Introductions

"Gilbert! That's no way to address a—" the familiar gruff voice of Captain Duval paused for a moment. "A lady," he finished uncertainly, surely still sour over her choice of dress.

Lauren turned slowly, taking in the rough tabletops covered with kettles and pans and the herbs and meat hanging from the ceiling. A door straight across from her was wide open, revealing a sunny day over the practice courtyard beyond. But standing before that door were the Captain and a clean shaven youth in a fresh musketeer uniform. The younger man had greenish eyes and chestnut brown hair that fell in tousled waves not quite to his shoulders. Lauren was momentarily frozen, so captured by his eyes she was. Her head tilted slowly to the side.

He looked back at her with laughing eyes. "Pardon me, mademoiselle." He made a slight bow, hand over his heart. "I am Gilbert Chantal from Provence, newly enlisted in the musketeers under my Uncle Martin. Let me assure you that if I knew women were allowed in, I would have joined much sooner." Lauren barely caught his sly wink before Duval commanded her attention.

"She is a special case," he said briefly to his nephew. He turned to Lauren, "And you are to be under the supervision of Siroc at all times."

"I was hungry. My guardian has neglected to feed me, so I must fend for myself," she turned dismissively to rummage through the messy cupboards, trying to ignore the two pairs of eyes boring into her back.

"Well, Gilbert, this can be your first assignment. Escort Lauren safely back to Siroc after she has satiated her hunger. I must attend to my work," Duval said briskly.

"Sir," Gilbert acknowledged, making a sharp salute as the Captain strode away deeper into the garrison. The young musketeer poked around the table near the door and found the remnants of the morning's breakfast bread and some linen wrapped cheese. He quickly fashioned a sandwich of sorts, layering the cheese between two slices of bread. He then walked over to the searching Lauren, tapping her on the shoulder. "Will this do?"

Lauren spun around, hitting him in the gut with her elbow. "Oouf," he exhaled, slightly doubling over.

Horrified, she quickly apologized, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. You startled me! Are you all right?" She put a concerned hand on his shoulder, helping him to straighten.

He grinned up at her, "You sure know how to make an impression, mademoiselle." Standing erect again, he continued, "Here's something to eat."

"Oh, thank you." She accepted the sandwich, looking down at it in her hand at a loss for something to say. "Um… You can call me Lauren; mademoiselle sounds too nice for me."

"Then call me Gil; Gilbert has always sounded too formal for me," he replied.

Lauren realized that he was standing way too close. She retreated backwards a few steps. "I'd better get back to the lab before they worry. Thanks again." She walked towards the doorway at a swift pace.

"Wait!" Gil called. Lauren stopped with a sigh but did not face him. "I'll walk with you." He caught up to her.

"That's not necessary, really," she told him, her gaze boldly crossing the short distance between them.

"I was charged with your safety. How can I be sure you don't trip and scrape a knee if I don't walk with you?" he asked in a mock serious tone.

"You've got me there," Lauren replied weakly. She stepped out into the corridor, Gil following closely beside her.

"So why are you in the garrison?" he said. "I noticed my uncle doesn't seem to appreciate your presence here…"

Lauren hesitated. It would be nice to have one person who thinks I'm relatively normal… "I'm a ward of Siroc right now, one of the musketeers." It's more of a half-truth, not a lie.

"Uncle has always spoken highly of Siroc; he's the inventor, right?" Lauren nodded, and Gil did not press her further. They had arrived at the workshop door.

Gil swung the heavy wooden door in, gesturing for Lauren to go first. She did so, walking in to face d'Artagnan and Jacques. "Um… where's Siroc?"

"He had to pick up some ingredient for whatever he's making. Who's your friend?" called Jacques. She eyed Gil a little harshly.

To Lauren's surprise, d'Artagnan walked over to Gil, giving the youth a hard pat on the back. "Gilbert de Chantal! Haven't seen you since you were about ten years old! And now you're a musketeer; your family must be proud."

The two females in the room watched the ritual curiously. "You know each other?" Lauren asked, wincing at the stupidly obvious question.

"We go back a ways," d'Artagnan said vaguely. "Family connections."

Gil looked uncomfortable under all the attention. "I was just escorting Lauren back under Uncle—er, Captain's orders. I'd better report back soon."

"Isn't he great?" d'Artagnan boasted loudly towards Jacques. "His first day and he's already worrying about Duval's wrath. Go on, boy! We'll have to fight tomorrow, see what you're made of."

Gil retreated, nodding towards d'Artagnan and Jacques. His gaze lingered on Lauren last. "I hope to see you around, Lauren."

"Yeah," she replied halfheartedly with a forced smile. She took a deep breath and exhaled when the door shut.

"Gilbert Chantal," d'Artagnan muttered again, shaking his head in disbelief.

Lauren shied away from Jacques' too personal gaze. All I need—more to confuse me…

Accident

Four days passed, and Lauren was still trapped in France. She was even beginning to doubt that this was a dream. Siroc's subtle suggestions that she had created this 'dream' and fabricated a life in the future to block out a traumatic event did not help Lauren retain her sanity.

