To my readers. Please accept my apologies for the delay in publishing chapters at the moment. I am afraid I have several pupils preparing to take GCSE's, in a couple of months, and the extra lessons have taken up a great deal of my spare time. I will endeavour to be more prolific in the coming months. Many thanks.

Chapter 35

Athos needed to leave the house, but where he headed after that was unimportant – as long as it was far away. He should never have come back. Whatever game was being played out at his expense, he had done exactly what they had wanted of him; he had allowed himself to be led back to Pinot, like a lamb to the slaughter.

Athos was angry!

Sense had told him to remain in Paris, refuse to follow their agenda and force them to play by his rules. However, despite this maelstrom of ifs and buts, it was not this error of judgement that fired his current mood. No! The subconscious urge to return had been gathering strength for some time – a growing need to face his demons, compelling him to go back to the beginning. Finally, Athos had been forced to acknowledge the truth, that he had simply been waiting for the perfect justification, whilst all the time he had attempted to fight the urge, forcing it deep down beneath a gallon of wine and excuses.

At night, Thomas stalked the darkness, constantly demanding retribution, crying out for justice – justice he insisted Athos had denied him. So he had come back, only to discover she was here too. There had to be some message, some greater agenda in such an event. Athos was no believer in fate, but perhaps their coming full circle finally completed some path that they were meant to tread, tread together.

The constant power play within their relationship was slowly taking its toll, and if he were honest, it was probably time to bring their volatile journey to its conclusion; to give Thomas the peace he deserved. Maybe putting an end to his wife's existence would allow them all to sleep without the burden of guilt, but he knew the solution would never be so simple – or so permanent. So it was, with a myriad of impossible questions, he came bursting from the confines of his home upon the unsuspecting day. The resulting frustration only sought to fuel his anger, leaving the swordsman spoiling for a fight.

'Athos! Wait!' Treville followed in the tangible wake of Athos' anger, clearly recognising the danger signs, and exhibiting as much frustration as his errant Musketeer. He bit down his annoyance, only allowing his irritation to surface when the swordsman ignored him.

'Athos! You may be lord of all you survey, but I am still your captain. Unless, of course, you plan to resign your commission and resume your old life.' It was a low blow, but just as he suspected it hit home. Athos stopped dead, his breathing hard and fast as he struggled to bring his warring emotions under control.

The reluctant nobleman stood still, fists clenching and unclenching, dark brows drawn low as he watched the older man approach, giving Treville the opportunity to catch up with his quarry.

'Damn you, Athos. Where do you think you are going?'

Athos scowled at his captain. Here was the man who had taken a chance on him when others would have left him to hang. The man who had tolerated his outbursts and drinking. The man to whom he owed so very much. The Musketeer closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the frigid air to gradually cool his temper.

'I am sorry. I simply needed to get out of the house … and no … I do not harbour such plans.' He quirked a brow and Treville smiled, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder.

'Glad to hear it. Personally, I think you would make a poor Comte, but you are an excellent soldier … most of the time.'

Athos' brows rose in surprise. 'I would do my duty.'

'I know, son, but you would be miserable, and misery corrupts – I think you know that.' Athos stared off into the distance, his expression solemn, giving only a single nod in response.

Athos turned on his heel and headed toward the stables, and though his pace was swift there was less tension in his gait. Treville had expected this and followed in silence.

At the sight of their recently returned employer, the stable hands sprang into action. Word had spread quickly regarding the true identity of the glowering Musketeer. If they held any opinion regarding his new persona, they knew better than allow it to show. Musketeer or noble, he still provided them with a living and a roof over their heads. If he wanted to play soldiers, that was his decision.

As Athos mounted Roger, Treville mounted also. 'You know I have to come with you?'

Athos smiled. 'You could order me to stay.'

'I could, but then I would have to punish you when you ignored me. This way I get to keep what hair I have left just a little longer.'

Athos' face grew serious. 'I am tired of waiting in the shadows, tired of waiting for someone else to lead the game. This is my land and my people. I am not skulking in the dark anymore. Someone knows what is going on, and when I find them, they are going to talk – until I tell them to stop.'

