Chapter 25

Not for the first time, Athos swayed ever so slightly as he stood, but if they thought this would slow him down, they were sadly mistaken. However, there was the added disadvantage of a closed eye, severely bruised ribs, and shoulders that pleaded to be left alone. The raging headache he hardly noticed.

'If I am to fight, I want my own sword,' Athos drawled, not so much on purpose, than as a result of the damage to his mouth. The men quietened as they awaited Timot's response.

'Fetch him his sword. Never let it be said that I did not grant the man his final request.' The men laughed at their leader's quip and resumed their eager cheers.

So that was the plan, they meant to kill him. Well, he would not go down without taking as many of them with him as possible. One of Timot's men held out his sword, and as he took it, the man jumped back out of reach just a little too quickly, making Athos smile. He grasped the weapon in his hand and swung it through the air. He had never been a showman, but perhaps now was the time to begin – with a little intimidation thrown in.

He nodded to the man facing him, and the angry opponent charged at Athos, growling as he did so. Side-stepping before the man could slow his momentum, Athos plunged his sword into his adversary's back, seeing no reason to worry about being honourable. He swiftly retrieved his weapon, and turned just as the second man thrust his sword where Athos' shoulder had been only a second before. When his weapon continued to move through thin air, his smug expression vanished, replaced by a look of surprise when he realised the only thing holding him up was Athos' sword through his torso. He still looked astonished as Athos removed his blade, and he fell face down dead upon the floor. Athos could not believe his luck. He was used to fighting drunk, and he supposed being badly beaten did not feel much worse – his limbs still worked, even if they did express reluctance in the worst possible way.

Ready for the final man, he registered little surprise when he realised there was not one, but two of them – perhaps he would take them all down after all. He parried and thrust the final of the original three, giving the man a stinging slash to the shoulder. He screamed and dropped back, allowing the second man to take his place. That was when Athos began to suspect something had changed; this man was not drunk, nowhere near. The man danced around but did not attack, and Athos played the game, though he now realised that his biggest enemy was not the man standing before him, but fatigue. They thrust and parried for a moment, then Athos attacked. He forced the man backward, and with a final lunge, sent him barrelling into the fire. Whilst the others tried to drag the burning man from the flames, the one with the slashed shoulder took his place. He was no match for Athos, and as he made to swing his sword, he caught sight of something flash through the air. Athos had somehow managed to retrieve one of his opponent's main gauche from his belt; he let it fly and it found its mark, embedding itself in the man's throat.

Athos paused for breath, noting Timot nod to someone in the crowd. Three men rose and approached. So they really did want a re-enactment? So be it, hopefully the outcome would be the same, though he was not as confident as he had been several hours ago. Like before, the three men showed no sign of having been drinking. In fact, fewer of the remaining men appeared to be cheering as loudly as before, and most of them appeared to have gone to sleep.

Athos waited for the first man to strike. Again he side-stepped and let the man's own momentum unbalance him. Whilst he took the opportunity to parry the second man's blow and strike at the third, a small cry announced he had struck home. They continued in a similar way, and as Athos slashed the second man across the face, causing him to howl in anguish and fall back, he felt the sickly sensation of a blade cut through his own flesh, as one of the remaining two got lucky, ripping through his doublet. The wound was not deep, but it made Athos grit his teeth. Only seeing out of one eye was hampering him now, and he could feel the strength in his legs waning – he was not sure how much longer he could keep this up. When two more men joined the remaining pair, his heart sank. With four on one, in his condition, he knew he could not win, but he would go down fighting.

With a final flourish of strength, he swung his sword high and brought it down with a ferocious slice, cutting the smallest of the new arrivals across the throat. He did not need to look and confirm his kill, as he jumped back and thrust at a second, parrying another blade on his way, running the man through. That left two, but his breathing was becoming laboured and he was beginning to stumble.

Milady hardly dared breathe. This was appalling. How much longer could he keep this up? Seven men down, he was already bleeding from a cut to his chest when once again his opponent struck home and cut through Athos' leather, piercing his shoulder. Athos staggered back, but for a second he looked toward the trees. Why she did not know, but she knew he looked at her. As if he were saying goodbye, he gave the slightest trace of a smile, as only Athos could, and then roared as he leapt at the remaining men.

She never knew if she screamed out loud, or whether it was only in her head. But shout someone did.

'Stop! That is enough, it is getting late. I think we have had enough entertainment for one night, and I really do not wish to lose anymore men. Your skill with a sword was not exaggerated, you deserved your reprieve, Monsieur Athos, a man of your talent should not be killed for sport. Take them back to the barn.' With that, Timot turned and stalked toward the building, dragging a raging Bisset with him.

Athos stabbed his sword into the ground and leant his weight upon it. His vision began to blur and, as his captors reached him, he slowly slid to the ground. Both the King and Milady gave up a small prayer, though each for very different reasons.

