When Darkness Falls

by Trevlik65

Now a Musketeer, Athos should be content. He has friends, support of a man he respects and a purpose, but it appears it is not enough. Struggling with his guilt from perceived past crimes and misdemeanours, haunted by feelings for the woman he loves and hates in equal measure - Athos considers putting his ghosts to rest, when once again, his past steps in to stop him.

26. Chapter 26

Chapter 25

Without any warning Athos pulled his horse up to a stop, his sudden decision halting the progress of the riders behind him. His face was half in shadow, but intense concentration was clear to see as he scanned the fading roadway and the darkened tree-lined fields spread to one side. Appearing satisfied, he then turned his attention to the woodland on the other. Athos was unsettled. It was not just the sensation of being followed, but the entire situation which unbalanced his equilibrium.

There had been times when he had neither wanted nor needed to feel any sense of control, not caring where tomorrow would lead. Now, being a Musketeer had given him a fixed point on which to focus his life – but was it enough? He was not able to say. However, he felt as though his every movement for some time now had been manipulated by an unseen hand, a faceless being who knew far more than Athos was comfortable with, their ultimate intention known only to themselves, and Athos did not like to be someone else's puppet.

The young cadet glanced anxiously at the distracted Musketeer. 'What is wrong?' he whispered, something in the swordsman's expression urging him to keep his voice down.

'Someone is followin' us,' Porthos explained without showing much concern.

'How do you know?' the cadet asked, his eyes darting over the ground Athos had previously studied, nerves jangling with every shifting shadow. Du Bois jumped out of his skin as an owl hooted somewhere in the distance – how had he ever allowed himself to be talked into this situation? He had been a spy in the Musketeer camp, a means to find out as much about Athos as he could, but he had no stomach for fighting. How had his father allowed this to happen?

Porthos continued to explain his reasoning. 'You get used to the rhythm of your own 'orse, and those you travel with.'

'There are at least two, maybe three more behind us, though I believe they may have dropped back a short while ago – or they may have decided to leave the road and make use of the tree cover,' Aramis explained.

Du Bois turned toward the woods, now mere silhouettes in the darkness. 'Do you mean they may have caught us up?' His eyes were wild, and even in the poor light Aramis could see how he had paled. So much for wanting action; the Musketeer feared the inexperienced cadet may prove to be more hindrance than help during any forthcoming engagement.

It was Athos who answered. 'I do not think so, it would be much slower amongst the trees and our horses would have sensed theirs. The caves should be just around the next bend; we will reach them before anyone following us becomes aware we have left the main thoroughfare.'

'Déjà vu!' Porthos muttered.

Aramis raised a brow and nodded his head.

'What do you mean?' Du Bois licked his lips nervously. 'Is this not a good idea?'

Porthos smiled. 'Nothing wrong with the idea, it's just last time we slept in a cave, we woke up to find someone had taken matters into his own hands.' He quirked a brow at Aramis, who in turn rolled his eyes.

'Mon dieu, I remember it well.'

'What happened?' Du Bois asked, eager for a distraction, anything to take his mind off the night-time cries emanating from the ever-growing shadows. The thought that one of those ominous outlines might be a maniac with a gun was almost too much to consider. Not that the prospect of spending the night sleeping in a cave was particularly soothing either.

'Mm, how to keep it simple?' Aramis considered.

'I'll keep it simple. 'E tricked us, got 'imself beaten up, then we 'ad to get 'im back from a mad man and his thugs – who 'ad 'im locked up in a barn.' Porthos gave a nod of satisfaction at his rendering of events.

Aramis pouted but gave the synopsis his approval. 'However, you missed out the fire and the fact I was stabbed.'

Porthos shrugged. ''E got the general point.'

Du Bois looked from one to the other as if he were in the company of crazed lunatics. He swallowed hard. 'I should never have come,' he murmured and rode after Athos. The Musketeer may be surly, but he was bloody good with a sword and Du Bois decided he would stick to the swordsman like glue. As to the other two, he wasn't altogether sure they weren't just a little mad. One too many knocks to the head he wouldn't wonder.

