Chapter 31

Athos was hurled on to the floor of the stall with little concern about whether it inflicted damage. However, it wasn't that which made his spirit dip, but the arrival of Bisset, grinning and bearing a stout wooden chair, which Athos somehow doubted was for anyone's comfort. He watched whilst the King was dragged back into the same stall. It was becoming rather crowded – Timot, Bisset, the man he had shot in the shoulder and the King. Still, at least they were both still alive!

'So, who is she?' Timot asked, once Athos had been secured to the chair. Athos adopted a ferocious glower, not because he hoped to intimidate, but simply because he was getting extremely pissed off.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. 'A good Samaritan.' He was holding Timot's gaze when Bisset delivered an impressive blow to Athos' stomach. As the air was forced from his lungs, he gave a harsh groan, but he would not give them the satisfaction of admitting how much pain it had caused his already bruised ribs.

Timot gave a cold smile. 'Of course, a woman just happened to stop by, find you in a worrying predicament, set you free, gave you a weapon and helped you escape. Truly a paragon of virtue.'

Athos could not prevent a slight snort of amusement escaping his lips – his wife, a paragon of virtue! The irony was more than amusing, though he regretted his reaction when Bisset's fist impacted with his chin. His head whipped back, gagging as the metal tang of blood filled his mouth. He spat it onto the floor and glared at his captors.

'As you say, most accommodating.' He knew he was courting trouble, but what could he do?

No blow came, and Athos found that more worrying.

Timot turned to the injured man and spoke, not trying to keep his conversation quiet, just the opposite.

'Duval and Fabre, they have just arrived have they not? Send them after her, NOW! I want information after that…' he shrugged his shoulders and smirked. The injured man reacted immediately rushing from the stall. 'We will find her. I hear she is quite the beauty, not that it really matters, I am sure she will provide plenty of sport before they kill her.'

Athos knew they wanted a reaction, and though right now he would have liked nothing more than to rip the man's throat out, he moved his fists so the rope ground into his already raw wrists, rather than allow his true feelings to show.

'So stoic. Well perhaps we should expect nothing less from you. Perhaps our royal visitor may be more forthcoming.' With a nod of his head, Bisset moved over to the quivering King. Covered in mud from head to foot, Louis bore no resemblance to the familiar monarch. As Bisset pulled back his fist Louis shouted.

'No! I will tell you what you want to know.' Athos tried to turn his head to give the King the full effect of his disdain, but a backhanded slap from Timot, halted his efforts.

'Leave him, please, I will talk. She is one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, her name is Milady de Winter. I know nothing more about her, she joined our household only recently.' The King's words came out in one breath and he now beseeched Timot with frightened eyes to accept his statement.

'So, you expect me to believe one of the Queen's women, working alone, followed us, and risked getting killed to free you both? She must be a most dedicated royalist to take such a gamble.' He paced back and forth for a moment before facing Athos once more. 'We will see what transpires. We have a meeting to keep on the morrow. After that we will see…' With that, he left the building, but Bisset did not immediately follow.

'Timot says you will fetch a pretty penny as a hired fighter, or perhaps a slave fighter for entertainment. That is the only reason I am not allowed to break both your arms and legs. Still, that don't mean I can't spoil that pretty face.' That being said, he gave Athos a fierce punch, splitting his eye, leaving blood running freely down the swordsman's face. He was about to strike again when a voice from outside interrupted him.

'Bisset, leave him, you can have your fun later. We have much to discuss.' As Bisset moved reluctantly toward the door, Athos stared the man out, though it was not his best effort with one eye closed.

'This is not over, Musketeer,' he laughed. 'Oh, I forgot, you aren't even that.' His laughter echoed in the darkness as they left, taking the lighted torches with them. Athos was glad of the darkness as he did not want the King to see the desolate expression on his face.

There was a moment of silence before the King spoke. 'Athos...' but Athos was really not in the mood.

