Athos and the Gamekeeper

The young man moved through the dark and deserted streets of Pinot as silently as a cat – silence and stealth had become second nature to him. For years he had crept around the corridors of the manor house, pausing at corners and hesitating in doorways, attempting to avoid his demanding father. It was a useful skill, and one he would one day come to appreciate. The very thought of the Comte made his blood run cold and his stomach complete a sickening flip. If the man had the slightest idea what his first born was about to do, he would have thrashed the child to within an inch of his young life.

Luckily, his father – the Comte de la Fère – was in Reim, visiting his brother Robert. How Athos had longed to go with him; the boy would have begged, but he knew it would only have given his father even more pleasure to deny him. His Uncle Robert was a General, still on active duty. Whenever the opportunity arose, Athos would sit beside the seasoned soldier and listen to his stories. He loved nothing more than to talk with the man about successful and failed strategies throughout the history of warfare. Unlike his father, Uncle Robert encouraged and enjoyed the boy's company and never tired of his many questions, and Athos knew that was why his father had denied his request to go with him. Instead he had taken Thomas, his excuse being that the seven-year-old needed the riding practice, and at the grand age of eleven Athos did not.

Athos supposed he should have viewed his father's comment as a form of rare flattery, but even at his tender age he saw it for what it was, just a pretext to leave his eldest son at home and take his favourite. Athos did not begrudge his younger brother the trip – he loved Thomas and would miss his laughter dreadfully – though truth be told, Thomas had not wished to go, and would much rather have spent his time trailing after his big brother and playing soldiers. Athos was a patient playmate and Thomas worshipped him, and with their father absent and no current tutor, they would have had the rare opportunity to have played like boys should – especially Athos.

It had been his father's parting comment that had fuelled the lonely boy's final rebellion. 'Take the time to learn about the estate. You will be the Comte one day – God help us all – not a soldier.' Athos had held back the tears as he watched his brother leave, Thomas taking one last glance over his shoulder and waving his small hand in farewell. Athos was good at hiding his emotions, having learnt at far too young an age not to give his father the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, or see him shed a tear, for it only ever fuelled the man's fury and prolonged whatever punishment Athos was being forced to endure.

As he stood at the bottom of the manor steps, the young man clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, a trait that would remain a tell-tale sign of his anger for the rest of his life – had those who riled him ever cared to notice.

So here he was, putting his plan into action. As he strutted through the sleepy village, he prayed none of his father's spies would see him. He doubted any of them would, as they all worked on the estate and would not be in the village at this hour of the night. Their working day began far too early and so most bedded down as the light began to fade. For once his parents' disinterest in his daily routine had worked in his favour. His new tutor had yet to arrive, the last one having yet again been dismissed when his father had discovered them playing war games together in the old nursery.

The silent buildings on both sides showed very little in the way of light, but still he felt eyes watching his journey along the dusty road as though the habitats themselves were passing judgement. It was the height of summer and there had been no rainfall for weeks, and the sound of his booted feet echoed the drumming of his heart as his destination approached.

Nobody had noted his departure and his mother had no idea he had even left the house. She hardly ever spoke to him – sometimes he wondered if she would even recognise him. He could only ever be sure to see her twice a year – on his birthday, and when visiting church on the eve of Christmas. Before leaving, his tutor had warned him that as his twelfth birthday approached he may soon be expected to join his parents to dine, and he had found this image far more terrifying than the idea of standing waiting to be mown down by a charging cavalry.

Athos had asked Old Simon, the gamekeeper, if he might accompany him on his night patrol across his father's land. The man was probably no older than thirty summers, but Athos thought him old – though to be fair, Simon was tanned and weather beaten as only a man who spent his life out of doors could be. The gamekeeper liked the Viscount and gladly accepted, especially when Athos produced a fine bottle of brandy he had purloined from his father's cellar –aided by the fact the Comte was a long way away. Many of the estate workers felt sorry for the future Comte, though they looked forward to the day when he would be their liege lord.

Athos had experienced a wave of uncertainty when the man had set their midnight rendezvous at nowhere else but the village inn – the boy had never been inside the tavern before. It was a large, uneven building, innocent enough by day, but a supposed den of iniquity by night. Bessie, the manor cook, told him it was full of wicked men and women, but he did not believe Old Simon was wicked. Though curious as to what other salubrious actions went on within, he had to admit the possibilities chilled his bones.

The boy approached the doorway expecting it to be quiet inside, everyone having long gone to bed, so the noise and heated glow that greeted him as he gently pushed open the door took his breath away. The buzz of conversation silenced as all eyes turned toward the young lord, but luckily Old Simon hurried over and whisked him to one side, tucked away against the bar. Talk resumed and all but one or two of the patrons ignored the boy in favour for their final cup of ale.