Athos indicated a narrow path that meandered its way up a steep slope. It terminated at an embankment high above, the precipice of which leaned out, offering a natural shelter to the ledge toward which they were headed. The four horses plodded slowly along the narrow track, the Musketeers allowing their experienced mounts to decide which was the best ground to tread upon. As a cadet, Du Bois rode a garrison horse, a seasoned and dependable creature, used to pretty much anything a Musketeer might expect to encounter. As the pathway flattened out, a large wall of sandstone rose out of the undergrowth, the structure surpassing the height of the trees and forming a canopy over the ledge. Athos' description of a cave was not exactly accurate.

'This is a pretty fancy cave,' Porthos observed, tethering his horse at a safe distance from the drop to the road below.

'It looks more like some form of stone house cut into the rock. Sandstone is soft and easily hewn,' Aramis explained as he stepped inside.

One room led to two smaller ones. Alongside each wall, stone benches were cut from the same rock to form either bedding or seating, and in the outside walls, long holes, like arrow slits, had been added to allow in light during the day.

The two Musketeers eyed Athos as though waiting for more information, but as usual, he merely shrugged and said nothing. They soon fell into the habits they had adopted on many such missions: Athos laid out the bedding and disappeared outside to gather wood; Porthos collected their rations and started to assemble a meal, whilst Aramis slipped silently through the trees to see what he could shoot.

Du Bois was glad of the warmth from the fire, watching as Athos set his flint to the dry wood, sending flames leaping into the air. The smell of wood smoke and the gentle spit and crackle from the flames was somehow soothing, reminiscent of home. Upon further examination of their quarters, it had become apparent many other passing travellers used this old rock house to accommodate their overnight stay, for they had discovered a pile of dry wood and an old lamp at the back of the furthest room.

A sharp crack echoed from outside and Porthos rubbed his large hands together. 'Dinner's on its way.'

'Shouldn't we be keeping quiet, staying out of sight in case they find us?' Du Bois asked, peering out into the darkness.

Porthos paused, lifting his head to see if Athos was disposed to answer, but the swordsman showed no such inclination. 'Nah, there's only one path up and it's narrow, now it's fully dark, they would be really stupid to come after us up here. More likely they stopped and set up their own camp a while back.'

Du Bois' shoulders slumped a little as he visibly relaxed.

After they had eaten, Athos moved toward the outside ledge. The sky still showed the outline of dark scudding clouds, with no sign of stars or moon. So far the rain had held off, but the wind was getting stronger. 'Who do you think it was behind us?' Aramis asked, taking a seat on the ledge next to his friend.

Athos shook his head. 'I have no idea; it may have nothing to do with us at all.'

'Why do I think you do not believe that?' Aramis sighed.

'I think we are being led by the nose and have been ever since the death of the Beloirs. I just do not know who is responsible,' Athos declared, his tone ice-cold and aloof, hinting at his anger and frustration.

'Could it be the Cardinal, or Rochefort?'

Athos pondered the possibility but rebuffed the idea. 'I do not see why. What have either of them to gain?'

'But why would somebody want you back in Pinot?' Aramis persisted.

'What makes you ask that? Pinot is simply nearby.' Athos's tone was guarded, and Aramis knew from experience to tread carefully.

'But what if it is not coincidence? What if they knew you would note the proximity and respond exactly as you did?'

Athos scowled. 'Then someone would have to have known about my link to Pinot.' He studied Aramis then let his gaze drift over the Marksman's shoulder, staring off into the darkness.

'What happened at the garrison Athos? I know what you are going to say, but I know your moods, and this one is different. Somebody created a distraction by setting the fire, and the only person I know who appears to have been distracted – was you.'

Aramis expected the swordsman to snarl and deny the claim, but instead he remained silent, his face grave and miserable.

Aramis knew when to stop pushing; like Porthos, he, too, carried a portion of guilt from the night Athos had cut his hand. However, now was not the time to get to the bottom of the mystery, though he was confident someone had needed to get to Athos for reasons that were not yet clear. Whether they had succeeded, he was not sure.

Instead he bought up the subject of Du Bois.

'What do you really think provoked our friend Du Bois to become our travel companion?'

Athos rewarded the marksman with the slightest smirk and Aramis was glad he had changed the subject.

'That is indeed a good question. I had Troussou in my line of sight that night, and even amid the chaos it did not appear he had tripped. If I had been asked, I would have said he was pushed.' He quirked a brow at his friend before turning his attention to the darkness once more.

Aramis considered the implications of the swordsman's comment. If Athos was right, it certainly did not bode well for their ongoing journey,

'You think Du Bois pushed Troussou beneath Roger's hooves just so he could volunteer to accompany us? But why would he do such a thing?'