The woman watched as the last of the men disappeared into the house. The lights were put out and only the glow of the dying fire remained, but still she waited in the darkness. Four men came out of the main doorway and, after a brief conversation, walked off in different directions. None of them looked worse for drink, of that she was sure. She slipped between the outbuildings, listening for any sign of movement, but only the gentle snickering from the horses in the stables disturbed the peace of the forest. Silently, she reached the back of the main house, and rose onto her toes, so she might look through the one window giving off a faint glow.

Several men were sat around a map upon the floor – Timot, Bisset and four or five others – but of the remainder of the men there was no sign. Staying close to the wall, Milady made it to the barn housing Athos and the King. Carefully, she traced the wooden structure until she came across a section where the planks had been broken away, most likely by a badger, boar or some such beast foraging for food. Glad she had ridded herself of her skirts, she managed to crawl through the hole, freezing as she crouched inside the darkened building. As she looked around, she noted a filthy rag covering the only window. Reaching up, she gave it a hard tug, allowing the light of the growing moon to cast a wan glow upon the scene.

'Who is there?' The haughty voice of the King rang out, though a slight quiver somewhat diminished its authority. Still uncertain they were alone, she kept close to the wall until she had almost completed a full circuit. 'Who is there, I say? Can you release me?' As she finally stepped out into the ray of pale light coming from the grimy window, the King's eyes grew round. The Cardinal would never forgive her – she was on her own from this moment on. 'Milady de Winter. What on earth brings you here? Are you a captive too? Have they hurt you?' He took in the strange way in which she was dressed and jumped to the obvious conclusion. 'Tell me they have not taken advantage?'

Milady could not help but smile at the King's outrage. 'No, Sire, I am well.' The King looked astonished.

'Then I demand you set me free. Cut my bindings and let us get out of this awful place.'

The smile died from her lips. 'I cannot, Your Majesty, it would be unwise at this juncture to allow them to know I was here.'

'What on earth do you mean? Free me immediately! I am your King!' Louis was almost apoplectic.

'I truly wish I could, Sire, but might I request you lower your voice before you bring your captors running and we are all doomed.' The King opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish, but could form no words. She turned away from him and slowly approached Athos. He had been suspended from the beam once more, but this time they had not allowed him to stand, his feet were not bound but hung in the air above the floor. His head was on his chest and he appeared to be unconscious. Blood still seeped from the shoulder wound, as well as from the shallow cut on his chest that stretched from one side to the other. She reached out her hand, but withdrew it quickly. Turning, she searched the floor, and finding an old feeding trough filled with rainwater, she dampened a handkerchief and headed back to the swaying figure.

She reached up, but hesitated – she knew better than to wake a man such as Athos had become without warning. He was no longer the man she had once known, the man who would open his eyes with longing at the touch of her fingers; more likely he would snap her neck with his legs. In fact, she was surprised his ankles had not been bound, the fools should have known better.

'Athos, Athos, no time for sleeping, wake up.' There was no immediate response, but she noted the slight flicker of his eyelids. 'Athos, it is I, Anne, wake up, I need you awake.'

Athos did not open his eyes, but a drawling voice finally responded. 'I am pleased to hear it Madame, but I am afraid I would prove a disappointment.' She laughed out loud, he really must have taken a beating to even suggest such a thing. He cracked open his good eye and took in the sight before him.

For the first time since Pinot, he was actually pleased to see her, though he realised that just at this moment he would have been pleased to see Deveaux, his most hated brother-in-arms. 'I knew you were there. Forget-me-not blue, not Kingfisher.' He smiled and his head dropped back onto his chest.

'No, Athos, not now. I have no idea what you are talking about.' Even so, her heart had somersaulted at the mention of forget-me-nots – he still remembered. 'I am sorry, but you leave me no choice.' She reached inside her cloak and took out a small flask then, pulling out the stopper, reached up and dabbed the liquid onto the chest wound. Athos spasmed, sending his body swinging in the air, the rope straining with his weight.

'Nooo,' came the faint moan from his lips as the burning alcohol seeped into his wound. As she stilled his body with her hands, she once again reached up, this time allowing a little to pour onto the shoulder wound. She stretched as high as she could, placing her hand over his mouth as he cried out.

'Stop it, Athos. Since when were you a baby?'

'What are you doing to him? I demand to know,' the King shouted in the loudest whisper he could manage.

'I am simply pouring brandy over his wounds. The last thing he needs is an infection from this stinking barn. He is your only chance of survival right now.' She turned back to Athos, but Louis was not finished.

'If he had kept quiet instead of goading them at every opportunity, he would not be in this position.' The monarch pouted like a spoilt child. Milady turned on the self-centred man and let fly.

