Chapter 8

Milady pov

That girl lost her mind.

She understood, of course, losing a child must have been hard. But Sylvie had utterly gone mad. Even provoked, she had no right to pull her hair, as though they were young children fighting over a toy. She had been wrong to say those things, knowing full well that Sylvie loved Athos, but it had been so easy. Such a triumphant feeling from knowing she could incite violence with nothing but words. She could have gone on and made the poor girl cry, but D'Artagnan interfered, and she found herself escorted out of the Garrison in a manner befitting a criminal.

It was truly pathetic that Athos' so called friend slet Sylvie sit there when she was the one who rendered him unconscious. But it was not her business.

Angering Sylvie had been fun, but she would not go back there again, for she would not allow herself to sit by her husband's bedside like a fool. And as possessive as she liked to act to piss off his friends, he was not hers. And she would never again be his. She would not betray herself in such a way. She would not fool herself into believing Athos would ever leave Sylvie, even now that their daughter was dead.

Her line of thought was interrupted by a bump on the road that made the whole carriage shake.

Now, a week later, at the Queen's command, she was headed to Rouen to attend some minor party, and watch over Comte de Breuillet, who was apparently in correspondence with the Spanish. Her task was simple: rummage through his office, find something, get out. Preferably without shedding blood and breaking bones.

Though the thought of spilling some blood didn't seem too unwelcome, after having to deal with Athos being unconscious, and clearly comforted by her touch. Killing was much easier than dealing with her emotions, especially those she had for her husband, the ones that were supposed to disappear when he hanged her all these years ago.

Another bump. And another. And then the carriage stopped.

With a frown on her face she was about to ask the driver what occurred, but the familiar sound of a gunshot answered her question. Quickly reaching for her own pistol and dagger she prepared herself for whoever it was that dared attack her.

The door opened and a masked man tried to reach for her to pull her out. She shot him before he could even wrap his slimy fingers around her arm. She collected her skirts in one hand and held the dagger in the other, expecting other attackers to come soon. She didn't have to wait long before another man tried to pull her out of the carriage. He was rewarded with a dagger to his eye, and a kick to his gut.

That is where her luck ended, because the next thing she knew, two loaded pistols were aimed at her head. She had no choice but to drop her blade as the two men grabbed her and dragged her out. She cursed them both as they dropped her onto the dirt where the carriage driver was sitting, tied up.

"Well if it isn't a pleasure to see you once again, Milady."

She looked up at the man who stood over her.

She recognized him of course. One of Richelieu's men: a skilled assassin. A man who failed his job and therefore did not receive his payment. But it seemed that he did not see it that way, for otherwise they would not be here.

"Bernard…"

She narrowed her eyes and curled her lip slightly, knowing that her lack of response would fuel his anger. And just as expected she received a swift kick to her side. Rolling onto her back as all the wind left her lungs she glared up at the man.

Two more men stood behind him, smirking at her, enjoying her pain, most likely thinking of other ways they could hurt her. Three men in total. If she got her hands on her knife in her boot she could kill them. Her planning was interrupted by the bastard.

"If I recall, you were supposed to pay me 200 livres."

She rolled her eyes.

"And you received nothing because you failed."

Bernard tilted his head and then kicked her again.

"And who's fault was that? It was your information that we relied upon. And instead of four Musketeers, my men came upon ten."

She placed her elbows under her back and looked up at Bernard, raising an eyebrow.

"And there were 12 of you. More than enough to beat those imbeciles."

Bernard also raised his eyebrow, mirroring her expression.

"Perhaps. But my men were unprepared because of your words. And now, knowing your connection to the Musketeers, I'm starting to see why the information you provided us with was false."

She sat up.

"My connection with the Musketeers?"

He smirked.

"Yes. You thought no one would see your many visits to the Garrison? Considering that the last visit was less than a week ago."

She dropped her head. Of course…

Damn Athos. And all his friends. Those morons were the cause of all her problems in the last 5 years. And Athos… It was her fault she fell in love with him, her fault that she then forgave him, and her fault that she trusted him when she knew he would betray her at the first available moment. Which is exactly what he did when she returned from England.

And now this other group of morons believed she affiliated with them in some way. Which was better than if they knew the truth, she supposed.

They didn't wait for her response before they pulled up to her feet. Bernard locked one arm around her neck and held a pistol against her head with the other. She didn't bother squirming or resisting as he pushed her towards where his horse was.

"What are you going to do now Bernard? Kill me? For those 200 livres?"

He stopped and wrapped his arm tighter around her throat.

"For those 200 livres I could have bought a lot."