Athos shrugged. He was tired, and his head was filled with questions. Why Pinot, why now? He was fighting the old battle once again – the urge to tell Aramis everything and the need to say nothing. The swordsman was aware of Porthos' growing curiosity about what happened that night at the garrison, and it would not be long before he, too, voiced his doubts.

Yet again he considered what he had been told. On one hand Anne had warned him he was walking into a trap; which would make Aramis' observation about Pinot being just a coincidence correct. But it was the information of a young Musketeer seen with Giroux and Suzanne d'Anjou that bothered him the most. That was a very strange collection of bed fellows.

Aramis in turn watched the struggle play out on his friend's face. Though Athos was an expert at masking his emotions, Aramis had become rather adept at reading his behaviour. The clenching of his fists, the small muscle that twitched at the corner of his eye – all signs he was fighting some inner turmoil. Athos had still not answered the question and the silence stretched on. Aramis waited patiently, he had no idea whether Athos would, offer up further evidence to support his supposition, or simply shrug his shoulders. After all they had been through, he was forced to admit, the man was still an enigma.

Eventually Athos spoke, startling Porthos and Aramis out of their contemplations. 'I do not know, but I do have concerns over his ability to cope in a fight.'

Aramis sighed. 'I am afraid I agree. He is far too jumpy, and I am not very happy with him carrying a gun at all. He is inclined to shoot one of us, and we know he doesn't like you anyway.' Athos rolled his eyes as his friend's comment.

'And you think he likes you more?' he drawled.

'Oh no, I am quite convinced he thinks Porthos and I are completely insane.'

Athos gave that twitch of a smile. 'Really? I cannot imagine why – your conversations are so enriching.' Aramis gave a throaty laugh and stood up. 'Out of all of us last night, I believe I may have had the most rest, so I will take the first watch, Porthos next and you last.' He held his breath, waiting for Athos to argue, but he simply nodded and rose also.

He collected his bedding and took it into the furthest room; Aramis was not surprised, and neither was Porthos. It was not often they took a mission with other Musketeers, and when they did, Athos always took his bedding as far away as he possibly could – or worse simply did not sleep at all.

Aramis was well aware his nights were often disturbed, and the simple fact that he could not control what he said or revealed when he was amidst such torment made close proximity to his fellow Musketeers untenable. As Athos found the furthest point away from his brothers, he finally allowed his tired shoulders to sag. Would there ever be a time when he would be allowed to experience a comfortable sleep as others did? The stupidity of such a question almost made him laugh. That was the reasoning of a naive child – of course he would not, and why should he? If there was a God, then perhaps he had ordained that sinners find their hell on earth, instead of waiting for death to reap the judgement of their sins. He certainly had.

As Aramis and Porthos watched Athos leave, they spoke to each other using their usual silent communication, both men always saddened to see their brother attempt to protect his privacy. Du Bois, however, took it as a slight. 'Why is he sleeping away from us?'

'Habit,' was Porthos' only reply.

'Is he afraid?' Du Bois persisted.

Both Musketeers turned to the young cadet with astonished expressions. 'Afraid?' Porthos snorted.

Aramis simply gave a sad smile. 'Sometimes I wish he were; it would save us a lot of worry. No, he is not afraid, he simply finds sleep hard to come by and so prefers to spare us the disturbance.'

Du Bois turned toward the empty doorway and frowned, but said no more.

'I will take first watch, then you Porthos, then Athos – you are welcome to join either one of us,' he offered Du Bois. The young man simply muttered and gave the briefest nod of acknowledgment.

Athos lay on his bedroll and stared at the rocky ceiling, or where he guessed the rocky roof was, as it was almost impossible to make out in the darkness. His eyes ached with tiredness and the arm he had recently injured ached even more. He could make a thousand excuses, but the reality was he was tired – bone-wearily tired. Sleep had not been his friend for so long, he had forgotten what it was like to slip between the sheets and drift off into peaceful slumber. But after last night, he dared not allow himself to become victim to the voices and urges that manifested when he allowed his emotions to run riot.

Even now, awake, his thoughts drifted back to the moment he realised his wife had returned. In France once again. So close, so dangerous.

It was not the physical danger that he feared, it was the threat to his equilibrium, the notion that his emotions could, and probably would, yet again impinge on his rational decisions. That the very possibility of her appearance could undo him and override his hard-won and far too tenuous stability as a Musketeer – that was what terrified him.

