Chapter 2 Realization
Jacqueline ate with as much enthusiasm as she could muster and even managed to crack a few halfhearted jokes when a pretty blonde turned down Ramon's dreadful poetry. Siroc explained his plan for a liquid that could take out stains from clothes without discoloring them, and d'Artagnan described his latest acquaintance, to Jacqueline's undying disgust. She finally worked up enough courage to excuse herself and walked back to the garrison.
Closing the heavy wooden door firmly, she calmly pressed her back against the stone wall beside it. A few seconds later, the door reopened to admit d'Artagnan. He scanned around the room and let out a grunt of surprise when Jacqueline twisted his arm painfully behind his back and pinned him to the wall.
"Why were you following me?" she demanded, shaking him for added effect.
"What's got into you, Jacqueline?" he asked back in a low voice as he tried to look over his shoulder to make eye contact.
She shoved him again. "Don't ever call me that!" she growled. D'Artagnan easily twisted out of her grip and pinned her back to the wall, his hands on her arms. Jacqueline mentally cursed her sex for physical inferiority.
If I could just reach my sword…, she thought. Jacqueline then paused, And what would I do with it? Cut his heart out? She sagged against the wall, losing her desire to fight.
"Now that's more like it," d'Artagnan said as he released her. "Can we carry on in a more private area?" he inquired.
"In case you've forgotten, I have patrol duty," Jacqueline shrugged off the feel of his hands pressing on her. She stalked off like an angry cat towards the barn. Luckily, he did not follow.
Inside the stables, she was comforted by the familiar warm scent of horses and hay. Her dappled grey mare, Neige Snow, greeted her with a warm snort to her offered hand. Being the only mare in the barn, Jacqueline had sympathized and chosen the horse as her mount. She proceeded to flick bits of hay and dust off the horse's back, lost in her thoughts.
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"Your Majesty, I am here to allow you to personally ascertain innocence or guilt," I stated, ignoring the fact that I had been summoned here. I stood between d'Artagnan and Siroc facing King Louis, Queen Anne, and Mazarin.
The latter whispered into the young King's ear, "I approve, Your Majesty." Although I was surprised he agreed with me, I chalked it up to luck. I began to doubt luck, however, when he walked around the Queen and continued, "Masquerading as the opposite sex to deceive the crown is a treasonable offence punishable by death…" He looked into the face of Siroc who shifted uneasily. I took in a shallow breath; surely he could not have…
"… which can only be handed down by His Highness," Mazarin acknowledged the King with a nod as I tried to control my pounding heart and hold on to my innocent façade. With no warning, he ripped the fake hair from my chin as I gasped. "A traitor, a liar, and a murderer, Your Highness. Jacqueline Roget, not Jacques Lepont," he announced, voice carrying throughout the large room as he unrolled the wanted poster with my likeness on it. "Wanted for the murder of the captain of my guard."
Confusion came over the face of Louis; Siroc openly gaped; and d'Artagnan stiffened beside me. "Not murder! Justice! That swine killed my father!" I practically yelled my defense.
"Wait. You're a woman?" the King squeaked. Queen Anne's eyes flicked up and down me.
"What does it matter if a man or woman protects you from the conspirators that surround you?" I motioned accusatorily at Mazarin.
Mazarin circled back around behind the King to advise. "She's a deceiver, Your Majesty. Have her arrested."
The poison slid right through Louis' mind. "Yes, d'Artagnan, take her into custody." Now d'Artagnan was caught in a trap—his feelings for me versus his duty to the King.
I took his moment of hesitation to draw my sword. "He'll have to kill me," I said, eyes narrowing as all parties jumped away.
Blade drawn, d'Artagnan had the nerve to appeal to me, "We'll petition His Majesty for clemency. We'll ask for exile." Frantically louder, he called, "Your Majesty, you would consider exile would you not?"
Again his eyes turned to me and he begged, "I served you faithfully."
"Don't bargain for me," I cut in, "bargain for your own life. I wield the invincible sword—"
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Jacqueline was interrupted when horsehair tickled her nose and caused her to sneeze three times in quick succession. She then realized something, He had said 'we.' We will ask for clemency. We will ask for exile.
Startled by this new discovery, Jacqueline hurried about tacking up the mare. On her way out, only a young, curly haired recruit, Sebastien, saw her head out towards the Northwest Gate.
She maneuvered easily through the mid-morning crowds of Paris. Most knew to stay away from a Musketeer with such a look of determination on his face. Once outside the city walls, Jacqueline left the main road for a forest path that led to the river. It meandered along the banks and would bring her to a clearing where she had once celebrated a successful mission with Ramon, Siroc, d'Artagnan, and some good drinks.
For most of the way, she let Neige have her head to pick her way through fallen logs and rocks. Jacqueline was simply floating; she had no thoughts and relished in the comfort of isolation. No pretenses to keep up, no flirtations, just a woman and a horse.
To cheer her spirits, Jacqueline kicked Neige into a fast hand gallop to cover the last stretch of trail to the clearing. What she did not expect to find was d'Artagnan walking his lathered horse at the end.