Simon was talking to his young woman, Chloe, when he saw Athos approach. 'Lummy Si, what's the young master doin' 'ere?' the woman gasped.

Simon winked. 'Comte's gone away for a few days, taken young Thomas with 'im, left the Viscount at 'ome. Seems Oliviér wants to come with me to see what goes on after hours on the estate.' Chloe nodded her head in understanding, her fair curls bouncing. It was no secret the Comte ruled his oldest son with a rod of iron.

'You best take care of 'im then or you'll be for it, and so will the young master.'

Simon put down his ale and hurried to retrieve a wide-eyed Athos, bringing him over to the bar whilst he drained the rest of his drink.

'This is Chloe, her father owns the tavern,' Simon explained.

Athos bowed low. Chloe was delighted and reciprocated with a rough curtsey.

'Why don't you greet me like that?' she teased Simon. Laughing she tossed her blonde curls and disappeared behind the bar. As the woman departed, so a girl much younger than Chloe came over and winked at him; her hair was black as night and her eyes not much lighter.

'Ooh, and who is this then, Simon?' She smiled at Athos and tilted his chin with her finger to get a better look. Athos was speechless. At eleven years of age he was still fairly small, but his shoulders were broad from his regular dips in the lake. His dark hair was thick and unruly, and his green eyes loomed from a pale face beneath dark fringed lashes. At eleven he was pretty, as a man he would be much more.

'Let off, Jessie, this is the Viscount from the manor, and that means hands off to you – anyways 'e's too young.'

Jessie laughed. 'Pity, still he'll grow.' With that she turned and left, swaying her hips as she went. As Athos watched the girl leave, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. Soon Chloe returned, and with a quick glance at Athos she handed Simon a sack and stroked his cheek.

'Dad says a brace of coneys will be fine. Now take care of the little lad and I'll take care of you later.' With that she winked at Simon and turned her attention to Athos. Chloe leant down a little and stroked his cheek.

'Now you do everything Simon 'ere tells you, because if you gets 'urt, 'e'll pay for it with 'is neck.' She mussed his dark curls and blew them both a kiss goodbye.

Simon muttered something under his breath and steered a stunned Athos out into the summer night. Birds cried out in the distant woods and owls hooted, mocking their prey with warnings of their approaching doom. Honeysuckle bloomed in the hedgerows and night-scented stock waved their tall disorderly stems in the breeze, the heady aroma they emitted wafting through the cool night air, lulling passers-by into a dreamlike haze.

As they walked in silence Athos suddenly paused. 'Why does Chloe need to take care of you later, does she think you will get hurt?' Simon spluttered and looked down at the earnest face turned toward him beneath the moonless sky.

'Er no, she'll make me some supper, er it's a long night checking the woods.' Simon was rather pleased with the answer and inwardly let out a prayer of thanks for his quick thinking. However, Athos wasn't finished.

'Is she your wife?'

'No, but maybe one day.' Simon laughed, feeling himself on safer ground, but not for long.

'Why do you like her?' the boy persisted.

Simon scratched his head and began to question his decision to bring the boy along. 'Well she is, erm, she is very pretty.' He smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

Athos thought about this as they began to walk toward the tree line once more.

'Yes, I suppose she is, but I think Jessie is prettier, I like her dark hair.' Simon chortled at the boy's innocent remark.

'Indeed she is little master, indeed she is, but I like my women fair.' Athos nodded sagely as though this much he understood. But he was not going to let the gamekeeper get away that easily.

'How do you know if you like them, if they are special?' he persisted, those green eyes dark pools in the trees' shadows.

Simon almost choked – this was definitely not part of his job. 'Well, let me see. Your blood thrums in your veins, you can't help smiling and your ears ring. Your heart beats fast and your mouth goes dry.' All in all he felt he had made a rather good job of explaining lust to an eleven-year-old boy.

Athos again gave the reply the consideration he felt it deserved, before offering an opinion of his own. 'I am not sure I like the thought of that, it sounds rather like how I feel when my father is angry with me.'

Simon would have laughed, but the boy's wavering voice told its own tale. He placed his large paw on the boy's shoulder and felt him flinch beneath his touch. Misunderstanding the boy's reluctance he removed his hand and cleared his throat. 'I think you will find when the time comes you will understand the difference.'

Athos puzzled over the list of sensations and filed them away for a later date.

Thankfully that brought the conversation to an end, that and the need for silence as they prowled through the trees, hunting their own prey, just like the owls and stoats making their own nightly manoeuvres.

Athos spent the next few hours trailing after Simon, hanging on the words of advice the man gave him. As dawn rose above the treetops, a very tired but happy boy shook the man's hand sombrely and thanked him for his indulgence. If Athos noted the sack that was handed over from a shadowy figure lurking in the trees he did not really care. It had been a perfect night. The tracking and animal behaviour he had understood, the ways of men and women, not so much.

ooOoo

It wasn't until Athos' fourteenth summer that he finally began to understand the cryptic description Simon had given him, that night three summers past. The gypsies requested the right to camp on the manor land, and for some reason his father did not seem to object, despite the mutterings of thievery from the villagers.

