Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.


Chapter Six: Sneaking Suspicions

It was long past sundown when the Musketeers and the lone woman set off on the Calais road. Only Athos knew where they were actually going, but he was so absorbed in what seemed to be a rousing one man game of sullen brooding, no one was eager to ask him. Instead, Porthos kept them entertained with tales from his days before becoming a Musketeer, and not a few from after. Most of them were probably even true.

"And before he could say 'ye gods, I'm naked!' I'd stuck my sword in his gullet and he didn't have to worry about that particular fact anymore."

D'Artagnan snorted something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but hid his grin behind his hand. Aramis shook his head, he'd heard the story many times over. Elizabeth, however, openly laughed. "And what did you do then Porthos?"

"Well," Porthos said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "his wife was quite pleased with me for relieving her of her husband you know, so I..." Porthos stuttered for a word he could use in the presence of what he was just remembering was a lady, "What I mean is we..."

"Shook hands and parted friends?" Aramis jumped in with help.

"Hell no." Porthos blurted out before he could stop himself. At Elizabeth's raised eyebrow he quickly backtracked, "Um, of course, that's exactly what... ah damn." He sighed heavily and slumped in his saddle.

D'Artagnan nudged his mount closer to his and patted him on the shoulder consolingly. "It's a very good story Porthos."

Porthos turned hopeful eyes to him, "Really?"

"Really." Elizabeth said, "Even though you couldn't finish the ending, in deference to my maidenly sensibilities." She then proceeded to tell a raunchy tale of a soldier, a whore and cursed boots that had the Musketeers nearly falling of their horses in helpless laughter. Unfortunately, Athos decided that this would be a wonderful moment to rejoin the small group and found himself catching only the final phrases of the story.

"So the whore throws down the bucket and says 'Well, if that's the way you want it, I'm leavin'!' And left the poor man clutching those few feathers and watching as that whore walked away in his own damn boots."

The three men exploded into laughter. Hearty gales of it that echoed back off the trees and disturbed a flock of ptarmigans nesting nearby.

"A fine night isn't it Athos?" Elizabeth asked him in all innocence.

"Lovely." Came his succinct reply as he raised an eyebrow at his friends who were acting in a very unprofessional manner in his opinion.

"Ah Athos," Porthos choked out once he had regained a bit of his composure, "you missed a fine tale."

"I'm sure."

"Are you upset?" Elizabeth sounded incredulous.

"No- yes- I mean, God, I don't know. I don't care."

"He's rather odd isn't he?" Elizabeth asked Aramis.

"Yes, but that's what we like about him."

Elizabeth grinned, "Maybe that's what you like about him but I..." She trailed off as she looked behind her and realized she'd crossed that metaphorical line she'd been avoiding. She blushed to the roots of her hair, "ah, never mind."

"No, please," Porthos leaned forward a bit in his saddle, "you were right on the verge of saying something very interesting."

Elizabeth looked at Athos and blushed again before putting her heels to her gelding and urging it forward and away from the knowing grins of the men behind her. They were incorrigible, but she couldn't help but like them all, Athos more so than even Porthos who had quickly become like a brother to her. Athos was... no, she wouldn't let her mind wander down that twisted road. There was no telling where it might end up, and she had enough problems on her plate without adding a Musketeer. Especially one as overbearing, insufferable, handsome, charming... no stop!

Athos hadn't missed her byplay with his two friends and he wondered at it for a moment. She was a lovely young woman, the key there being young. He was probably at least twenty years her senior, yet he'd known couples at court with more than twice that between them, and it had yet to cause even a single raised eyebrow or snide comment. No, it wasn't her youth that frightened him, it was her innocence. She saw the world as fresh and new, and he knew better. It was better for the both of them if he denied the strange attraction he felt to her.

"Well Athos?"

Athos snapped out of his thoughts and raised a questioning brow at d'Artagnan. "Yes, what?"

The four riders grinned at him and he suddenly felt he'd missed a very important joke. The thought was confirmed when Porthos chuckled and gestured at the road they were on. "We were wondering where exactly you were dragging us off to. We've reached a fork you see?"

Athos looked ahead of them guiltily and realized Porthos was right. "Left, my friends, we ride south."

"But after we stop for the night, right?" Porthos interjected hopefully.

"Yes Porthos. After we stop for the night."

Many days passed in much the same pattern as the first; Elizabeth soon became bored with her embarrassment, as was her wont, and she rejoined her easy camaraderie with the Musketeers as the laughed and joked their way south. They had been on the road for almost four days when Aramis finally asked Athos their final destination.

"Auvergne." Athos' tone dared anybody to comment

"Auvergne? Isn't that where-" Porthos began, obviously oblivious to Athos mood.

"We are going." Athos finished for him with a pointed look. "Yes."

"Right, of course. Me dispiace."

"Lord Almighty!" Athos blasphemed, "Does everyone in the world suddenly speak Italian?"

