Fools

Lauren woke up late, the sun streaming through her dusty window and hitting her right in the face. She rolled over to escape the blinding light, bringing a hand up to her head which felt stuffed with cotton. A few disjointed memories of music, wine, and laughter came flashing through her mind, along with a nighttime stroll back to the garrison where Lauren had dragged Gil into every shadow to steal a kiss. "Wine can make a fool of anyone…" she muttered to herself. Something itched at the back of her mind, something she should know. Kissing… fools… Gil… Then it came to her, and she sat up straight in her bed. "The duel!" she cried aloud to no one. She leapt out of bed to her window, not sure what she was hoping to see.

The courtyard below held a number of familiar figures; Ramon, Siroc, and d'Artagnan stood along one side watching Gil step forward to meet the handsome recruit who had a man behind him as well. The two drew their rapiers and saluted each other. Lauren's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream for them to stop this foolishness—there was no need for fighting. Let alone fighting over me, for godsakes! But she was frozen in place, her eyes transfixed on the clashing blades she could not hear.

After only a few hits, the girl saw the recruit go in for the kill; Gil was no match for the bigger, stronger, and older man. She saw her friend fall sideways and took off running through the garrison with only one thought in her mind, Go to him! The next moment she was shoving her way between d'Artagnan and Ramon, skidding to a halt at the fallen boy's side. She fell to her knees, and now she could see the blood staining his side. Her only reaction was a whispered "Oh my God!" What have I done?

Then the unthinkable happened—Gil opened his eyes. "Lauren?" he asked a little bewildered. "You shouldn't be here."

Blinking back emotion, she stared at him. "Gil, I thought you were…" The girl could not bring herself to say it aloud.

The young musketeer looked up at her with a small smile that turned into a wince. "The duel was first blood drawn," he patiently explained. His face fell, however, when he added, "I'm sorry I failed you."

Lauren almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement. "Forget my stupid reputation—you're bleeding!" she exclaimed, amazed that he was so concerned over her when he was the one with a gash in his side.

Siroc laid a hand on her shoulder, and Lauren looked up at him. The inventor told her, "I need to get him to my lab to patch him up now." She nodded her acknowledgement and let them carry Gil out. With them gone, she retreated to the barn to compose herself and pay a long overdue visit to Bud. After all, her head still hurt and she did not want to face anyone right then if she could help it. Bud was lying down in his stall with his nose resting in the straw, enjoying a midmorning nap. Lauren smiled at her little gelding and yawned. A nap did not seem like such a bad idea…

Something was beeping. Yes, Lauren was sure that she heard a good, old-fashioned heart monitor beep. Her eyes fluttered open, but everything was just a blur. She could see the white ceiling tiles floating over her head and catch a glimpse of looming medical equipment out of the corner of her eye.

So I am in a hospital… she mused. Strangely, she could not feel anything, like her body had been disconnected from her head. It must be the drugs, she thought. Right then a wave of weariness washed over her mind, and she fell back asleep.

Lauren woke with a start, feeling itchy all over with straw. That means that I'm still in France, she thought with a sigh. She stood and stretched out the kinks that come with sleeping on a barn floor and glanced around. The stable was dark, illuminated by a single flame contained by a brazier suspended high in the air, hung from the ceiling. Bud stepped over to sniff her hand and lick her scarred palm. "We're not home yet, pony," she told him. Wiping the horse slime off on her breeches, she went in search of Gil.

Her feet took her directly to the workshop where the inventor himself was straddling a bench and flipping through the pages of his notebook. For once, he noticed her the moment she walked in. "And just where have you been?" he inquired.

"Sleeping off a headache in the barn, of course," she replied sweetly. Glancing around, she noticed the absence of someone. "Is he—?" she began hesitantly; Gil had lost a lot of blood…

Siroc smiled kindly at her. "Gil is recovering at his family's townhouse in Paris. The Captain figured that his sister would know how to punish her son for dueling much better than he could."

"Oh." The girl winced. It was, after all, her fault that he dueled in the first place. "Can I go see him?" she asked tentatively.

"His family is noble," the man told her, meeting her with an even gaze. "They would turn you away dressed like a man."

"Oh," Lauren said again. She swallowed hard and spoke in a very quiet voice, "Do you know where I could get a dress?"

Siroc looked over the rim of his spectacles, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You'll have it tomorrow."

Visit

Why did I do this? she asked herself for the millionth time that morning. I could have just waited until he came back to the garrison, but no!—not me! I have to go and be a sappy lovesick little girl and go visit him on his sickbed! Lauren twitched her skirts nervously at her side and glanced sideways at her escort, the inventor, as they strolled the streets of Paris arm in arm. Siroc had found her a dress by morning, alright—a tight, frilly, low-cut excuse for a dress. A shimmering aquamarine, it matched the exact color of her eyes, a fact that had made her eyebrows shoot up suspiciously when the man had presented it to her. The sleeves were hilariously large and puffy at the shoulders, and the front exposed much more than Lauren was used to. Sure, Siroc had managed to look innocent, but she suspected that he had been planning on introducing this ridiculous female clothing to her for awhile now.