He passed the camp most mornings whist out riding, delighted by the brightly dressed strangers and their gaily painted caravans. The gypsies at first eyed him with wary contempt, but as the days went by the children began to run alongside his horse and he would bring them treats from the kitchen.

One girl in particular, a dark-haired graceful beauty, would often glance shyly at the grand young man riding by, as she gathered fire wood in her crimson shawl.

Then, as the bright sunny days began to shorten, and afternoon sunlight cast golden shafts through the trees as the darkening sky loomed behind them to give the impression of branches afire, the gamekeeper's words came back to haunt him. Athos had ridden through the camp distributing cakes and sweetmeats to the children without spotting the gypsy beauty, and with slightly dampened enthusiasm he turned toward the shortcut through the copse and headed for home.

Leaning down against his horse's neck, he automatically sought to avoid the overhanging branches, though it was not the scratch of reaching bark that occupied his thoughts. His reverie was interrupted when he heard the tinkling sound of laughter between the gurgling splashes of water of the small beck. Curious, Athos steered his horse toward the sound, heart thumping in anticipation. As the tumbling water came in sight, so did the vision of the gypsy girl wearing nothing but her clinging chemise, climbing out of the water.

Athos was frozen to the spot. He knew his behaviour was unacceptable, but he could not send the right messages that his immobile limbs needed in order to respond. As he stared at the girl wringing the water from her tangled curls, she must have sensed his presence, for she lifted her head like a startled deer and stared him in the eye. Instead of looking shocked and seeking to hide her exposed form, she tilted her head to one side and smiled. Athos could think only to reciprocate – he could do nothing else – and when she held out her hand and indicated he should join her he was lost.

The remainder of the summer passed in a dream of unspeakable pleasure and the imparting of knowledge he could never have dreamed existed. The girl had in fact been more woman than girl, yet Athos had met her passion for passion. When the summer faded into autumn, the young Athos was devastated when one morning he galloped into the camp to find nothing but charred wood and pale grass where the caravans had once stood.

There had been no declarations, no promises, no goodbyes – but he was desolate.

When his father finally dragged the reason from him for his behaviour, which he had quoted as being even more morose and depressing than usual, Athos had expected the thrashing of his life. But when he eventually told his father everything, he had simply appraised his son as though seeing him for the first time. Then he had slapped him on the back and laughed. It was the most bizarre moment of the young man's life.

For the following two summers, the gypsies returned to camp on the de la Fère land and Athos would visit the stream and the woman who helped him grow into a man. When the gypsies stopped coming Athos was sad, but he now knew what it was like to feel that thrumming in his veins and the ringing in his ears. However, he also knew that he had yet to find that one woman who would add the rapid beating of his heart and the capture of his soul. If only he had known what the future had in store, he would have joined that gypsy camp and never looked back.

ooOoo

Two years later Athos' parents were away visiting friends – the Baron de Garouville and his wife. Their only daughter, Catherine de Garouville, was staying with her maid at the de la Fère estate for company. According to their fathers' design, Athos and Catherine were destined to be wed, and though Athos tried very hard not to think about it, Catherine appeared to enjoy reminding him with spiteful regularity.

By now the gypsy girl was only a memory, but on those warm summer nights when sleep would not come and the intoxicating smell of the honeysuckle beneath his window addled his wits, the words of Simon the gamekeeper often echoed in his head. Whenever he looked at Catherine, he felt none of the emotions Simon had described, and he certainly did not feel the same pull toward the haughty girl as he had to the gypsy beauty. The only sensation Catherine evoked was a chill that sped through his veins and stopped his heart at the prospect of such a cold and lonely future.

The morning had dawned cold and frosty. Athos sought out his brother, as he always did when Catherine was visiting, needing a buffer between himself and the shrew. He raced through the hallways in an ungentlemanly manner, calling out Thomas' name, but there was no reply and Athos began to get a most uneasy feeling. Thomas was great fun, but at the same time fairly predictable, and he would not have gone riding or boating out on the lake, or any other such activity without Athos being with him. Only this morning he had begged Athos to go riding with him, but the Viscount had been forced to decline, for he had promised to walk around the grounds with Catherine; a plan that never came to fruition for she had declared the day too cold.

After ruling out the music room, the library and Thomas' own apartment, Athos was rapidly running out of ideas.

'What on earth are you doing chasing round the manor in that unseemly way?' Catherine's voice hissed from the doorway.

Athos turned and his heart sank. As a last resort he had hoped Thomas may have possibly been entertaining Catherine, to allow his big brother some breathing space. Thomas knew how Athos felt and as always wanted to try and help; but if Catherine was here, then where was Thomas?

