Trouble: Ch. 2
Aramis wasn't sure how he got back to the garrison. He may have sprouted wings and flown there for all he could remember. All he could think of were her eyes and the shape of her lips and the sound of her laugh. He could have sworn that his hand still tingled slightly from when he had touched her.
He entered the garrison courtyard and dropped himself down at their regular table and poured himself a glass of water to hopefully prevent his heart from fluttering out of his chest. What was happening to him?
"Where've you been?" asked Porthos, striding over to him with D'Artagnan in tow, both a little sweaty and breathless and dressed in practice garb.
"Meeting an angel in the marketplace," he responded.
"Another one?" asked D'Artagnan, smirking at the marksman as he gulped down a glass of water.
Aramis grinned, "Unlike any other! She saved me from a pair of pickpockets and then offered them a job!" He launched into the story of his morning, minutely detailing the way her skirt rustled as they moved about the market and the way her hair smelled – like mint and lavender – as the breeze blew an errant strand to where it rested upon her collarbone.
Porthos and D'Artagnan grinned at their friend. They had witnessed Aramis "in love" many times before. Something at the back of his mind though warned Porthos that this time might be different. There was something in his eyes that warned Porthos of trouble. He'd have to be on alert.
"I'm telling you gentlemen, if she's not an angel sent from heaven, I'll eat my hat!" Aramis declared as Athos joined them.
"Then I'll take it you have dinner plans for tomorrow evening?" he quipped as the others laughed.
"What's happening tomorrow evening?" asked D'Artagnan.
"We've been invited to dine with the Comtesse des Etoiles," replied Athos. "She is an old friend of mine that I knew as a lad. We were very close," he said, a little awkwardly as memories of his past flashed through his mind. "She is new to Paris. I trust you will all be on your best behaviour?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at his brothers.
"Why would you even need to ask?" replied Aramis grinning.
Athos rolled his eyes at the three mischievous faces that grinned back at him.
oOo
The following evening, Aramis was still walking on clouds as he trailed behind his brothers through one of Paris' statelier neighbourhoods on their way to dine with the Comtesse. Athos, D'Artgnan and Porthos had already entered and been introduced as Aramis strode past the blue front door and removed his hat.
"And this," said Athos "is –"
"Aramis!" laughed a voice that made Aramis' heart leap in his chest.
"Christine," he said and bowed to her, placing his hat over his chest to muffle the sound of his heart pounding.
"I see you two have met?" asked Athos, his eyes narrowed at the marksman.
Aramis grinned sheepishly up at him. "Christine – the Comtesse," he corrected, "was the good Samaritan who saved me from thieves in the marketplace. I did not know she was a comtesse at the time…"
Christine laughed, the sound tinkling like bells in Aramis' ears. "Please, Aramis, we are friends now. Christine. Never comtesse, please, or else I shall have to call you all by your positions as well, and it's bound to be confusing with four musketeers present," she said. "I'm so glad you could join me. Come," she said, pulling her bright eyes away from Aramis, "let's eat. Your friends are awaiting us." She smiled again at Aramis, who gave her a subtle wink as she took Athos by the arm and led him into the parlour.
Dinner was a wonderful, loud and laughter-filled affair. Aramis found himself seated next to Christine, their arms grazing from time to time, but each time it felt like being singed by lighting as their eyes flashed at each other in a dance of their own.
Course followed course as Christine laughed at the stories the men took turns in recounting of their adventures with the Musketeers.
After another glass of wine, D'Artagnan looked to the comtesse and gesturing towards Athos he asked, "How is that the two of you know each other?"
Christine smiled at the Gascon. "You mean he hasn't told you?"
"To be honest," said Porthos, "When he said we was meeting an old friend who was a comtesse, we was expecting someone a little different…"
"Were you expecting an old dowager in too much lace?" she asked teasingly.
Porthos grinned.
"To be fair, I never said you were old. I simply said I had known you when I was a child," said Athos. "It has been many years since we've seen each other."
She smiled warmly at him, and Aramis couldn't help but feel a slight tickle of jealousy on the back of his neck.
"Well?" asked d'Artagnan again.
Christine laughed again. "Well," she said taking a sip of her wine. "Athos and I were once almost betrothed," she said as the men fell silent around her, mouths gaping open.
Athos smirked and took a drink from his glass. "You were eight," he said.
"That's beside the point," she rejoined as the other three laughed.
"Our families were neighbouring nobility, you see, and as I'm sure you know, nobles tend to breed their children like horses," said Athos.
"Our fathers were distant cousins. We grew up together, being one of the few noble families in proximity. Athos would often spend weeks with us in the summers. We learned to ride and to fence together," she said.