As he lay vulnerable in the darkness, Athos was afraid that if he closed his eyes he would smell that all too familiar honeysuckle – the heady fragrance that had pervaded his bedroom on those long summer nights, that last fateful summer. Now, when he looked back, it hardly seemed possible, that all the time he and Anne had really ever had together, had been one long consuming summer – before winter took possession forever. He had hardly noticed the seasons since; they simply came and went, along with each passing day.

As the night progressed, he heard Porthos and Aramis change places, and wondered just how much longer he could fight the urge to close his eyes.

He could feel her breath on his neck, hear the seductive quality of her voice and the soft sensation of her fingers caressing his skin. 'Anne!' Her name on his lips jolted him awake. He breathed deeply and attempted to slow his heart. It hammered against his ribs as if he had just fought off ten men. Furious with himself for falling asleep, he threw off the blanket and pulled on his jacket and weapons. His face as hard and unreadable as the stone around him, Athos stalked through the rooms to join Porthos on the ledge.

The fighter glanced up at the sound of approaching feet. If he was surprised, it was only because he had been expecting the swordsman for the last hour or more. 'You're late!'

Athos raised a brow. 'I am early.'

Porthos snorted. 'Early for watch, late for givin' up on sleep. You owe me three sous,' the big man declared with a wink.

Athos said nothing. He knew his friends would occasionally bet on his behaviour, so adamant were they that he was predictable, but he could never decide whether to be grateful or offended. As always, he sat away from the flames. In doing so, he often denied himself much needed heat from the fire, but he had his reasons.

At first the others had thought it was simply his way of avoiding them, until one night on a simple mission, his reasons had become disturbingly clear.

The night had been dark, and no moonlight helped illuminate the surrounding countryside. They were not expecting any trouble, but here, far from any major town, anything could happen. Athos, as usual, had sat well away from the warmth of the fire and the two Musketeers.

'Why does 'e do that?' Porthos grumbled.

The marksman had sighed and considered their new brother. The object of their discussion was stretched out beneath a tree, appearing to stare at nothing.

'I think he just needs his own space.'

'Why, what's wrong with ours?' the big man complained.

Aramis smiled a sad smile. 'Well you take up much of it, and I suppose he considers I ask too many questions.'

Porthos pondered the statement for a moment before grinning. 'Then perhaps you should ask 'im why 'e sits alone.'

Aramis looked aghast at the suggestion, knowing such an invasive question would only make Athos uncomfortable. On a certain level, Aramis understood why Athos needed his own space. In a garrison full of noise and loud men, moments alone like this were rare. Aramis could only liken it to the serenity he found in escaping to a silent church, to contemplate whatever he desired. However, though he went there to commune with God, with whom Athos communed he had no idea.

Porthos, on the other hand, loved the camaraderie of others and was rarely found enjoying his own company. To him, Athos' search for solitude was an outlandish concept.

'That, my friend, would not be a good idea,' Aramis replied.

Porthos shrugged. 'Hmph, well I suppose we won't miss his stimulatin' conversation.' He issued a loud guffaw, then settled back to watch the mesmerizing display made by the warming flames.

It had been Athos who had given the warning, allowing them the opportunity to cock their weapons and be on their feet when the first shots rang out in the silent glen.

The lead had grazed Porthos' forehead, but the large man swatted at it as if it were no more than an annoying fly.

Instantaneously, they all three discharged their weapons, though surprisingly only Athos' target went down. Aramis' shot caught his mark in the shoulder, with Porthos' missing completely. After that it was all over quickly; their next shots hit home and in a matter of a few minutes the only sound to be heard was the dying echo of musket shots echoing in the trees.

Athos appeared slightly disappointed, gazing down at his sword as if offering his weapon an apology for denying it any sport.

Aramis stowed his pistols and turned his attention to a bleeding Porthos, whilst Athos check out the corpses. Only three of the five raiders lay on the grass, their life-blood leaking into the cold ground, the rest having had the sense to accept their losses and run. By their clothing, Athos surmised they had been passing thieves simply chancing their luck. In the dark, they would have had no idea they were attacking a group of Musketeers.

When Athos returned to see if his brothers were unharmed, Porthos gave him a nod of thanks. 'Good job you noticed 'em.' He touched his grazed forehead, indicating it could have been much worse had he not been warned.