'And if he had not, what do you think they would have done for fun instead? Do you actually think he wanted them to beat him half to death, and then make him defend himself until he could no longer stand? You selfish man, can you really not see he did it to save you? This is the man whom you did not think worthy of becoming one of your precious Musketeers. Well you were right. He is not good enough. He is better, and you do not deserve him!' Sparks flashed in her green eyes, and she wondered if she had just signed her own death warrant; it appeared a long stay abroad was imminent if either of them survived. The shocked King fell silent. Never in his entire life had anyone spoken to him thus, especially not a woman.

Milady turned at the sound of a choking noise, then realised Athos was quietly chuckling. 'I take it you grow tired of your present employment, or indeed your country?' She scowled. He had always known what she was thinking, but now was not the time.

'I am glad to keep you amused,' she retorted, as she again began to search the floor of the barn.

'I take it you are alone. Where is Treville?' Athos managed to ask.

'Clearing up the catastrophe they left behind. There were many killed, Athos, it was a mess.'

'The Queen, is she... was she…?' The King could not say the words aloud, and even Athos managed to lift his head a little to hear her reply.

'Her Majesty is well, Sire. I took her to hide in the bushes after they had ordered you from the coach. She took a knock to the head, but she will be fine.'

'Thank goodness. And the Cardinal?' Louis looked like a frightened child at the thought of losing the Cardinal.

'He, too, is well,' she replied, though this time she did not elaborate, and Athos gave the slightest twitch of his lips at her tone.

'What are you looking for?' Athos managed to ask, his voice now a little stronger.

'This.' Milady picked up an old crate of some kind and managed to manoeuvre it, as quietly as she could, so that it rested beneath Athos, and then guided his feet to its surface, allowing him to finally stand. 'You can kick it away when you hear them enter in the morning, I doubt they will notice.' The relief it gave his pained shoulders made him gasp, though he was now awake enough to know his cries would alert their captors, so he bit down on the scream the pain elicited. He was taken aback when she climbed onto the box too; now she could converse with him easily and quietly, without the King hearing their discussion.

For a second, they looked at each other, but neither spoke. 'I do not suppose there is any of that brandy left is there?' Athos asked, still not breaking eye contact.

She gave a low chuckle and reached inside her cloak once more, then raised the flask to his lips, brushing his cheek as she did so.

'Mmm, I needed that. Thank you.' Athos smiled, though it looked more like a sneer with the damage to his face. Not that there was ever much difference.

Milady took the damp handkerchief and slowly wiped the blood from his face and eyes, and with the dried blood removed, Athos could now almost squint through his swollen eye. She dropped the bloodied rag, but still let her fingers trace the damage and the gash across his chest. This was hardly the time and place for arousal, but she could not resist.

Athos' glared at her as best he could, and the smouldering gaze made her shiver.

'I have you at my mercy, my lord.' Arching a brow, she smiled and stood on her toes, enabling her to brush his lips ever so gently with hers. He gave a faint moan and shivered as he lifted his head away from hers.

'What are you here for? Is this your own form of torture?' If he was honest, this was almost more painful than the beating. That had been purely physical, those wounds would heal, whereas the wounds she had caused remained open and bleeding, deep inside his soul, and she insisted on poking at them to prevent them from closing.

'Is it really so bad?' she purred. Athos did not answer, and once again she felt the overwhelming loss that his reluctance brought crashing down upon her. She removed her hands but remained where she was. 'I was supposed to return to Treville, but I fear if I do we will lose your tracks. I have left signs along the way and they will easily follow, but I will not risk losing you by going back for them.' Athos frowned. He thought for a moment she had implied more in the words she had spoken, but he would not let himself dwell on the inferred meaning of the remark.

'What is happening outside? How many men?' asked Athos, now urging her for information.

'I am not sure. After they took you away, men came out of the house and carried the drunken men inside, though I suspect they were more drugged than drunk.' She looked him in the eye, and he frowned as he took in her meaning.

'Loose ends and fresh men.' She nodded in agreement.

'They are well prepared, but why did they keep me alive?' She had no answer to that, and neither would she reveal just how grateful she was that they had.

'Apart from the one who appears to be their leader and Bisset, I would estimate nine or ten men.' She knew of the man from Paris, but then he had always suspected that. 'The other man, I have seen him before, he was at the party was he not?' Athos arched a brow and nodded.

A sudden sound outside the barn, someone coughing, reminded them of the guards surrounding them. 'I should go. I will not let you out of my sight.' She looked at Athos, and this time, as her lips brushed his, he kissed her back. She gripped his shoulders to keep him close, and this time he did not pull away. There was a deep sadness in his gaze as she let go. She was afraid the same emotion was mirrored in her own expression, and she would not leave this way. She slid her hand inside her waistband and, removing an object, traced the side of his body. Pausing at his belt for a moment, she eventually crouched down and slipped something into his boot. 'You may find that useful later.'

She gave him a superior smile and jumped down from the box. 'I am sorry, Athos.' She gave the stupefied King a small nod of her head and disappeared from view. A scratching sound followed, then only silence – a silence so loud, it deafened Athos and made him catch his breath.