Book 3: The Queen's Musketeers, #3 by R. A. Steffan

Author:R. A. Steffan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: musketeers, historical novels on France, 17th century, historical series, historical fiction plague, alternate history, historical fiction on France, historical fiction novels, historical fiction series
Publisher: R. A. Steffan
Published: 2015-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter IX: September 2nd, 1631

THE MORNING OF their departure dawned warm and humid, promising another sweltering day as summer showed no signs of abating. When he arrived at the stables with his bedroll and saddlebags slung over his shoulder, d’Artagnan was surprised to find that Porthos had already departed.

“Yes,” Aramis said. “He told me to tell you that he’d see you and Constance in a few days.”

This was unusual enough behavior for the normally gregarious Porthos that d’Artagnan asked, “Is everything all right with him? I expected to be able to wish him a safe journey in person.”

Aramis shrugged and smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “I don’t believe this mission agrees with him, that’s all. It’s nothing that you need to concern yourself with, you have my word.” His attention was drawn over d’Artagnan’s shoulder, to Constance’s approach. “Ah! Mme d’Artagnan. A fine morning to you, my dear,” he teased.

D’Artagnan could not prevent the faint flutter of excitement at hearing Constance addressed so, and reminded himself firmly that it was merely a ruse, and nothing over which to get excited.

“A good morning to you, as well, M. Aramis,” Constance responded in kind. Her twinkling eyes moved to d’Artagnan’s. “And to you, of course, dear husband.”

Blood rushed to d’Artagnan’s cheeks, staining his face with a flush despite his every effort. “Good morning, Constance,” he managed.

He was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of Athos, Milady, and de Tréville. Athos continued on to the stable to stow Milady’s belongings on her horse, and after nodding a greeting to the other two, d’Artagnan hoisted his own bags and followed him. Servants had already sent Constance’s belongings ahead, and her little mare stood saddled and ready next to Milady’s and d’Artagnan’s horses. It was the work of a few moments for d’Artagnan to secure everything across the bay gelding’s back, and when he turned around, Athos was standing behind him, waiting.

“I realize that you will not necessarily be in a position to fulfill my request of you,” the older man said, the words unusually indirect for such a normally curt and taciturn individual, “but if it is possible, I would like for you to... to attempt to...”

In a flash, d’Artagnan understood. “Athos,” he interrupted, “I think Milady is perhaps the most capable of all of us of looking out for herself. That said, to the extent that it is within my power to do so, I will try to keep her safe.”

Athos released the breath he’d been holding, almost imperceptibly. “Of course you will, d’Artagnan. I know that. I merely—”

“I understand,” d’Artagnan said solemnly. “Keep everyone here safe as well, if you can.”

“You have my word on it.”

D’Artagnan extended a hand to grip his mentor’s upper arm, and received a firm, unwavering grip on his own arm in return.

“Come,” said Athos, taking both women’s horses by the reins and leading them out into the yard. “You had best get an early start. It will be hot today for traveling.”

D’Artagnan followed with his own horse.

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