Thank you to everyone for the lovely reviews on the last chapter and for letting me know you enjoyed the addition of Treville's sister. More trouble for d'Artagnan ahead - enjoy!
It was his fourth day at the Trémaux estate, and for short moments when d'Artagnan could forget he was a wanted man, he actually found himself enjoying his time there. As Treville's sister had told him on his first night, he would be helping with the horses, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined the quality of steeds that would be under his care. Madame Trémaux's husband was a supplier to some of the best families in France and had even provided a number of the horses that were found in the royal stables. This meant that d'Artagnan had access to some of the finest steeds in the country and the farm boy in him revelled at the opportunity to train them. His first day had been spent with Gilles who seemed to be involved in just about every aspect of running the estate. After a morning together, Gilles had recognized the skill in the Gascon's hands and had distanced himself, allowing the young man to work his magic with a particularly spirited mare. After that, he was allowed to work alone, Madame Trémaux and Gilles occasionally passing by to have a look, but for the most part leaving him be. The opportunity to spend time with the horses soothed d'Artagnan's mind and spirit in a way that nothing short of his brothers' presence could, and he reminded himself that he would need to thank the Captain at some point, not only for making the request of his sister, but for giving him a place where he could find some semblance of calm.
As he'd hoped, Madame Trémaux had provided answers to some of his questions, explaining that her brother would write with news within the week, and it would be at that point that a decision would be made regarding his future; until then, he was Denys, the lady's cousin. It was a short enough period of time, but d'Artagnan understood the risks of staying in one place too long and, the longer his brothers searched for evidence, the greater the chance that it would no longer be found. No matter how much he tried, he could not stop his brain from rehashing the events that had led to his current predicament, wondering if different choices on his part would have produced any different outcomes; but despite worrying over the various details of his life, he could not for the life of him find anything of significance that would have led to a better outcome. This invariably led him to feelings of resentment and bitterness at the hand that fate had dealt him, and he knew that more often than not, he was poor company, making him doubly appreciative of the fact that was nearly always left to his own devices.
When he quashed his thoughts of the past few weeks, alternatives for his future inevitably filled the void as he considered and discarded many of the potential options available to him, should his brothers be unable to clear his name. His first thoughts had been of home and returning to Gascony, believing that he might be able to fall back into the farming lifestyle, until he realized that the area would be one of the first to fall under scrutiny as men searched for him in an effort to carry out his sentence. His next thoughts had been of other locations throughout France, until he came to the conclusion that the man accused of the Ambassador's murder would likely carry a high price on his head, making anywhere within the country's borders unsafe. That line of thinking brought him to discard Spain as a possible option since the Spanish would be even more interested in bringing him to justice than his own countrymen. His options fast dwindling, he'd begun to wonder about the ships that departed French ports for England and other destinations, far beyond the waters that surrounded them. As before, his thoughts brought him little peace, each time coming to the conclusion that he would prefer to die in France than live in another country. If he were honest with himself, he could not even claim with any certainty that he preferred life as a commoner over death as a disgraced Musketeer, and he knew that if the real killer was not found, he might still have to disappoint his friends by choosing to return to Paris to face the hangman.
The sound of neighing drew his attention back to the animal in front of him, which he had just finished saddling in preparation for a ride around the large fenced-in manège, where he'd be able to work with the horse without distraction. He led the horse into the centre of the enclosure and then fluidly pulled himself upwards and into the saddle, grateful that his bruised ribs barely protested the motion. He began with a slow walk, testing the horse's responses to his commands before speeding up to a gentle canter, ensuring the animal was still moving smoothly and responding to his various movements. He was pleased with the animal's performance and was leaning forward to pat its neck, reins held loosely in his left hand as another sound intruded. A quick glance over his left shoulder gave him a glimpse of Madame Trémaux's hound racing toward him, Gilles running behind the animal in a feeble attempt to stop it before it entered the enclosure where he rode. The dog had proven to be energetic and d'Artagnan had enjoyed rubbing the large dog's ears in the evenings when they'd retired to the sitting room, but he also knew the animal was intentionally kept away from the often high-strung horses that were bred and trained at the estate. Without warning, the animal beneath him began to move erratically as it picked up speed, the Gascon reflexively tightening his grip with his thighs as he swung back around to face forward, intending to bring the horse to a halt, but it was too late. Incensed by a combination of the dog's barking and scent, the horse had panicked and d'Artagnan maintained his seat for only a moment longer as his inattentiveness cost him his balance and he went flying from the saddle. The portion of fencing that he struck offered a few seconds of resistance before crumpling beneath him, leaving him lying on the ground, tangled in pieces of broken timbre. He didn't feel it when the wood broke under him, having been knocked unconscious when his head collided with one of the wooden slats, and he was still insensible when both the hound and Gilles reached him, the dog licking impatiently at his face in his desire for attention, its tongue lapping at the blood that trickled from his temple.
