Chapter 13

Athos had slept well, a fact that left him somewhat bemused when he finally awoke a little before dawn. It had been so long since he had slept without visitations, or other such torment, that he lay looking at the ceiling for some time, trying to gain a sense of how to behave. He was rested – neither his head nor his limbs ached – and he felt good, and that in itself was most disconcerting.

Athos swung his legs out of bed and sat for a moment, just in case he had underestimated his well-being. When the room did not spin, and his stomach did not roil, he stood beside the bed and, once sure of his stability, worked through a series of controlled manoeuvres designed to stretch and unravel the knots of sleep that had settled into his limbs.

Reaching for a clean shirt, he continued to dress in a manner befitting the day ahead. Packing the rest of his belongings into his saddle bags, he made ready to join the others and break his fast.

Athos suspected he should be experiencing some sense of unease, or at least should not feel as calm as he did; Aramis would have noted that there was even a spring in the swordsman's step as he swaggered into the refectory.

Porthos was already seated and tucking into a generous breakfast which Serge had prepared for the men destined to leave with the King's party. As he noted Athos approach, the big man looked up and beamed.

'And a very good mornin' to you, and don't we look chirpy this fine morning.' Porthos slapped Athos on the back as the swordsman set his own tray upon the table, frowning as the over-zealous greeting almost caused his plate to fall to the floor.

'Do you have to be quite so demonstrative with your welcome? Serge would not be impressed if he saw me throw his carefully prepared breakfast around the room,' complained Athos, as he raised a brow at the smiling Musketeer. But his eyes twinkled and Porthos was cheered by his friend's good humour.

The two men settled to eat, happy to sit in silence, knowing that when Aramis arrived their tranquillity would cease. As if to prove their point, the last of their trio joined the table with an abundance of smiles and good cheer.

'The sun is shining, the air is warm, and we are about to get out of Paris and enjoy a ride through the countryside.' Aramis beamed down at his colleagues, as the two men gazed at him with a certain amount of scepticism.

'You do not like the countryside,' Athos pointed out, his voice indicating a level of disbelief at the marksman's enthusiasm.

Aramis pouted. 'How can you say that? I love the trees and the birds and…' Porthos interrupted him.

'…the mud and the lumpy beds and the smell of the land.' He guffawed as Aramis' face dropped upon hearing the list of unpleasant associations.

'Nonsense, fresh air and the open road. We will not be sleeping rough, not with the company we are keeping,' Aramis pronounced, his excitement restored. Athos snorted.

'Do not be so sure. I doubt the nobles we are visiting are prepared to house twelve Musketeers. You may be sleeping beneath the stars yet.' But Aramis was in a good mood, and he would not be deterred by his friend's cynicism. He appraised Athos and raised a toast to his friend.

'You look fresh, I am glad to see you looking so at ease. I am sure the ladies of the court will swoon upon your arrival.' Though he did not realise it, Aramis could not have said a worse thing, and he was horrified when all of the colour drained from Athos' face. 'What is wrong, mon ami?' Athos swallowed the food in his mouth, even though he had not had the opportunity to chew it thoroughly, which in turn caused him to choke. When much slapping on the back had ensued and he could breathe and communicate freely, he responded to Aramis' question.

'Apologies, something lodged in my throat. There is nothing amiss, only your excessive good humour.' Porthos laughed and Aramis smiled, though he suspected Athos was not being honest, as he had seen the swordsman's reaction before he had even swallowed the food. Athos felt his mood beginning to waver, but was determined not to allow himself to dwell upon his friend's remark; he knew it had been made in jest and he was in no doubt more of the like would follow over the next few weeks – he was going to have to grow a very thick skin to survive the King's tour.

They finished their meal and, in ebullient mood, Aramis sat chattering and gossiping. Athos listened and made the appropriate responses, but he did not truly hear all that the man said. They rose from the table and said their farewells to Serge, though Porthos was clearly excited by the prospect of being fed in a noble household.

oOo

As the party made its way through the streets of Paris, many of its residents were prompted to stand and stare, for the regiment was quite a spectacular sight when in full uniform and riding out on mass. As Aramis had pointed out, it was indeed a beautiful spring morning and, though still early, even the Seine looked romantic, with mist curling upon its surface and the pale orange of the morning sky bathing the sleepy city in a warm light. However, the air still held a chill and the men were glad of their cloaks; it would be some time before the sun rose high enough in the sky to cast its warmth upon their faces.