'Forgive me, Your Majesty, I really would be grateful for quiet. I need to think.' The night then settled into stillness, with only the constant patter of rain falling through the non-existent roof and the occasion snicker from the horses interrupting the silence.

ooOoo

Milady sat atop her horse, her head reliving the disastrous escape over, and over again. Suddenly, a startled animal burst through the undergrowth, causing the grazing horse to stamp and rear. Instinct kicked in and she took a firm hold of the reins, controlling the horse for the first time in what seemed an age. The action shook her back to reality, and gazing around, she was not quite sure how she had arrived at the spot where she found herself. She shook her head and lifted up her face to receive the raindrops falling from the sodden branches. The cool drops registered and soothed her tired, sore eyes, and calmed her. Slowly she urged her horse forward, looking for a place to get a little shelter. Shivering, she realised just how cold and wet she was.

Guiding the animal through the trees, she spotted the remains of an old gamekeeper's hut. Remnants of dead birds still hung from a line, though their condition suggested no one had hung anything new for a very long time. She tethered the horse and pushed hard at the door. It moved only begrudgingly, but with a hard shove it eventually gave, and she fell into the dark interior.

The smell was not pleasing, and was not even a scent she dared identify, but amazingly the roof was intact, and the floor was dry. An old cot lay against the wall, and she sank down upon it as though it were a four-poster bed, simply grateful for somewhere to rest. Her arms and legs ached from the struggle through the mud, and she was so very tired. But worse still she had failed. Something in the revelation made her angry; failure was not something she accepted – she hated failure. No matter how her rage burned inside her, even her fury could not overtake the fatigue. Fighting to stay awake, she tried to form some sort of plan, but her eyes were too heavy, and she was too cold. Tentatively, she felt around, too weary to stand and make a more thorough search, and her freezing fingers touched something rough – an old blanket. Relieved, she pulled it over her shivering form, at last finally giving in and allowing sleep to take hold.

ooOoo

Athos sat and watched the sky begin to clear, as one-by-one stars began to blink in the blackness overhead. At some point he must have fallen asleep, for when he opened his eyes again, the sky was grey and showing the first golden hues of dawn.

His one eye was closed, but whether from damage or the crusted blood Athos could not tell. He considered himself lucky, but for how long that luck would continue to hold, he did not dare consider. He supposed they would be here soon. Milady had told him of the plan to travel to Château de Bois, and he suspected there could only be one reason for such a plan, though he found the idea of such a bold plot surprising, as it was not like Gaston to be so hands-on.

The King still slept, and for that at least he was grateful.

Anne, what had happened to her? He had no doubt at all they would enjoy telling him if they had caught her, though he hoped she would be skilled enough to evade them. If anyone could, he suspected it would be her. Never had he wished so much to see Aramis' annoyingly cheerful face, and even Porthos growling at him for being stupid would cheer his soul. He really needed them now.

ooOoo

Darkness, and being forced to admit they had no idea where they were, had forced Treville and the two Musketeers to camp for the night. Though they took turns to keep watch, not one of them slept. Everything about this trip had gone wrong from the very beginning. Leaving too early without enough men; having to take the two rookies; not being able to follow Athos and the King straight away, and falling for the decoy King, when the ruse should have been obvious. Not to mention losing Athos.

Aramis lay on his bedding and thought back to the night he had first encountered the swordsman; drunk, but still able to put on a spectacular display, helping him defend an unconscious Porthos. Aramis had known straight away there was something about the man that intrigued him. So much had happened since then, and now he could not imagine being a Musketeer without Athos – a realisation that threatened to take him to the brink of despair.

Porthos sat staring past the fire, to avoid the glow impairing his night vision. Athos had caused him angst right from the very start. Unlike Aramis, he had not been so quick to trust the brooding swordsman, but now, now he was as loved as any brother.

Yes, he moaned at him, shouted at him, but only because Porthos could not bear to see Athos continuously hurl himself from one disaster to another. But that was Athos: no care for his own safety, no feeling of self-worth, and that's what frustrated and angered Porthos. After everything, Athos still refused to see who he really was.

Now he was gone, just like that, and Porthos hadn't been there to help him. That knife would twist in his gut forever, festering until he could not stand it any longer, and he did not know how he would cope.