Athos gave the briefest acknowledgement of Porthos' thanks, before his lips twitched ever so slightly. 'That is why I do not sit too near the fire. The light can affect your vision just long enough to get you killed.' With a quirk of his brow and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, he walked away from the startled men to deal with the corpses.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged sheepish expressions. Then the big man began to chuckle. 'Nothin' wrong with 'is bloody 'earin'!'

Porthos eyed Athos as he took his seat a slight distance away. He had been fighting his conscience all night. He had, in truth, been expecting Athos earlier, though it was still a couple of hours until he had expected to be relieved. It was always that way, Athos always arrived too soon.

Earlier, Aramis had pointed out what Porthos had managed to push to the back of his mind, though deep down he had known something was off. If someone were attempting to create a distraction at the garrison with the fire, they had done an excellent job, but only one person had not been present at the beginning of the debacle, and that was Athos. Porthos had considered the possibility he had simply missed his friend in the chaos, but that didn't make sense. Roger had been frantic, Athos would not have allowed his horse to fret so, let alone risk him hurting himself, or anyone else. Both Porthos and Aramis valued the horse almost as much as Athos; they were aware he talked to the animal more than he talked to them – conversations they suspected he would never have allowed himself to have with another human. As far as they were concerned, the stallion provided Athos, and themselves, with an invaluable service.

So here he was, the subject of his furious contemplation sitting just a stone's throw away. Porthos stared at the morose Musketeer and felt the frustration and worry eating at his gut, yet he struggled to find the words to say what was needed. In the end he simply asked the question.

'Where were you?'

Athos did not turn, continuing to stare into the darkness as if he could see something his friend could not. He considered pretending to be confused by the question, but like Porthos he had been prepared for the inevitability of this moment. Porthos had been there, and he knew for certain Athos had not. The question was, how much should he tell him?

He did not turn from the darkness, but in a voice that barely carried gave his friend his answer. 'Someone prevented me from helping.' The excuse sounded weak, but he was too tired to think.

'Prevented you? What, did they 'it you over the 'ead?' The question actually caused Athos to smirk.

'No, my shins, it hurt.' Porthos scowled, for one moment unable to decide if Athos was playing with him.

'Someone 'it you in the shins?' His voice was incredulous and his expression was darkening by the second. It had taken him hours of doubt and soul-searching to even ask the question, and if this was Athos' idea of a joke, Porthos wasn't laughing.

'There may have been a knife,' Athos mumbled.

'A knife?' Porthos made no attempt to keep his voice down. He examined Athos from head to toe as if he half expected to see some hidden injury – after all, it would not have been the first time. Even after all this time the swordsman was reluctant to admit he was injured – look at the recent incident with the damaged hand. Would he never learn?

Athos knew exactly what his friend was thinking. 'I am not hurt, I was simply delayed.'

'By a knife?' This time the voice belonged to Aramis. Athos rolled his eyes. When they ganged up on him, even he had to admit he was fighting a losing battle. But it had been inevitable, and they deserved to know what he had been told; it was not just his fight, and they would die to protect him, he knew that. However, there were still facts he would endeavour to keep to himself – telling them his wife had returned to France was one argument too many.

'I said I was not hurt, that was not their intention.' His voice was stony, but it was no deterrent.

'Well what was their intention?' the marksman insisted.

'And who was it?' Porthos demanded. Athos glanced over his shoulder toward the stone rooms, he was constantly aware of the young man so close at hand. Was he friend or foe? He knew what his instincts told him, but for some reason he hoped to be proved wrong.

'He is fast asleep,' Aramis confirmed, keeping his voice low. He, too, was unsure about their companion, though his fears were more attuned to how the cadet would prove under the pressure of combat than whether he was a traitor.

Athos merely nodded, before turning his attention to the darkness once more.

Despite their interrogation Athos was still distracted. Their situation made no sense, and he did not like strategizing a plan when the enemy and their goal was a complete mystery. There was no point asking if he had enemies, he had too many to count; nameless faces from the time before fate had led him to Paris and the Musketeers. Numerous taverns, numerous fights, numerous bottles – yes, he had no doubt he had enemies a plenty, except they had no idea who he was. But this enemy knew far more than Athos was comfortable with. Pinot – it all led back to his old life.