'Have you seen my brother?' Athos asked, his voice as always polite but lacking any trace of emotion.

The woman noted that as usual there was no endearment, no expression of pleasure at her arrival. Catherine ignored the slight. She did not care whether Athos liked her – he may be cold and emotionless, but he was handsome and rich and more to the point, he had no choice in the matter –she would be the next Comtesse de la Fère.

Her face adopted an expression of boredom. 'No, I have not, not since breakfast that is. Why? I would have thought it would make a pleasant change not to have him hanging off your shirt tail for a while.' The look in her eyes made Athos shudder, and he thanked God he had an excuse to leave the room.

'Forgive me, I must locate him, he has been left in my care.' Athos gave the briefest of bows and strode toward the door.

Catherine reached out and held on to his arm. Her touch made Athos again shudder, and he hoped his physical response had not given her the wrong impression.

'He is not a child, Oliviér, surely you can let him be for a few hours?' She stroked her fingers along the velvet of his jacket and Athos gritted his teeth.

'I would not be concerned if I only knew where he might be, it is not like him to wander off. I will return once he is discovered.'

Catherine frowned. 'Oh I suppose I may as well come with you, else I will be left on my own to amuse myself – as usual.' She turned and swished the silks of her dress, but she clung to Athos' arm like a vice.

'Ah, Mournay, have you seen my brother? I have searched the house, but I cannot locate him.'

'I am sorry, my Lord, I have not seen Master Thomas since he broke his fast this morning. I will ask below stairs, it is possible one of the house maids or footmen may have seen something.'

'Thank you, Mournay, I will wait here.'

'I do not know why you are so familiar with your staff. No good will come of it. When I am Comtesse I will sharpen up the running of this house and make sure they all know their place.' She narrowed her watery blue eyes and sniffed.

Athos was distracted and took little notice of her remark. Thomas was only twelve and he was fully aware how upset he had been when Athos had been unable to ride with him. Was it possible he was simply hiding to annoy his big brother?

Catherine moved around the hallway, noting paintings she would move and what decoration changes she would make, whilst Athos prowled impatiently waiting for Mournay, the butler, to return.

To both their surprise, the normally upright and correct retainer broke all protocol and came bursting through the servants' entrance with a meek looking man trailing behind him. Catherine looked appalled at the lack of decorum.

'Mournay, what is wrong?' Athos urged. When the man following the butler came into sight Athos' heart lurched. He recognised the young groom, who now stood clutching his cap in both hands and gripping it with white knuckled fingers.

'Luc, what is wrong, where is Thomas?'

'I'm so sorry, my Lord, 'e said as you were both goin' ridin', 'e told me to saddle the 'orses. Then when I turned me back 'e 'ad mounted and was gone.' The young groom stood eyes wide waiting for the inevitable thrashing he would expect from the Comte. However, Athos was not his father.

'How long ago did he leave, Luc?' Athos urged, his voice low and encouraging.

'Not really sure, my Lord. I had to put Lightning back and then I 'ad to run up to the 'ouse.'

Athos anxiously pulled his hand through his thick hair. Then suddenly the boy's words registered. 'What did you say? You put Lightning away? What did Thomas ride?' He asked the question even though he had a sickening suspicion he knew the answer.

'I'm really sorry, my Lord, I never saw 'im mount up.' The boy gulped and continued. 'The boy rode off on Roger, my Lord.'

Athos groaned and began to move. He did not even bother to change, as he was already booted expecting to walk around the grounds, and though it was cold he wasted no time sending for a coat, pausing only long enough to grab his sword.

'Come, Luc, I need to follow him.' He ran from the house and down the driveway toward the stables, Luc following behind him.

Catherine snorted and stalked up the staircase. 'Martha, Martha, where are you, you stupid girl? Ah, there you are, my riding clothing, now!'

As Athos raced across the manicured lawns, he wondered whatever had possessed his smaller brother – he knew he must never ride Roger. The horse had been Athos' birthday present a few months before, and as always, the whole day had been marred by a dreadful drama, when Athos had attacked the stable hand for mistreating the animal. Not one of his finest moments, but his emerging temper had simply gotten the better of him.

The horse was his great love, and it appeared the sentiment was mutual, as for anyone else Roger was a handful at best and a downright demon at worst, and Athos could not believe the horse had even allowed Thomas to mount him. Still, what was done was done – he had to find the boy before he hurt himself.

He swung onto another horse, not as feisty as his own, a grey stallion with a white blaze on his nose – hence his name. It had been his father's, but the Comte rarely rode these days and the horse was often neglected.

'Come on, Blaze old fellow, let us find Roger and Thomas and bring them home.' Athos glanced down at the worried face of Luc still wringing his cap in his hands, still dreading the outcome of his idiocy.

