Wow, look at me posting after only a few days! That's what happens when I'm not swimming in work :D Don't expect this with every chapter though...work is going to get busy again in a few days. A quick thank you to all who read the last chapter, and an extra shout out to those who took the time to comment. I so appreciate it! This chapter is the beginning of bad things for d'Artagnan so be prepared. I'm not really nice to him. Poor guy :'( So, on with the story!

Cindy

Chapter 3 – The Taking of d'Artagnan

Porthos slowed his horse as he came around the bend, the large man wanting to keep from being seen if at all possible. He leaned sideways in his saddle and craned his neck to see if d'Artagnan was still on the road of if he had ventured off into the trees, but suddenly pulled up short when he saw that indeed, the Gascon was still on the road, though he was not alone. Fear seized Porthos at the scene that was laid out before him. d'Artagnan had been forced to his knees, one hand of his captor fisted tightly in his dark hair, his head pulled back as he glared up at a large man who stood over him. Porthos could just make out a trickle of blood tracing a path down the side of the young man's face. Three men lay on the ground around the scene, presumably dead, and Porthos felt pride well up in him. He squinted his eyes against the encroaching darkness and counted at least ten men beside the obvious leader, too many for Porthos to take on his own. He'd only get himself captured too and that wouldn't help the Gascon. How d'Artagnan could find such huge trouble in such a short span of time crossed the large musketeers thoughts, but he shook away his thoughts when the large man spoke. Luckily, the trees served to carry the words to Porthos' ears even though he was some distance away and turned his head slightly so that he could pick up every word.

"Where is the letter, musketeer?" the large man queried.

d'Artagnan lifted his chin in defiance and said nothing. The large man leaned over and grabbed d'Artagan's face, his fingers digging painfully into the soft skin, pulling himself to within inches of d'Artagnan's face. "Answer me, boy! Where is the letter?!"

"What letter?" was d'Artagnan's reply, receiving a backhand to the face for his efforts. Porthos growled at his friend's treatment, but smiled as the young man continued to glare up at his tormentor.

"Where are your fellow musketeers?" the man asked.

"I am not a musketeer," d'Artagnan said, his voice lacking any interest in the conversation. Athos would be proud if he were here to witness it, Porthos thought.

"You travel with three musketeers. You do not bear the insignia, but you are most definitely with them."

"I travel alone."

The man chuckled as he began to slowly pace before the restrained Gascon. "You see, I know that you are lying. My informant saw you with the three musketeers."

"Your informant is mistaken." D'Artagnan continued to glare up at his captor defiantly, though inside his heart was beating nearly out of his chest. He knew that Porthos had followed him and he also knew the man was smart enough to not try a rescue on his own, but surely he would go back for Athos and Aramis. With this in mind, d'Artagnan grinned up at the man before him. The man smiled back, though there was no humor there.

"Jean! Come here!" the man called. Seconds later a smaller, older man appeared at his side. "Is this one of the men you passed yesterday evening? Was he riding with three musketeers?"

"Yes, sir. This is one of the four. I know, because I wondered of his young age and being with musketeers," the older man, Jean, replied.

The large man turned back to d'Artagnan and shrugged. "You see, he is not mistaken. He remembers you quite clearly."

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"I am Auguste Amyot and I want the letter you carry," the man answered.

"I carry no letter," d'Artagnan hissed.

"Then one of your friends carry it."

"I travel alone…your man has mistaken me for someone else."

"My man does not make mistakes. None of my men make mistakes because they know if they do, they are dead," Auguste calmly said. "Now, tell me who carries the letter and I'll kill you quickly with no suffering," he added.

"I do not know of any letter and I do not know of any musketeers," d'Artagnan seethed through clenched teeth.

Auguste glanced skyward and sighed. "Bind his wrists and tie him to my horse's saddle," he commanded. "You five," he called, pointing at five men who stood behind the man who held d'Artagnan, "drag the bodies off the road…hide them in the trees and then you go find the musketeers. Bring them to the manor!"

"Shit!" Porthos hissed. He turned his horse around and as quickly and quietly as he could made his way back toward the trees where his brothers would be setting up camp. He spotted the trees and left the road, thankful for the ever darkening sky. He heard the pounding of hooves on the road just as he slipped into the cover of the trees. He spared one glance over his shoulder before he made his way into the forest to where his friends waited. When he spotted them, he was off his horse in one fluid motion and running toward his brothers. They both looked up from where they were rolling out their beds for the night, their eyes widening at the manic look in Porthos' eyes.

"Porthos? What is it?" Aramis asked as he stepped toward the large man, his dark eyes darting behind his friend before returning to meet his eye. "Where is d'Artagnan?"

"Taken!" Porthos cried, his voice panicked.

"Taken? What do you mean taken?" Athos was there before him in an instant, his hands grasping the larger man's arms.

"There were too many of them for me to fight! They took 'im and they are coming after us! We have to find them! We have to find d'Artagnan before they…"

"Porthos, take a breath," Athos instructed. When his friend obeyed, he continued. "Who has taken d'Artagnan?"

