As my brother promised, he was not long away before returning. For me, however, it had felt like an age. Each day I had sat and waited, fretting throughout whether I attended to my duties or spent my hours idly. Every morning I rose and waited to hear news of my brother and the others returning only to result in disappointment. I knew they would be a while yet before returning, as Treville had hinted that their journey would take them beyond the borders of France. Therefore I attended to the prince and Anne as was my duty, even after Anne had released me indefinitely to await their return.
Whilst I worried for them all, I knew she silently fretted for Aramis. At the very least, Constance was now present to rally our spirits. Each of us had our own men we cared for, and even though we did not discuss them, the silent acknowledgement of our concerns was enough to share the burden and weather the weight between us. I was glad to have Constance there, more so for the fact that her introduction to courtly life was left in my hands, another grace of Anne's to allow me as much time with her as possible.
Almost the moment she had stepped into the palace independently of her husband, she had bloomed. I dressed her in the appropriate attire, saw to it that her hair was combed and arranged as we shared a chamber together, meaning that each morning we would rise and prepare ourselves side by side, whispering and giggling like times of old. We had separate beds, but we had fallen into the habit of sharing, just so that we might whisper to one another a little longer before drifting off to sleep.
Her duties focused primarily upon Anne, whilst mine remained with Prince Louis, but we were often in company of one another. It felt wonderful to have my friend back, and I cherished Constance all the more for having missed her for so many months. It was clear she was glad to be away from Bonacieux, but that did not stop the anxious expression which often furrowed itself upon her brow. "You should not worry so, Constance," I flicked her lightly upon the brow to make her start, smoothing the lines so that they would not permanently crease her forehead. "Everything is alright now."
"Hardly, I feel like a fish out of water around here amongst all these ladies who were taught proper from the time they could walk," she answered, rubbing her head where I had flicked her as she continued to express her concerns in her soft, doe-like gaze. "It's different for you, you were born for this."
"The only difference between you and I is parentage, Constance. You are just as intelligent, just as quick witted and resourceful, if anything you are more so. You do not frighten easily, and you are far more trustworthy than the average maidservant. Queen Anne chose you personally. Even with a recommendation from myself and d'Artagnan, she would not take you in unless she deemed it appropriate and sensible." Wanting to comfort her, I placed my arm around Constance to draw her towards me so that we were hip to hip. "Given time, you will learn everything you need to feel at home here. In any case, so long as it is far away from that boorish husband of yours, the better."
"He is not boorish, he is just…" Constance failed to repute my statement with an adequate adjective to describe her husband. "He is my husband. I cannot allow myself to run away with fantasies and romantic nonsense. I realise that now."
"Yet you are here, and he is not." I reasoned simply, flicking out my hand lazily to indicate the grandeur of the palace around us. "And since he no longer lingers in your shadow watching you like a hawk…you have your freedom. If I were you, I would seize such an opportunity." She looked away, lowering her face with guilt and shame. There was nothing I wanted more than to convince Constance that she did not need to subject herself to misery. I understood her position, the risks she would take if she allowed herself to become d'Artagnan's mistress openly and all that she would be sacrificing…and yet I was also watching her wither and die within every day she refrained from allowing herself to indulge in her desires. "I only want for your happiness, Constance." This at least earned a smile.
"I am happy," she promised, reaching across to take my hand firmly. "I'm with you, and I'm wearing the most beautiful gown I have ever seen in my life, and I am now a lady in waiting to the Queen of France. I am happier than I have been since…" catching herself, Constance never finished the sentence. She could not bring herself too.
"Good, I am glad for that much, at least." If only there was more I could say to convince her, I wished that the words would spring from my mouth like a gushing fountain, but they did not. All I could do was continue to be her friend, and hope that perhaps one day, she would give into her own wishes, or a convenient disease would leave her a young and prosperous widow. Such was the deepness of my dislike for Bonacieux and all he had done to Constance. I left the matter to rest, knowing that it would not do well to push her too far too soon, and instead took up my instruction once more to settle Constance more comfortably into her knew life. By the time the men returned, she was confident enough to serve the queen without me beside her, allowing me to return to the barracks and await them as I had promised.
The moment I heard the call being raised and the subsequent clatter of hooves upon cobbled stone, I hastened from the storehouse into the courtyard where I looked upon the faces of my beloved ones with a rush of overflowing gladness and relief. First came Porthos, who swung his leg over his horse to drop down as I rushed forwards, looking over them all to see if there were any obvious injuries. My gaze fell upon the man riding behind my brother, who was slumped with a pale, waxy complexion. For a moment I lingered, my gaze drifting back to Porthos.