The two men galloped out of the yard, Athos leading them toward a stretch of open country, giving the black stallion his head. Trees flew past in a blur as they hurtled over the grassy slopes, eyes streaming from the blast of frigid air. With the bitter breeze whipping his hair into his face, Athos felt the pummelled, frozen earth vibrate through his body, his angry heart beating in time with the flying horse. With every thud of the thundering hooves, he felt as if he were delivering a physical blow to his persecutors, providing a temporary outlet for his pent-up frustration.

Gradually, as he slowed his pace, the swordsman felt his fury gradually dissipate. It did not vanish completely, merely simmering enough to heat his blood on a frigid November morning. Treville reined in beside him but said nothing. The two men were atop a grassy hill, the green blades stiff and frozen still from the early frost, the entire landscape sparkling in the weak sunlight. It would have been beautiful, but all Athos could see was the dark rot of despair. Treville had been right, misery corrupted, and that corruption was everywhere the swordsman looked – especially in the manor house, standing half hidden in the distance.

Athos' senses pricked his consciousness. As he scrutinised his surroundings, nothing appeared out of place, no evidence of trouble, but still the Musketeer was on full alert.

'Is something wrong?' Treville had been happy to allow Athos time for his own thoughts, but he had recognised the change in the man's stance. He had far too much faith in Athos, the soldier, to ignore the man's instincts.

'Just a feeling.' Athos' gaze settled upon the small church, stark and grim on an adjacent hilltop. He could feel the community of dead calling to him, and even though he knew she was not among them, he could not deny their summons. Setting a slower pace than before he headed toward the silent congregation. Treville scowled but followed without question.

ooOoo

Anne sat atop her bay mare. Even with her thick travelling cloak she could feel the bitter bite of the wind. Involuntarily she shivered – after all it was cold, it had nothing to do with the man and horse thundering toward her. She had mounted earlier intending to observe the manor; like Athos, some force or destiny had lured her toward the silent edifice. To her the building glowered down upon her, judging her every living breath. She should be laying beneath the frosty ground, but she had cheated both death and retribution. Now it called to her, reminding her that her place was there waiting – all she had to do was fulfil her destiny.

She watched the horses halt, snorting with their efforts, clouds billowing from their nostrils in the winter chill. She grunted at the sight of Treville. Though the captain had always been polite in his dealings with her, his distrust and censure oozed from every fibre of his being. Not that she cared; she had learnt to ignore the hypocritical judgement of men a long time ago.

Pondering the two distant figures, Milady noted Athos stiffen, before turning his head to study his surroundings. She moved closer to the small copse of trees and held her breath. She was close enough to see his face, and the steely-eyed stare kindled a sensation deep within her core. She was no fool; when her husband had settled his thoughtful gaze on the view of the church, she knew exactly what he was thinking. Did he, too, consider it was time for her to pay in full for her crime, was this to be their final conflict? Milady should have been afraid, have turned and ridden far away right then, back to England, Spain, anywhere. Instead, as Athos cantered toward the church, she followed.

ooOoo

Athos entered through the creaking gate, noting the torn and dying vegetation clinging to its decaying wood. He knew the way. Night after night he followed this path, though this time he doubted reality would echo his nightmares; she would not be there, waiting, beseeching him to acquit her of blame, accusing him of betrayal.

The betrayal was all too real, but just who had betrayed whom continued to haunt him – a state it would be impossible to set to rest. As he made his way between the stones he did not falter, did not question his path; he headed toward the small marker without hesitation. That others had recently trodden the same path did not fail to escape his notice.

Athos had been focussed upon his goal, and though Treville cast his gaze from side to side, wary of trouble, neither man looked backward. Milady had kept close to the hedgerows, maintaining a steady space. However, when Athos slipped from his saddle and secured his horse to the skeletal branches of an ancient yew, she, too, halted, dismounting without a sound. Picking up her skirts she hurried closer, glad of the trees that surrounded the churchyard which provided cover.

She knew Athos would not enter the church, for even when they married, he had insisted upon a special licence, preferring to conduct the ceremony inside his home. God had not been given any place in his life long before their marriage had crumbled to dust.

