Thanks for the great comments on the last chapter. Hope you enjoy this next one!

d'Artagnan had no idea how much time had passed but was woken by the ache in his chest which made him struggle for each breath. His brow furrowed as he tried to recall if it had been this difficult earlier, but his mind was clouded with pain and he couldn't be certain of anything. He felt a warm weight at his side and rolled his head toward it, seeing Madame Trémaux sitting next to him, asleep. From what he could recall, the woman had been exceedingly kind to him, even risking her own life to save him from the bounty hunters when they'd arrived.

Despite what she'd told him earlier, d'Artagnan could not risk putting her life in danger. Bracing himself, he inched away from her slowly, moving cautiously as she adjusted to the lack of his body next to hers, and he tucked the canvas against her side to prevent the cold from seeping in. Standing was more difficult than he'd imagined, his muscles having stiffened while he'd slept. When he was upright, he waited only seconds, forcing himself to move even before his vision had fully cleared, concerned that Brigitte might wake and try to stop him.

He unbarred the door and pushed it open slowly, grateful that it swung silently. He stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him, managing only two steps before the dizziness that assaulted him forced him to stop and lean against the wall. As he staggered up the stairs, using the wall to pull himself upwards, he was surprised that they'd been left alone and wondered if he'd missed something while unconscious.

At the top of the stairs, he had to sit for a moment, his legs buckling and his vision tunneling once more. As he lifted his head in preparation to stand, he noticed that he was being watched, one of the men from earlier leaning against a doorway across from him. When he saw d'Artagnan look up, he pushed away from where he'd been standing and moved closer to tower over the boy. "Ready to give yourself up?" he asked, clearly reading the young man's weakened condition.

d'Artagnan hardened his gaze as he replied, "I will go with you without protest, as long as you promise that no harm will come to the lady of the house. We will leave immediately, and no one will go down there," he stated, motioning to where he'd just come from.

The bounty hunter looked at him with a hint of amusement and then shrugged, "Fine with me. We don't have any need for the woman anyway." With that, he reached down and grabbed the Gascon's arm, jerking him upright. d'Artagnan swayed alarmingly but the man didn't give him any time to adjust, pulling him along through the house. The others were in the sitting room, clearly having helped themselves to food and wine from the kitchen. "Look what I found," the bandit crowed triumphantly, giving another hard tug and then releasing his hold, sending the young man down to his knees, just managing to catch himself on one arm before his upper body hit the floor.

One of the men stood and walked closer, looking at d'Artagnan appraisingly as the Gascon's head hung from his neck, trying to calm his breathing. He glanced back at the other bounty hunter with a raised eyebrow. "Found him at the top of the stairs. Says he'll come along quietly as long as we leave the woman alone."

The man nodded in acceptance. "Alright." Turning to the others, he ordered, "Get the horses saddled along with one more for him. We leave as soon as they're ready." As the other men exited, he continued to stare at d'Artagnan, crouching down on his haunches in front of the boy. "Led us on a merry chase, you did, but Maillard always gets his man."

Lifting his head to glare at the man, d'Artagnan asked, "Maillard, is that you?"

With a wide grin, he answered, "At your service. Bounty hunter extraordinaire and the man who'll be bringing you back to face the hangman's noose." Narrowing his eyes at his prisoner, he noted the wheezing quality of the boy's breathing. "What's wrong with you?"

"Got thrown by a horse and broke some ribs," d'Artagnan replied, hopeful that his condition might earn him some sympathy and gentler treatment at the hands of his captors.

"That's a shame. I've ridden with broken ribs before and it's awfully painful. Good thing you're a tough Musketeer," Maillard jeered, his grin turning nasty as he rose to his feet, bending over to pull the Gascon upright as well.