The blackness was beginning to fade to a darker shade of grey when Treville gave up on the idea of sleep. He nodded to Porthos, who was banking up the fire to heat water. Stretching slowly, he walked around the camp, making a show of checking the horses, but he just needed to do something, anything. The image of that pyre blazed behind hie eyes, searing into his memory, and even before they had the proof before them, he had sensed the loss; he had known what they would find.

Oh, Athos, did you goad them too far? Did you try and keep their attention away from the King? Or were you just too much trouble for them? He stroked the mane of the black stallion standing still under the shelter of the trees, and the horse snorted as though he, too, felt a sense of loss. Milady had taken Treville's, so he was now riding Athos' beast, and at least the animal gave him some connection to the man, to the one he had privately thought of as a son.

However, grieving would have to wait – they had a job to do, and he intended to see it done. And should he have the chance to enjoy a little revenge, then that would be a bonus.

Treville returned to the fire, where Aramis and Porthos were pouring steaming water into cups, one of which they handed to the Captain. As they stood together in the flickering light, all three men bore the signs of a difficult night.

'What now?' Porthos barked, his anger still simmering close to the surface.

'We return to the place where we turned to follow the decoy; then we keep going. Either we find the trail, or perhaps a sign from her. If she is still bothering to follow. We find the King and we end this.' Treville gave both men a thunderous look and they indicated their assent.

They doused the remains of the fire, prepared the horses, and a short time later they were retracing their path through the wood. Luckily, their earlier haste had left enough visible destruction to follow. When they eventually found the main road, they urged their mounts into a gallop. Time was now their main enemy.

ooOoo

Milady awoke, and for a few moments, she could not work out where she was. When realisation struck, she jumped from the bed, groaning at the stiffness and aching in her cramped limbs. The fingers on her left hand complained bitterly, a painful reminder of her failure, her inability to keep her hold of the King. Her body stiffened, responding to some heightened sense, and reacting automatically to a suspected noise, she reached for her pistol. When Milady saw the condition of her powder she moaned in frustration. Damp – she was not likely to shoot anyone soon, and oh, how she wanted to. Pulling her still wet hood over her head, she slid out into the grey dawn; though the sky was streaked with gold, no sun yet shone. Reaching under her skirts for her dagger, she cursed once more as she remembered it was last seen stuck in the jugular of one of the kidnappers. Still, at least Athos had put it to good use – he always had been skilled at throwing a knife.

She kept close to the hut, and hearing the whinny from her horse behind her, she darted behind the trees, just as two men emerged from the rear, creeping toward the door. She needed a plan, and she needed it quickly, but without a weapon her options were limited. If she ran for her horse, they would follow, and she could not be sure of the outcome. Or she could detain them somehow.

This time, she was not going to walk up to them as she had done before; that had not worked out at all. Her foot hit against something hard and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from crying out. A large, jagged rock stuck out from the leafy floor and a slow smile escaped her perfect lips.

Holding it firmly in her grip, she struggled as far as the wall of the hut. She had to time this just right. Her breathing came in gulps and her heart hammered against her ribs. She raised the large stone as high as she could, then coughed. She only had to wait for a couple of seconds before one of the men emerged through the opening. Come on, just a little further, just a little more, Milady thought to herself. When he was barely clear of the door, she struck out, bringing the stone down upon his head, whilst simultaneously kicking the door. At last lady luck was with her, as the unconscious man fell back against the wooden structure, effectively blocking the exit for his irate colleague.

Milady pushed the rock against the door for good measure and was about to leave when something caught her eye. The man's sword was trapped beneath his body, the hilt of which she would have recognised anywhere. He was a dead weight, but after a brief struggle she managed to free the sword, whilst all the time the man inside beat on the door, cursing her and threatening a horrible death. She did not waste the opportunity, taking his knife and his powder, though his gun she tossed into the trees as she had her own, and now she had ammunition too. Feeling far more positive, she ran for her horse and, mounting as quickly as she was able, she wheeled the animal around and headed back in the direction she had come. Back to the Athos and the King.

ooOoo

When the man with the gunshot wound returned for Athos and the King after sunrise, it was clear something had not gone well. He was nervy and made no attempt to hide it, waving his knife around to enforce his demands, pushing first the King, then Athos toward the waiting horses. Bisset and Timot were arguing. Bisset made the mistake of pushing Timot, who pulled his gun and thrust it under Bisset's chin.

