Trouble: Chapter 3
The clash of steel could be heard echoing from the practice yard.
D'Artagnan and Porthos sat on the edge and watched nervously. Some others paused to watch the swordsman and marksman spar as well. Even Treville glanced down to see two of his best circling in their deadly dance, blades flying in a practised elegance that belied, what in battle, could be killing blows.
"You never mentioned Christine before," said Aramis, driving Athos back a step with a quick swipe of his sword.
"I never mention my past," Athos said bluntly, as Aramis continued his attack.
"We just had no idea you were so close. Like a brother and a sister," he said with a lunge.
Athos blocked that and stepping forward reversed their positions.
"I haven't seen her for twelve years," he said. "The Comtesse is one of the kindest, warmest, most intelligent women I have ever known," he said, pushing the marksman back with his own series of attacks. "If anyone were ever to hurt her," he said, as Aramis' sword came up to meet his own and they were paused in their match as irresistible force met unmovable object, "I'd kill them."
With that the two men drew away panting. Porthos and D'Artagnan, clapping along with the men who had stopped to watch the excellent display of swordsmanship, stepped forward, being the only two privy to the deeper context of the exchange that had taken place. Aramis grinned and taking the glass of water Porthos handed him, he raised it to Athos, who raised his to meet his brother's as they downed their contents.
oOo
Sitting in her library, Christine closed her book as her maid, Marie, entered the room.
"So?" she asked eagerly as the young woman sat down. "What did you learn?"
"I learned he is very handsome," said the girl as she struggled to remove her cloak.
"Well a duck would know that," teased the Comtesse as she helped Marie from her cloak.
"Aramis is said to be one of the best men in the King's Musketeers and one of the longest serving. His companions, Porthos, D'Artagnan and Athos and he are close. More like brothers really, it's said. He is kind and generous and he serves as the regiment's medic as well so it proves he's clever too mistress," she said and then worried her lip.
Christine took the girl's hand. "Yes he's handsome and kind and clever. These things I know. What's worrying you?" she asked.
"It is said," began the maidservant nervously, "That Monsieur Aramis has had many lovers," she said quietly, her eyes not meeting her mistress', "and he is not from a noble family."
"Thank you," said Christine smiling. She placed her hand on top of Marie's. "All these things I knew or surmised. Do you think he is a good man?" she asked the girl, bluntly.
"I do," she said firmly, and without hesitation.
"Then that's all that matters and all I truly need to know." said Christine, smiling warmly.
oOo
It was nearly the noon hour when Aramis strode up the rue St Germain carrying a bouquet of irises.
As he entered the home's large courtyard he heard the whinny of a horse. He followed the sound to see Victor standing next to a magnificent dappled grey stallion.
"Easy Peg, easy," said the boy as he brushed the stallion's forelock.
"Peg?" asked Aramis as he reached out to pat the horse's nose.
"For Pegasus," answered Victor. "That's Phil. Philomena." He said, indicating the beautiful brown mare that Marcus and an older gentleman, Aramis guessed was Marcel, were leading out.
"Hello Aramis!" called Marcus, waving at the marksman.
"Hello," he said, extending his hand to the older man. "Sorry to interrupt. I just came by to see how the boys had settled in," he said.
"These ones? They're doing fine. Might eat the mistress out of house and home, but we're happy to have 'em. I'm assuming you didn't bring those pretty buds for me though?" asked the old man, eyebrow raised, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Aramis grinned as the two boys snickered.
"She'll like them," said the old man. "Irises are her favourite. Go on," he said. "Best not to keep a lady waiting, boys," the old man instructed.
"Yes Marcel," the two boys responded.
"Yes Marcel," Aramis echoed with a wink and a tip of his hat.
Christine greeted Aramis warmly, if a little shyly at the front door. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the irises and plucking one from the bouquet, she pinned it to the lapel of the musketeer's doublet.
"Thank you," she gushed. "That was very unnecessary."
"If it earned me a smile like that, it was worth it," he said, and with a smile as she stood close to him, his lapel still in her hand, all shyness was lost.
She beamed at him. "Shall we?" she asked suggestively raising her chin and an eyebrow, her eyes bright, almost daring.
