The chestnut mare looked up as Anne, and Athos approached. Standing at a slight fourteen hands, her flaxen mane and tail were thick, and a long blaze ran along the front of her face and ended at a point near her upper lip. Large brown eyes hinted at a sweet disposition and strength of character. She was not built to withstand the weight of two people. She was narrow through her chest, hips, and severely cow-hocked.
Athos untied her from the post near the bridge, and then turned toward Anne. "Your Majesty," he said.
"I'm an excellent rider, Athos, but she cannot be expected to take us all the way to the chateau." Anne clutched the cloak at her shoulder. "She looks like an old cart pony."
"She probably is. I'll walk," Athos said with a slight tilt of his head. "You're in no condition to do so."
Anne frowned. "And you are?" She cocked an eyebrow.
"I'm not the one carrying the future king of France."
It was Athos' straight face and stern look that caused her to quirk an appreciative smile. "No," she said, "you're not."
With Athos' help, she mounted. The mare sidestepped to adjust to the weight, and then stepped forward as Athos looked once more at the back of the monastery. The faint light of the moon highlighted the harsh stones of the wall that surrounded the buildings and the arched roofs of the connected structure. Athos turned, looked at the queen, and said, "Are you ready?"
"No, but we should depart before they discover us."
Athos tugged on the reins, and the mare followed. Anne adjusted her seat, grasped the pommel of the saddle with her right hand, and gripped the cloak with her left. She was cold, hungry, humiliated, and desperate. She rocked slowly back and forth with each step, and the motions caused her to close her eyes and think about what she wanted and not their situation. Perhaps it was her position as the queen, or her affluent upbringing, but physical suffering had never been a part of her life, at least until now. She had never gone hungry. She had never felt so cold, so dirty, or neglected. Anne thought about a hot bath, the comfort of her bed, the cleanliness of her clothes, the warmth of food, followed by a glass of wine. Even while fleeing Gallagher and his men, though the conditions had been terrifying, she had been surrounded with all four of her musketeers. They had food to eat and the warmth of the summer sun.
The blackness of night made it difficult to see, even as Athos' eyes adjusted, and the unknowns grew more concerning. Trees and clouds hid the moon's light, and only a few stars salted the sky. He could hardly see the path before him, but as he walked, he listened for the sounds of the water slapping the bank, rushing over stones and boulders, and low-hanging branches that slapped the surface with each gust of the frigid wind. He listened for wildlife, animals that hunted at night, those with vision and skills better than his own. The terrain was troublesome, rough and unexpected as he stumbled occasionally, tripping on broken branches, stones, or stepping into holes.
The little mare's sure-footedness outpaced Athos', and he struggled to keep his footing. He winced when his left ankle turned. He glanced over his right shoulder toward Anne, who stayed quiet but ducked occasionally to avoid the low-hanging branches that Athos hadn't seen. Occasionally, she looked behind them out of fear of being followed. While she wished they could travel faster, she understood their limitations.
Athos continued at a steady pace, trying to ignore his ankle, and the little mare continued calmly beside him. Anne had noticed him stumble, and heard the snaps of twigs, branches, and the scraping of his boots on stones. She had also heard him hiss and mutter quiet curses as he mis-stepped.
"Perhaps we should stop for a bit and rest?" Anne asked.
"We should continue, Your Majesty, until I can find a location that will shield us from view," he said, and looked over his shoulder at her. "We can't risk it."
Anne nodded and exhaled slowly. She shivered as the winds picked up, and the cold penetrated the folds of her dress, and caused her tender skin to react.
Another chilly wind forced the branches to bow beneath its force and leaves to dance across the path. Anne shivered again and hunched her shoulders. Time stood still and no matter how long they journeyed, she felt it hadn't been far enough.
The clouds shifted and exposed the light of the quarter moon and its rays glistened off the ripples of water. Fog was slowly encroaching, moving like a low hanging cloud over the water and blurring the trees across the river.
