced his features, caused his eyelids to grow heavy, and he could feel every nerve in his body crave sleep. "If he awakens and tries to move —"
"There are a handful of musketeers outside that door, Aramis. They can help me if needed." She reached for the washbasin and wrung the cloth and wiped gently at Athos' forehead, his neck, and along his cheeks. "I've cared for sick children. Surely I can care for a man — at least for a little while."
Aramis shifted forward, stretched the backs of his calves, and said, "He may pass —"
"He won't. Not like this." She shifted her position on the bed and turned to look at him and said with conviction, "He won't — Athos has never struck me as someone who would stop fighting — not when he has something to fight for."
"And what is he fighting for now?" Aramis asked. He was simply too tired to connect her reasoning to Athos' struggle.
"You, Porthos… d'Artagnan," Ninon curled her lips into a knowing smile, "his king and France. He's a fighter, Aramis… just like you and the others. Men of conviction are not easily killed… nor do they die easily." She reached for his hand and grasped it. "You're a man of faith… believe it," she looked at Athos and then returned her look to Aramis, "believe him."
Aramis bashfully smiled, looked her in the eyes, and said, "It's no wonder why he has a fondness for you." He slowly nodded and stood. He wiped his hands on his thighs and grabbed his doublet, his weapons belt, and his cloak. "If his fever spikes, have one of the men wake me. I've seen men get violent — particularly after battle." He took a deep breath, grasped the handle of the door, and said, "Thank you."
Ninon nodded and wrung the cloth once more. "Rest Aramis. You'll be no good to anyone should you fall ill."
Aramis gripped the edge of the door, looked once more at Athos, and then left.
Ninon shifted closer to Athos' hip, dipped the cloth once more and wrung it. She noticed the creases at the corners of his eyes, the subtle shifts of his mouth, and she wondered — despite his condition — if he still fought with the men who tried to kill him. If he was still fighting the battles, strategizing tactics, and protecting his men. She gently placed the folded cloth on his forehead, rubbed the side of his cheek with the backs of her fingers, and contemplated the beauty of his features.
She was no longer a girl, and she had stopped dreaming about marriage long before she should have. Her experience with men had been disappointing, and sometimes harsh. Many had simply admired her beauty, not the content of her mind, and then there were those like Cardinal Richelieu who used their power to gain control. Ninon swallowed, gently ran the tips of her fingers along the backside of Athos' hand, and swallowed. She was fortunate not to need the security of a man. Born to riches she remained unmarried and unbound, but as she grew older, as she looked at the children she taught, the joy they brought her, she wondered what it was she missed because of stubbornness, pride, and fear.
She grasped his hand once more, felt the chill of his fingers and cupped them within her palms as she looked across the room at the fire that glowed. Flames, relentless in their movements, danced upward and consumed the wood within its reach. Soot and coals filled the stone cavern that in the months to come would be used less frequently. The soot would be washed away, the cold coals and ash moved to the gardens, and it would be prepared for the winter ahead.
Ninon turned when she heard a subtle knock, and Isabeau peeked around the edge of the door. She smiled, entered the room, and closed the door behind her. She carried a port of wine and two glasses.
"I'm familiar with your tenacity, but I will not allow your reputation to be tarnished while sitting alone in a room with a man… injured or not." Isabeau placed the items on the credenza next to the bed. She pulled the cloth from Athos' forehead and placed the cup of her hand to check his fever. She winced, clenched her jaw, and took a seat. Isabeau looked at Ninon with a tilt of her head and a gentle smile. "He'll survive," she said and reached for the glasses and poured them each some wine. "For medicinal purposes," she said and handed one to Ninon, who took it.
"I was a child when I first met my husband," Isabeau said. She leaned back in the seat. "He was young, handsome, stubborn, and unwilling to compromise." She giggled. "I hated him."
Ninon snorted and then covered her mouth.
"I did. I thought he was despicable, and I never wanted to have anything to do with him — I told him as much." Isabeau straightened her skirts, looked at Athos' profile, and said, "But then things changed." She looked at Ninon and then took a sip of her wine. "Change is good… it means you're learning, growing…
"It means," Isabeau said as she leaned forward, "that you have changed for the better." She looked Ninon in the eyes and then dipped the cloth into the basin and wrung before she wiped Athos' forehead and neck. "Everything is temporary, Ninon… sometimes it's best to grab hold and hang on for the ride."
