The Secret, Chapter 3

Christine revived after her bath and his blood was washed off of her body.

Night had fallen as she entered her bedchamber. Porthos sat in a chair at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. D'Artagnan stood pacing by the window. Athos sat on the other side of the bed facing the door and stood as she entered.

"I'm sorry," she said to him as he approached her. "I didn't mean to despair like that," she whispered. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

"It's always hardest when it's those we love," he said.

She gave a bitter laugh. "I never realized that until now. I've had men die in my arms before, I've held their hands as they took their last breaths…but him…Athos…if he…"

"He will be fine," Athos repeated firmly, catching her eye in his. She swallowed and nodded her head as he led her to the bedside.

Aramis lay on the bed, a light sheen of sweat covering him. He looked peaceful but his breathing was still haggard.

"Has he awoken?" she asked softly, taking one of his hands in hers and tenderly brushing his hair back from his forehead with the other.

"Stirred a bit," said Porthos, "but hasn't woken yet. He'll be glad you're here" he said and smiled at her softly.

"Thank you for getting him here," she said reaching her hand out to cover Porthos' clenched fists. He smiled at her and looked down at the marksman sadly. They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. At some point a servant brought some food into the room. The musketeers picked at it, but Christine stayed at Aramis' side, gently running her fingers through the dark curls.

Treville arrived as the night drew on. Christine rose as he entered and he was shocked to see the normally vivacious young woman look so forlorn. Porthos and D'Artagnan had fallen asleep in chairs by the fire, and Athos had assumed Porthos' seat next to the bed.

"Captain," she said quietly as she approached him. Athos rose and approached as well at the sound of her voice.

"How is he?" Treville asked, eyes flickering between the smokey grey and ice blue eyes, both sets trained to hide behind the composed walls of the nobility. Treville felt a pain in his chest knowing just how much anguish the pair were going through, and knowing that if they faltered now for even a moment, neither would be able to rein in the emotional hurricanes that were raging being their sea-like eyes.

To Treville's surprise it was Christine who stepped forward to address him.

"The bullet entered his chest just below the clavicle," she said. "He was lucky that it did not impact the bone or his shoulder, save for the damage done to the muscle which should heal in time. I was able to extract the ball and clean and stitch the wound."

"You did this?" asked Treville, marvelling at the fortitude she had to treat someone she cared deeply for in such a dire situation.

She nodded. "I served for a time as a field nurse, Captain. This is not my first experience with a bullet wound," she said and gave him a small smile.

"You're worried," he said as she cast her eyes back to the marksman.

"As the bullet impacted him, Aramis fell into a large pool of water that had gathered in the streets," she sighed. "Though the wound has remained uninfected, I fear that his time spent in the sodden clothing as we treated the gunshot wound and the amount of pain and blood loss he endured have caused a fever to take hold. He has stirred a few times, but so far has not awoken."

"We are monitoring his temperature closely," said Athos stepping forward, "But I worry about the fever, and the cold…especially at this time of year," he said looking pointedly at the Captain.

Treville's eyes flashed at Athos' implication and he nodded. Christine's brow furrowed as she looked between the two men.

"Keep an eye on him," was all the Captain said.

"The shooter and the thief?" asked Porthos from his seat by the fire.

Treville ran a hand down his face as though to rouse himself.

"Both in the Chatelet. The thief had stolen very little, but when you have so little, the merchant felt he was justified in his actions to defend his property. I believe their fates will be determined by Aramis'. The King is greatly upset by the injury to one of his men. If Aramis lives – "

Porthos roared. "If Aramis dies over something as trivial as a few coins, those bastards will beg for the executioner when I get through with them."

Treville said nothing, but stared into the cold eyes of his musketeers before turning to look at the woman who stood with them.

She was brave, it was as obvious as her love for him, and she would fight for him, he could see it in her opal-like eyes. Treville had known the marksman since he had found him as the cocky young soldier at the front lines. He had practically raised Aramis as his own son. If he believed anything, Treville believed the man would fight with everything he had in him to get back to this woman who loved him so, and to his brothers who needed him.

Meeting the Comtesse's fiery eyes with his own icy blue ones, Treville nodded to her and said, "Let me know when he wakes." She nodded back and he left the room.

oOo