D'Artagnan and Felice had been traveling for three days-with little trouble or danger- and were finally on the outskirts of Paris! Miles away, they could see the line of the city, and the Notre Dame Cathedral stood out like a sentry pike in the sky, as if to remind the world beyond it that here lay a beautiful city that time could not erase. They were still fifteen miles out, but already they could see what a marvel Paris was.
"I can hardly wait to get there!" Felice breathed. "Just look at it."
"I am looking at it. We shall be there I believe before lunch." D'Artagnan replied.
"Are you as thrilled as I am?"
"Even more so. I'm going to be a musketeer! I will be trained under the great Captain de Treville. Do you have any idea what an honor that is?" D'Artagnan smiled giddily.
"Mmm. Well, he has not met you yet. Mind you keep your temper in check or he may not take you."
"He will." D'Artagnan said confidently.
"Let us hope so. And I shall keep you gallant men well fed with the works of my hands. You shall all be fat and jolly with long gray beards in ten years' time, and no one will be able to say that you rogues starved on soldiers' rations." Felice said proudly.
"Indeed. I will never be fat or have a long gray beard."
"And disappoint Mother and Father?"
"Ahem. I think it's time Buttercup had a rest. We shouldn't be long." D'Artagnan changed the subject as they rode into a small village. A stable was stationed by the road and a group of men in uniform were eating merrily under a tent.
"Perfect." Felice agreed.
"Monsieur! Mademoiselle! Welcome." The stable man gushed. Buttercup stomped into a puddle of mud, splattering it across the black cape of the large man at the table.
"In the name of God, what kind of beast is that? Doesn't look like much." He grumbled out loud.
D'Artagnan dismounted then helped his sister slip off of Buttercup. "Good sir? Please see that our horse is watered and fed." Felice spoke, handing the man some money.
"Of course, miss." He bowed.
"Oh! It's a horse, is it? My friends here thought it was a cow." The big man at the table scorned, his men laughing with him. D'Artagnan walked over to them, pursing his lips.
"Ahem! Excuse me?" He spoke with his hands on his hips.
"What's your business, boy?"
"I know you men are just kidding around. But Buttercup, well, she gets a little sensitive. I'm afraid I must ask you to apologize." D'Artagnan said cockily, removing his gloves. Felice walked over to him.
"Well, I'm afraid I'm not in the habit of apologizing to Gascon yokels."
"Not to me, to my horse." D'Artagnan corrected him. The man and his soldiers all gaped, speechless. "You've hurt her feelings." D'Artagnan said in a more serious tone.
"And if I don't?" The man asked in a daring tone.
"Then I shall have to kill you." D'Artagnan simply stated, throwing his gloves on the table.
"Good grief!" Felice gasped under her breath. D'Artagnan walked over to the road, dispensing of his cloak. Felice grabbed his arm. "Leave it, Charles. Just leave it."
"No. He insulted Buttercup. I will not leave it!" D'Artagnan argued, unsheathing his sword.
"Could you not have just belted him one? Or maybe four?"
"Move aside, Felice. This won't take long." D'Artagnan gently pushed her aside. Felice stepped back to avoid getting caught up in the cross hairs, but just as D'Artagnan whirled around to face the giant man, the bloke shot his large pistol and a puncture of fire hit D'Artagnan's left arm.
"Charles!" Felice shrieked as she saw her brother fall to the ground, bleeding, and then the guards pinned him down with their fancy boots as he struggled to get up. Now, the big brute had really done it!
"You shot me!" D'Artagnan sputtered.
"Most observant of you, young man." The gunman replied casually, approaching. "But the real question is, why are you not dead?" He lightly kicked at the boy's pained arm. "Bah. A flesh wound." He muttered in annoyance."Side must be off. Wouldn't want to dirty my blade with peasant blood." He began to reach for D'Artagnan's own sword.
"Let him go!" Felice ordered, pressing her own firearm into the man's back. He didn't even flinch. He merely snapped his fingers and the remaining guards pulled her back no matter how hard she fought them. "Get your hands off me!" She shouted, kicking their feet and trying to wrench herself free from their vice-like grips. But they were soldiers, and they were not pried away so easily.
The leader turned toward her and smiled creepily. "Not bad." The sadistic gleam in his eyes made her want to throw up. "Fellows, have yourselves some fun." He smirked at his guards who looked up at him hungrily. "The girl's yours. I'll take care of this Gascon scum."
"No, no! Don't you dare touch her!" Charles protested, thrashing in pain.
"Oh, but, uh, save some for me." The leader sneered, stroking her chin then trailing his hand slowly down her chest and bodice as the soldiers held her in place. How dare this man touch her like...like this! It was as if he could see right through her! Felice fiercely spat in his good eye. He snorted like a bull.