"I didn't know you spoke Italian." Porthos pointed out. When Athos thrust his chin in Elizabeth's direction, Porthos went immediately to her side and they became engrossed in conversation, not a little of it in that strangely compelling tongue that they both seemed to know.

"Odd isn't it?"

Athos turned to d'Artagnan who had rode up on his left, but Aramis answered first from his right, "Yes, it is a bit."

Athos sighed, "It doesn't seem odd to me in the least that she speaks Italian. That woman has ceased to shock me altogether."

"No, I mean that a lone woman, of less than certain background, has agreed to ride into unknown land with four men she barely knows. Well, besides Porthos of course, the two of them are quite chummy."

Athos turned to d'Artagnan, "Do you suspect something?"

"No, of course not. You vouch for her, and Porthos is... well Porthos, despite your suspicions. I just think it's odd."

"And you?" Athos turned to Aramis.

"Porthos is an enigma. I'm not sure what to think about him anymore, and to think I once thought him simple." Aramis sighed, "As for the girl, I like her, but that doesn't mean I trust her. We know very little about Elizabeth, and even that is only what she has told us. I just think you should be careful."

Athos was stunned, "Why me?"

Aramis chuckled and d'Artagnan grinned at him. "Dear friend, none of us are in danger of losing our hearts to her." He clarified. At Athos' scoffing noise d'Artagnan continued, "We cannot help but see the sparks fly between you. You deny it, and so does she, but it's quite obvious to anyone who'll stop long enough to notice."

Athos was having trouble speaking over the spluttering noises he was making.

"It's true," Aramis went on when d'Artagnan finished, "I wish you could have seen your face at the bar that night when she revealed she was really a woman. You looked like you'd been kicked in the head. I've only seen one man wear that look before, and that was our young friend here when he first told us of Constance." At d'Artagnan's wince Aramis quickly apologized, "I'm sorry my friend, I know you still mourn her."

"She was revenged," d'Artagnan stated, "that's all that matters."

A silence fell over the group and they could hear Porthos and Elizabeth conversing rapidly in Italian, occasionally stopping to ask one another for a particular word or phrase.

"I wonder what they're talking about?" Aramis mused.

[The following is assumed to be in Italian. As the author speaks very little more of it than she does French, this will also be written in English. If you were wondering; no, life still isn't fair.]

"You truly married a lawyer's wife for her money?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Well, when you put it like that it seems rather heartless, but I was rather fond of her." Porthos defended himself.

"And you convinced your friends she was a duchess? Porthos, that's... that's... I don't have words for it. What happened to her? I assume something did since you haven't mentioned her before now."

"About the duchess thing, I'm sure they knew my secret. D'Artagnan at least is far too discerning for me to keep something like that hidden from for long. But, yes, she got sick, and died. She left me her fortune, which I promptly spent, and now am almost right back where I started, just a few years older."

Elizabeth shook her head. She couldn't imagine marrying for anything other than love, because she almost had. Married for something other, that is. And it had, or course been a disaster, much like everything her late father had planned had been. Thankfully she'd escaped and vowed never to be caught again. Elizabeth felt a sudden empathy for Porthos' late wife, because no matter how much you deluded yourself, marriage wasn't right without love. How could it be?

"Uh oh."

Elizabeth turned to Porthos, "What is it?" She asked in French.

"You were harboring illusions weren't you? Damn, I'm an idiot." Porthos spoke in French, "Elizabeth dear girl, I know you have feelings for Athos," at her noises of denial, Porthos held up his hand, "don't deny it. But I feel obligated to warn you, Athos is the last man in the world to wear the marriage collar again."

"Again?"

"His previous marriage was for love my dear, and it ended very badly. Athos doesn't believe in matters of the heart any more." Porthos looked thoughtful for a moment, "Aramis would be more likely and he's sworn to the church."

"Sworn to the Church? But he told me-"

Elizabeth was cut off by the appearance of a rider on the road. This in and of itself would not have been cause of great notice, but the rider happened to be brandishing a pistol, and he was not alone. Soon, the group was surrounded.

"What is your business in Auvergne?"

D'Artagnan seemed to take offense at the man's tone, "None of yours, this is the king's highway, and we are free to travel as we will."

"Musketeers have no right to any part of the Auvergne countryside, go back to Paris and your sniveling coward of a king." Another man sneered at them, emboldened by the overwhelming odds in his favor.

To be honest, there are few things more idiotic in life than insulting a king who rules by divine right. The consensus is that God will immediately strike one such down. However, Musketeers are known to act a bit faster than the Almighty, so the error can only be compounded by doing so in the presence of God and Musketeer. Not to mention four of them. Their reply was precise, but bloody. In a heartbeat, four of the attackers were on the ground, all wounded. The remaining half dozen became instantly wary; but it didn't help. Two more hit the dirt with life threatening wounds before they could respond, and suddenly the odds seemed quite even.

The only thing that saved the lives of the remaining four men was the arrival of about two dozen others who were apparently on their side. "You are under arrest by order of the Count de Fère."

"Marvelous." Was Athos' reply.