Finally turning to face his brother Musketeers, Athos continued with his version of the truth. 'I heard the commotion, stepped outside and someone struck me hard in the shins. I stumbled, and next thing I knew there was a knife at my throat.' He paused, trapping their disbelieving stares in his stony gaze.

'There isn't much more to tell. They warned me we might be riding into a trap. Apparently they had observed Giroux meet with an unknown older man. Interestingly, Suzanne D'Angou was also present, as was a young but unknown Musketeer.' Though he had refused to disclose who the informant had been, he hoped it would be enough.

Aramis was unusually silent, but not so Porthos. 'Who was it? Why did they wish to warn you, and what made them think it was a trap?' They were all the questions Athos really did not wish to answer.

'I do not know who it was, though they did say that Rochefort had been asking questions about me – why, neither they, nor I, can hazard a guess. However, I do suspect the rumours of highway robbers will prove to be completely unsubstantiated. Like Aramis, I am forced to consider that this was merely a ruse to hasten my return to Pinot. Why? Again I do not know.' The icy mask gave way to one of confusion and vulnerability, not something either man witnessed often. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it was enough to appease his friends. They knew Athos was struggling with the return to his old home, but they felt they were working in a thick and ever-moving fog.

Porthos muttered something under his breath, and Aramis sighed. 'I believe I may have something to add to this mystery.' This time Athos turned to look at the marksman, and his focus was acute.

'My current amour is Suzanne d'Angou.' He heard the hiss of breath from Athos, but he remained silent.

Porthos was about to speak, but Aramis cut him off. 'I did not seek her out, there was an accident, and she fell before my horse.' He looked at his brothers, as if seeking some sign they were not disappointed.

'Well it makes a change from fallin' at your feet!' Porthos quipped, though there was no accompanying smile upon his chiselled features.

Athos said nothing.

Aramis attempted to explain, but as he examined his brief but intimate relationship with the lovely Suzanne, he closed his eyes and groaned. She had used him from the beginning, and it had not been until the very end that he had begun to doubt her intentions. All those questions about Athos and his background – what a complete and utter fool he had been.

'I must beg your forgiveness, especially yours Athos.' He passed his hands over his eyes and yanked at his hair. 'She knew what she was after from the very beginning, only I was too vain, and only happy to oblige her.'

'What did yer tell 'er?' The big Musketeer was cracking his knuckles, and if Aramis had not known him better he would have expected a meaty fist in his face at any moment. As it was, he knew the man was only frustrated and annoyed at the revelation.

'I do not believe I told her anything of interest. At first, she only showed the usual amount of curiosity concerning our lives as Musketeers, which is quite normal; women appear to find us quite fascinating.' He gave the hint of a smile, but it was not reciprocated. Feeling miserable he persevered. 'I did not question her behaviour. However, over the last week or so, her questions became more specific. What was Athos like? Where had he come from? Was it true he was a renegade son of a nobleman?' He eyed his friend, only to find Athos was squatting beside the fire poking it with a stick, toying aimlessly with the dying embers.

Aramis continued. 'Luckily, I began to harbour my own suspicions concerning the significance of her pestering. You can rest assured I told her nothing of your previous life; I would never betray your trust. I explained only the tale we circulated to the rest of the garrison, information she could have gotten anywhere. I thought I was well versed in the ways of women and their subtle conversation – I would have said I was not that stupid – but I am afraid at this very moment I feel very stupid indeed.'

'Huh, well if angry 'usbands chasing you down the street with a pistol do not encourage you to mend your ways, then perhaps this will,' Porthos sighed.

Athos left the fire to its death throes. His voice was quiet, and somehow that made Aramis feel worse, as if he had let his friend down. 'When did you see her last?'

'Last night, during the fire at the garrison. I arrived after everything had calmed down. In fact it was her incessant questions that urged me to leave – I was uncomfortable with the direction they were taking. And there was one more thing… she never asked when I would return.'

This time Porthos snorted with amusement. 'Perhaps she was bored with you.'

'Or perhaps she knew you would not have the opportunity to entertain her before we left for Pinot,' Athos stated. There was a trace of bitterness in his voice, and he sounded tired. 'Do not fret, my friend, we have all fallen foul of a woman's wiles. It would appear there has been no harm done and I never doubted you would keep my secret.' He stood away from the fire and placed his hand on Aramis' shoulder.

The marksman simply nodded, for he felt far too wretched to speak.