Maillard marched him outside where the men were nearly done with the horses, and d'Artagnan's hands were bound in front of him before he was forced into the saddle, one of the others holding a lead that was attached to his mount. From his position atop the horse, d'Artagnan could see the body of a man lying in a puddle of red, and he hung his head as he realized that it was Gilles. When all the men were ready, Maillard moved to the front of their group, d'Artagnan surrounded on all sides by the remaining riders. Forcing himself to stay upright to ease the strain on his ribs, d'Artagnan allowed his mind to wander, praying that Brigitte was right and her brother would come. It was too late for him but at least no one else would get hurt because of his choices.

Treville was unsurprised to find the three inseparables waiting for him when he exited his office and descended the stairs to the courtyard. They were sitting at their usual table, chatting idly, but had clearly been anxiously awaiting his appearance and were standing by the time he joined them. "We're ready?" he asked, receiving a nod from Athos.

"The horses are saddled and waiting," his lieutenant confirmed.

Sharing their anticipation, Treville wasted no time and led the way to the stables to collect their horses. Gathering their reins, they brought the mounts outside and added their weapons and other sundry items to the saddlebags before mounting and quickly setting out. The journey to Madame Trémaux's could be accomplished in just over half a day, meaning they could be celebrating with the Gascon over dinner that night.

The Captain had indicated that they would not be in a hurry to return and would spend the night there before making the trip back to Paris. Athos was grateful for the man's generosity in allowing them time to rest at his sister's home as well as the relatively easy pace he'd set as they'd left Paris behind, still mindful of Porthos' healing wound; all of them were anxious to be reunited with the Gascon, but none of them were willing to cause the large Musketeer extra pain in order to accomplish the task.

Early evening had them arriving at the gates of the Trémaux estate, the trip having taken a little longer due to the frequent breaks they'd taken to allow Porthos to rest. The large man had grumbled each time they'd stopped, but a look from one of the others had him holding his words, grudgingly admitting that his shoulder still pained him and the rests they took did make the journey more bearable.

As they guided their horses into the large courtyard, Athos traded wary looks with Treville, seeing in his expression that he'd sensed something as well. The area was completely deserted and, while the workday was nearly over, it was unusual for their surroundings to be so quiet and still. Approaching the centre of the courtyard, Aramis gave a low whistle, pointing to the stained ground up ahead. While a good deal of liquid had been absorbed back into the dirt-covered ground, there was still more than enough remaining for the Musketeers to recognize that someone had bled there – recently and a lot.

Athos pulled his horse to a stop, dismounting and then taking his weapons, holding his pistol at the ready as he moved toward the steps that led to the home's double doors. Behind him, he could hear the others doing the same, Porthos' muted grunt letting him know when the man was out of his saddle. They moved forward cautiously, scanning the area around them but still spotting no other signs of life.

Treville was beside him now and Athos knew the man was restraining himself, his desire to simply run inside to locate his sister plainly written on his face. The front doors swung open easily at their touch and Athos peered carefully inside before taking a step through the doorway, the Captain immediately following. The men stood, observing the large foyer and, without a word, split up to investigate in four different directions.

As the men explored, they were struck once again by the eerie stillness surrounding them. The estate was not overly large but would still employ a fair number of servants to keep it functioning, yet there was no sign of anyone around them. The low sound of voices caught Porthos' attention and he edged closer to the room, listening intently. He could make out a woman's voice but not any of the words, and he retraced his steps to the foyer, letting out a quiet whistle to get the others' attention. Seconds later he spotted them moving towards him and he led the way back, Treville mouthing "sitting room" to the others as they gathered around the door.

Porthos attempted to step forward, intending to look inside, but Aramis' hand on his shoulder stopped him and he allowed Athos to complete the action instead. After a quick look, he motioned forward with his head and the men followed him in, Treville lowering his pistol partway inside the room as he recognized his sister sitting next to a chaise where a man laid.

"Brigitte," Treville called, his voice full of relief and worry, telegraphing clearly the strain of the last few minutes since their arrival.