Aramis hesitated, staring at the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw, the arc of her lips. He shook himself to remind himself to breathe, and grinning, he stepped back off the step and offered her his arm as they made their way back out onto the streets of Paris.
oOo
Christine had come to maturity in the courts of England and Italy, but the winding streets of Paris were full of an energy she could almost taste. The pair talked intimately and excitedly about everything and nothing. It felt to Christine as if she had known Aramis for a lifetime – her earlier slight apprehensions of letting a strange man guide her around a strange city were forgotten when he smiled at her from her doorstep.
"Marcus and Victor seem to be settling in quite well with Marcel," said Aramis as they continued to walk the city streets.
"Yes," she said beaming. "I'm not sure who's happiest with the arrangement, Marcel or the boys?"
"Or yourself?" he asked teasingly, to which she laughed.
"I was in a similar situation when I was about Marcus' age," said Aramis softly.
"You weren't raised by your mother?" Christine asked, looking up at the man.
"For a time, yes," he said sadly. "My mother was…a courtesan. My father was a minor noble whose family whisked him away when they found out that my parents were in love. My mother loved me and raised me at the brothel, where I was spoiled rotten. She grew very sick and died when I was about ten." He said, pausing to remember his mother. He was shocked by how comfortable and easy talking to this woman was. It was rare that he spoke openly about his mother, but he felt as though he could hold nothing back from her and knew she could be trusted with his darkest secrets.
Christine gave his arm a tight squeeze. "We are always too young to lose our mothers," she said simply. Her eyes were soft and full of empathy and understanding for the marksman; she too knew the pain of a child losing their mother. He smiled sadly at her and nodded.
"After my mother died, I lived in the orphanage for a while until my father came to collect me. His family had hidden my existence from him until he learned of my mother's death. I was twelve when he finally came for me, and nearly a man, in my own eyes. My father and I…didn't quite see eye to eye. I ran away when I was about sixteen and enlisted in the army."
"Sixteen! You were only a child!"
Aramis shrugged and smiled at her. "I had a bit of a natural ability with a sword and the medical knowledge I had picked up kept me alive. I will always be grateful to my father though for teaching me to shoot. It was my ability with a musket that made me valuable and eventually led me to Treville and the Musketeers," he said with a smile.
The smile turned into a slight frown as he looked up at the large clouds that had formed as they wandered through the day.
"I should escort you home before it begins to rain," he said covering her hand in his and giving it a slight squeeze. No sooner had he said the words than the first few drops of rain began to fall. The pair ran to take shelter under the stone archway of a building.
Laughing, Christine said, "I had no idea Musketeers were so frightened of the rain," she teased.
Aramis shushed her, grinning. "Sh! That's our secret. Once wet we turn into frogs – making it difficult to handle a rapier when in need…"
He had taken off his hat and the moisture had brought a lock of hair forward on his forehead. Laughing, Christine reached up to brush the hair away.
Aramis caught her wrist as she made to lower it. A wagon rumbled by very quickly and he turned to protect her from the wheel's spray.
They were very close now. Her wrist, still encircled in his hand was now pressed against his chest where her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt collar. They drew even closer under the archway, their bodies touching, the rain falling lightly just beyond them. She lifted her chin towards him, his dark eyes devouring her light ones. He raised his other hand and gently brushed a strand of hair back and behind her ear, then, as his fingers entwined in her dark hair, he kissed her, and she kissed him.
And the world stopped.
And she kissed him and he kissed her.
And time stood still.
Someone shouted something incoherent and something crashed in the distance and life resumed as they drew apart.
He dropped his head so their brows touched. His hand was still entwined in her hair. They both were breathing deeply, trying to absorb as much of the other person as possible in that moment. Aramis pulled his head back, her face still cupped in his hand, his fingers still in her hair, her hand still pressed against his chest, her fingers still grasping his shirt.
"I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you," he whispered and her eyes glowed. "It looks like the rain is stopping," he said, but made no effort to move from their embrace.
"But it could start again at any moment," she said and pulling him close, she kissed him again. And he kissed her.
oOo