'Do not worry, Luc, it was not your fault. Thomas clearly knew what he was doing and did what he should not have. If I am lucky, Thomas and Roger will return unhurt, and my father will never know.' With that Athos spurred his horse and took off in the direction the stable lad had indicated.

Luc stood staring after his young master as though this might just turn out to be the luckiest day of his life, and thanked God it had been Athos he had dealt with and not the vicious Comte.

Athos had not been riding long when he heard the thundering of hooves approaching from behind. A quick glance over his shoulder identified Catherine galloping hard to catch him up. Her own horse was a sleek mare as cold and efficient as her mistress.

'Why did you not wait for me?' she complained.

'I had no idea you planned to accompany me,' Athos apologised.

'Where are we going? Surely the boy would have stayed within the estate?'

'Luc thought he took off toward the road. Roger was riding hard and Thomas may well not have been able to control where the horse took him.'

She snorted. 'Well we had better look out for a horse with a broken leg and a body in a ditch.'

Athos quirked a brow and gave the woman an icy stare. 'I certainly hope not on both counts. If you had told me earlier you deemed it too cold to walk the estate, I would have been riding with him.' The rebuke was clear, and the woman had the sense to keep her mouth shut for once. It was not often Athos showed his emotions, but when he did, and anger bubbled beneath the veneer of his noble bearing, if they had any sense those around him backed away. Though normally fair and reasonable, if someone roused his anger it was a rather amazing sight to behold. However, Catherine found it quite common.

They rode for some time, only stopping to rest the horses and allow them a cooling drink.

'We will be in Anet shortly, I pray Thomas is there. Sometimes we ride this way and I purchase sweetmeats for him. We sit by the stream, and he eats them before we get home so my father will not know.'

Catherine rolled her eyes. 'You spoil that boy. Your father knows what is best, and you would be better off following his advice.' Athos knew then that the marriage was not only doomed, but that his father had sought out the coldest, most spiteful woman available from his acquaintances, to provide a controlling and hardened partner for his son. The Comte obviously thought the future Comtesse de la Fère would be far more successful at looking after the estate than his passionate, bookworm of a son.

He spurred his stallion on and left Catherine to follow in his wake.

ooOoo

It was early afternoon when they rode into the town of Anet. It was market day, and carts clogged the dusty streets, dodging small laughing children and farmers herding animals to buy and sell. Catherine turned up her nose at the sights and smells of the busy hordes and pulled her skirts closer to her legs.

Athos leaned over and called to a small boy. He held a shiny coin in his hand and the boy's eyes opened wide. He made a grab for it, but Athos held it just out of reach. Smiling he spoke gently. 'Have you seen a small blond-haired boy riding a very large black stallion, larger than the one I am currently riding?' The boy bit his lip and appraised the size of the grey.

Suddenly his face lit up. 'Yeah, a kid fell off 'is 'orse this mornin' and they took 'im to the apothecary's. The 'orse is in the horse barn over there.' He pointed to a large stable building in the distance before reaching out for the coin. Athos handed it over with a thank you and the boy vanished quickly into the crowd in case the nobleman changed his mind.

Without consulting Catherine, he urged his horse through the crowded street toward the stables. He felt slightly nauseous – either Thomas could be badly hurt, or Roger may have been spirited away already. Town farriers, who often doubled up as stables, were known for their perfidy and a horse like Roger would be worth running away with for.

He slid from his mount and led it closer to the stables, as a boy came running, appraising the animal with a smile. 'Need 'im stabling, sir?' He wiped his nose across his sleeve as he held out his hand for the reins.

'No, I am looking for a horse. I believe my younger brother may have ridden in on it this morning, a large black stallion.' Athos spoke quietly, but his voice exuded authority, he had been brought up to show nothing less.

The boy shifted from one foot to the other. 'Can't say I've seen an animal like that today, but of course they might 'ave taken it to one of the smaller stables outside town.' He shifted his gaze from Athos to Catherine and back to the Viscount.

'Then if you do not mind, I will take a look myself.' Before the boy could say anymore, Athos pushed past him and walked into the small yard. Horses were being led in and out, but none of them were Roger. Athos looked inside the shuttered stalls, but no black stallion. He was just about to give up when a man came striding up to him.

'Oy wot you doin'?' The man was taller than Athos, who though tall for his age, had yet to attain his adult height.

'I have lost my horse and I was hoping to find it here,' the young man replied. Though polite, there was no doubting to which rank of the populace he belonged, and the man instantly toned down his approach.

'Wot does it look like?' he asked, though the uncertainty in his eyes said more than any words he could possibly utter.

'He would stand out, he is large stallion, very large and black. He would be hard to handle and almost impossible to mount.' The man now looked very worried indeed. But he stood as straight as his very wide girth allowed and stood his ground.

'Nothin' like that round 'ere. You should be more careful with an 'orse like that.'