"Jean-Armand," she cried, rising immediately from her chair and moving forward to meet him, falling into his arms, her body racked with sobs.

The inseparables traded glances as they watched Treville's reunion with his sister, the man doing his best to comfort the woman as the others looked warily at the wounded man on the chaise. Treville caught Aramis' questioning look over the top of Brigitte's head and gave a small nod, the medic moving forward to take his sister's seat.

"May I?" he asked the man on the chaise, hand already reaching for the bloodied leg. At the man's nod, he pulled out his main gauche, slipping the blade into the hole left by the ball and slicing his breeches to gain access to the wound. Grimacing in sympathy he looked up, "I need wine or brandy and my supplies." Trusting that his friends would do as they'd been asked, he picked up the cloth that Brigitte must have been using earlier, and wet it again in the already rust-colored water, wiping at the wound so he could properly see the extent of the damage done. "Is it still in there?"

The man winced as he shook his head, "No, it went all the way through."

Aramis gave the man a reassuring smile, "Easier that way, but it does mean that I'll need to stitch up both wounds."

The man gave a low grunt that might have been acceptance or anticipation of the coming pain but, either way, Aramis continued his ministrations, managing to roll the man slightly to gain access to the exit wound. By the time he'd finished his examination, his friends had returned, Porthos placing a bottle on the table next to him while Athos laid out his needle and thread. Aramis gave the man a serious look as he asked, "Will you be able to stand the pain?"

The man gave a shaky nod, hand reaching for the bottle which Aramis helped him with, taking several deep swallows before releasing it. "Thank you," he breathed out.

Aramis gave a slight smile, "Ready?"

At the man's nod, Aramis made his first stitch, the man tensing as the needle penetrated his skin, the thread sickeningly tugging at the flesh as the edges of the wound were pulled close. Moments later, Brigitte had returned to the man's side, placing a hand in his, murmuring soft assurances. As Aramis continued his work, Athos and Porthos moved to stand with the Captain, inquiring looks on their faces. "Gilles. He's been with the family for years and takes care of nearly all aspects of running the estate – my brother-in-law's right-hand man as it were."

Athos tried to be patient, but the situation they'd discovered was eating away at his already raw nerves, "d'Artagnan?"

Treville shook his head, "I don't know anything yet. Let's allow Aramis to finish and then see what they can tell us."

Athos clamped his jaw down firmly, holding back the response that threatened but recognizing that angry words would add nothing to their circumstances. Instead, he moved to look out the window, noticing that their horses were still outside where they'd left them. With a wave to Porthos, he walked out of the room, intending to feed and water the animals. Treville glanced up as the two men left but he made no move to stop them, understanding Athos' need for information pertaining to their missing man and the frustration he was now trying to quell.

With Brigitte's help, Aramis had soon closed both wounds and wrapped them tightly in clean linen, the man laying back with his eyes closed, breathing raggedly at the pain he'd endured. The medic wiped his hands and needle on a clean cloth and then rolled up his sewing kit, slipping it into his doublet while Brigitte covered the man with a blanket. Treville came over and took her hand, guiding her to another seating area several feet away but where all of them could sit and talk without disturbing their now dozing patient. Athos and Porthos joined them within minutes and Treville began his inquiry. "Brigitte, what happened here and where is d'Artagnan?"

The woman took a bracing breath, her hands folded and twisting in her lap. "I'm so sorry, Jean-Armand. I did my best to keep him safe, really, I did."

The men saw the pleading and sorrow in her eyes and Athos' breath hitched at her words. "Is he dead?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

Brigitte almost jumped at his question, a shocked look on her face. "No," she cried, "I mean, I don't think so. He was alive the last time I saw him."

Treville gave a slight tilt of his head, reaching over to clasp his sister's hands. "Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning."