Madame Trémaux had been upset when her dog had bounded from the house, the door having been left open by accident by one of her staff who was in the process of sweeping out the main entryway. Gilles had been as reliable as always and, despite his advancing years, he'd run in pursuit of the animal, praying the entire time that the dog would turn away from the stables and head out into the woods or open pastureland instead. His hopes were dashed within seconds of setting out as the dog barreled toward the manège and his heart sank with the certainty that Denys would be out with a horse, and all he could do was hope that the young man was talented enough to manage the startled steed and keep both of them safe. He caught a glimpse of Denys' face as the young man turned at the hound's insistent barking and then, moments later, man and beast disappeared from his sight, and Gilles cursed his aging body as he struggled to run faster so he could see what had happened.
The first thing he could see when he arrived was the saddled horse, standing and skittishly tossing its head on the other side of the enclosed space. Closer to him, he followed the sound of the dog's wining to where a portion of the fencing had collapsed, and among the debris lay the unconscious man. Cursing softly, he crouched down next to Denys, reaching a shaky hand forward to lay on the boy's chest, relieved to feel both the beat of his heart and the expansion of his chest as he breathed. Exhaling slowly in relief, he considered the young man's position, uncomfortably laying on and among the broken pieces of wood. It would be difficult to fully assess his injuries until he was awake, but Gilles was just as unwilling to leave the boy lying there for long, wanting to get him back to the house so he could be tended properly. The wound to the head was obvious due to the blood, and Gilles angrily pushed the dog away, disgusted that the animal had been licking at the gash. He hastily ran his hands over the boy's arms and legs, feeling relatively confident that nothing was broken. Next, his hands pressed at the young man's torso, eliciting a groan of pain despite the fact that he remained insensate. Gilles winced in sympathy, certain that some of the ribs had been damaged, making it that much harder for him to transport the boy back to the house. His problem was solved moments later as the servant who'd been sweeping came running up to him, obviously having followed in his wake to try and stop the runaway dog.
"I'll need help getting him back to the house," Gilles stated to the young girl. "Fetch René from the stables to come and give me a hand." The girl offered a small curtsy before running off to do as she'd been asked. Gilles tapped the young man's cheek with a hand, calling him by the name that his employer had shared with him, unaware that it held little meaning and was unlikely to rouse the boy. "Denys, can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes so I know where you're hurt." He waited for several seconds before trying again. "Denys, you need to wake up now." Still nothing, not even a groan, and Gilles sighed at the young's man lack of response. Standing, he pulled dog away and looked toward the stables, relieved when he saw René's approaching form. Between the two of them, they'd carry the boy back to the house and get him settled into bed, and he was confident that Madame Trémaux would send for a physician to check on him.
Denys was completely boneless as they carefully manhandled him to an upright position, an arm over each man's shoulder as they walked back to the house, the young man's feet dragging a furrow in the dirt along the way. His head hung low to his chest and worry spiked in Gilles' belly as none of their actions brought forward even the slightest indication of awareness. Madame Trémaux was waiting for them at the entry to the house and she absently patted the dog's head as he plodded toward her, nuzzling at her hand with his nose. She moved inside quickly, allowing the men access and wordlessly they followed her up the stairs to the boy's room. When the young man had been settled onto the bed, Gilles dismissed René as Trémaux spoke with a servant, arranging for water and clean cloths to be brought to the room. Moving to sit on the bed, next to Denys, she looking inquiringly at Gilles.
The man answered as he motioned to the young man's head and chest, "He hit his head and I'm certain that some of his ribs on the left side are broken. That's all I found, but it's possible he may be hurt elsewhere and we won't know until he wakes to tell us."