Some of the worry had left Treville's face during the small hours of the morning, and Athos suspected the man was now resigned to whatever fate awaited them, trusting his men to do their duty and ensure the King's safe return to Paris. He had planned and planned again, considering every possible eventuality or problem that might arise during their journey, but both Athos and the Captain knew that there were plenty of surprises that could still await them upon the road. Vigilance was crucial – they could not afford to become complacent.

The Louvre loomed before them. It was a beautiful building and the garden's splendour only added to the delight of the honeyed glow under the morning sun. Late spring flowers swayed gently in the slight breeze as the Musketeers rode in formation, their cloaks billowing like fluttering feathers with the rhythmic sway of their mounts.

Treville bought the company to a halt before the steps to the palace, where four carriages awaited their occupants. One was for baggage only, which was already weighed down by trunks and travel necessities. It was hardly unexpected, and once again the Captain thanked God for fair weather, as a carriage so laden would have been a nightmare along muddy roads and tracks.

The men dismounted and stood to attention as they awaited their King.

'You know he is goin' to keep us standin' 'ere for hours don't yer?' Porthos whispered to Aramis. Athos giving him a warning look of disapproval, but Aramis merely sighed, resigned to their fate. The time did drag, and the men were beginning to shuffle, trying to regain some feeling in their stiff and numb limbs. Treville had started pacing, and Athos feared the man was beginning to lose his patience.

'If we 'ave to wait much longer, the King will be wantin' to stop for luncheon before we reach the outskirts of Paris,' grumbled Porthos. Aramis stifled a chuckle and even Athos smirked at the observation. At that, Treville removed his hat and placed it beneath his arm as he stalked inside the palace entrance and disappeared from sight.

'Oops,' Aramis grimaced. At the sight of their Captain storming into the palace, the entire group of Musketeers exchanged looks varying from amused to genuine alarm.

'Let us hope His Majesty is in a similar mood to Aramis,' Athos remarked in his usual deadpan tone of voice. They waited for almost another hour, before Treville emerged, his face a mixture of anger and triumph. He gestured for the men to mount before stopping in front of the three men.

'Aramis, the King's carriage, Porthos the court party, and Athos the ladies – I cannot trust them with Aramis.' That said, he turned abruptly and began to redirect the mounted men in readiness for their departure. Aramis pouted at Athos. 'I am truly hurt. Remember to smile nicely, Athos, and do not glower at them, they will be terrified.' With that, he walked toward the leading coach and awaited the royal party. Porthos, not concerned either way, made headway toward the third, whilst Athos, tried to regulate his breathing.

He berated himself for such weakness and forced his legs toward the second coach, telling himself his legs were merely stiff from standing to attention.

This time, they did not have long to wait. The King was the first to emerge, the Queen upon his arm; the couple seemed to shine beneath the pale spring sunshine, though whether they were dressed for the rigours of a day's travel remained to be seen. Richelieu, on the other hand, presented an arresting juxtaposition, part cleric, part soldier, and Athos had to wonder exactly what the man was expecting to encounter. Aramis helped the Queen to board with his usual charm and exuberance, whilst in contrast, Athos remained polite but removed as he offered his hand to the Queen's companions – all coy smiles and fluttering eyelashes, except for two of them. A blonde woman of a similar age to Athos paused as he held out his hand. She was unlike the rest of her party, her smile less unworldly and a quirk of her brow spoke of a confidence and spark.

'Good morning Monsieur Athos, it is a beautiful day for our journey is it not?' Athos smiled politely as he handed her into the coach.

'Indeed it is, my Lady. I wish you a comfortable trip.' He stepped back, aware of the giggling their brief exchange had caused. Then he turned, and she was there, head tilted slightly to one side, her hand outstretched for him to hold, and a knowing smile upon her lips.