Brigitte gave him a tremulous smile as she nodded. "He and Gilles were walking outside earlier when the men arrived. d'Artagnan was at the bottom of the steps leading to the house when they shot Gilles." Searching out her brother's gaze, her voice shook as she explained, "I thought they would kill them both." Treville squeezed her hands but stayed silent, waiting for her to compose herself enough to continue. "I wasn't thinking clearly and I ran outside with one of Gilles' old swords and gave it to d'Artagnan, thinking maybe he could defend himself."

Aramis gave her a smile as he applauded her efforts, "That was a good idea. d'Artagnan is very skilled with a sword."

Brigitte's face clouded over as she went on, "He was barely able to defeat the first man and, when I saw how much he was struggling, I dragged him into the house and down to the cellar." The three men's faces now reflected their confusion, but they held their questions until she'd finished telling her story. "I thought we'd be safe down there but they found us almost at once. They tried to barter, my life for his, but I refused. After that, they left us alone for a while and, at some point I fell asleep." She turned her gaze to Treville's again and the men could see the despair in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I never should have allowed myself to rest. When I woke up, he was gone."

"It's alright, Brigitte," Treville tried to calm her. "Who were these me?"

The woman's eyes filled with tears as she answered, "Bounty hunters."

Porthos' reaction was immediate as he said, "But he's a free man. The real killer confessed yesterday."

Treville shook his head sadly, "Too little time for word to have travelled beyond the city walls."

Aramis looked puzzled and he now sought clarification, "Madame, you've stated that d'Artagnan had difficulty defeating his opponent. Was the man that gifted a swordsman?"

"No," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "d'Artagnan was hurt several days ago." At the intensity of the men's looks, she hurried to explain. "My dog startled the horse he was training and it threw him into a fence. He broke two ribs and suffered a head injury."

"Was he seen by a physician?" Athos questioned, his concern fueled by her words.

"Yes," she nodded. "We bound his ribs but there was nothing we could do about his memory."

Treville leaned forward, grasping onto her last comment, "What do you mean, his memory?"

She looked pitiful as she replied, "He lost his memory, Jean-Armand. He had no idea who he was or of his past. I explained to him once we were in the cellar that he was a Musketeer and that you would come for him, but I do not think he believed me."

Athos could hardly contain his need to go chasing after the men who had his protégé, and his hands clenched and unclenched with barely checked emotion. "Madame, how long ago did they leave?"

Brigitte shrugged helplessly, "I'm not certain. I woke over an hour ago to find him gone."

"Why did they shoot Gilles?" Aramis questioned, wondering if the man had attempted to prevent them from leaving.

Trémaux's face was sombre as she replied, "They did not like his answer."

A round of silent communication was shared by the men as they processed her words. If the bounty hunters had shot and left a man to die simply because of his words, then these were dangerous men indeed; things did not bode well for their youngest.

"No doubt they are on their way back to Paris. We should set out immediately," Athos declared, already making motions to rise.

Treville hated what he was about to say, but forged ahead regardless, "Athos, we'll have to wait until morning." The thunderous look on his lieutenant's face almost had him regretting his words but he steeled his nerve and continued, "The sun has set and they only have a couple hours' head start. If d'Artagnan is injured as Brigitte has indicated, he'll be slowing them down. We'll spend the night here and set out at first light." He waited for Athos to argue but a steadying hand from Porthos on his lieutenant's arm seemed to deflate him and, after several long seconds, the man gave a short nod instead.

The Captain returned the nod and then turned his attention back to his sister, "Brigitte, where is everyone?"

"I sent them away when the bounty hunters arrived. You've always said to trust my instincts. Something about the riders unsettled me so I ordered everyone out the back and told them to stay away until I sent word that it was safe to return," Brigitte explained.

"You did well," Treville praised. His gaze shifted from his sister to the wounded man on the chaise, and finally roamed over each of his men's faces. The four of them would take care of his sister and Gilles tonight and then set out in the morning to track the bounty hunters. Assessing the inseparables' expressions, he almost felt sorry for their prey.