"Uh, 'is name…he said 'is name was Auguste Amyot. He knew about the letter. He knew that d'Artagnan rode with us. I didn't help 'im! He was hurt and I didn't help 'im!"

Aramis gently placed his hand on Porthos' shoulder. "Porthos, you said there were too many. If you had tried to help you too could have been captured. You did the right thing in coming back to us," he soothed.

"I should've done something!"

Athos shook his head as he looked at his friend. "No, Aramis is right…you did the right thing," he said. "How many were there?"

"Uh…ten, not including that bastard Amyot who hit d'Artagnan…'e must be the leader," Porthos growled. "He had d'Artagnan tied to his horse and sent five of his men to look for us…'e told them to bring us to the manor."

"The manor? There's not much out here…what manor could he be speaking of?" Athos questioned.

"I don't know, Athos! I do know that we are wastin' time! We have to find the pup before they hurt him more!" Porthos snapped.

Athos let out a stuttered breath as he looked at his two friends. "No, the letter has to reach Pierre Ribault in Orleans tomorrow."

"What are you saying, Athos?" Aramis asked warily. "We cannot leave d'Artagnan to whatever awaits him, brother."

"This is how it has to be! The letter is top priority…you both know that!"

"More important than d'Artagnan?" Porthos queried, his voice shaking with anger.

"Our mission is to deliver this letter…at all costs," Athos softly said. "I don't like it any more than you two, but…"

"At all costs? So you are fine with it costing us d'Artagnan?" Porthos shook his head and turned away from Athos in disgust.

"No! I am not fine with any of this, Porthos! There's nothing I want more than to find our Gascon, but we are musketeers! We have to make hard decisions at times, and this is one of those times. I do not know what this letter contains, but the urgency of which it was given to us leads me to believe that the very safety of France and all of its people could be at stake! I do not want to lose d'Artagnan, but I have to put the mission first, my friend. I have to…we have to."

Porthos turned and met his brother's gaze. "Then you and Aramis go. I can't leave 'im to suffer whatever that madman has planned for 'im," he said. He turned to return to his horse, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"You cannot go after him alone, Porthos," Aramis said. "With that many men, and possibly more at this manor you spoke of, you would in all likelihood be taken yourself."

"At least the pup wouldn't be alone. At least 'e would know that we care about 'im. That we came for 'im."

"He knows that we care, Porthos," Athos said.

"Does 'e?"

"Of course he does. Why wouldn't he?"

"Oh, I don't know. Our little argument yesterday maybe? Sending 'im out for firewood by 'imself while we rested at camp? The fact that 'e thinks 'e needs to be invited to come out with us at the end of the day? Do you want me to go on?"

"What do you mean?" Aramis asked.

"At breakfast yesterday…when I said that 'e shoulda been there…I heard 'im say under 'is breath that 'e wasn't invited. I don't think I was meant to hear, but I did."

"He's been out with us before…I'm sure you heard wrong," Athos said as he moved to pack up the items he had taken from his saddle bags.

"Only a few times, and only when we asked him to come," Aramis said. "I think Porthos is right…if he thinks he cannot join us without an invitation, that speaks to the possibility that he may believe we are only interested in him in a purely professional way."

"Madness. Of course we see him as more than just a fellow soldier…why would he think otherwise?" Athos asked.

"We leave as soon as training day is over, while 'e is still cleaning up," Porthos offered. "I guess I always just expected 'im to show up, but 'e never does. I never thought to ask 'im about it…thought maybe his attraction to 'is landlady was what led 'im to his lodgings rather than out with us. Until yesterday that is."

"And he will know that we care once we have freed him from his captors," Athos said. "But right now, we must leave. You said there were men searching for us…the longer we stay here and talk, the better chance they have of finding us."

"So we are going after him?" Porthos asked hopefully.

Athos sighed and turned to his friend. "After we deliver the letter, we will look for him," he answered.

"Athos, 'e may be dead by then!"

"I'm sorry, Porthos, I truly am, but this letter has to be delivered on time and I need both you and Aramis with me to make sure that happens. I believe our young friend to be quite resourceful. He'll find a way to stay alive until we can locate him, and we stand a better chance of rescuing him if there are three of us."

"'e may be resourceful and 'e may be able to stay alive, but at what cost? I 'ave a very bad feeling about this, Athos."

"Then we must get the letter delivered so we can begin our search," Athos replied. "We will follow the stream, keep to the trees until we are certain we have not been spotted, then we will find a place to rest until first light. We will ride on to Orleans, deliver the letter, then head back to where you saw d'Artagnan taken. We will find him, Porthos…I promise."

Porthos eyed his friend then finally gave a short nod. He climbed onto his horse and waited for his brothers to finish repacking their things. Once they were ready they made their way to the stream, and keeping to the cover of the trees, they made their way, with heavy hearts, toward Orleans, and away from their young recruit.

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d'Artagnan stumbled, not for the first time, and hissed in pain as Amyot yanked on the length of rope that bound him to the criminal's horse. His wrists were rubbed raw and he was sure that in places the skin had torn. He cursed his captors for not allowing him to ride his horse, and with that thought he glanced longingly at the beast that was being led by one of the other riders. His inattentiveness to the path they traveled cost him as his foot caught an exposed tree root and he pitching forward, hitting the ground hard and jarring his already aching body. Amyot looked down at him, but did not slow his pace, thus dragging the helpless young man through the rough terrain. d'Artagnan cried out as his hip met a rock jutting out of the earth. Finally, Amyot stopped and commanded the Gascon to his feet.

