The Musketeer, Aramis, makes an appearance in this chapter, I have to say, he is my favourite of the Three, and that is the only reason I chose him!

There's more sexy stuff too, where all this story is coming from beats me...I still can't believe it's actually me writing it!

CHAPTER SIX

HIS.

Christmas at court was a long succession of festivities. Cardinal Richelieu, as the King's First Minister, was present at all the events.
Minette, as a member of a noble family, also attended in her own right.
The main feast was a lavish affair.
Seated at a vast table, raised on a dais, were the King and Queen, the Cardinal, and close members of their respective retinues.
Wine flowed, the table groaned under the weight of the dishes on display. Roast fowl, pheasant, partridge, pigeon, and in the centre, a whole swan, complete with head and neck and carefully reapplied wings and feathers, so that it looked alive. There were fish dishes, bream and pike. A suckling piglet on an oval platter. Bread and fruits, and beautiful crystallised sweetmeats, nuts and cheeses. Enough to feed a whole city.
Richelieu himself, ate sparingly. His constitution since the attempt on his life, had suffered, and large, rich meals made him bilious.
Minette watched him fondly, from her seat in the hall. Since hearing of his care for her sister and the trouble he'd gone to on her behalf, there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. She owed him so much.
His eyes roamed the crowd constantly, he often whispered conspiratorially, behind his hand, to his manservant, who stood behind him, ever at his elbow.
After the main meal concluded, tables were rearranged, clearing the floor for dancing, musicians entered the gallery at the far end of the large hall.
Ladies stood or sat around the perimeter, fanning themselves. The men spoke together, in groups nearby.
The dancing was opened by their Majesties, stepping to the centre of the floor, beginning with the Gavotte.
As a Duke, in his own right, Richelieu could have participated, but as a man of God, he preferred to observe. Remaining in his seat, smiling slightly, applauding the revellers from time to time, as one dance ended and another began.
Minette felt rather out of place in the throng of fine ladies. She was wearing a silk gown, paid for by her master and benefactor. She sat, demure, hands folded in her lap, listening and enjoying the music, watching the swirl of the gowns and the gaiety of the scene.
The Cardinal had seldom seen her look more lovely. The gown was most becoming, the shade of blue complimenting her fair colouring. Her hair was braided and curled behind her head, and fastened with flowers. A slight pinkness to her cheeks, eyes shining.
Her gaze often strayed towards him, he saw it, but did not acknowledge.

So enraptured by the sights and sounds, had she been, that, at first, she did not notice the man.
Until, that is, he came and stood in front of her, blocking her view. He bowed low, doffing his hat.
She looked up, into a pair of deep brown eyes. Handsome, with a sharp chin, moustachioed, and bearded. Dark hair, worn long, tall, slim build, with a winning smile.
"Rene d'Herblay at your service mademoiselle..." He said.
Minette blushed deeply, looking away from his face and down into her lap.
"But my friends call me Aramis." He continued.
"And you are...?"
"Attempting to watch the dance." She replied, softly.
"But, my lady, a beautiful creature like you, should not be observing, she should be taking part."
He offered his hand, bowing again.
"May I...?"
Minette was flustered, what should she do? She didn't want to appear rude, but...she loved to dance.
Her eyes strayed to the dais, where her Master sat. He was temporarily occupied with a foreign guest, and was not attending to her. She glanced back to the hand, still held towards her.
"I would like to dance, thank you." She smiled and placed her little hand in his.
He swept her out onto the floor, with a flourish, and stood at her right, one arm behind her, at her waist, the other holding her hand outstretched, as they stood side by side, as the music began.
He was certainly a beautiful dancer. His arms strong and muscular as he lifted her up, hands firmly on either side of her waist, swung her round and set her down again, in perfect time, as the dance continued.
Flushed and excited, Minette, whirled around as he held one hand, passing underneath their two arms, as the round began again.
From his seat, his attention now renewed, Richelieu watched. His eyes followed her delicate movements, her toes, peeping from under her gown, the admiring glances of the dancers around them, as together, they circled the floor. Both so handsome, young, beautifully matched. The spectators applauded, as the music ended. He bowed to her, and she curtsied back. Eyes shining with delight. He escorted her to a seat, and offered her some wine.
"I didn't catch your name, mademoiselle." He said, wiping his brow.
"I didn't give it." She said, shyly.
"Aramis, I think your charms are wasted here." Said a voice, at his elbow.
Richelieu stood at least two inches taller than the Musketeer. His face, a mask of friendliness, barely concealed a brooding menace.
Aramis looked at The Cardinal, then at his dance partner, glancing from one to the other. Minette looked at the floor, face turned away, burning. The hand that still held hers, thumb brushing lightly over the back, fell away, as realisation dawned.
"I had no idea the young lady was spoken for." He said, staring at Minette in disbelief.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle. I have no wish to compromise you." He bowed again towards her, and with a look of disdain, towards Richelieu, turned on his heel and marched away.
Minette gave her Master a pleading look.
"Master, I..."
"Shhh! Not now...I'll deal with you later!"

