Chapter 17

Milady had entered the library with a silken swish of her skirts, the sudden rush of air as she opened the door causing the candles to gutter in their holders. It was only early afternoon, but the dark, heavy clouds had plunged the lodge into an early darkness. As yet, there was no sign of rain, but it felt as though the very air were holding its breath for the downpour to begin once more.

If Richelieu had noted her arrival, he made no sign. Standing erect and still, his silhouette resembled a statue, positioned as he was in the long window. He gazed out toward the tremulous forest, where boughs swayed back and forth, as if fighting the furious wind could ward off the oncoming storm.

'You took your time.' He did not turn, simply letting the statement hang in the air.

'I came as soon as I was able, my time is not exactly my own,' was her only reply.

He turned slowly and gave her a cold smile.

'It never has been, my dear.' How she loathed the man, but he paid her well, and in most cases the tasks he wished her to perform caused her no undue concern. Today, he wasted no time – no preamble, no sly innuendo – straight to the heart of the matter.

'What is your relationship with the man Athos?' Whatever she had been expecting, it had not been that. For once, her carefully schooled features let her down, though perhaps it was propitious. Her eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her throat but, luckily for her, the Cardinal interpreted the movement as an indication of surprise, not the subconscious movement of discomfort that had her hand reaching unconsciously for the hidden scar around her neck.

'You appear surprised, my dear. Tell me, have I offended your delicate sensibilities? I must say I find that hard to believe, though you do appear to be at a loss. Perhaps I misread your interest, perhaps there is really nothing higher in your observation than simple lust.' He smiled, his narrowed eyes watching her every move.

Momentarily, she felt relief flood her veins. Her shocked reaction had worked in her favour, as Richelieu had read her response as one of genuine surprise, but her mind raced, trying to retain control of her body language, aware that any mistake on her part could be devastating – to both her and Athos. She hung her head slightly, giving herself time to formulate a response before giving the Cardinal an amused smile – coy would have been ridiculous.

'I suppose he holds a certain allure; I did not realise I was being so obvious.' She gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders and attempted to appear just a little discomfited.

'Your interest would be obvious to a blind man, my dear, I thought you a more subtle creature. Still, perhaps soldiers need a less refined approach, I doubt fluttering your eyelashes would be sufficient.'

She offered no reply, but her senses were on high alert. Why the sudden interest in her love life? For a second, a vile prospect occurred to her – surely he had not bought her along on this trip for that? She had been desperate and down to her last sous when she had brought herself to the First Minister's attention, wearing a stolen gown and jewels, their owner cold, dead and already completely forgotten. It had taken all of her acting skills, as well as several others, to suffer the man in her bed; no wonder Athos had reeled away in disgust. However, her choices had been few, and fate had stepped in, throwing her into the path of the most powerful man in France, or so many believed; though, of course, not the King, the opportunity had been too good to ignore. Luckily, he had tired of her corporeal services once he had become aware of her more devious talents. Surely he did not wish to rekindle that part of their relationship?

Something in her eyes must have betrayed her concern and Richelieu began to laugh, though the sound was harsh and cold.

'Oh, do not worry, I am not jealous, nor do I have need of your libidinous talents. No indeed, I was merely hoping to put your carnal appetites to good use.' His lips narrowed and he grew serious once more. 'Treville is up to something, and I want to know what it is. Athos appears to be his golden boy, so bed the man and find out what he knows; if necessary, bed them all – just find out what the hell is going on.' He stalked back over to the window just in time to witness Athos and Treville running up the lodge steps. The First Minister made no further comment but stalked past Milady, shouldering her aside and rushing from the room.

She stood in complete shock – of all the things she had expected to be asked to do, bedding Athos had not been one of them. When the reality of the request hit her, she did not know whether to laugh or be horrified, though the strange sensation in the pit of her stomach suggested the idea held a certain appeal.

oOo

She now stood on the opposite side of the room to the man she had been ordered to seduce; he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the Captain, his two bodyguards just behind him. They were all staring at the delicate locket suspended from the Queen's hand – but not Athos, he was staring at her, and she could not look away. His face was hard and earnest – why was it that an expression that sent most men running for the hills, made her want to do just the opposite? In fact, made her want to do things no lady should even know about – but then, luckily, she was no lady.

