Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.
Chapter Seven: Prisoners of Love
"What a wonderful idea Athos." Porthos was ranting and pacing across the hallway from her. Elizabeth noticed he did that when he got upset about something. "Let's get captured. Dungeons are the perfect opportunity to catch murderers. No need to be outside where we might actually find them..."
"How long can he do this?" Elizabeth asked d'Artagnan who was sitting near her.
"Hours." Came the reply from the next cell where d'Artagnan was leaning up against the bars.
To one side of Porthos, Aramis grinned, "I've heard him carry on for nearly a day before."
Elizabeth sighed and watched Porthos continue to berate an oblivious Athos who was leaning against the bars of his cell and watching the guards. When one made as if to walk by the prisoners, Athos straightened and glared. It didn't seem to accomplish much, but he did it every time. Elizabeth was beginning to find it rather annoying.
"Will you stop that?" Obviously she wasn't the only one, Aramis sounded nearly at the end of his rope.
"Do you want to get out of here?" Came Athos' reply.
"I don't see how glaring at a guard will get us out of this situation." Aramis said over Porthos ranting.
"Trust me, in about an hour, they'll send to talk with us, and they'll take me first." Athos sounded so confident, d'Artagnan almost believed him, but Aramis just shook his head.
"We're about to find out." Aramis motioned at the guards who were returning with keys.
"You." The guard pointed, "Up."
Athos stood straighter and watched incredulously as Elizabeth was taken from her cell and put in shackles. She shrugged at him as if in apology for ruining his theory.
"Ah, yes." Porthos interrupted his ranting long enough to add, "There you go Athos, good plan."
"Shut up."
Well, life certainly has its surprises, Elizabeth thought to herself. She had been certain that when it came time, she would be the last person anyone would want to talk to. Well, more fool she. Her thoughts were interrupted when they came to a set of doors that looked as though they led to a study of some sort. When the doors were opened, her suspicions were confirmed, and firmly ensconced behind the desk was a man with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and average features. Although the cut of his clothes showed that he was a man of some status, he didn't wear them quite like one would expect. In fact, his entire appearance gave off the impression of both average and not- quite- right.
"Ah, my dear, I am truly sorry you were kept down there for so long. The dungeon is no place for a lady." He gestured to a chair pulled up in front of his desk, "Please sit, may I get you anything?"
Elizabeth sat, but denied refreshment. If her friends were to go without, she would too.
The man smiled, "Perhaps you are wondering who I am?"
"No, not really." When the man looked taken aback, she continued, "I am far more interested in why my friends and I were waylaid."
"We had heard some Musketeers were coming south to wreak havoc with out plans, so we beat them to it."
"Ah, so you are the Count de Fère?"
The man grimaced at her, "No."
"Then why in the world am I talking to you?"
The man leapt to his feet, "I am the Comte de Giverny, and you will treat me with respect!"
"I will treat you with respect when you earn it, and Giverny has a Viscount, not a Comte you bastard." Elizabeth delivered her entire retort in a level voice that held infinitely more power than the imposter Comte's shouting had.
"I hold the upper hand here wench, and you'd do well to remember it."
"Ah, so first I was a lady, now I'm a wench? I'm sure women just flock to your side."
"They flock to my power." The Comte's good humor seemed to have returned.
"What power? You sit on an imaginary throne wielding imaginary power at the discretion of a man who obviously threatens you. What power do you have?"
The Comte's jaw tightened, but he held is voice, "I'd watch my words if I were you, it is not wise to insult a man's masculinity to his face. Words like that have a habit of leading to the less savory forms of seduction." At Elizabeth's blank look he clarified, "Rape." When she gasped, he knew he had found her weakness. The chit obviously retained her virtue, and wished to keep it that way. He'd promise her her safety, and gain her knowledge. It's not like he had to keep his promises, now was it? "I see we understand each other. Now, why were you and your friends coming to Auvergne?"
Elizabeth remained silent.
The Comte grinned. "Gustav," he called to one of the guards by the door, "would you be so kind as to relieve the lady of her outer garments?"
Once Gustav had complied, and come out with a black eye to show for it, the Comte came around to sit on the edge of his desk. "Now my dear, you were saying."
Elizabeth struggled against Gustav's hands, but he wouldn't budge. She suddenly found herself wishing she was a man, not for the first time in her life. Well, if wishes were wings, pigs would fly. She kept her mouth shut.
"Do you wish to lose the rest of your clothing as well?"
"You just try it." She bit out.
"Oh no, not another tantrum. Gustav?" the Comte gestured. Gustav, having already been on the receiving end of one of her tantrums, did not feel the need to do so again.
"I'd really rather not milord."