Athos' eyes narrowed and he quirked a brow, his stare freezing the man to the marrow.

'Oh, I intend to, when I find him. Which I will.' The finality in his words hit home and Athos watched as sweat broke out on the man's upper lip.

'I bid you good day.' Athos turned and walked back to Catherine and the horses.

'Are you really just going to take his word?' She gazed at Athos with disdain and something akin to disappointment.

'There is no need, Roger is not here,' was his emphatic reply. He did not wait to give the explanation Catherine was about to insist upon, but simply rode away toward the apothecary sign hanging from the wall further down the street.

He passed a loaded waggon as he neared his destination, on which chairs, trunks and a plethora of household items were stacked and tied down ready for relocation. The incongruous spectacle hardly registered as he steered toward the buildings and pulled up before the store. He turned to survey the busy street and was rewarded with the sight of the small boy from before. 'Would you like to increase your earnings?' he asked, holding yet another coin to back up the question.

'Yes, sir!' His smile revealed a selection of gaps amongst his small teeth, but his enthusiasm was intact.

'Take care of these horses for me and you will be rewarded. Any problems just call, I will hear you.' The boy took hold of the horses' reins with only a margin of reluctance – they were, after all, almost twice his height.

Athos entered the gloom of the apothecary store, the small bell tinkling as the door closed behind them. Catherine appeared somewhat fascinated by the jars and bottles lining the small space and Athos wondered yet again what type of wife she would make. He suspected she would probably poison him in his sleep.

'Can I help you, sir, madam?' The voice belonged to a smiling man of middle years, wearing a spotless white apron. Athos found his cleanliness reassuring, especially if Thomas had been hurt.

'I am certainly hoping so. I have been told my younger brother may have been in an accident this morning and has been brought to you.'

The already smiling man beamed even wider. 'Young Thomas you mean?' Athos nodded and the relief on his face was clear. If Thomas had been badly hurt, he doubted the man would have looked quite so relaxed. 'Come this way.' He led them around the counter and behind a heavy drape. The scene that met their eyes was not what they had expected. Thomas was sitting on the floor happily playing with a boxful of puppies. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of approaching feet, the delight on his face spreading to an expression of joy, before disappearing completely, to be replaced with one of apprehension and guilt.

'I am very glad to see you, Oliviér, and I am so sorry. They said they would look after Roger for me, he was too big and too strong for me. I am sorry.' His eyes filled with tears, as he garbled his apology whilst waiting for his brother's wrath. But instead of showing anger, Athos reached down and pulled the boy to his feet, embracing him with a fierce hug.

'You scared me half to death. Never, never disappear like that again. What were you thinking?'

Thomas clung on to his big brother, catching sight of a very unimpressed Catherine standing in the doorway. He did not attempt to pull away, instead giving his muffled reply very close to Athos' ear.

'I was angry and afraid. I thought this was how it was going to be. You would marry Catherine and not have time for me anymore. So I took Roger. It was stupid, I am so very sorry. Is Roger safe?'

Catherine could not hear what the boy said, but his words were like a knife through Athos' heart.

'I promise I will not let that happen. I have no intention of marrying yet, and when I do, there will always be time for you, and a place at home and in my heart. You are my brother.' Prophetic words, that would one day prove impossible to sustain.

The two pulled apart and Athos looked him over. 'You do not appear to be harmed. Can you ride home?' Thomas nodded, looking relieved. 'Then come. Thank you, monsieur, please have your bill sent to…' He faltered. That would not do, there was no way he could let his father know what had happened. Yes, he would hear parts, his spies would see to that, but Athos could manage to make it appear far less dramatic than it actually was. 'Please prepare a bill and I will return tomorrow and settle the account.' The man appeared quite happy at this suggestion and with further thanks the three of them left.

'Where is Roger?' Thomas asked, puzzled when he noted only two horses.

'Mm, that is a very interesting question, but I think we are about to receive an answer. Out of the corner of his eye he noted a woman leaning heavily on the arm of a young girl. They were leaving the house that had been in the process of being emptied earlier, but he did not dwell upon their actions. Instead he was eyeing the procession making their way painfully slowly down the centre of the street. People were darting out of the path of several riders, whilst stall holders attempted to protect their stock.

Behind the party was a horse tethered to the one in front. It was not happy. It reared and snorted and was making it almost impossible for them to continue their journey. As the party passed by, the black stallion's behaviour deteriorated as it spotted its master in the crowd. Athos got as close as he dared and gently rubbed his hand up and down the horse's thigh. Immediately, Roger began to limp rather dramatically. Athos turned briefly at the sound of a throaty laugh giggling behind him. He noted the girl with the heavily stacked cart laughing at his horse's antics. She had obviously seen what Athos had done and had worked out the trick.

Athos gave her a wink and turned back to the party of riders.

