Saints and Sinners, Ch. 4

The next day at the garrison was a busy one.

The Inseparables were sent out on a mission and the cadets were practicing their fencing.

One weak defence and an over aggressive riposte saw one cadet in the infirmary with a gash to his forehead. Christine treated the wound as Etienne looked on. When finished, she sent him to see if Serge had any fresh rosemary on hand.

She was stripping linens from the bed when she heard the door creak behind her.

"Just leave the rosemary on the cabinet," she called over her shoulder.

She straightened when she heard the door click closed.

Blocking the exit stood Gavreau. A blue smudge on the left side of his face showed the impression D'Artagnan's fist had made; the man's red nose, eyes, and teeth showed the impression the wine he had drunk had made.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him sternly.

"Nothing," he said and took a teetering step towards her.

"I'd prefer you to leave," she said as she stepped backwards, hitting the foot of the bed.

He said nothing but kept sliding towards her.

"I want you to leave," she said, loudly now.

"Tell me what you really want," he sneered as he closed the remaining distance between them. He grabbed her throat and pushed her down on the bed, his heavy body falling on top of her. He grabbed her arms and pinned them over her head as she struggled with him. He smelled of sweat and cheap wine.

"Get off me!" she gasped as she fought him, his hand still at her throat. Releasing her throat he lowered his hand and began making clumsy, drunken pulls at her gown.

"Get off me!" she roared managing to bring a knee up into his mid-section. He grunted and growled again, his hand making a grasp for her throat once more.

Suddenly the door to the infirmary burst open.

Adam and Etienne were on Gavreau in an instant, pulling him away from Christine who rolled onto her side on the bed. Adam began to pummel Gavreau, removing him from the room with Bernard who had rushed in after them and had witnessed the whole affair.

Etienne approached the bed cautiously where Christine lay, her body wracked with silent sobs, her hand on her throat. He sat gently on the bed and put a hand on her shoulder to comfort the shaking woman. He cringed when she flinched at his touch.

After a few moments she stilled. Slowly she sat upright, her head down, and fingers clasped in her lap, staring at them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have listened to you."

Etienne's heart broke as he looked at his friend, noticing how frail and delicate the normally vivacious woman looked. He placed his hands over her fidgeting fingers, hoping, praying to comfort her.

"Christine!" called Adam as he swept back into the room, his lip split and bleeding.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you? If he hurt you, I'll kill him!" he shouted.

"Adam! Calm down!" commanded Etienne, rising to stand protectively in front of the Comtesse.

Adam stepped around him and fell to his knees in front of her. He raised her chin so her eyes met his. His hands shook as he did so. A single tear fell from her eyes, which for once were lacking their normal fire. It terrified him. He wiped the tear away with his thumb.

Etienne stepped away, seeking to get the comtesse a glass of wine to steady her nerves.

"Are you okay?" Adam asked in a hushed murmur.

Swallowing, she nodded. His fingers hovered over the red marks on her throat.

She looked him in the eyes then and for the first time, she was finally aware.

In that moment when she was feeling most vulnerable, she realized that Adam was in love with her.

And she knew that in that same moment that she would have to hurt him – her friend, her saviour – because through it all, through everything, one word kept echoing through her mind like a prayer: "Aramis". He was the one she had hidden this from – hidden her fears and her doubts. He was the one she had tried to protect. It was his vengeance that she was sheltering, and it was his hands and lips that she wanted to make her forget what had almost just happened.

"I'm sorry," she said, his hand freezing where it hovered. "I want Aramis," she said, voice barely more than a whisper.

Adam blanched at her words as though she had literally torn his heart from his bleeding chest.

"Of course," he coughed, rising to his feet. "The bastard's been chased from the garrison. If he comes around here again, he's a dead man," he said.

"Adam," she whispered and grasped his hand, her eyes begging him to understand.

He nodded sadly at her. "Don't worry," he said. "Aramis should be here soon," he said and left the infirmary.

Christine leapt to her feet. She couldn't be in that room right now, not after everything. She looked at the sheets that lay discarded on the floor. The side table had been knocked over in the fight, the water pitcher up-ended, its content spilled over the floor. There was blood on the mattress, she noted, and bringing her hand to her face, her fingers grazed a small cut to her cheek. Her wrists were red where he had grasped them, pinning her down on the bed.

She had never felt so weak. She had never felt so ashamed. She knew how to fight, was excellent with a pistol and a sword, but in that moment she had been helpless.

She backed up suddenly, the cabinet door slamming as she backed into it. She had to get out of there. She couldn't breathe. She had to get out.

She ran to the door and slipped out, grateful for the near empty garrison as twilight descended and the sun began to sink below the rooftops of Paris.

oOo

He had been waiting for her, watching from the shadows. When he saw her staggering through the garrison gates he grinned. His body ached from the retribution delivered to him by Bernard and that mouse Adam. He pulled out his pistol. He would get what he wanted this time; he would get what he deserved.

oOo