Lauren propped her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm. With her other hand, she lazily twirled her long, dark brown hair around a finger. Siroc was ignoring her again, and evil little thoughts kept jumping into her mind. What would he do if I dumped a bucket of water over his head? A mental picture popped up, and Lauren analyzed his reaction. No good; he would be extremely upset if it ruined his notebook… Maybe I should just stick to the simple: pretending to faint. It produces a sympathetic reaction, lots of attention for a few days, and the fun of being waited on hand and foot.

Lauren sighed. And what if something fun happened? I wouldn't get to go because of my delicate state… She was about to do it anyway when a commotion rose up outside. Lauren peeked out the door and saw a familiar patch of light brown flank. She ran outside, slowing only to approach the horse. "Bud!" she exclaimed, weaving through the musketeers in the practice yard. She met d'Artagnan at Bud's head where he had been attempting to catch the loose gelding. His new shadow, Gil, was beside him. Lauren groaned inwardly; she had grown tired of his constant presence. The boy had a comment for everything!

Lauren gave a curt nod to d'Artagnan and put a hand on her horse's muzzle. "Where have you been?" she scolded the animal. "When I was in trouble, you just took off to save your own hide while I had to wait for some musketeers to come along!" Bud regarded her placidly, not seeming to care about what she had said. Lauren rubbed his neck affectionately. "Go find the other horses. I'm sure they'll share some water and hay with you." As if by some magical understanding, Bud walked into the stable by his own accord. If only Bud understood French commands in real life, Lauren thought.

Although most of the musketeers had gone back to practicing, she still had to face two of them. D'Artagnan spoke first. "Have you seen Jacques today? He was gone when I woke up this morning."

"Um, I think he had a day off," Lauren lied. She knew that the female Musketeer had asked Duval for a special assignment to get out of the garrison; she had heard them talking. Lauren had noticed Jacques becoming sulky when Gil arrived. Now that d'Artagnan had a new sidekick to fill up his extra time, Jacques was being neglected.

She must like him, Lauren reasoned for the thousandth time. She is obviously jealous that someone else is in her place—d'Artagnan's side—and is just now realizing how much that place means to her. Thus, she works herself up into a bad mood and runs away from the problem. Maybe I should be a psychiatrist…

All this Lauren kept in her head, smiling blankly at d'Artagnan. "I must have forgotten," the elder of the two musketeers said even as he frowned.

Gil decided to fill the silence. "Shall I escort you back to the lab?" he asked the girl with a slight bow.

I guess d'Artagnan hasn't told him that I'm crazy yet… "I'll go by myself, thanks," she replied shortly. She was tired of his little charms; he had been fun at first, but now it was frustrating to listen to the jokes he kept cracking, to pretend not to notice the small ways he managed to brush her arm or hand or back, and to see the way he made d'Artagnan forget all about Jacques. And why should I care what Jacques feels?

"We'll both walk with you," d'Artagnan announced. "I've got to speak to Duval."

"Suit yourselves," Lauren told them, leading the way back inside. D'Artagnan split off to the right through Duval's open office door. As expected, Gil trailed Lauren back into Siroc's lab, going so far as to guide her through the doorway with a hand on the small of her back. The inventor looked up as they walked in.

"Now where have you been?" he asked, eyes looking at Gil suspiciously, tracing the younger man's arm to where his hand rested.

Lauren scowled with annoyance. Of all times to notice me, you choose when the boy is being forward. She shrugged off Gil's touch, stepping forward to address Siroc. "Are you kidding? I was sitting at the table five minutes ago! I ducked outside just to see Bud. Don't you remember?"

Siroc looked confused for a moment, thinking back. He seemed to believe her and went on to say, "I am sorry to be so inquisitive, but the Captain charged me with your safety and well-being. Just tell me before you leave again." One last glance at Gil pushed him to add, "And who you're leaving with."

Lauren resisted the urge to thrash Gil. If he has Siroc thinking that there is something between us, then I've got to end this once and for all.

Building up the nerve to berate him, Lauren spun to address Gil and bumped into Ramon carrying a cup of hot coffee. The scalding brown liquid spread down her shirt. Lauren rushed to pull the hot shirt away from her now burning skin. "Pardon me, senorita!" Ramon exclaimed. "I didn't think you would turn so quickly!" He scanned the room and found some towels, strangely folded and stacked neatly unlike everything else in the room.

"Really, it's okay," Lauren struggled to say, but he would not listen to her protests.

"Here," he said after fetching the towels and thrusting them in her arms. He turned to snap at Gil. "Go fetch a bucket of water for her to wash up with." Because of Musketeer seniority, Gil obeyed.

"Go on to your room; I'll clean this up and bring the water when he gets back," Ramon told her. Lauren could have kissed the Spaniard.

As she stepped into her room, she thought, One day I'll have to repay him…