Athos may not have given any thought to the divine, but fate or a higher intervention had an uncomfortable way of intruding into his life, despite his scorn.

ooOoo

Peloir and Jobin had retreated to the warmth of the village inn as soon as the door was opened that morning, in order to discuss how best to accomplish their task; noting the establishment was busy for the time of day. Elderly men soaked up the heat by the fire and bemoaned the state of France. Not that much of France was known to them further than the town of Anet – still the bent figures did not let their lack of experience dull their opinions. In fact, so loud was their debate the two assassins did not bother to temper their own discussion, confident there was no one to overhear. They were wrong.

Beau sat in the darkened corner. From here he could benefit from the heat of the fire and yet remain almost invisible. He had ceased to listen to the diatribe from the elders, but the two men sitting in front of him were holding a conversation which was proving most interesting.

'What do you think we should do next?' Peloir enquired of his friend.

Jobin studied his ale and shrugged. 'He does not show himself overly much and snatching him from within the manor would be suicide. We have little choice but to watch and wait. As long as he doesn't leave there is no hurry.'

'I suppose you are right, but it's bloody cold out there.'

'Then wrap up warmer. This job will see us comfortable and able to begin a new life in England, so stop moaning and drink up.' Fed up with his companion's constant whining, Jobin slammed down his cup and stalked from the inn into the freezing chill of early morning, leaving a scowling Peloir to rush his ale and follow reluctantly in his wake.

Beau almost smiled. How many men in the manor house were likely to be of particular interest to men such as these? It was not impossible someone amongst the staff could have fallen foul of such scum, but it was far more probable that Athos had yet more enemies awaiting the right moment to terminate his existence, and if that were the case, they may prove useful to him.

And so, as Athos and Treville were leaving the house, all three men were watching their progress, though two of them were about to receive a rather unexpected surprise.

The click of the pistol caused both Peloir and Jobin to freeze, if that were possible in their current icy situation.

'Do not attempt to move or go for a weapon, for I will not hesitate to blow your brains out.' Beau spoke quietly, but the two men heard every word.

Jobin attempted a little bravado. 'You can't shoot us both at once.'

Beau chuckled. 'Really? Considering my position, and the angle I will fire from, I am pretty sure there is little enough between your friend's ears to impede the lead. Certainly, sufficient to maim, if not completely kill. Which is probably worse – though with his intellect may go unnoticed.'

Jobin seethed as he considered the man's derogatory words, whilst he observed his quarry advancing upon the stables. With another opportunity about to be wasted he reached a hasty decision. 'What do you want?'

'A wise choice. I rather think we may share a goal, or at least an interest in the same person. But I do not have time to waste, the situation is fairly simple – I want Athos dead, not necessarily quickly, if that matters to you, just dead. Would you care to aid me in my endeavours? After all, three weapons are better than one.'

This was not the proposal the two men had expected, and they offered up a prayer of thanks. After all, why not? They would get paid just the same whether they actually did the deed or not.

'Can't argue with that. Just one thing though, we need his head as proof.' Jobin's eyes narrowed as he watched the stranger consider his request.

Beau was as callous as most hardened men, but even he opined the request was still brutal and rather biblical. 'So, you dance to another's tune? Well so be it. I would prefer never to see his arrogant face again, so you are welcome to do what you will with it.'

Jobin gave a lopsided grin and held out his hand. The two men shook with a brief nod acknowledging their somewhat gruesome agreement.

'He's headed for the stables, with the older man,' Peloir interrupted. 'We're goin' to lose them again if we don't hurry.' As one, the three men moved silently away from the stable building to the place beneath a group of trees where they had tethered their horses. The ground crunched beneath their boots and the air was fogged with the results of their exertion.

'Who's the other man?' Peloir asked. 'Is he likely to be a problem?'

Beau laughed. 'Do not be misled by his thinning hair, he is Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers, a man to be reckoned with.' Jobin and Peloir exchanged concerned glances.

'Wouldn't it be better to wait until he is on his own?'

'Not at all, we are three pistols against two and we have the element of surprise.' This seemed to appease the two men, and together they waited and watched as Athos and Treville rode off across the glittering fields.