'Athos, go with the others. Order a search of the lodge if necessary – but find her.' Treville delivered the order quietly, in an effort to allay the Queen's fears; there was no point raising a hue and cry until they were sure foul play was involved. The Lady Angeline had proved to be accident prone, so it was possible that she may have taken a fall or wandered into the wrong part of the building – but somehow he did not believe that would prove to be the case.

Athos turned and left, Aramis and Porthos close behind, none of the three men noticing her follow them from the room. She did not know for sure why she had, it was certain to be observed, but it was time to cease standing on the sidelines, she wanted to be part of whatever was afoot, and she did not like cowering in the shadows like a wallflower merely forced to stand and watch.

The three men reached the room allotted to Angeline and, finding the door slightly ajar, Athos pushed it open, hand instinctively upon the hilt of his sword. Aramis had already drawn his weapon, and all three men entered the room prepared for trouble, but it was silent, except for the steady rhythm of the first raindrops upon the windows sounding in the empty room. Aramis scratched his head.

'She cannot have simply disappeared.' He scanned the room, looking for anything that appeared out of place. 'There does not look as if there is anything amiss in the room, everything appears as it should.' He turned to the two men just in time to see Athos raise a brow and Porthos begin to smile.

'Well you would be the one to know my friend, if any of us did,' Porthos grinned. Aramis smiled and gave a small bow. Athos had moved further into the room, turning around as though looking for something in particular.

'What do we know of the Lady Angeline?' the swordsman asked, directing his question to no one in particular. There was a slight hesitation, but the voice that answered had him pivot toward the doorway in surprise.

'She is young, recently attached to the Queen's household, an innocent from the country. Do not suspect her of any intrigue.' Milady offered the information from her position in the entrance to the room, and she could not fail to notice the looks of hostility emanating from Porthos and Aramis. She gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders and offered them a haughty smile. 'I thought I may be of help.' Maintaining her position, Milady refused to be affected by the two Musketeers' obvious dislike. She had no idea how much they knew, but it was obviously enough for them to regard her with animosity.

Athos' voice cut through the growing tension. 'What do you know?' As she went to walk into the room, Aramis and Porthos stood before her barring her way.

'Call off your watchdogs, I am hardly a threat to your person.' She gave the two Musketeers a look of mild annoyance. With a nod from Athos they parted, giving her just enough room to manoeuvre between them.

'Is there a hidden doorway in this room, do you know?' Athos asked her, ignoring the frowns from the two men.

'I am not sure. There is not one in my room, but there is definitely one in the King and Queen's rooms, as well as Richelieu's.' Athos nodded and, despite the two men's obvious discomfort at Milady's presence, without further explanation all four of them began to examine the walls.

It was Aramis who found the uneven line that revealed the hidden opening. He glanced over his shoulder, calling to the others: 'I have found it, but I cannot see how it opens, there is no carving to press or any other protrusion to manipulate.'

'Press around the wall,' Athos suggested, 'it may have a hidden mechanism.' All the while he ignored her presence, despite the fact he was aware of her every movement.

Once again, it was Aramis who found what they were looking for. The wall seemed to give for a second beneath his fingers and a soft click could be heard behind the wall, the only indication he had found the entrance. The wall appeared to move toward him, and a panel a little smaller than a normal doorway stood proud from the rest of the structure. The others crowded behind him, Milady standing a little further away, not sure of her position. Aramis pulled the door open as Athos and Porthos braced themselves, weapons at the ready.

For a moment, a dark space yawned before them, with just the smell of dust and damp. Then, as their eyes moved down toward the floor, Aramis gave a small moan. He fell to his knees and Athos and Porthos lowered their swords. The pale figure lay amongst the dust, her back against the wall; it would have looked as if she were merely asleep had it not been for the unnatural angle of her slim neck.

Aramis looked up and shook his head, then stood and thumped the wall. 'She was just a child, who would do such a thing, and why?' he asked, grinding his teeth in anger.

Porthos frowned – for a hardened soldier he had a heart that matched his size, and the sight of the broken girl angered him as much as it did Aramis.