Athos pulled the mare to his left, and they walked along the water's edge toward a series of large boulders surrounded with trees and backed by a steep incline, forming a shallow but useful cavern. They had traveled for hours, and Athos searched for a location to rest when he noticed the queen's exhaustion. She swayed in the saddle and leaned forward as the cold intensified.
Athos wasn't oblivious to the frigid air, but he powered through it. Despite his gloves, his fingers were cold, his nose dripped, and his cheeks were red. He frequently blinked as the winds picked up, and occasionally he pressed the palm of his gloved hands against his ears to warm the tips.
The boulders and trees would protect them from the winds, and Athos led the mare toward the far side of the cavern.
"Your Majesty?" Athos said and gently grasped her arm.
Anne looked at him and sighed. "I do not know how much longer I can go on."
"We'll rest here," Athos said. "I'll get a fire started—"
"Won't it be seen?"
"No," Athos replied as he gently touched her hand. With a nod from Anne, he slipped his hands around her waist and helped her down. "We're well hidden behind these boulders."
Anne leaned against him for a moment until she regained her strength. Athos walked toward a boulder and helped her get seated and immediately located kindling and firewood. It only took him a few minutes before the fire was going, and Anne immediately drew closer to it. She held her hands toward it and warmed her palms and then the backs of her hands.
Athos removed the bags from the saddle, searched through them and found a loaf of hard bread, a few slices of dried meat, and fruits. Father Andre had also included a small cast-iron pot and an old pewter hammered cup. Athos filled it with water and then added the dried meat. He looked at Anne. Her complexion was pale despite the yellow glow of the fire. Using his dagger, Athos cut several pieces of dried fruit into smaller pieces and then knelt beside her.
Anne looked at him and said, "I don't remember ever being this tired — even when we were all running from Gallagher and his men."
"I don't recall you being with child at that time, Your Majesty. You need to eat to keep your strength up," Athos said, and handed her the fruit. "Once the broth is warm, you can sip on that." He curled his lips into a gentle smile and said, "It will warm you on the inside."
Anne nodded, and then slowly nibbled at the fruit. She watched Athos relax the cinch of the saddle, remove the bridle and then tie the mare to the branch of a tree. The chestnut pulled dead grass from the ground and grazed contently. Anne pulled up her skirts just enough to expose her shoes, and she shifted her feet closer to the fire. The heat felt warm against her. She could feel her eyelids grow heavy, even as Athos placed the warmed cup into her hand and instructed her to drink it. He had been correct. The heat of the broth warmed her throat and belly and suddenly her misery was less than what it had been. She was still frightened, still unsure of where they were going or if they would arrive safely. She was worried about Louis and quietly wondered what her future might look like without him. How would the French people feel about a Spanish queen ruling over them until the child came of age? And what then?
Athos sat across from Anne and she watched him stoke the fire once more. Sparks flew upward and disappeared into the low-hanging branches of the tree. The glow of the flames reflected off the stones and caused shadows to darken and move with a life of their own. They were both exhausted, and Athos watched Anne shift into a more comfortable position and quietly doze. He took the opportunity to remove his boot, pull off his sock, and examine his ankle. The swelling was minimal, but he could see shades of black and blue appearing along the side of his foot. He took a deep breath, pulled on his sock, and allowed himself a moment to appreciate the heat of the flames before he slipped back into his boot.
Athos kept watched while Anne slept. He listened for uninvited guests, fed the fire, and then slowly prepared to depart by tightening the cinch of the saddle and packing their meager supplies. Anne had slept for over an hour. While it had not been nearly enough time to recover, she felt better. Her stomach was no longer grumbling, her hands were no longer shaking, and she was warm. She didn't need instructions. She could tell by Athos' actions that it was time to continue their journey.
With a deep sigh, Anne allowed Athos to help her mount, and once again, they were walking toward the chateau.