"I cannot go much further. Allow me the use of my horse and we will get to this manor of yours much sooner," d'Artagnan reasoned as he slowly, and painfully, pushed himself to his feet.

"Oh, my young friend, believe me, you don't want to get to the manor any faster than our pace will take us, for what awaits you there will surely make you wish I had killed you on the road," Amyot said with a sickening sweet drawl and a smile on his face.

"I am not your friend and anything you do to me will be in vain, for I know nothing of what you seek," d'Artagnan hissed.

"Fine, have it your way. We can begin the interrogation tonight rather than waiting for morning," Amyot proclaimed. He turned to two of his men and nodded at them to dismount. He untied the rope from his saddle and tossed it to one of the men when they came to stand beside their prisoner. "Take him and put him on his horse. Tie him securely. If he wishes to reach the manor so badly, let's not deny him," he said with an evil sneer.

The two men nodded and dragged the exhausted young man to his horse. Between the two of them, they got him onto his horse then tied the rope securely around the saddle horn. Next, they tied another length of rope to one ankle, drew the rope beneath the horse's belly, then tied the end to his other ankle, pulling tight to assure that he could move neither foot. The two men mounted their horses and they were once again off through the dark forest at a quicker pace than before, their way lit by torches three of the men held. Not much farther down the path, Amyot held up his hand, halting all of his men. He turned his horse and come back until he was beside d'Artagnan. The Gascon widened his eyes when he saw the gun in the man's hand and instinctively leaned away from him.

"I think at this point you do not need to see the rest of the way to the manor…just in case," Amyot said. Before d'Artagnan could react, excrutiating pain exploded through his head as Amyot slammed his gun against the young man's temple. d'Artagnan swayed sideways, the ropes binding his hands and ankles the only thing keeping him from falling from his horse. He groaned as he felt hands grab his hair and pull him back up. The hand let go and he felt himself slump forward, his vision swimming before finally the darkness enveloped him and he lost his precarious hold on consciousness.

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d'Artagnan groaned as consciousness returned, slowly, but surely. He felt different, but he didn't know why. He no longer felt like he was sitting, and his shoulders ached incredibly. He peeled his eyes open and waited for his vision to clear. He was in a room lit by a single torch and there was no window that he could see. That, however was the least of his problems he determined when he realized that his arms were pulled high up over his head and shackled to the cold wall behind him, his feet just barely touching the ground. He groaned again as pain shot through his head and he squeezed his eyes shut when the room began to spin. His stomach roiled and swallowed against the rising bile, but could not keep the vomit down as it erupted from his mouth. He'd barely eaten anything at breakfast or lunch, so most of what came up was liquid that burned his throat and nose. He continued to heave, even when there was nothing left to bring up, and was panting heavily when the convulsions in his stomach finally stopped. His head dropped forward, chin to his chest as he breathed through the continuing pain. The sound of a door opening brought his attention back to his predicament and he lifted his head to see Amyot stroll into the room with two of his men behind him.

"Ah, look who's finally awake!" Amyot quipped as he stepped up to the young man. "I was beginning to think you were never going to join us. I've been most anxious to start our conversation!"

"Nothin' to talk 'bout," d'Artagnan said hoarsely.

"Oh, but there is, my friend. We have so much to talk about."

"Told you…not your friend."

"Well, no, not really, but I figured we could keep things civil."

"You call this civil?" d'Artagnan spat.

"It can be if you just tell me where the letter is. We already searched you and your horse so I know that you don't have it. Tell me which one of the musketeers has it and I won't make you suffer…too much," Amyot said with a wicked grin.

"Go to hell!" d'Artagnan hissed before spitting in the man's face.

Amyot stepped back, rage flaring in his eyes. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the mess from his face. "You're going to regret that, boy," he hissed.

d'Artagnan sank back against the wall as the enraged man moved toward him, his dark eyes glued to the knife that the man now held. "Tell me where the letter is," Amyot spat as he held the knife in front of d'Artagnan's face.

The Gascon shifted his gaze from the knife and looked the man in the eye. "What letter?" he asked defiantly.

Amyot smiled as he cocked his head and looked the young man up and down. "So that's how you want to play it then. Good," he said before he plunged the knife deep into d'Artagnan's shoulder. A scream ripped from the Gascon's throat as he felt the knife hit bone. He screamed again when the knife was twisted. Amyot pressed forward with his body, twisting the knife further as he stared the young man down. "Where is the letter?"

d'Artagnan swallowed back another scream and closed his eyes. "What letter?" he answered.

Amyot growled and the interrogation continued.

Oh boy, not looking good for our Gascon. I hope the Inseparables can find him before it's too late! I think Amyot needs to feel some pain at some point, don't you all? Please let me know what you think and I'll get working on the next chapter as soon as I can. Take care and thanks for reading!

Cindy