'Do not ever touch me again, am I clear?' Timot's voice was low and menacing. Bisset simply gave a slight nod, afraid anything more vigorous might take his head off. However, it did not stop him from cutting furious eyes at Timot as the man stalked away to mount his horse.

Athos was delighted. So they had come to falling out, that was good news. They were edgy, and not so confident for some reason. He noted that the two men sent for his wife had not returned, and whether that was good news or not, he did not know.

With Athos and the King tethered, the party rode away. As he looked around, the swordsman had the feeling he knew where they were. If he was right, then the caves he, Aramis and Porthos had taken shelter in when they had been sent to collect Gaston, were back along the road. They must have passed the ravine in the dark, as they were now entering the flat land on either side with woodland just a little way off. De Bois was not far.

This was Bisset's old stomping ground, but whether that would prove relevant he was not sure. They rode for some time and the sun began to rise in the sky; it was the blue of spring, the blue of forget-me-nots. Athos felt a twist inside at the thought of what might be happening. If they killed her, he would make them pay, long, hard and painfully. He may want to kill her himself, but it was his task, no one else's.

It was growing warm, a welcome event, as their clothes were still damp from last night's rain, but Athos was not sure even the sun could remove the deep chill that had settled in his bones. The King had remained silent ever since Athos had asked for peace and quiet the night before and Athos wondered if it was all becoming a little too much for the pampered monarch. The failed escape seemed to have stolen his will to survive, and if that were the case, it was not a rescue Athos would have to organise, but a massacre. He feared the threat from the kidnappers would have to be removed before he could urge the King to run again.

The sun had almost reached its zenith when Timot ordered them to halt and Athos prayed they would be given water. His mouth was so dry he was having trouble swallowing and the stale taste of blood was making his stomach uneasy.

As the party came to a stop, both of them were taken from their horses and thrown to the ground. The earth felt dry, but the damp soon began to seep through, making it anything but comfortable.

'The King needs food and water,' Athos managed to croak, though he found it hard to force the words out of his parched mouth. The King shot Athos a grateful look, as a cup was placed in his bound hands, now tied before him. He was able to raise the cup to his lips and he drank greedily, chewing on the chunk of bread and cheese that followed.

Athos thought the man was going to leave him without, but he filled another glass and handed it to the swordsman not saying a word, though no food was forthcoming.

'I am sorry, Athos. Please have my cheese.' The King held out the small morsel, and Athos was sorely tempted.

'Most gracious, Your Majesty, but I am fine. Please eat it while you can.' The King smiled and demolished the scrap instantly.

As they sat there, allowing the warmth of the sun to ease their stiff limbs, two horses approached. Athos' heart began to thud painfully behind his sore ribs; both of them had returned and they had been gone for hours. What that meant he dared not contemplate. He heard them whispering with Timot, but the man had his back to them, and Athos could not make out their conversation.

Timot and Bisset began to remount, and this time the two who had just joined them came to manhandle them onto their horses.

When Athos and the King were mounted, one of them spoke.

'Your woman was a little she-devil, but we tamed her good. She was begging for the end before we finished her. Those large, dark eyes pleading and crying. Oh, we had a good time right up to the end.' He began to chortle, but it was the King who spoke.

'Enough, she was a gentle woman. You are disgusting!' The man laughed even louder.

'Oh, we were real gentle too.' Then he looked Athos in the eye – the swordsman had made no reaction at all. 'God, but you're a cold bastard. Don't know why she bothered.' With that he returned to the others and mounted.

'Do you not have anything to say? Why are you not angry?' The King eyed Athos with horror at his lack of emotion.

Athos gave the slightest quirk of his lips. 'Because her eyes are green, a beautiful shade of green, like a cat… and she would never beg.' With that, he urged his horse along with the others. Convinced they had lied; he was now able to concentrate on a plan.