'Good morning, Monsieur, will you be our escort for today I wonder?' She held his gaze and, though he tried, he could not pull away, the memory of that soft but urgent kiss exploding from his memory unbidden. She looked down at their hands, reminding him with a cat-like smile that he had been holding it for too long under the scrutiny of present company. Aware they were being closely observed, he took a breath and assisted her into the coach, not caring to answer her query, knowing it was only intended to discomfort him. As he inhaled the scent of jasmine, he fought down the memories it evoked, instead he swung himself onto his horse and faced in the direction of their travel, his face set in grim determination.

Milady did not need to watch his retreat to realise how uncomfortable he was in her presence. She smiled to herself, perhaps she could slake her revenge in an entirely different way after all, it may even have a few unexpected perks.

As she settled back in the seat, she became aware of the attention she had caused, the other women eager to discuss Athos' intense consideration. Only one person did not feel the need to giggle over Milady's perceived success – Lady Suzanne d'Angou the second daughter of some far-flung nobleman and a very distant cousin of the Queen. She was a beautiful, if arrogant, blonde, and found very little pleasure with the other women of the court, though where she did find it was a constant source of gossip. She was certainly more akin to Milady de Winter than she would care to admit and, from the way the two women locked eyes, Athos had suddenly become the most coveted pawn in their battle for supremacy – a fact that would have scared him to death.

The only unexpected feature of their departure was the six Red Guards who flanked the King's coach, three on either side. Athos suspected it was this addition that had led to Treville's furious appearance on exiting the palace. No previous mention had been made of them accompanying the party, and he rightly guessed it had been the Cardinal's deliberate surprise.

The spectacle caused quite a stir as they slowly left the centre of Paris and passed through the less populated outskirts, but before long they were out in the countryside, and the air grew warm as the sun rose higher. The men soon found the blue capes warm and more of a hinderance than comfort, but with the King present, discarding them was not an option. The going was slow, and Treville had begun to worry they would not reach Versailles in good time, shuddering at the thought of travelling with such distinguished company in the dark.

oOo

As the cortege rolled along, the ladies-in-waiting began to fall victim to the warmth and rhythm of the swaying motion. Only Milady and Suzanne were left awake, both women deliberately avoiding eye contact and thus the need to converse. After a while, Athos, lost in thought and busy surveying the surrounding open space, drew level with the window, quite oblivious to the observation from the two women within.

Milady, too, was thinking of other things, though most of them would have bought a blush to the cheeks of her sleeping companions had they been able to read her mind. She stared at that haughty profile and it transported her to another time, another life.

She had awoken early and stretched slowly, like a sleek and lazy cat. She lay naked, entangled in the sheets and the arms of the man beside her. Slowly reaching out, she stroked a lock of dark hair from across his cheek so she could see his profile more clearly. In sleep he looked much younger, softer, his thick, dark hair dishevelled and curling softly upon the pillow. She wanted to reach out and touch, but she did not want to wake him, wishing simply to lie still and embrace the man she had married, drinking in the promise he offered. His air of masculinity had arrested her from the first, not an effete noble like the ones she came across so often, mincing and in love with themselves alone. No, this man was every bit a man, from the moment he had caught her eye, brooding and enigmatic. She had worried that would change over time and, like most men in her life, he would eventually prove to be a disappointment.

However, that had not been the case. Never had a man made her feel so alive, and even now as he slept, she began to feel her body responding to his presence, knowing that she would not be able to wait for long before waking him to satisfy the need that began to warm inside her. Her gaze travelled down his face, until it rested upon his mouth, a mouth that could provide untold pleasure in ways even she had never encountered.

Suddenly he began to rouse, and his eyes fluttered open. There was no morning smile, no small talk or chatter. His gaze became hooded, and he blatantly took in her naked form before a calculating smile graced that mouth, the mouth she could hardly tear herself away from, panting with anticipation, tormented by all that it promised. As he rolled her on to her back she moaned with pleasure, knowing what passion awaited.

'He is extremely handsome, is he not?' Suzanne announced, breaking into Milady's reverie. For a moment she was caught off guard. Even the memory of their encounters had the ability to stir her desire and she feared just what the woman opposite her might have observed. Assembling her features in a pleasant but neutral expression she pretended to notice Athos for the first time.