'I say, I believe this horse is lame.' His voice carried over the snorting Roger and the cries of the annoyed and scared populace. The rider who was tethered to Roger turned to look back.

'Pierre, wait. This damned horse you just bought is lame. You have been deceived.' The man slipped from his mount and attempted to approach a frothing Roger. It was obvious they were wealthy merchant types or local landowners; their dress and mode of speech put them above the locals but below the nobility.

'I would not get too close if I were you, he doesn't like you,' Athos drawled, watching Roger's performance with his head on one side. By now the other two men, including Pierre, the man who had been identified as having bought Roger, were at his side.

'What do you mean he doesn't like me?' the puzzled man asked.

'Oh, it is not just you, he doesn't like anyone, only his owner. From whom he was stolen this morning.' The word stolen immediately attracted the attention of anyone who had overheard the conversation – which appeared to be quite a few, as the information was imparted from one to another like a wave. Soon there was silence as the crowd prepared to enjoy the show. The three men scowled, but there was an element of wariness in their eyes. The punishment for horse stealing was heavy, and at the very least they could be accused of buying stolen goods, as they could not have ignored the unlikelihood of such a horse being for sale in a stable in a small town like Anet.

'And I suppose you are going to tell me who the real owner is?' the man called Pierre stated, his voice cold and challenging.

'No, I am going to show you.' With that Athos turned to Roger and held out his hand. The horse bent his noble head and placed his muzzle in the boy's palm, moving it from side to side as though he was burrowing into Athos' hand. The crowd laughed and one or two sighed at the touching sight.

Athos made a downward cutting motion through the air and Roger instantly dropped on to his front knees, to a delightful round of applause. Athos reversed the direction of his hand and Roger stood tall shaking his mane to the crowd. They were thoroughly entranced.

As a final encore, Athos gave a low and courtly bow, and Roger mimicked his owner, bending one knee and lowering his head. The crowd loved it. Once again Athos heard that throaty laugh behind him, but he could not turn, he was too busy watching the reaction of the three men.

'So he can do tricks. I am afraid that does not prove he belongs to you,' Pierre responded.

The crowd began to hiss. ''Course the 'orse is 'is, anyone can see that.' 'Give 'im 'is 'orse.' The three men began to shuffle uneasily.

'Have you ridden him?' Athos asked drily.

'Certainly not,' the one man who had not yet spoken, and appeared to be the youngest, replied. 'I am not even sure he has been broken.' The other two men looked at him as though he was a little stupid, as after that display of control it was unlikely the horse remained wild.

In answer to his scepticism, Athos jumped up onto Roger's back, much to the delight of the horse, who instantly stood still, enjoying the scratching between his ears. 'Hey, get down off my horse. I have a legal bill of sale to say it is mine, if you leave now, you will be the thief.' The crowd was beginning to get agitated, and Athos was running out of ideas. There was only one avenue left to go down, and though his sword master was always pleased with him, he had never tested himself in real combat – and three on one? Not good odds!

The decision was abruptly taken out of his hands when the man who had been leading Roger made a grab for his leg. Thomas shouted a warning, but Athos had realised his intent as soon as he had begun to move and slid down on the opposite side of the horse. He came round to face the men, sword in hand.

The three men laughed. One teenage boy against three grown men?

'So you think you, a mere boy can best us?' Pierre laughed releasing his own weapon from its sheath.

'I am not a boy, I am Oliviér de Athos, the Viscount de la Fère.' He touched his sword to forehead, lip and heart then lunged, taking the men by surprise. To begin with the violence of real combat forced Athos back, but he quickly found his rhythm and discovered he was actually enjoying himself. He caught the younger man a blow across his knuckles which sent his sword to the floor and had him leaping around rubbing his injured fingers. The reality of what he may inflict on the other two men almost made him pause. He had never drawn blood and he was not altogether sure he wished to today. As the two men moved apart, he was forced to defend himself from both sides, a situation which he could not sustain. Suddenly a voice rang out amidst the encouragement from the crowd, as Athos heard the sound of rapidly approaching hooves.

'Halt, in the name of the King!' The three swordsmen lowered their weapons to see who had made the demand.

Two Musketeers approached. They were by no means young, but they made an impressive sight.

'What is going on here?' the one demanded.

'This boy says this is his horse and accuses me of stealing it, though I have a legal bill of sale.' The soldier eyed Athos kindly, before addressing the man again.

'And you thought three men fighting one boy a fair fight?'

'What was I supposed to do? He was going to ride it away.' This time Athos interjected.

'That is not so, I was simply making a point.' His clipped aristocratic tones held the two Musketeers' attention.

'Well you appeared to be making a rather good job of holding them off. To whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?' Athos introduced himself yet again, but this time Thomas could not contain himself and rushed to Athos' side.