The woman nodded, hands already moving to lift the boy's shirt, drawing a sharp breath when the bruising on his chest was revealed. Gilles took a step forward, brow furrowing as he said, "That's strange. Some of that bruising looks several days old."
Trémaux smiled up at him as she explained, "Denys had a minor mishap the day before he arrived. He told me it was nothing, but apparently he's not to be trusted with matters of his health."
Gilles gave a nod of understanding, familiar with other prideful young men who dismissed their injuries for fear of worrying those around them. "Shall I send someone for the physician?"
A look of panic seemed to cross the woman's face, concealed as quickly as it had appeared and she forced herself to smile as she replied, "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Denys would not like being fussed over so, for now, we'll tend to him ourselves." Gilles didn't seem convinced but was willing to allow the woman to have her way, especially since Denys was her cousin. "Will you please see what's taking Marthe so long?" Gilles exited the room to go in search of the girl and Madame Trémaux released the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. She knew that the man disagreed with her decision regarding the physician, but she couldn't risk having more people come into contact with the Musketeer. Hopefully, his injuries would be minor and within her abilities to care for.
Marthe timidly entered the room and Trémaux had her place the items she'd brought on the table, needing her help to undress the young man so she could properly evaluate his condition. They removed everything but his braies, the lady of the house allowing him the courtesy of not being fully undressed before the sister of his commanding officer. She and Marthe washed the young man's face and neck, removing the last traces of blood from his skin, and then expertly wrapped his ribs. When this was done, Trémaux dismissed the girl, content to watch over the young man on her own as she prayed for him to awake soon. The hours crawled by as day became night and Gilles came to check in on them several times, each time beseeching his lady to leave the boy's side, only to be adamantly refused. Gilles believed it to be because of the concern she held for her cousin and Trémaux didn't correct him; in truth, she feared for the boy's precarious position as a fugitive.
The night passed and still d'Artagnan slept, the woman sitting in a chair at his side, dozing uncomfortably but unwilling to be separated from her charge. It wasn't until morning that Madame Trémaux was woken from sleep by the sound of someone groaning, and she sat up as her eyes opened, looking expectantly at the young man. It took several minutes before he roused enough for his lids to open and when they did, she could see the pain of his injuries reflected there. Reaching a hand forward, she cupped his cheek as she asked him, "How are you feeling?"
d'Artagnan blinked muzzily, still trying to orient himself and clearly battling the pain he felt. When he finally answered, his voice was hoarse and low, "Hurts."
She nodded kindly at him, "I know. Do you remember what happened?"
The young man's eyes fluttered closed for several moments and Trémaux worried that he'd fallen asleep again, but he looked up at her after he'd considered her question and shook his head, stopping abruptly as the movement made his pain spike. His eyes closed again as he breathed against the pain, a moan escaping as he discovered the ache in his ribs. His hostess kept her hand on his cheek, murmuring words of comfort as he battled against the pain. When his eyes re-opened, his expression was lost as he asked, "What happened to me?"
She offered a warm smile as she explained, "You were thrown from a horse into a fence and I'm sad to report, the fence seems to have come out the victor."
He looked at her in confusion, tongue licking his dry lips and Trémaux reached for a cup of water on the table behind her, lifting his head up slightly as she held the cup to his mouth. When he'd lain back, his puzzlement remained. "Who are you?" he breathed out, eyes still doing their best to focus on her.
She drew a sharp breath at the question, a hand going to the base of her throat as she fought for composure. "I'm Madame Trémaux, the Captain's sister." She waited for several heartbeats for recognition to dawn, but the expression on the young man's face remained unchanged. Mustering confidence she didn't feel, she soothed him, "I'm certain it will all come back to you once you're feeling better. Close your eyes now and rest."
It was a testament to how poorly he was feeling that he didn't offer any argument to her suggestion, but simply allowed his lids to drift closed and slept. When the lady was certain that d'Artagnan was asleep, she rose from the chair, nervously running her hands along the front of her dress to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed. "Oh, Jean-Armand, what am I to with the boy now?" With nothing else to do until he woke, she quietly left the room, pulling the door closed behind her, deciding to take a short break away from the young man's bedside while she had the opportunity.