'A fine stallion, and a beautiful colour,' she replied, her lips twitching with humour. For a moment Suzanne simply watched, then she allowed herself to laugh at the obvious deflection.

'Yes, the horse too. In fact, they make a very handsome spectacle. I wonder what he is like in bed?' the woman mused, a mischievous smile playing upon her lips. Had she been taking a drink, Milady would have choked, so close had the woman come to reading what had been inside her head. She feigned shock, hiding her surprise behind her hand.

'My Lady, what a question! I am sure I cannot imagine such a thing.' Suzanne watched her closely, trying to gauge the sincerity of Milady's remark.

'It is Anne, is it not?' Milady nodded, still not ready to speak, afraid she would give herself away. She was used to the scrutiny of men, she had dealt with that all of her life, they were so easy to manipulate and lie to – but another woman, that was not something she had much experience of. She felt disconcerted by Suzanne d'Angou, especially when discussing Athos' sexual prowess. If this woman only knew.

oOo

Treville had been watching the sun in the sky. It had reached its zenith some time ago, but then they had set out much later than he had intentionally planned, what with the King's dawdling and then his argument with the Cardinal over the necessity for him to bring additional Red Guards. The animosity between the two regiments was legendary, and he really did not need a lot of posturing between the two factions on such a delicate assignment. He sighed and held up his hand, signalling for the company to halt. They had reached a quiet spot beside a small river, where trees offered a little shade and privacy, for the day had suddenly become warm considering is was still early in the year. They needed to rest and water the horses, and Treville suspected the occupants of the coaches would like to stretch their legs and make themselves comfortable.

Before he could relay any specific instructions, he noted Aramis and Porthos heading toward the carriages to help the occupants alight; only Athos remained upon his horse, exchanging words with Rienier, a quiet but conscientious Musketeer who could be relied upon to carry his share of the workload with good humour. Treville watched Athos jump down from Roger and take the reins from both horses and lead them toward the water, as Rienier walked over to the second coach to assist the women. Treville frowned, it was not like Athos to ignore a command, but then he saw no particular harm in the change of tasks; still, he noted the event and stored it away.

The horses were watered and rested, and the court party were wandering amongst the trees and spring flowers whilst the Musketeers stood guard, wary of every snapping twig or sound amidst the brush. Clouds had begun to gather on the horizon, and wisps now covered the sun, causing the women to shiver slightly after the warmth of the early afternoon. Concerned by the threat of rain Treville indicated it was time to move on.

Athos was standing at the water's edge with Roger, checking everything was in order, when the horse began to snort and stamp his feet. Instantly on alert, Athos drew his pistol and soothed the agitated animal. He studied the near vicinity, noting most of the men were mounted and taking formation, not that any of the Musketeer horses – or men – would have caused his horse to react as Roger had. Athos strained to hear anything that might have explained the horse's behaviour, and he was about to move into the nearby trees when his plan was halted.

'Athos, remount, we are leaving,' Treville barked across the glade. Athos turned, noting the Captain sitting astride his horse, frowning in the swordsman's direction. Giving a nod of understanding, Athos led Roger away from the water. The horse was still fidgeting, and it was only Athos' hand upon the animal's flank that kept him calm. He hesitated for a moment, but there was no sound other than the stiff breeze in the trees and the tumbling water over the rocky riverbed. Scowling, Athos mounted his horse and cantered to catch up with the disappearing train of carriages and riders.

Moments earlier, as everyone began to make their way back to the coaches, Angeline, one of the Queens ladies-in-waiting, stumbled slightly, turning her ankle. Fortunately, or unfortunately, dependent on who was asked, Aramis was the nearest at hand.

'My lady, are you hurt?' the marksman enquired, as he held her elbow to steady her gait. She appeared unharmed but flushed quite prettily at the Musketeer's attention.

'I… I am not sure, I do not think so. I turned my ankle slightly on a stone.' She gave him a coy smile and allowed him to take her arm as they neared the carriage. He helped her aboard, only to find himself now facing a line of smiling beauties. One by one, he helped each of them into their seats, unable to see Treville rolling his eyes at the turn of events. The last women to reach the coach was the new companion he had noticed at court – the dark-haired beauty with the sinful smile. He gave her a small bow, as she approached and held out her gloved hand.