Treville waited patiently as Athos stared at the simple marker. At first he suspected it was his brother's grave, but the lack of a stone or more substantial grave dissuaded him of that, and only as he moved a little closer did he note the letters carved in to the cross.

'An empty grave,' the captain remarked. 'There is nothing to mourn here Athos, why do you torture yourself so?'

'The grave may lack a body, but do not be fooled that nothing lies within. Everything is buried beneath that marker – even part of me.' At that he turned on his heel and began to make his way back toward the gate.

His three shadows had not risked riding too close to their quarry, but they had noted Milady ride up to the shadowy copse and secrete herself amongst the trees.

'Do you know who the woman is?' Beau asked.

'She is familiar, but I cannot think where I know her from.' Peloir scowled as he tried to dredge the woman from his memory.

'She is not local, she was staying at the inn,' Beau explained as he weighed up the possibilities.

'Well she don't want to be seen that's for sure. Maybe an old lover?' The three men mulled over the possibilities, but for now it mattered little.

'What shall we do? If he returns to the house there is little cover to hide our approach and we will lose the element of surprise.'

Beau considered Jobin's question and pulled a small spyglass from his pocket and watched as Athos returned to his horse. The Musketeer paused as he sat astride the great black beast and appeared to be considering his next move. Beau watched as the man stared in the direction of the distant château before turning to gaze past the church in the direction of the village. He turned to the older man and spoke, nodding in the direction of where only the steady rise of smoke indicated anything existed beyond the white frozen countryside.

'He is heading toward the village. Come, we must ride quickly, I know just the place to make our move.'

'What about the woman?'

'If we have to, we will deal with her too,' Beau sniggered, remembering the woman's look of distaste when she had glanced at him in the inn. The men wasted no time and drove their horses toward the rising smoke and the edge of the wintery trees at the edge of the wood.

ooOoo

'If you continue to keep me in the dark, I will be forced to issue that order,' Treville growled.

Athos mounted Roger and gave his options careful consideration. 'Time to take matters into our own hands, time to find out who or what we are up against – time to go into the village.' With an accepting nod from his superior, Athos kneed his mount and the two men rode off at a brisk pace toward Pinon.

'Who do you wish to see? Aramis and Porthos questioned everyone they thought appropriate.'

'Yes, but they are not me. The people of Pinon may think what they like about the Comte de la Fère, but they will be loyal. To my knowledge they have not suffered by my absence, though without the Beloirs I have not been able to receive news from the estate. However, there is one who knows of my location should there be dire news – and before you ask, he has no axe to grind with me and is simply an official to oversee the taxes and monies owed to the crown. He would have no reason at all to betray me, nor would anyone know of his existence. Those I need to see will speak of things to me that they would not tell to anyone else. If Anne is there, we will find her.'

There was no arguing with the logic of Athos' reasoning, so for now Treville kept any further doubts to himself.

ooOoo

This time, it was Milady's turn to observe those who had previously observed her. The flash from the lens of the spyglass caught the weak morning sun, garnering her attention in an instant. Both of the Musketeers had their backs to the tell-tale glint, still oblivious to the fact they were being watched. She had to assume if they had followed Athos, it was very likely they were aware of her presence too. Angry that she had not seen them sooner, she slunk further beneath the shadow of the trees, and waited to see what would transpire.

Athos and Treville mounted their horses, and again the sudden blink of light gave away the distant observer (or observers). Once again, both men were transfixed upon a different heading – it was quite clear they were discussing the path toward the village. As if the far off watcher was aware of the Musketeers' attention, there was a sudden movement – possibly horses – heading in the direction of Pinon, causing a shift in the rising mist that would have gone unnoticed if Milady had not been looking for it. It would appear they were men who knew the lay of the land, which was interesting, as she could see no reason why the locals would wish to see the Comte dead or accosted in any way.

As Athos moved off, she deliberated whether to reveal herself and warn him, or wait and see what would transpire. After all, it may have been Athos' watchdogs merely awaiting some sort of sign. No, she would follow at a very discreet distance. If they were intending an ambush of some sort, then there was only one place that would suit, and she knew how to get there first!

ooOoo

As the riders converged upon the path to Pinon, Aramis and Porthos were pacing the drawing room at the château.