My strongest urge was to run directly to him, wanting to reach for him, touch him, ensure that he above all was unharmed. The powerful drive was as alarming as it was strong, for it even took prevalence over the wellbeing of my brother for that brief moment. However, I was well practiced at withholding my innermost feelings and affections, and so I moved directly to my brother's horse and held it by the bridle to keep it still so that Athos could dismount. Behind him came Aramis, and riding with d'Artagnan was a woman with straw coloured wisps of hair streaming behind her, tangled and mussed from the ride.
Last of all came Rochefort, but I paid him no mind. Instead I looked to the man behind my brother as he began to lean down to dismount first, wincing already with pain. Aramis and Porthos quickly arrived to help him, holding him as he groaned. I flinched sympathetically, and quickly stepped forwards to touch his shoulder and help him straighten a little as he veered forwards. At his unbalanced state, his hand jumped to catch my shoulder, gripping it dependently until he was stable, and only then did he look up.
Upon recognising a woman in front of him, he swiftly removed his hand, gasping an apology, but before I could assure him that I did not mind, Treville arrived. He brushed a hand to my back, but then swiftly grasped the wounded man to bear him up, looking upon him with a deep, mournful expression painted with nostalgia and regrets, but warmth also. "Welcome home, general." My head turned at this, not expecting this wounded and rather dishevelled man to be of such rank and standing, but held my tongue.
"It's been too long, my friend." The general and the captain embraced as I continued to hold the horse in one hand, the other having risen to grasp at my brother as we shared a silent exchange where he assured me that he was unharmed. I gave thanks for my prayers having been answered, and released him so that he could dismount smoothly. The gasp of pain the general gave drew back my attention, and when the captain removed the hand from his back to reveal it wet with blood, I surged forwards and thought nothing more other than to see to the wound.
"Get him inside," immediately Treville became concerned, but I was already wedged under the general to hold him upright until Porthos and Aramis had taken up his weight to help the general move.
"This way, hurry." Urging them gently, I rushed ahead to prepare my things. I had set the healing supplies ready in preparation for any wounds that might return with them, and I chastised myself for my gladness that the injury did not belong to Athos, Porthos or the others. It felt unkind to be glad for someone else's suffering if it meant that those I loved were spared, and so I set out to tend to the wound to the best of my ability. I covered my hair with a cloth to keep it from my face and tied an apron around an old dress of mine which I had kept for just such a reason. Fine gowns of silk, samite and lace had no place here. "Place him down gently, what happened? Was it a knife? Sword? Bullet?" I questioned as Aramis and Porthos brought the general inside and promptly set him down upon the bed so that I could begin my work.
"Bullet, clean through the torso. We bound it as best we could, but we could not stay to properly treat the wound," Aramis informed me as I tugged at the general's clothing and softly prompted him that he would need to remove the outer garments so that I could tend to him properly. Although agonised with pain and perhaps a little faint from blood loss, his eyes settled upon me, frowning slightly before shaking his head.
"No, a lady should not bear witness to such things…do not trouble yourself…"
"Our Madeleine has the gentlest hands you'll ever find, general." Porthos informed him simply as I felt his hand come down upon my head to ruffle at the cloth carefully as not to disturb it, but still intending to express his affection in his own particular way. "You'll never see stitches so fine, you'll be back on your feet in no time under her care."
"Indeed, you are in capable hands, monsieur. Just do as she instructs, as our sweet Madeleine does not tolerate disobedience in her patients." This was spoken with a wink, so I clicked my tongue and shook my head at Aramis before shooing them out of the room, claiming I required quiet and calm to be able to work. I shut the door firmly behind them, instructing that no one was to disturb us until I allowed it, not even Treville. This at least made the general chuckle.
"You must be held in high esteem indeed to give such orders," returning to the general, I curtseyed to him politely but quickly.
"General, my name is Madeleine de la Fère, and it is my honour to meet you, but I must insist that you undress and allow me to see the wound this instant." Balking at my tone, the general stared at me for a solid moment before barking with a laugh, even as he clutched at his side.
"I think I shall like you, Lady Madeleine. General de Foix, I would rise and bow, but I think you will not like me to move."
"Certainly not," speaking with mirth, I swiftly had the general disrobe of all clothing from the waist up. The sight of his naked flesh did not disturb me, for I was accustomed to such a sight. I had tended to many a wound upon countless men, and even a few women in my time. To me, one body was much the same as another, and I saw no reason to be ashamed to look upon it. In that moment, I was naught but a healer, and my hands had work to do. As Aramis had stated, the bullet wound was shot clean through, but already I could smell infection upon it. The scent was pungent and unclean, so I sought to try and cleanse it as best as I was able, but I feared the infection had already passed into his body.