"You know how to handle a rapier?" asked D'Artagnan, his eyes wide.
Christine grinned. "The pointy end goes in the bad guy," she responded to which the men again all laughed.
"As I recall," said Athos, "You were quite good even then. It made me nervous. And you were always an excellent shot."
She laughed, "I also speak four languages, Spanish and Italian among them."
"Well?" D'Artagnan prompted again.
"Well," said Christine sighing. "As you can imagine we grew quite close. So close in fact that when our parents approached us about the potential of one day marrying, I ran away and hid in the woods for three days. It was Athos who eventually found me."
Athos smirked slightly. "Christine and I were like siblings you see. Marriage would have been unnatural; a disaster."
"We promised each other that we would never marry unless it was for the most profound love," she said. "Athos did give me my first kiss though," she finished with a grin.
"Only because you forced me to," he said, an uncharacteristic tinge of pink brightening the man's cheeks.
"I just wanted to see what the fuss was about," she explained as Porthos and D'Artagnan roared with laughter. Aramis chuckled softly. His emotions and loyalties were engaged in combat as he listened to the story. Christine shifted slightly in her chair, her body pressing unperceptively to the others against his.
"A few years later my mother died suddenly. My father, overcome with grief, left France with me. We travelled Italy, Spain, and England. I secretly served a bit myself as a field nurse in the Huguenots' uprising. About a year ago, when my father grew ill, we returned to France so he could be buried next to my mother."
"I am sorry to hear about your father," said Athos. "He was a good man."
"Thank you," she said, "He loved you very much." Her face sobered as her grey clouded eyes searched Athos.
"We had no news about what happened to you, that Thomas had died, until we returned to France. I would have written had I known," she said desperately, her eyes suddenly damp as she looked at the swordsman. He nodded, sadly, and looked away. Seeing her again had brought back the more joyful memories of his past. He knew it was only a matter of time until the painful ones would show their grim faces once more.
Porthos cleared his throat and the air in the room. "So how long are ya plannin' on stayin' in Paris?" he asked. His eyes were studying the marksman who perked up a little at the question. He had been watching him closely throughout the meal.
"I'm not sure," she said. "I have been on my own for a year now, but have only just summoned the courage to return to Paris. I haven't presented myself at court yet so I'll be glad for any advice you could offer," she said smiling warmly at the big musketeer.
The servants entered carrying dessert – a decadent piece of chocolate cake was set before each of them.
"Is that Madame La Crue's?" asked Porthos, mouth watering
"I was told it's the best," she said turning to Aramis. "Because of that, I insist that you try the first piece," she said, and taking her fork in hand, she offered the marksman a bite from her plate, smiling as she stared into the richer chocolate eyes of the marksman.
"Uh-oh," thought Porthos. "This could be trouble."
Aramis straightened his shoulders and leaning forward slightly, their eye contact unwavering, he ate the cake from her fork. She giggled and he chuckled softly.
"Delicious," he said and grinned.
"Excellent!" she said brightly, suddenly aware once more of the others in the room. "Please, enjoy!" she said as she in turn tried her cake.
Next to her Aramis was still grinning as he picked up his own fork, no bite as sweet as the one she had offered him from her own plate.
The remainder of the evening passed pleasantly and it was nearly midnight when the musketeers stood to rise, with the Comtesse laughing and promising to have them back again soon and often.
Athos stood at the doorway before following D'Artagnan and Porthos out.
"It is good to see you again," he said.
"And you as well, brother. There is a lot I want to ask you, to know how you are, how you have been…to hear you laugh again –"
"Perhaps another evening," he said, bowing slightly with a smile as he exited through the door.
Suddenly it was just Christine and Aramis standing in the front foyer.
"I did not realize you were a comtesse," he said as he toyed with the hat in his hands.
"Would it have made a difference if I were the serving girl or the comtesse?" she asked stepping towards him and taking his hand in hers.
"Not for a moment," Aramis said smiling. They stood there for a long moment, their eyes drinking each other in.
"Aramis," called Athos from the front.
Aramis stepped backwards out the door and onto the front step, still holding her hand in his. He questioned whether his body would allow him to let go.
"Are you still willing to act as my guide to the city?" she asked.
"I would love nothing more," said the marksman.
"Nor I," she replied as he bowed slightly and lightly kissed the inside of her wrist.
"Uh-oh," said D'Artagnan from where he and Porthos stood near the street, witnessing the action on the step. "This could be trouble."
"For her?" asked Porthos out of the side of his mouth.
"For him too," replied the young man, confirming what the brawler already had guessed.