'We should 'ave gone too.'

'To what avail? Treville has more chance of keeping him in order than we do, unless you planned to knock him out?' Aramis' questioning look was wasted on Porthos, who was too busy striding up and down the room.

'You will wear out his lordship's carpet at this rate.'

'I'll wear out his bloody lordship if this goes on much longer.' The big man scowled, bunching his fists, as he considered how he was going to deal with their recalcitrant friend.

As they deliberated their forced inactivity, there was a noise from the bed near the fire. Aramis instantly felt guilty. Despite Dubois' illness, they had practically ignored the lad, which was in stark contrast to Aramis' usual vigilance.

'Dubois, how do you feel?' The cadet's eyes were open, if a little glassy. He squeezed them shut and gave a shuddering moan. 'I am sorry lad, but it is too soon for any more pain treatment. Here, take a little water.' He tilted his patient's head and let him sip from the cup.

Dubois seemed to settle. 'Where are we?' he managed to croak.

'In Pinion,' Aramis answered, not wishing to give too much away.

The cadet opened his eyes once again and studied what he could see of his surroundings. It was perfectly clear even from his encumbered position that they were in no mere inn.

'Where?' he insisted, this time holding Aramis' gaze with a startling intensity. When the medic failed to answer Dubois sighed. 'The château, Athos' manor.' He did not allow his scrutiny to waver and the shock upon the Musketeer's face was clear.

'What makes you think that?' The barked question made the cadet start. A single look from Aramis forced Porthos to retreat, but the hard expression upon his face did not soften in any way.

Now Dubois' confidence faltered. Still under the effects of the willow bark, he had obviously revealed more than he intended to, but he could not take back the words, or the shocking revelation that he was aware of Athos' true identity. The cadet sighed, his strength weakening. 'I am sorry… I did not… did not… think I would like him… my father… he said Athos… was not worthy of the title… he was wrong...' The last words faded out and Aramis had restrain Porthos, as the boy fell back into unconsciousness.

'What in God's name was that all about?' the angry voice boomed. 'I never trusted 'im, not from the very beginning.' Porthos hovered over the prone form as if he were considering shaking Dubois awake.

'I do not know, but perhaps Athos will make more of it than us. Who do you think would take the title if Athos were to die?'

Porthos grimaced. 'Did he mutter something about an uncle?'

'I believe there was an uncle, one whom Athos held in high regard, but I feel sure he is dead. It is certainly a lead we must follow up on. The question is, do we follow Athos or do we wait?'

'It's no bloody question at all,' Porthos replied, qualifying his answer by stomping across the room and exiting with a crash. Aramis raised his eyes and followed his friend.

After urging Porthos to wait, and leaving clear instructions regarding Dubois with Madame Renard, the two Musketeers headed for the stables.

'We have no idea where they went,' Aramis pointed out.

'Well 'e didn't want to go to the village, so I suppose we follow 'is tracks. They should be clear enough in this frost.' It was true, the day though lit by a weak sun, was still freezing, and the grass, crisp and stiffened by the frost, had not thawed in the least. A mist hovered over the ground like an eerie pool, shifting and slithering around the horses' feet. Clouds billowed in the air from the eager mounts' nostrils, and following the advice of the grooms, they headed in the direction Athos and Treville had taken. Porthos had been quite right, the flattened grass made it relatively easy to follow the direction the two men had ridden.

They had followed it for some time when Porthos slowed his mount to a halt.

'Somethin's wrong.' He jumped from his horse and examined the ground, moving further away. He ran back and mounted at speed. 'There's more than just two 'orses. Seems like our friend has company.' Without further speech, the two men thundered off, closely following the damaged ground.

Aramis halted as they surmounted the top of the hill, and after scrutinising the area he nodded toward the church in the distance. 'They paused here I think, the horses stamped the ground. Considering what we know, I suppose the church is not out of the question – though I very much doubt we will find him inside.'

