Marrying the Musketeer (35 page)

They paused at the sight of Courtney’s newly polished boots in the corner of the kitchen.
 
“Whose are these?” one of them asked, holding up one of them by the heel.

Courtney was fluttering around them.
 
“Those are mine, I have to confess.
 
My late husband had a pair just like them, and I just fell in love with them.
 
They are so good for riding in, and so comfortable.
 
They are the softest leather you can think of.
 
Just feel the quality.
 
I wear them when I go out riding in the lanes on my sweet mare.”

The guard tossed the boot to the floor again with an irritated grunt.
 
Her silly chatter was evidently getting on his nerves, just as she had intended it to do.
 
“It’s too small for a man’s foot, anyway.”

Thank the Lord that she had reasonably small feet for a woman, and thank Him even more that men were too blind to see what was right in front of their eyes.

She had a disquieting moment when they stopped in front of the fireplace and peered in, but they wanted nothing more than to warm their hands and moved on again.

The telltale buttons from her jacket were securely hidden in a crock of lard in the pantry.
 
Early that morning she had poked them deep into the lard and smoothed over the top again.
 
They opened the pantry and took a look inside, but no more than that.
 
They were looking for a man, and only a man.
 
Nothing else was of any interest to them.

They were just about to leave when one of them asked.
 
“That horse in the stable.
 
Is it yours?”

Courtney kept her face composed into the look of silly worry that she had pasted on it ever since they had first come knocking at her door.
 
“Yes, indeed it is.
 
A beautiful mare she is, too.
 
Quiet and gentle as a lamb.”
 
She sighed a little.
 
“She was a present from my husband – the last gift he ever gave me.
 
I cannot bear to part from her, though indeed, she is a finer horse than I need in my station of life.
 
I do so enjoy to ride her about the lanes hereabouts.
 
When I am on her back, it makes me feel that my beloved Charles is still close to me, though he has been dead and gone for more than a year now.”

Just as she had hoped, her speech had their eyes glazing over and their feet tapping with impatience in moments.
 
“Thank you for your help,” the leader of them said as they strode out again and mounted their horses.
 
“Take care.
 
He may still be in the neighborhood.”

“Do catch him,” she said, as she stood in the door of her cottage and waved them good bye.
 
“I shall not feel safe until he is caught.
 
Do come back and let me know when you have caught him.”

She stood in the door of the cottage until they had disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.
 
Then she went back inside, lay down on her bed and laughed and cried until her sides hurt.

She was safe.
 
She had revenged herself on Pierre, who had loved and betrayed her.
 
She need only warn Miriame of the danger she was in at Brest and rescue her father from prison.
 
Once that was done, she could retire to the country with her son.

She had no time for weeping over her lost love.
 
The time for that was long gone.
 
She had to focus on the tasks at hand.
 
While she was stillin Brest, Miriame’s life was in immediate danger.
 
Warning her must come first.

It was a nuisance that she could no longer travel as a man.
 
That would have been faster and safer.
 
As it was, she would have to take a carriage and travel in greater style, though not exactly greater comfort.
 
Her bones still ached from riding for her life yester eve.
 
The jolting of a carriage or the jolting of horseback riding both sounded equally unpleasant.

She said goodbye to her baby Luc the next morning with tears in her heart.
 
How she hoped she would be back to see him once again before too long.
 
Each day that she was away from him was more difficult to bear.
 
He was growing so fast and so strong – just like his father.

She wiped a drop of moisture from her eye.
 
Her little Luc only had one parent now.
 
More than ever before, he needed her.
 
He needed a mother’s love – the poor thing would never know a father’s.
 
She would keep herself safe for him.

With the sad eyes of little Luc pulling her heartstrings, she set off down the road, riding sidesaddle with her skirts tugging at her legs.

At the nearest town, she hired the best carriage she could find.
 
It was shabby enough, but it seemed sound and the horses to pull it were small and sturdy.
 
They could not travel fast, but they pulled steadily without tiring.
 
She left her mare behind as surety for payment.
 
The landlord of the inn where she hired the carriage was not loath to make the exchange - her fine-blooded animal was worth thrice what the carriage and both horses together was.

Five days later she had bumped all the way to Brest.
 
The plucky little horses that had carried her there were tired to the bone now, their heads were drooping with weariness and they barely had the energy to flick their tails and chase away the flies that hovered around them.
 
She put up at the nearest inn and ordered the stable boy to give them a good brushing and as much of the best corn as they could eat.
 
He looked surprised at the care she showed towards the sorry-looking beasts, but when she frowned at him he hurried to do her bidding.

The afternoon shadows had lengthened into twilight by the time she had hired a hackney and made her way to the wharves.
 
They had agreed on a meeting place where Miriame would stay until they came for her, but she was not at the inn where they had agreed to meet.
 

She dismissed her hackney and wandered along, looking at the ships tied up in the harbor.
 
