Again, my sincere thanks for wonderful feedback! What a joy this story has been to share.
No more waiting...
Anne looked at the reflection of light on the surface of the standing pool of water below the window and the bucket of drinking water. It had been two days since Louis had been taken. Nearly two days without a word from anyone, not since Pierre had threatened them both with unspeakable acts. Their situation had grown dismal and humiliating when she vomited bile and stomach juices. Her lack of food, morning sickness, and stress had wreaked havoc on her body. They had been given a bucket for personal use and while she tried to refrain from using it, her bladder was only capable of holding so much. Her long gown and multiple layers made it nearly impossible to use on her own. Athos had graciously helped when he could, and then turned his back to provide her with the privacy she needed. It was in those moments that she envied men and their ability to stand, open a few buttons, and quickly relieve themselves.
While rare but forceful, her outbursts at the frustration of their situation caused her moods to swing and her emotions to wreak havoc. Anne wiped at her eyes, tightened her fingers on the dirty cloak around her shoulders, and looked at Athos, who remained quiet while seated on the floor, knees raised, with his head resting against the wall.
She had dozed, falling asleep for short periods of time until the noise of the tormented woke her. She knew Athos had remained at attention, listening for the heavy steps of their captors, or the locks to shift. His exhaustion would eventually catch up with him, but for now he refused to surrender to it and for that, she was grateful.
"I'm not sure how much longer I can continue like this," Anne said. Seated against the wall, she shifted to her right and looked at Athos' profile, what she could see of it, and exhaled slowly. "What if they killed him?"
Athos furrowed his brow and cleared his throat. "A dear friend once told me that everything was temporary," he said quietly, "moments of torment that seem to last forever, and moments of joy that ended too quickly." He turned his head and looked at her. "This is only temporary."
"Who was it that spoke such wise words?"
Athos chuckled and said, "Aramis — although I would hesitate to call him wise."
Anne smiled genuinely and brushed her hand along the fabric of her skirt and said, "I must confess — and you'll think me foolish — but I had wished it was Aramis riding in your place alongside the carriage."
Athos quirked a smile. "I wish he had been too."
Anne's lips twitched and she paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "Thank you… for keeping what happened at the convent quiet."
Athos looked toward the ceiling, swallowed, and then said, "It's not my story to tell."
"Regardless," Anne said, and rubbed the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. She wanted to say more, explain herself, but confiding in Athos was not only inappropriate, it was desperate. A lonely queen needing the love and affection of a man she could not have. Aramis had given her a night of passion, of love and tenderness, and he made her feel like a woman. Materialistically, she had everything she could ever want or need. Emotionally, she did not. Anne knew Louis loved her, but he lacked the finesse of a gentle, passionate lover who understood and embraced a woman's body. "Have you ever loved someone," she looked at the torn cuticle of her thumb, "that you knew you couldn't have?"
Athos clenched his jaw and his Adam's apple bobbled several times. He licked at the cut on his lip with the tip of his tongue and then rubbed his hands along his thighs. What could he say? He had loved someone… he had loved her, given himself to her, and then watched it tragically slip between his fingers. One foolish mistake had changed the course of his life, his brother's life, and the lives of those living in Pinon. Athos exhaled slowly and said sadly, "No, Your Majesty."
Anne looked at him and noticed his refusal to meet her eyes, the slight wince to his features, and the sound of pain that edged his words. She was about to say something more, but stopped when she heard the lock of the door click. Athos quickly stood and positioned himself between her and the door with his right hand pressed to his left side as ribs protested.
Slowly, the door pushed open.
A monk stood in the entry. The fading light of the evening sun cast him in dark shadows but highlighted his bald head and thick black beard. He had heavy, hooded eyelids, with deep crow's feet and laugh lines, and a straight nose. "I'm Father Andre," he whispered, and glanced over his shoulder. He motioned with his hand for them to follow. "Please follow me — we have little time." He pushed the door open wider and stood to the side.
"Where are you taking us?" Athos asked. He held his arm out to his side to keep Anne from stepping forward.