They journeyed back to The Cardinal's apartments together. Seated side by side. Neither spoke. Not a glance was shared.
Minette was miserable. Why had she not refused the dance? Now she would suffer, goodness knows what. All because she was flattered by the attention of a handsome man.
Once inside his private chamber, she braced herself for what was to come.
"So..." he began, "what do you have to say for yourself?"
"Nothing, Your Eminence."
"Nothing again, heh! Nothing to say at all!"
She looked into his face, her gaze resigned. She sighed.
"You have already made up your mind Armand. Nothing I say will make a whit of difference."
He took hold of her wrist, his fingers digging into the flesh, so tight did he grip.
"Flirting with, of all people, a Musketeer! You really chose well!"
"I did not flirt, he flirted with me, I didn't even tell him my name."
"You really are a poor liar."
Minette twisted her wrist in his grasp, but could not free it.
"Punish me then," she said, tears beginning to come, " that's what you want to do, to make me sorry."
He moved her arm so that it was now behind her back, painfully, holding tighter still.
"It seems I should." He said, through gritted teeth.
She turned herself against her own arm, a searing stab going through her shoulder.
She suddenly shouted at him, tears falling fast,
"DO IT THEN! BEAT ME! HURT ME! I DON'T CARE!, " she was sobbing now," I don't care!" She subsided, voice broken, "do what you like!"
It was so out of character, and Richelieu was so surprised by her outburst, that for a moment, he did and said nothing.
Then in a rush of emotion, he crashed his mouth against hers, kissing her hungrily, desperately.
She whimpered, throwing her arms around his neck, in an effort to pull him closer.
"You drive me to madness." He murmured, between kisses, " you tease me, you make me do these things."
He was tugging at her clothes now, hard and aching, fingers in her hair, pushing her backwards against the wall.
"You are mine, I will not see you with any other."
His fingers fumbled to undo his breeches, then began to hitch up her skirts.
"Oh, God...Armand..." She breathed, feeling him pushing against her.
She bought her legs up and around his waist, crossing her heels at his back, as he held her firmly, buttressed by the wall. When she felt his length penetrate her, she threw back her head and cried out.
"I am the only one who touches you, you belong to me, " he panted out, between thrusts.
"I am yours Armand, all yours" she whispered into his ear.
He came hard, pumping into her, grinding against her afterwards until she came too.
She was gasping for air, as if running for her life. But she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deep and long.
He stepped back, releasing her legs, moving away from her. But she held him tight, still. Instead of freeing himself, he scooped her into his arms, carried her and laid her on his bed.
Her skirts were still around her waist, his breeches still open. He lay half over her, caressing her, fondling her between her thighs, wet with his own semen, and she kissed him again and again, his face, the hollow of his throat, his neck, collarbones.
"Don't hurt me any more, Armand, you have me, I belong to you. I want no other...Please."
He did not reply, only captured her lips once more, and finally, cradling her, they fell asleep together.