'It is all my fault, I was angry with my brother this morning and took his horse. Roger is too big for me, and I could not control him. I fell and they said they would take care of him, they lied.' The words tumbled out in a rush to aid his brother's plight. His small face was screwed up in anger and he fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

Athos placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Do not fret, all will be well.'

The Musketeer who had not yet spoken began to smile. 'I was here this morning, I saw this boy take a tumble but was too far away to help. However, I can confirm that this was the horse he was riding, I noted how big the animal was for so small a boy.' Pierre began to argue, but the Musketeer held up his hand. 'It is quite obvious they are telling the truth. The horse belongs to the Viscount. I suggest you take up your complaint with from whomever you bought the horse. In fact, I think we may join you.' Though obviously displeased, the three men mounted their horses and turned around to revisit the stables.

The Musketeer leant down and offered his hand to Athos. 'That was some fine swordsmanship, my Lord, you will make a formidable foe one day. Look after your horse and that brother of yours. And you, young man,' he added, turning to Thomas, 'do not be so foolish again.' With that he lifted his hat and rode after his colleague's party.

Athos let out a breath. The crowd began to disperse, obviously satisfied it had all been sorted in Athos' favour. Athos led Thomas over to the horse he had ridden that morning, then mounted Roger. Suddenly tired, he just wanted to reach home, with no further trouble.

'Well what a disgusting set of events, and you, young man deserve a good thrashing.' Catherine glowered at the boy, as Thomas' eyes narrowed with hatred.

'Do not talk to my brother like that, it was simply a hot-headed mistake.'

'You would stick up for him. You are both as bad as one another.' She wheeled her horse around and in doing so sent a figure flying to the ground. There was a pained cry and then the sound of a body hitting the hard floor. Athos was out of his saddle in an instant.

To his dismay, he realised it was the young girl from earlier, the one with the laden cart and the rather attractive, throaty laugh.

As Athos approached, she shrank back in fear, as though she expected him to strike her.

'Please, Mademoiselle, I mean you no harm, I would never hurt you. Allow me to assist you.' He held out his hand and she in turn slowly offered him her own. Green eyes locked with green. Athos took in the dark curling hair down her back and the white flawless skin. When she stood, he noted she was as tall as he, and slender like a willow.

'Mademoiselle, I am sorry, my friend was not looking as she should have been. Are you hurt?' All the time he had spoken he had not torn his gaze from hers. At the sound of her sultry response, his mouth went dry and his heart began to pound.

'No, my Lord, I am a little shaken, but not hurt.' She gave him a shy smile and Athos was lost.

The young man before her spoke to her like she was a real person, not some wench vastly beneath him. When he held her hand it felt as though the sensation that travelled along her arm would set her aflame. His eyes were green like hers, but darker; they looked into her very soul and called out to something deep within, something that as yet had no name. Her breath grew short, and she wanted to reach out and touch, but she could not. This man was so far above her, even if he did show her the courtesy of a gentleman.

'Where are you going?' Athos asked as he handed her up onto the cart. As he did so the woman, presumably her mother, began to cough, a horrible wet sound that threatened to snap her in two.

'My father has passed, and we cannot afford to stay in our home. My mother is sick and so we are journeying to friends in Paris.' She lifted her chin in a show of resilience, but Athos could see the doubt in her green eyes.

'Then I hope everything turns out well for you, and wish you both a safe journey.' Before he let go of her hand, he bought it gently to his mouth and allowed his lips to caress the top of her knuckles. She let out a low moan, and as he let go, the parting felt like that of two lovers torn asunder, rather than two strangers who would never meet again.

'Come, Anne, we must leave – Paris is a way off yet,' the older woman urged.

As the cart began to gather pace and leave the small town behind, Athos remembered the conversation with the gamekeeper.

'How do you know when you like them, when they are special?' 'Well, your blood thrums in your veins, you can't help smiling and your ears ring. Your heart beats like it's about to burst and your mouth goes so dry you cannot speak.'

Athos realised he was smiling like an imbecile, his heart beating so hard he swore he could hear its pounding, there was a humming in his ears and his mouth refused to work.

So this is how it felt, when someone was special, and she had just ridden away.

Athos turned and looked up at the furious Catherine and knew there and then they would never marry. He had tasted that feeling, and he was determined to feel it again, for he would marry for nothing less.

As they rode home, Athos did not hear the girl's whining words of complaint. He had a new hope in his life; the future held a promise he had not realised existed and suddenly his heart felt lighter.

He supposed this must be what it felt like to love, and he just had to wait for his turn. What the gamekeeper had not told him, was how it felt to be betrayed, destroyed and broken by such love.

Was that a good thing? Or, like love, was the pain simply another inevitable emotion?

With great passion, there must come great pain. Where there is fire, there is the potential to be burnt. But that sadness was still in the future – for now the simple prospect of love was enough to warm Athos' heart.