It was Athos who spoke, quietly. 'I suspect she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she played no part in this, then she must have entered the room as they exited the passageway.'

'But why this room?' Aramis asked, puzzled. Athos shrugged his shoulders, staring past Aramis into the dark.

'Perhaps they made a mistake, perhaps it was the wrong room,' Athos mused, though he appeared to be far away. Suddenly Aramis pulled out his pistol and headed into the dark corridor.

'Where are you going?' Athos barked, though the question came out more like a croak; his throat had dried instantly upon the opening of the door as the darkness was revealed beyond, making all his following conversation difficult.

'We need to follow them, they have to be in here somewhere,' Aramis responded, running his hand through his hair in frustration. 'Are you not coming?' He noted the pallor of Athos' skin, the faint beads of sweat upon his upper lip. 'What is wrong, why do you hesitate?' He thought he noticed the woman make as if to reach out to the swordsman, but she stopped herself and let her hand drop to her sides. Porthos stood watching the tension play out between the two men.

At last, Athos answered, though his voice was low and controlled.

'We do not know where these passages lead, we would be running blind and they could strike without warning. It would be stupid to rush in without planning.' Aramis bristled at the remark, though he remained silent. 'Right now, we need a plan of the tunnels and we need to prevent the perpetrators from exiting into any more occupied rooms. Go and find Duval, see if there is a map of the network. Then we will proceed.'

The two men locked eyes. Athos knew the marksman was angry, but he knew his friend's passion was not directed at him. The image of the woman lying like a broken doll had affected Aramis, who worshipped all women with equal vigour – and Milady's lurking presence was not helping.

Porthos broke the tense silence. 'He is right Aramis, we would be sittin' ducks, who knows 'ow well they know those passages?' At last Aramis relaxed, nodded, and walked back into the room, placing a hand on Athos' shoulder. Milady noted the gesture and almost rolled her eyes, though deep down she could not help feeling a spark of jealously for the closeness of these men. She had long ago chosen to forgo the comfort of friends – after all, everyone betrayed you in the end.

Having noted the rapid breaths his friend struggled to curtail, if Aramis was unconvinced by Athos' reasoning, he realised that now was not the time for such a conversation. The marksman left the room, his expression clearly showing his distress, but more evident was his disgust for the woman who hovered in the room like a malevolent presence. He could not understand why Athos allowed her the opportunity to get underneath his skin that way. Irritated, he stalked along the corridor to fetch the necessary plan.

The atmosphere in the room was so palpable that the three occupants felt they could have reached out and touched it. Porthos gently lifted the slight body of Angeline from its dusty tomb and laid it reverently upon the bed, his face muscles taut with anger at so frail a creature's life so violently snuffed out. He pulled the sheet over her tiny form, her imprint hardly bigger than that of a child.

'They didn't 'ave to kill 'er. We know they've been 'ere anyway,' he growled, fists clenched in anger.

Athos nodded, leaning his head upon his hand, bracing against the wall. He the dark passageway with distaste, though the colour that had leached from his face had now begun to return. Quietly, he addressed the big Musketeer.

'Go and advise all those who have doorways in their rooms to have heavy furniture pulled in front of them; no one else will fall victim to these fools' mistakes.' He pushed himself away from the entrance and, in a rare sign of emotion, kicked the door closed. Porthos tipped his head toward the silent woman standing beside the bed staring down at the still form.

'What about her?' he hissed.

'She is my problem,' Athos replied, his icy glare making it clear he would not discuss the issue further. Porthos glared at Milady, who at least had the sense to read the tension in the room and remain silent. Porthos grunted and, like Aramis, stalked from the room not happy at all.

'What do you want?' Athos whispered. He glared at her, the intensity of his gaze making heat settle low in her stomach.

She would like to have made an appropriate response – something in the vein of being worried about the missing girl. The truth was, she cared very little, but she had needed to see him – though she had no intention of sharing that fact.

'The Cardinal likes to know what is happening,' she finally replied, with an air of disinterest. 'He prefers his information first-hand, rather than relying on misinformation and supposition.' The inference was not lost on Athos and his lips twisted in a snarl.