Everything I could do I did with a determined care and fortitude, cleansing the wound and sealing the entry and exit shut to keep it from bleeding, sealing it with a mixture of honey and herbs before placing fresh muslin over each injury to then wrap the abdomen in boiled and clean linen strips. I gave him brandy to sip and used one of the captain's clean shirts to dress him again before settling the general to rest, having little else I could do other than request that he tried to sleep and recover his strength. "I will see to you again, general. Whatever nightmares you have faced, be at peace that they are now over with. You are safe here, you have my word."
"You are too kind, Lady Madeleine, and those young men were right," the general spoke softly, already beginning to drift into the realm of sleep as I lingered beside him, watching over him as his eyes sank closed. "You do have the gentlest hands." Such a compliment was perhaps strange, but I appreciated it more than words could say, and preferred it above all others. Whilst smiling deeply, I drew up the covers over the general to keep him warm as he lay upon his back, whispering a prayer for him before finally stepping outside where Treville anxiously waited.
"What news? Is he alright? Will he live?" Beside him stood the woman, who introduced herself as Lucie, the general's sister, and also rapidly enquired after his health.
"He is resting now, and I have tended to his injuries as best I can, but he is weak. All I can say is that he requires rest, and plenty of it. There is an infection, but unless he is able to fight it off himself, then I cannot say what is to become of him." Speaking truthfully but as gently as possible, I looked to Treville who staggered slightly at the news. "I am sorry, I will do all I can…"
"I know, dear one, I know you have done more already than anyone else would have. I am grateful," Treville hastily quietened my fretfulness, seeking to ease my concerns for any shortcomings my abilities might possess which did not allow me to completely cure the captain's dear friend and Lucie's brother. The old pangs of uselessness overcame me for a moment, standing there not knowing what else I could do. "May I sit with him?"
"Of course, captain. He is sleeping now, but I am certain he will be glad of the company. I will…prepare something to eat." Not knowing what else I could do, the only other skill I possessed that might be of use was my culinary ability. At the very least, Lucie looked as though she could do with a decent meal, as well as a bath and something clean to wear. I set about to see to all of these things, Treville going to sit with General de Foix briefly before he had to go to the palace to report to the king with the others. Whilst he lingered with his old friend, I went to my brother and the others, whereupon I seized them each in turn by their faces.
"Ow! Madeliene, that hurts," d'Artagnan complained as I reached him first, all but slamming my palms against his cheeks to look him up and down then forcibly had him turn about face so that I could look him over. "What are you doing?"
"Ensuring that none of you dolts are hiding any injuries from me. Were any of you hurt? I want to know even if it was nothing more than a scratch!" Fevered from gnawing fears and constant worrying, I sprung upon Aramis to deliver him the same treatment, lifting his arms and making him bend to see if he would betray any pain. When he did not, I moved towards Porthos but he quickly held up his hands and stepped back, protecting himself from my inspection.
"Easy there, love. You can see that we're all fine. See? Not a scratch." Pointing at his face, Porthos then lifted his own arms and turned for me so that I could observe him from every angle. Perhaps my expression betrayed my anxiousness, for even Athos did the same, allowing himself to turn under my scrutiny until I was satisfied that they were all well and unharmed. "What's gotten into you, sweetheart? What's got you all frenzied like this?" Turning gentle, I almost burst into a sob under Porthos' tenderness as he rubbed my head which was still bound by its cloth.
"I simply…I know you all. You have the same terrible habit of keeping injuries a secret from me." Allowing myself to take a moment to collect myself, I pointedly folded my arms and glared at them all. "I cannot help you unless you are honest with me, that is all."
"We promise, if ever we need your stitches, your balms or bandages, we will come running straight to you." D'Artagnan promised me, allowing himself to reach over and kiss the top of my head, perhaps sensing that this was the place where all of my worries and aches were centred. The simple gesture was enough to placate the chaotic notions, easing the rising swell so that I felt more at ease in their presence. Athos came to me then, taking my hand and rubbing my arm with a glance of concern.
"Did something happen whilst we were away?" He questioned, already searching my face for an answer. All I could do was place my arms around him and bury my face into his neck, holding onto him as tightly as I was able as I stretched up onto my toes in order to reach him.
"I missed you." It was the simple truth. I felt Athos flinch in surprise, but then his arms gathered around me and returned my embrace so that I was effortlessly lifted from the ground. The strength of my brother's embrace seemed to numb the sensations of agony and woe, dispelling all the fearful notions which had plagued my dreams of their fates all the while they were gone, and when he let go, so fled all those unwanted feelings. I felt renewed, and I loved Athos for it.
"I missed you too, little sister." This he whispered directly into my ear, for it was for me to hear alone. The words banished the last chill which clung to my bones, and I allowed myself to simply bask in the presence of my loved ones and revel in their safe return.