'Monsieur Aramis, I believe,' she remarked as he prepared to offer his assistance.

'At your service, Madame. May I know your name, as you clearly know mine?' She raised her brow and presented him with a sardonic smile. He thought she would refuse his request, when she appeared to change her mind. She turned away but, as she did so, he heard a low breathy voice say:

'Milady de Winter… Anne.' Smiling to himself, he handed her into the coach but, as she passed close to him, he was engulfed by the powerful aroma of jasmine. Aramis found himself staring into the gloomy interior as she sat and made herself comfortable.

'Thank you, Musketeer, you may close the door now,' came a cold, yet throaty voice. Aramis just had time to note the honey-haired beauty to whom it belonged, before the door closed with a definitive click.

As the heavy scent washed over him, Aramis reeled away from the coach, stunned. Memories and snatches of conversation flashed into his mind, triggered by the strong perfume. Denying having smelt the jasmine at the Châteaux Rambouillet, and a broken Athos haunted by the heady perfume, before finally admitting why the fragrance meant so much to him. Surely this was too much of a coincidence? Aramis had never been known for masking his emotions as effectively as Athos and, suddenly feeling exposed, he frantically searched for the swordsman, praying Athos had not witnessed his reaction. Luckily he was stood amongst the trees holding Roger, only turning around when Treville issued his order to remount.

Still reeling, Aramis pulled himself up onto his horse, beside Porthos. If Milady de Winter really was Athos' mystery woman, then it would explain his behaviour at court, explain his midnight rendezvous, and his avoidance of the women's carriage – a fact that had not gone unnoticed by his two friends. Aramis was worried, he knew there was far more to the story than Athos had so far admitted, but he understood enough to know this woman had caused the man untold misery, and for her to be so close indefinitely, could only cause more heartache.

Athos kept to the rear of the party, constantly scanning the area as they travelled. The roads had now become wider and more substantial, allowing them to make up some of the time lost by their late departure. The sky darkened in the distance and it would not be long before the threatening clouds were upon them; the wind had increased its velocity and the Musketeers' capes now whipped about them as they picked up their speed. The party were nearing Versailles, and Treville was willing the storm to stay away until after the travellers were safely ensconced inside.

Athos felt the first spot of rain and sighed. So be it, though he had to admit riding in a storm was not ideal. However, it did have its advantages. If anyone was planning to attack the train, then during a storm would not be a good idea, for a variety of reasons, and unless the timing of such an assault were crucial, he reasoned that they would wait until the weather was more clement. The men were still on high alert and it was likely that some, particularly the three young and untried Musketeers, would begin to settle into their routine as the journey lengthened, and so may not be quite so attuned to approaching danger. Still, he would not rest yet, Versailles was not more than a few minutes away and they would soon begin the journey toward its approach. It was then the first rumble of thunder growled in the distance – sounding not unlike Porthos' reaction having been dealt a bad hand at cards.

Aramis had been quieter than usual on the second leg of their journey, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Porthos. He had been mulling over in his mind the events that had occurred since they had reconnected with Athos. He knew there was a woman, a woman whom Athos had thought dead, by his own instruction, no less. That this woman had turned up suddenly in Paris, alive and well, throwing Athos into a further state of turmoil, he suspected had been a very recent event, and though Athos had inferred it had been so, he had not been specific. Then the man had appeared to settle, until he had received the letter in the tavern. From that moment, he had been brooding just under the surface – not a full-blown descent into self-abuse, but a bubbling undercurrent of unease, at the palace, and whilst waiting for their departure from the Louvre. No, Aramis did not believe in coincidences, it was not a good idea for a soldier, not if you wished to stay alive.

jIf Milady de Winter was Athos' mystery woman, it did not bode well at all. Worse still, Aramis had to decide what to do with the information. He would have to tell Porthos, he had noted the way the big Musketeer had eyed him since they had stopped to rest. But should he tell the Captain? Did he have the right? That was another matter entirely.