"D- you!" Charles cried, wincing. The big brute slapped her then turned back to D'Artagnan as his men pinned Felice to the ground.
"Noo!" She screamed as the men greedily pulled at her clothes, cackling. She wriggled and bit and kicked out with all her might. "No! NO!"
"Felice!" D'Artagnan called, and squirmed uselessly under the soldiers' boots.
"So, boy, consider this a lesson." The leader said, holding D'Artagnan's sword. "Your last." He drove the blade directly down, about to stab him through the eye down into the ground as an elaborate carriage drove by and halted to witness the murder.
"No." A lacy voice told him. D'Artagnan looked up to find a gorgeous face looking down at him from inside the carriage. A lady of explicit beauty smiled. "He's too pretty to die like that."
"As you wish, Milady." The man grunted.
"What's this? A little horseplay in broad daylight?" She eyed the girl fighting to get away from the b-s trying to defile her. "Now, that's not very nice." She said coyly. "Rochefort, come. We're expected in Paris."
"Thank you!" D'Artagnan told her breathlessly.
Rochefort sighed in annoyance and signaled his guards to release Felice. They hesitated. "Back to Paris!" He told them. They let the poor girl go. Rochefort was pleased at what a mess they'd made of her peasant clothes, and how she now quivered from being manhandled in their presence. He glanced down and saw a white sheet of paper slipping out of D'Artagnan's pocket. He reached down and picked it up. "What do we have here?"
"Give that back!" D'Artagnan hollered. His letter to Monsieur de Treville!
"Well, well, well. Now this is interesting. Very interesting." Rochefort commented, reading the letter. His ugly face darkened. "His Eminence should find this most intriguing."
"I said give it back!" D'Artagnan yelled. Rochefort gave him a hard kick to the gut, then another. D'Artagnan could hardly breathe, the wind knocked out of him.
"Let the little sh- go." Rochefort said. The soldiers roughly flicked their feet away from D'Artagnan in disgust, as if he was a pile of horse manure they'd stepped in. D'Artagnan's hands went to his hurt belly, and he cradled his shot arm to his chest. Rochefort stomped over to Felice, cowering on the ground. He yanked her up to her feet by the back of her neck. "You both got lucky this time, my dear. But soon your luck will run its course. And when it does?" He snickered. "I shall find you again. That's a promise." Then he shoved her forward to the ground beside her brother. Rochefort and his men rode out.
D'Artagnan grunted as he sat up. His sister was weeping and shaking. Her clothes were shred to bits. His arm was bleeding and hurt like heck and his stomach felt like he'd been hit with a brick. "Now I am gonna kill him! The bloody devil!" D'Artagnan growled, snatching his sword back up, gritting his teeth. He pulled Felice to him, rubbing her back.
"We need to get you to a doctor!" She wept.
"I don't need a doctor." D'Artagnan shook his head.
"You're bleeding!" She screeched at him. "You could lose your arm!"
"It's just a scratch." He gripped her by the shoulders. "Are you hurt?" He asked angrily. He brushed aside her torn sleeves and saw bruises there. "Did...did they…" He met her saddened eyes.
"Almost." She whimpered. D'Artagnan clenched his fists.
"Come on." D'Artagnan slowly stood up and hugged his sister closely. His already peeved attitude about the treatment of his horse had flared into fire running through his veins. "Are you alright?" He asked seriously. She didn't answer, but pulled out her dark blue scarf and wrapped it around his wounded arm, trying to staunch the bleeding, still crying. "Hey, hey, don't worry about me." He said.
"Let's get out of here!" She swallowed.
"Monsieur! Mademoiselle!" The stable man came running. "Are you hurt badly? Shall we send for a doctor?"
"No thanks." D'Artagnan huffed.
"Your arm, sir!"
"It's nothing!"
"And the lady?"
D'Artagnan kept his arm protectively around Felice. She tried to wipe her tears. "I will see to her." He wasn't about to let another man touch her any time soon! "Now if you will kindly show us a place where my sister may make herself decent, and that I may find some water, we will pay you for your troubles and be on our way."
"Yes, Monsieur! D-. The dirty dogs! They always cause trouble when they are in these parts. I'd run them out of town if not for his standing in Paris. Do you even know who that broad swordsman is?"
"Should I? I do not really care. He's a filthy blackguard and a thug. That's enough for me." D'Artagnan said.
"He is that. But I have never met a fellow who challenged him as you did today, lad."
"Well, good. Because he is going to get a lot more of it!" D'Artagnan snarled.