A couple of rough-looking sailors catcalled after her, and one of them went to grab her, only to back down again with a muttered apology when he found himself with her well-sharpened knife pressed up against his throat.

She passed another inn and the noise of rattling dice burst in on her ear.
 
Gambling – that was Miriame’s favorite vice.
 
Wherever there was a game of dice going on, Miriame was always in the thick of it – cheating more often than not, she suspected.

She peered in the half-open door of the inn, unwilling to go inside into the darkness where she would be easy to surround and her knife would be less easy to get at.
 
No Miriame as far as she could see.

No Miriame, but something she was far less glad to see.
 
Soldiers.
 
Lots of soldiers.
 
Talking with them were a couple of men, one tall and pockmarked, the other short and shifty-looking, both of them in the rough garb and rolling gait of sailors.

She walked along the wharves faster now, with a real purpose to her step.
 
Miriame was being hunted – if she was not already caught.
 
She was so intent on looking for the next inn where rough sailors could wager a few sous on the throw of a dice that she almost missed her comrade cross the street right in front of her.
 
She lifted her head just in time to see Miriame’s unmistakable swagger disappearing into an alleyway that led directly to the wharves with the tall sailor she had just seen talking with the soldiers.

It was a trap set by the King’s men to catch Miriame – she was sure of it.
 
The King knew only that someone in Brest was a traitor to him – and that someone wanted a ship.
 
As soon as Miriame confessed to the spying sailor what she wanted, she would be taken.

She was dressed as a woman and could not fight her way through to Miriame.
 
Like the woman she was, she would have to be sneakier about it.
 
There was no time for pride.
 
She did what she had to do.

Breaking into a run, she dashed after them.
 
“Monsieur, Monsieur,” she called out in a whiny voice.
 

The two ignored her and did not stop.
 
She dashed right up and pulled on Miriame’s sleeve.
 
“Monsieur, did you forget to pay me?”

Miriame’s eyes widened at the sight of Courtney, dressed as a woman, but she didn’t bat an eyelid.
 
“What do you want?” she asked in a bored voice, drawing her a little aside from her companion.

“You promised me ten francs,” Courtney whined aloud, while into Miriame’s ear she whispered, “get out of here.
 
It’s a trap.
 
They’re looking for you.”

Miriame doffed her hat.
 
“Beg your pardon, sweetheart.
 
In my hurry to do business with this gentleman here, it must have slipped my mind.”
 
She turned to her sailor companion and gave him a broad wink.
 
“If you will excuse me for just a moment, I will be right with you.
 
A gentleman must always pay his debts of honor.”

As soon as they were round the corner and out of sight of the alleyway, they broke into a run, not stopping until they had reached Courtney’s chamber in the inn on the outskirts of town.
 
The soldiers didn’t know exactly who they were looking for, save that he wanted to hire a ship to England.
 
They would be safe enough there for the moment.

As soon as they were alone, Miriame leaned back in her chair and put her booted feet up on the rough-hewn table.
 
“No good news for me then, I take it?”

Courtney shook her head.
 
“Thank the Lord I found you before you hired us a ship.
 
The place is crawling with King’s spies.
 
He knew all about the rebellion from the beginning, it would seem.
 
He even knew we were to take ship at Brest.
 
You would have walked right into the trap they were laying for you.”

Miriame looked a little taken aback at her narrow escape.
 
“I had not thought that danger was so near.
 
I owe you for saving me.”

“So, what now?
 
We have burned our bridges most thoroughly as far as the King is concerned.
 
He will never trust us more.
 
Shall you go and join the service of the Duke of Burgundy like Sophie and Lamotte, or are you for an honorable retirement in cottage in Provence or a villa in Naples?”

Miriame held up her ale with a look of satisfaction.
 
“No retirement for me.
 
My life is as safe as ever a thief’s can be.
 
Thanks to your timely coming, no one can implicate me in the Duc’s schemes.
 
I shall continue on as a Musketeer while my luck holds out.”

Courtney clutched her wooden goblet with tightly-clenched knuckles.
 
“I cannot put away my sword or leave Paris yet.
 
I have one more task to do before I retire from my life as a Musketeer.”

“You cannot go back to Paris.
 
You would be in great danger.”

“I know that, but my father is in greater danger than I am.”

Miriame looked at her with interest.
 
“Your father?
 
What of him?”

“My father is in the Bastille on charges trumped up by the King of France.
 
I have sworn to rescue him or to die in the attempt.”

“You became a Musketeer to avenge your father?”

“In part.
 
I also became a Musketeer to avenge myself.”

“Against whom?”

She could hardly bear to say the name of her dead lover without weeping.
 
“Against Pierre de Tournay, God rot his soul.
 
His body is beyond all help now.”

“De Tournay?” Miriame asked in surprise.
 
“What has he done to turn you against him so bitterly?
 
I always thought him an honorable man.
 
Foolish, maybe, to join in the rebellion against the king for nothing more than a dislike to his King, but honorable none the less.”