'Of course he does, I am sure it makes for fascinating pillow talk.' It was not like him to stoop so low, but he was tired, so very tired. He had thought himself in hell before, but at least then he dwelt in a nightmare of regret and guilt. Now his emotions were so complex and tangled he simply did not know where to begin. This woman, who refused to let him be, elicited such a fierce reaction that he both hated and needed her, loathed and loved her. God it was a mess. Her eyes narrowed at his jibe and she straightened her shoulders, showing smooth pale skin that appeared pearlescent in the encroaching gloom.

'Think what you will, but we are all trapped in this pathetic place together.' She had sought to offer her help, but not now, let him wallow in his own self-pity. 'Perhaps I should go into the passageway and seek what you cannot. I presume they do not know of your fear? The mighty swordsman, so afraid of the dark. At least when you get to hell, there will be plenty of light, even if it is the glow of fire.' With that, she held her head high and turned to leave.

'Do not seek me out again, Anne. I refuse to play your games. Kill me if you must, but I will not be used for your entertainment. People are dying and I have a job to do.' His words lashed out at her with a force that slowed her exit. She did not turn or cease to move toward the door, but her words were clear.

'Well at least this time you cannot blame me.'

oOo

It was late, and the lodge had finally fallen silent. All of those in the royal party had retired early, much fuss having been made piling excessive amounts of furniture in front of the passageway entrances. It had been decided that entering into them to seek those responsible was not the best solution, as they would be far too vulnerable. Athos had appeared relieved at the decision, but said nothing. Musketeers and Red Guards had been stationed at other doors, and those that could not be watched, held closed like the others. Treville had been furious when he had heard of Milady's involvement. He had ordered Athos from the premises and told him to remain on the outside of the lodge for the remainder of the night. Deveaux had chuckled at the dressing down, and though he did not understand what Athos had done wrong, he did not care, he was just enjoying watching the man squirm.

Following the announcement that Angeline's body had been found, Athos had managed to avoid Aramis and Porthos. There had been an outcry from the Queen and her party and the King had done much ranting and pacing and, as he entered Roger's stall and leant his head against the horse's warm neck, Athos had to admit he was enjoying the quiet. He heard a faint rustle, but it was the scent that made him turn.

Athos was still furious with her, and the anger glittered in his green eyes. If she had been honest with herself, she would have known right then that she would fail– his anger had never done anything but inflame her desire. His remark had rankled and writhed inside her head, growing and fuelling her own anger. So, he preferred death, so be it, she had worked herself into such a frenzy she had really believed she could grant him his wish.

The tip of the knife traced his throat, settling in the soft hollow where his pulse beat, steady and strong, beneath the small blade; a reminder of the life throbbing helpless beneath her fingers. As her own heart rate increased along with his, she felt a surge of power. Halting at the chain around his neck, she lifted it slowly from beneath his shirt, letting it swing suspended from the blade. She arched her brow and licked her lips, enjoying his vulnerability.

Slowly she lowered the trinket to its rightful home and, replacing the knife against his skin once more, she traced the path her fingers had once known so well. Down it slid, through the dark hair that showed tantalizingly erotic above his open shirt, stopping abruptly where the fabric covered his chest.

It was then she made her mistake – she looked up into his eyes. Had she held to her quest, she may have driven the knife through his treacherous heart; but no, the close proximity of his body was, as always, her undoing. She had made an error, she should have crept up behind him in the dark, driven the knife into his back and then melted away into the night. She had been a fool to want to see his expression, knowing full well he would never beg for his life – not from anyone, but especially not from her.

As the knife slid further down his throat, Athos hardly dared to breathe – would she do it? He had no doubt she was capable – after all, she had done it before. Still, something about the steady pressure of the blade felt more seductive than threatening. What did she want from him?

He felt no fear. Did he really care if she took her revenge? What he felt, he dared not admit, it had always been this way between them, all or nothing. Whilst his heart beat hard in his chest, the burning of long controlled desire threatened to overwhelm him, despite the fact she literally held his life in her hands. The thrumming in his veins filled every inch of his body, his very skin felt as though it was on fire; the longing alone would surely consume him. He stared hard at the dark head of curls, as if his force of will alone could halt her intent, whatever that may be.

Their eyes locked, his green and hooded, arrogant to the last, hers superior and possessive, like a cat; breast heaving with anticipation, and not for the kill, for something much baser and more consuming.