Together they rode to the silent churchyard, beneath the scrutiny of its blind inhabitants. Leaving their horses to crop at the icy grass, they followed the route their quarry had taken before them. The Musketeers noted the way the gate moved easily upon its hinges, all vegetation torn and flattened in its path. The sudden frequent use forced upon it in recent days had reduced its reluctance and loosened the stubborn hinges. They followed the trodden grass with ease and were before the simple marker in a trice.

Aramis shook his head. 'It is as I suspected, not the place to bury a nobleman, it had to be her.' He removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. 'He simply cannot let it go.'

'Well I know how to help him with that,' Porthos muttered, and turned upon his heel to leave the empty grave behind. Standing there, all he could see was Milady's mocking smile and his friend's pain.

'Porthos, wait.' He laid a hand upon the big man's arm. 'I understand your feelings, I do, but if you are considering removing her from his life for ever, I fear that is not your judgement to make. If that is what Athos truly desires, then it is for him to deliver the final punishment, to give justice and peace to those she has ill-used. But do not be surprised if it is a step he is unable to take. If that is the case, we cannot and will not take that judgement into our own hands – unless he asks it of us. Do you understand?' His dark eyes bored into Porthos, forcing the Musketeer to accept the reality of their situation.

'Then if 'e asks it, I will do it gladly,' was Porthos' simple answer. Aramis nodded, though it was clear it was a fate he hoped would never come to pass. 'They moved off again, there are two sets of 'oof prints. Whoever was followin' didn't come to this place.' Porthos shuddered as he gazed once more at the silent tombs, still wreathed in the eerie ground mist that refused to burn away. 'Can't say I blame 'em.' Slowly they followed the horses' prints until Athos and Treville's destination gradually became apparent.

'The village?' Aramis was unsettled, Athos had made it perfectly clear he did not wish to make himself known to the people of Pinon, yet it appeared the two riders were heading to that very spot. Porthos shrugged and urged his horse forward to follow the marks. If they had looked a little further off, they would have noted the marks of a lone horse, but one set of unknown riders was enough to ponder, and neither Musketeer considered there would be more.

ooOoo

Indeed, Milady raced through the wood as quickly as the terrain allowed. The sharp crack of splintered wood that marked her hurried passage echoed like a gunshot between the barren trees. The mist was rising ever higher, and the way forward was becoming more and more treacherous. Cursing to herself, Milady was forced to slow her bay to a trot, or fear damage to her mount. Despite her frustration, she smiled, for if there was one thing she knew about Athos, it was his feelings for his horse – it was a small comfort to know he would inevitably slow down too.

Athos watched the mist rising around them, which hovered and lapped at their knees, hiding their boots, and more importantly the road beneath them. As if to remind their riders of their discontent, Roger tossed his gallant head and snorted on behalf of himself and Treville's horse. Athos stroked the stallion's neck and slowed his pace. It was a constant source of amusement and wonder to those who knew the swordsman, that he would make allowances for the danger he presented to his horse, whilst stubbornly ignoring any danger to his own person.

As the mist rose higher a small sound penetrated the damp silence. Athos stiffened and glanced across at the captain. They slowed to a walk and strained to hear the noise repeated, and they did not wait long before a pitiful moan travelled out of the mist. A lesser man may have ridden in the opposite direction, citing ghouls and distressed souls as the source of the discomforting wail. However, for two hardened soldiers it was the cry of an injured man. They urged the horses forward as fast as they dared, preparing themselves for whatever came at them out of the mist.

It was lucky they were moving with such caution; in fact it was Roger that alerted them to the source of the moan. Suddenly he pulled up short and pranced backward refusing to move. Athos peered into the eddying fog and attempted to see what lay within. Was that a slight movement? Carefully he slid to the ground, prodding the mist with his boot until it collided with something soft that gave a loud groan. 'There is a man in the road,' Athos explained to the puzzled Treville. Athos replaced his pistol and used both hands to feel for the prone form. As he perceived a pale face emerge out of the mist beside him, he bent his head to hear the man speak.

'Welcome home, my Lord,' came the sardonic whisper, just as the cold metal of a pistol pressed hard into Athos' temple.