He lowered his mouth to her neck.

"A lot of whores, for example."

She tilted her head in the opposite direction and scoffed in disgust. But he pulled her closer to himself.

"And now, I don't have the money, and neither do I have the whores."

He pushed her forward forcing her to keep walking.

"So you want money? I can give you your 200 livres."

Bernard shook his head and chuckled.

"No. Too late Milady."

He then turned around, making her face the other two men that were holding the driver. And before she could realize what was happening, Bernard turned the pistol away from her head and shot the driver.

The smell of gunpowder filled her nose as her ears rang from the loud shot. She kept her mouth closed as she watched the driver collapse into the ground, dead. Bernard must have thought this would unsettle her. Instead it gave her the needed distraction.

His loosened grip allowed her to drop to the ground and remove a dagger from her boot, which immediately found its place in Bernard's knee. He screamed in pain as she pulled the blade out and as he was forced to kneel, she slashed his throat.

Face covered in blood, she turned around to face the remaining two men, just in time to avoid a bullet. She ran towards the man who wasted his shot, and kneed him between his legs. Which unfortunately gave the second man time to pull out his gun.

This time the bullet hit her arm.

She didn't feel the pain as much as she should have. She was too enraged, too focused on killing Bernard's men. But she was sure that once the fight was over she would either collapse from blood loss or the excruciating pain.

She gripped her dagger tighter as she drove it through the man's heart before turning around to finish off the first one. He put up a good fight, landing a few good hits, one on her face, one right near the bullet wound. But she was faster than him. And he soon found himself with a sliced throat, choking on his own blood, before eventually his eyes rolled back and he stopped moving.

Letting out a loud scream she looked around.

Her dress was a bloody mess, same as her hair. Her hands were red, and she could only imagine what her face looked like.

Dropping onto her knees she closed the wound with her other hand, and hoped that no one would see her here. For if they did she would definitely get hanged. And she was so tired of getting hanged.

Ripping the bottom of her skirt, she used the fabric as a bandage, hoping that she would find a medic or some healer before the wound got infected. Thinking of infected wounds, she remembered Athos. It had been nice to forget Athos for a few moments, even if those few moments had almost cost her her life.

Standing up, she walked to where the horses were tied and started untying Bernard's horse. All the while glaring at no one in particular, she missed the sound of approaching horses. Soon she was surrounded by a group of riders. They were all dressed the same, meaning they were guards, except one.

She didn't recognize him, but he seemed to recognize her.

"Milady de Winter."

She clenched her jaw as she realized that for the second time in the same day she encountered trouble.

"And who are you?"

The man bowed his head.

"Pierre de Jouy. You are currently on my lands."

She narrowed her eyes and then shrugged.

"And?"

Pierre looked behind her to where 6 dead men lay and then back at her.

She huffed quietly and raised an eyebrow.

"No one would ever believe one helpless woman killed them all."

The man scoffed.

"I know. But you are no helpless woman. Otherwise our Queen wouldn't have employed you."

She froze as she stared at him in confusion.

Why would the Queen tell some minor noble who she was? She wouldn't. Which left her with the question: how did Pierre de Jouy know?

"I have no idea what you speak of."

Pierre chuckled in response.

"Of course you don't. But I make it my business to know what the Queen does, where she goes, and who she employs."

She tilted her head and crossed her arms to ease the pain.

"And how do you come by all that information?"

He smiled deviously.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore."

She let out a heavy breath and stepped forward.

"And what makes you think that I won't tell the Queen about you. And your… knowledge?"

He motioned for his men to turn around as he himself turned his horse around. But he kept his eyes locked with hers.

"Because if you do tell tell, then I will have you hanged for murder of these men."

With one last smile he rode away, leaving her alone once again.

Seething in anger she quickly got onto the horse that she had untied earlier and wasted no time in riding away.

Whoever this Pierre de Jouy was, knew things he should not know. From what she knew, he had not worked for Richelieu or Rochefort, which would make it harder to dig up anything about him. But his name was familiar. She had seen it on the list of guests for the party she was meant to attend in four days.

This meant that the Queen had been right to send her there. His speedy arrival to the scene was suspicious, and his words were even stranger. And this party was starting to seem more than just that.

Now she just needed to get back to Paris, because going to Rouen was no longer an option. As much as she dreaded returning to Paris, she needed a medic, a bath, and rest. She would put Athos out of her mind, and focus on the mission, because whoever this Pierre was, he was a complication. And her simple job suddenly became unpredictable.

With gritted teeth she rode back to Paris, thinking her return would be swift and quiet, not knowing that Athos was already awake, and searching for her.