Then it was done.

The knife clattered to the floor, its intention abandoned.

She pressed him back against the wall, all thoughts of killing forgotten. Perhaps there were better ways to get her revenge, ways which would be far more exhilarating than murder.

If she thought she could walk away unscathed, then she was an utter fool.

As she pushed him backward, dropping the knife, Athos gripped her bare shoulders, and her mouth, no longer soft, pressed hard against his, with an urgency born of desperation. He returned her hunger with an equal force he had not felt before, not in all the times he had taken her to his bed, or anywhere else. This was a burning need, filling both of their bodies, their very souls. Their passion had always been all-consuming, their love-making rarely gentle; they unleashed a part of each other they had never known existed until they had become one – both of them understanding they would never experience it with another, though God knows she had tried.

Frantically, she tugged the shirt over his head, burying her hands in his chest, the warmth and rapid beat of his heart beneath her soft fingers, as she explored the contours of his body. It had changed since they had last been together, now it was lean and hard, firmly muscled, the dark hair hiding the scars from his recent exploits. Somehow the thought of him so close to death only increased her longing, and she bit hard into his shoulder, as though the moan it elicited reassured her he truly lived.

He gripped the neck of her gown and tugged it hard, the ripping of fabric lost in a soft cry as her breasts at last touched his feverish skin. If there had been a moment when they could have stopped and ended the madness it was now past. Rational thought had forsaken them both, replaced only by a need that overpowered and consumed them.

He pushed her backwards and down upon the clean straw, relishing the sight of her pale skin in the moonlight; they were made for the darkness, creatures that should only inhabit the night, where desire and animal lust were slaked.

He bent to kiss the soft mound of her breast and she grabbed onto his hair, crying softly into the silence. She pulled his mouth back to hers, wanting to taste him, to feed on his desire, to feel the firm, soft lips pressing hers. God, how she had missed this.

There was no stopping now. Slowly, he slid the silk up her long legs, holding her stare, almost daring her to deny him further pleasure. No, she would not, could not – she, too, was beyond rational thought as she tugged at the buttons on his breeches. Soon it would be too late, but by then it would no longer matter. She could stab him if she still could, in fact he prayed she would.

As he ran his fingers along the inside of her silky thighs, she arched her back like a cat, digging her nails into the muscles of his shoulders; tomorrow there would be scars of a different kind, they would need no medic, but perhaps a priest. He bore down on her, trapping her body beneath his; there would be nothing gentle about tonight, it was as if their mutual anger fuelled their desire, and they came together with a power and urgency that was both satisfying and terrifying.

Her world shattered in ecstasy, and all her plans with it; this was the only pleasure she had ever truly known – with him. It would always be this way, and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she finally admitted the truth. They were meant to be, in ways too dark to admit; together they were all powerful, apart they would forever remain diminished.

He cried out, pinning her to floor with his hands. As his world exploded in a frenzy of sensation, his heart began to bleed. He gazed down at her, the power and fire in his eyes melting her soul. As his lips found hers once more, there was a softness this time, as their mutual tears flowed, and they clung together as if it were their last day on this earth.

She pushed him away, afraid to look into those eyes again, afraid of what he would see – anger, lust need, any of those would be safe, but anything more final would undo her. They had not spoken, only the moans and cries of pleasure had passed between them, and oh what pleasure. She pulled her dress together as best she could and draped her cloak to cover the damage. She could hear his breathing, still rapid and ragged, but he made no move to stand. When he still did not speak, she turned to go. Then his voice, low and husky reached out to her in the darkness, the tone caressing her like silk, but the words cutting like a blade.

'It is over, let that be the end of it.' She could not tell if he was angry or distressed, but her heart hammered in her throat as she willed her legs to walk away. After all, what had she expected? As she exited the shadows of the stable, she blamed the sudden wind for the blurring of her vision, not the frail vestige of hope that now lay in tatters at her feet, along with the final piece of her heart.

This would be the last time, had to be the last time. But, just as there would be no going back, neither would either of them ever move forward. Whilst they both lived, they would remain forever trapped in each other's arms and hearts – even if it were only inside their tortured nightmares.