"There's a back exit to the monastery… I've secured you a mount, some rations, and this." He handed Athos a weapons belt and sword. He watched Athos strap it around his waist and then said, "You must hurry… Souder and his men are meeting in the nave — they plan to take action by morning. They plan to throw you," he looked at Athos, "from parapet as a warning to what they have planned for the queen."
Anne inhaled a quick gasp and clutched her hands around the fabrics of her skirts.
"Souder's spies have spotted the king's men not far from the monastery… These men plan to fight and it will not end well. Come," he said and motioned with his hand. "Follow me." He grabbed the skirt of his robe and walked along the pathway between the occupied cells.
A few of the men stood and reached between the bars. Those chained to the walls remained seated, but tossed their food bowls and grunted and watched. Some looked away, their sad eyes and gaunt features a reflection of what they had become as years of neglect and misunderstanding consumed them. Abandoned by their families, they had been left in the care of monks who did their best, but knew little of their conditions. Though physically fine, the majority were consumed with such madness that they could not live their lives on their own. Some had become so violent that people feared them, taunted them, and forced them to behave like animals.
Protectively, Athos reached for Anne's hand and supported her as she walked close beside him. She grabbed his arm above his elbow and held tight, and followed Father Andre.
"You must take the back roads… the main ones are used by Souders' men. Refrain from lighting fires unless you're sure you're out of sight. Once they learn you are gone…" he paused, and turned to look at them, "that they have lost their leverage to get what they want, it may cause them to act… erroneously." He walked quickly, forcing Athos to lengthen his stride and Anne to jog to keep up.
They took a sudden turn to the right and Father Andre grabbed a lantern from an arched iron sconce that hung from the wall, and then walked down the narrowly curved stone stairway. The taps and scuffs of their booted feet echoed down the long corridor. The light of the lantern caused shadows to dance along the curved stone walls, and its light crept around the corners as they continued.
As they traveled toward the outer perimeter of the building, a cool breeze forced strands of hair to move and goosebumps to appear. Father Andre paused before a closed old wooden door that had warped over time. He looked at Athos. "This is the only building connected to the curtain walls." He placed the lantern on a hook near the door and pulled the rope, and force it open.
An icy wind hit their faces, and Anne shivered against the chill.
The monks had put the gardens to bed for winter. The canal that surrounded the monastery was lined with fencing, and dead weeds and bushes protected and hid a narrow walking bridge. A small chestnut mare stood tied across the canal. She bore an old saddle with a pack and bags tied to the back.
Father Andre walked with them across the garden field and pointed toward Paris. The blackness of night made it difficult to see. "Follow the fence line until you reach the forest and then continue east — that will get you to Paris in a few days' time —"
"We need to travel to the Chateau de Fontainebleau," Athos said. "We won't make to Paris, not alone, and not with the weather turning and too little rations." He glanced at the queen, watched her struggle through the muddied ground, and struggle to keep her fur cloak wrapped around her shoulders.
Father Andre paused, pursed his lips, and then furrowed his brow in concern. He exhaled slowly and then nodded. "Travel south and follow the water. The ground is treacherous this time of year, but stay close to the water's edge… Souder and his men have been traveling north, but if you stay within the cover of trees, they may not see you. I assume," he sighed, "they will be preoccupied with those outside the gates. You'll need to cross it in order to get to the chateau. The ferry is out, but there is a rise that will allow you to walk across… look for an abandoned barn with a caved in roof." He paused suddenly and then said, "There is a woman, Madame Amelia. She lives a day's ride from here… if you travel through the night you should arrive at her home by morning. She'll help you. Tell her I sent you." He motioned toward the narrow walking bridge. "I wish I could help you more, but…" Father Andre sighed and shrugged. "I fear what they will do once they realize you're gone."
"Come with us," Anne said quickly.
Father Andre smiled warmly and said, "I cannot, Your Majesty. My brothers need me, and," he turned back toward the monastery, "there are those inside who have no place else to go. I cannot leave them in the care of those who wish them harm."
"How will you protect yourself when they discover we're missing?"
Father Andre quirked a gentle smile and said, "That is for God to manage. Now go — you won't have much time."
"Thank you," Athos said and looked at Anne. "Your Majesty." He motioned with his hand toward the bridge.
"Travel safe," Father Andre said, "and whatever you do — do not turn back."