"What?" When Gustav just shrugged and gestured towards his black eye, the Comte became quite angry, "You will do as I say, and hope to all that his holy in this world that I let you live after your impertinence."
Gustav groaned, but moved to do as he was bidden. Elizabeth could already see her advantage, he was scared of her. To think she had thought she would need to be a man. She slipped her knives out of her sleeves and slashed out at Gustav, who leapt out of her reach. The Comte was not so fast. He received a stinging rebuke across his cheek for his presumption that bled down his expensive doublet. Gustav stepped in and attempted to twist her arms behind her, but she was too fast. She put the desk between her and the two men and stood there brandishing her blades.
"You cannot win girl." The Comte pointed out.
"Ah yes, but if you rush me, you will be the one I kill, not Gustav here." She gestured with the bloody knife in her left hand.
"Get her Gustav." The Comte ordered.
Gustav shook his head but came around the desk, his eyes wary. Elizabeth couldn't back up because the Comte was standing waiting for her to just that. She turned and threw the knife that already had his blood on it at the Comte, praying it found its mark, her aim had never been all that good with them. She spun in time to fend off Gustav, but only for a moment. He wrestled her other blade away and tried to pin her arms again. An anguished cry from behind them informed her her first knife had flown true. Gustav overpowered her, after all, she was merely a woman, and held her immobile. They turned in time to see the Comte pull her blade from his shoulder.
Pity it didn't kill him, she thought to herself. She stood tall as the Comte walked over and backhanded her across the mouth.
"Bitch." He snapped.
Elizabeth spit blood at his feet. He looked ready to strike her again, but the sight of something over her shoulder stopped him. He waved her away and Gustav dragged her from the room.
"Why did you stop me from killing the chit?" The Comte asked the other man who had entered the room.
"Because, you imbecile, the Musketeers love her and will protect her. She is of more use to us alive than dead." The other man replied. The he smiled, "Besides, I want to have some fun her first. She fears rape, and that is something I can use."
"But-!"
The other simply raised an elegant brow and the Comte bit back his rebuttal. His time would come.
"Dear Lord! What happened to you?" Porthos broke off mid-rant at the sight of Elizabeth. She looked down at herself and couldn't blame his accusing tone. Her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders in a disarray which wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that she was still clad only in her undergarments. One shoulder was hanging off, ripped at the seam, a remnant from her tussle with Gustav no doubt, and she was certain she looked as though she'd been thoroughly ravished. She damn nearly had been. And she was in no mood to speak with Porthos, or any of the Musketeers for that matter.
After Gustav had pushed her into her cell near d'Artagnan, the Musketeer rushed to the bars separating them, "Are you alright?"
She turned and gave him a meaningful look that clearly said she thought him an idiot. "Do I look alright?"
"No you don't." Porthos said with his usual bluntness, "And I repeat, what happened to you?"
From his place on the far side of d'Artagnan, Athos could barely see Elizabeth, and it was damn well nearly killing him. She'd looked disheveled when she had come in, and he wanted the reason for it. She didn't seem to want to answer Porthos, so he tried, "What happened?"
Her answering snort told him little. The three men looked to Aramis, the only one of them who hadn't attempted to speak with her. "Don't look at me," Aramis held up his hands, "I'm not stupid enough to try to talk to a woman in her state. You three can take her anger on yourselves thank you very much."
Elizabeth shot him a warm smile, then returned to her sullen brooding. That particular game was getting to be quite the favorite amongst the group. She tired of it quickly however. "Damn man has my knives." She muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" d'Artagnan begged her pardon.
She turned to him, "That damn Comte has my damn knives now. I lost my temper and threw one at him. That guard took the other."
Porthos chuckled, "You threw a knife at our captor?"
"He was asking for it." It wasn't defensive, simply a fact.
D'Artagnan looked at the state of her clothes again, "Yes, I'm sure he was."
She smiled at him. Porthos chuckled appreciatively, "Good girl." She grinned at him.
"But now I don't have my knives, and none of you have your swords, so..."
"We find some other way." Aramis finished on a light note.
"Did he-" Athos began, but stopped himself.
"Did he what Athos?" Porthos queried.
"Did he... take advantage of you Elizabeth?" Athos finished in a rush.
It seemed like a lifetime before she answered, and when it came, it was so quiet they had to strain to hear her. "No."
Athos let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Aramis gave him a knowing look from the other side of the corridor, but said nothing.
The guards, including Gustav who looked decidedly shame-faced returned. "You." He pointed at Athos, "Up." Athos rose to his feet and they put the shackles on him and led him out.
"Aramis," d'Artagnan asked the man across from him, "How long has it been?"
Aramis looked confused for a moment then shocked. He smirked, "An hour as near as I can tell it."
"How the hell did he know?" d'Artagnan looked after Athos.