Then it had taken Jacqueline about half an hour to get Lauren in the cursed clothing, having to patiently explain just why there were so many layers of undergarments and how a corset really helped anything. The actual dress slid easily on over it all, strangely the perfect size. Well, except for the fact that the corset severely limited her lung capacity. After that mess, Lauren blatantly refused to let the woman touch her hair and left it naturally long and straight to just below her shoulders.

The blasted female musketeer then decided to present the poor tortured girl to Siroc and d'Artagnan. Immediately, the latter musketeer nobly offered to take her to Gil's house, but Jacqueline shoved him back into his seat muttering, "She'll really have a reputation to worry about if she's seen walking with you." In the end, of course, Siroc got the job.

"You okay?" asked the tall blonde man striding down the boulevard beside her. He looked down at Lauren with a hint of concern—she attributed it to the fact that this parade was probably as awkward for him as it was for her.

"I'm lovely, thanks for asking," she replied breathlessly, though not because she was excited, but because she literally had no breath to spare between the corset and the brisk pace. He led her to the door of a grey stone building, simply built but still elegant looking. Rusticated stone on the lower story gave way to smoother brick up higher, crowned with a heavy ornate cornice on the roof. Siroc rang at the door, and the pair waited for an answer. Lauren fidgeted anxiously. This was a bad idea…

A maid came to the door, an older lady with wisps of white hair escaping from her bonnet. Shooting a suspicious look directly at Lauren, she smoothed the front of her apron as she asked, "Who is calling?"

Luckily Siroc replied, "Mademoiselle Lauren du Cantre here to see Gilbert de Chantal, Madame." He gave a small bow of respect to the older woman.

The maid peered at Lauren with squinted eyes, as if trying to study the girl's face for her intentions. Finally she said, "Very well then, follow me." She stepped back and pulled the door open wider.

Lauren looked uncertainly at the musketeer. He nodded and murmured, "I'll wait out here for you." With that, the girl stepped alone onto the polished marble floor of the atrium. Closing the door, the old woman strode off down the blue painted corridor, Lauren only a step behind. They halted at a pair of double doors, and the maid instructed her to wait a moment. She slipped inside and shut the door behind her. Lauren wiped sweaty palms on the front of her bodice, trying to compose herself for whatever would come next.

Only about two minutes passed before the door reopened and the maid ushered the girl into the parlor and closed the door with a small click. Gil rose stiffly from the couch he had been reclining on, setting a leather-bound book on the table beside him. Hmm… brains and brawn—I've caught a good one, she mused silently. Lauren could not stand the silence as they gazed at each other from across the room. "Am I supposed to curtsey or something?" she asked.

Gil let out a short laugh. "Sorry. No, you don't have to do anything… My God, Lauren, you're a vision," he told her with a warm smile.

"More like a mirage," she countered dryly. "And hey—for being stuck like a pig yesterday, you look pretty hot yourself." And he was rather well dressed in a dashing seventeenth-century outfit—the dark green suited his eyes quite well, although Lauren could have done without the funny looking buckle shoes.

Gil frowned. "I look hot?"

Lauren's face split into a wide grin. "Never mind," she replied, stifling laughter. She finally decided to glide over to join him by the couch. She sat as gracefully as she could, trying to mimic a court lady and swishing her skirts with every chance she got.

"You're lucky my mother is out right now," Gil told her as he slowly sank down onto the settee beside her, "or we would have a chaperone." He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. Lauren returned it and met his smile with her own, not wanting to spoil the moment with useless words.

But Gil went all serious on her. Leaning back with a hand to his healing side, he met her eyes straightforwardly. "What changed your mind about the dress? D'Artagnan did warn me about you, you know. You did say some strange things that I wondered about…"

Swallowing hard, Lauren looked at the hands in her lap. "He told you everything?" A glance upward at the boy's face gave her an affirmative. He knows I'm crazy and still puts up with me? Either he's taking advantage or he really likes me. Heavy thoughts weighed on her mind, so Lauren gave him a light-hearted answer. "Well, I recently realized that I won't be stuck here forever, so I might as well make good use of my time." She leaned over him to pick up the book he had set on the side table, pausing a second to give him a quick kiss before setting herself upright again. "Now let's see what you've been up to on your leave." Lauren opened the cover and flipped to the title page and read aloud, "The life of Benvenuto Cellini, the son of Giovanni Cellini, written by Himself in Florence." A small gasp of wonder escaped her lips. "You have got to be joking."

"What is the jest?" Gil asked. "I am interested in the life of the artist and the world he lived in," he said a little defensively, reaching for the book. "Just because I'm a soldier doesn't mean I can't be cultured."

Lauren hugged the volume to her chest. "No, I was just surprised. I just read this book before I—um, fell into France." She met his quizzical eyes. "I've made a study of art history for my own amusement, and I took a Grand Tour of Europe last summer with a week's stay in Florence. On the Ponte Vecchio, there was a bronze bust of Cellini and this Swiss man explained his story to me and recommended I read his autobiography. It's an amazing story…" The girl trailed off as Gil leaned down to kiss her. "What was that for?" she whispered only inches from his lips.

"For being the most surprising woman I've ever met," he told her.