"And you call me soft," Porthos teased, cuffing at me lightly with his paw like hand which pulled my headcloth askew, so I pulled it free and shook out my hair.
"Because you are soft, Porthos. As soft as a kitten, strong as an ox. That is what you are." He protested to being compared to a kitten, but agreed that he was as strong as an ox and was quite proud of the fact. To demonstrate, he snatched me from my brother and tossed me into the air, making me shriek and flail as I felt his hands vanish from underneath me and the weightlessness of air enveloping me. Owing to his strength, Porthos had thrown me rather high, but as always, he caught me. I trusted that Porthos would always catch me, and so when I fell back into the cradle of his awaiting arms, I laughed and giggled freely as I covered my mouth to hide my smile, flushed from excitement as he too grinned.
"See? Strong as an ox."
"Very well, an ox you are, Porthos. Now put me down!"
"Don't want to," he teased, so I began to kick and struggle whilst the others chuckled and enjoyed my helplessness as Porthos continued to hold me captive. I will admit, I could have struggled harder to escape, but in truth I was little inclined to relinquish the feel of Porthos holding me so soon. Instead I went lax against him and folded my arms, pretending to pout in irritation as I looked at his mischievous grin. "Give up?"
"Forget the ox, you are as stubborn as a boar."
"Ah now, that's just hurtful, love." Feigning hurt, Porthos knocked his head against mine perhaps a bit too brashly, for I felt the pang of his head against mine with a heavy ache, but I made no complaint. Such roughhousing was commonplace for Porthos, and he often forgot his strength. Or how hard his head was. "Here, I'll put you down now."
"Thank you," lifting my chin, I allowed Porthos to set me upon my feet whereby I dusted off my skirts and apron before giving him a look. Then I flicked him on the nose. "That is for being rough with a lady." He only grinned further at me.
"Alright you two, that's enough now." Athos gave Porthos a stern warning look, drawing me back towards him where it was safe and secure, his hand naturally rising to run through my hair. "We had better make for the palace. Treville will want to report to the king, and Rochefort…I presume he will have his own report to make." At this I turned to look at where my brother was focused only to find Rochefort looking directly back at me. I received the unpleasant feeling that he had been watching us this entire time. "Will you be returning with us, Madeleine?"
"I will stay for a little longer to tend to the general. Afterwards, when I find you, will you tell me what is going on?" Promising that he would share all that he was able, Athos kissed me atop my head before moving away. D'Artagnan followed suit, catching my chin with a friendly brush as Aramis took my hand to kiss it warmly. Last of all was Porthos, but this time I ducked out of his reach when he went to ruffle my hair again. "You will tousle my hair into an unacceptable mess, Porthos. I cannot have that," smiling as I said so, I hoped he would not be offended. Thankfully, it was not the case.
"What can I say? I like your hair all mussed up. It suits you." I must admit, when I first heard these words, they came as a shock. There was nothing to prepare me to expect them, and so I could not guard my expression against its natural reaction to such words which Porthos had delivered so innocently, and without thinking. In another circumstance with a different person, such a line might have been considered…suggestively intimate. However, this was Porthos, and I knew he meant no such thing by it. He did not view me in such a manner, and so I did not reprimand him for his inappropriate comment.
My expression, however, must have appeared blatantly shocked enough that even Porthos recognised he had said something wrong. He frowned for a moment, trying to think and understand where he had misspoken, but I did not want him to realise his unintended hidden meaning, and so I quickly laughed. "Perhaps only you in the entire world would think so, Porthos, and I thank you for it. However, my duty requires me to look presentable at all times, and so my hair must be off limits unless I am at liberty to look as I please."
"That's no fun," distracted from his pondering, I looked adoringly at Porthos, the sweetest and most endearing man I had ever known.
"Then it shall be our secret," beyond us, d'Artagnan called back to Porthos, urging him to hurry. "You must go, I shall see you all again soon." As I spoke, my hand strayed to the necklace around my neck and gripped at the pendant where my thumb began to rub the familiar indentation of the Musketeers' crest. "Well done for completing your mission. I hope they praise you with all the glory you deserve." As he started to walk away, Porthos looked back with another of his signature grins.
"Yours is the only praise and glory that matters, Madeleine." Then with a salute, he hurried after the others. My heart ached suddenly, an echoing pang of longing for him to come back and missing him the moment he was gone from sight. It was a silly notion, really, any sensible woman would not feel such a way. Yet perhaps, no woman who loved was ever sensible. Perhaps this was my fate, ever to love hopelessly and silently. It was as bitter as it was sweet, but I was accustomed to weathering my emotions and bearing them with me. No matter how hopeless they seemed.