On My Lady's Honor (All for one, and one for all) (27 page)

They were worse than brigands - they were hired killers, put on a horse and sent to murder his wife.
 
He would not share his road or his mission with the pair of them.
 
“Then you may go your own way again.
 
I need no help.”

“The King begs to differ,” said the cold-voiced stranger on his right.
 
“He repented that he had sent a Musketeer to catch his fellow, and thought you might not have the stomach to do the deed yourself.
 
He sent the pair of us after you, to make sure, as it were, that there was no trouble with his orders.”

The man’s words sent shivers down Lamotte’s spine.
 
“The King wanted the boy stopped, not murdered.”

“You won’t have to soil your pretty white hands, my fine gentleman,” the rough-voiced man sneered.
 
“You find him, and leave the rest to us.”

He could take on the pair of them here and now, he thought, but it might not be the wisest move.
 
If they were to overcome him with a knave’s trick, Sophie would be left defenseless, not even knowing of her danger until she lay dead with their knives in her belly.

He would draw them into the open and warn Sophie of the new danger she faced.
 
A couple of brigands should be no match for a pair of Musketeers when the time came.
 
If by some mischance one of them escaped his vengeance, Sophie would at least be able to flee in greater safety, knowing the face of her enemy.

On he rode in silence, saving his horse’s breath as much as he could.
 
He may well need her speed before the day was done.

Every step he took drew him and his unwelcome companions closer to Sophie.
 
His one consolation for the knowledge that he was putting her in danger was his determination to just as quickly snatch her out of it again.

The hired killers would be forced to taste of their own medicine before either of them so much as laid a finger on his wife.

Chapter 7

Sophie was in the midst of a troubling dream when the clatter of hooves in the courtyard outside woke her.
 
She sat bolt upright with a start.
 
Miriame gave a sleepy grumble at being disturbed and Courtney tossed and turned over without waking.

Travelers like themselves, Sophie thought to herself, and nothing to worry about.
 
Still, the sun was bright overhead and it was time for them to be leaving.
 
Her conscience told her she had chosen the path of honor, but she still wanted to get well away from Paris, and from the King she had betrayed, as soon as she could.
 

The casement window was open, letting in a welcome breeze of autumn air redolent with the rich scent of ripening apples.
 
She lay down again, just for a moment, and breathed deeply of the fresh, country air.
 
Ah – how good it felt to be out of the noise and stench of Paris.
 
She had not realized how much she missed the country until she back among the comforting familiarity of wide, open spaces, the greenness of the land around her, the lowing of cattle at pasture, and the song of the birds at dawn and dusk.

Despite her resolve to be on her way again, she was on the point of drifting back to sleep again when through the open window she heard a guttural voice rap on the door and cry out.
 
“Open up in the name of the King.”

Travelers with a purpose, she presumed.
 
She would have to enjoy the autumn air from the back of her horse once more.
 
She would lay a wager that the King had found out about their mission and was not pleased.
 
Whether they were looking for her or no, she was not about to stay in her chamber to be caught like a rat in a trap.
 
She nudged the other two awake with her elbows.
 
“Wake up,” she hissed at them.
 
“I suspect we may have visitors.”

There was a start from Courtney and another sleepy grumble from Miriame.
 
At the sound of the second knock on the tavern door, they were both as wide awake as a watching hawk.

Sophie stood at the window as she pulled on her boots.
 
She knew one of the horses there - it belonged to her husband.
 
Had he betrayed her mission to the King and been sent after her to bring her back again?
 
She did not want to think him guilty of such base treachery.
 
“Three of them, I’d say,” she whispered.
 
“One of them must be Lamotte.
 
The other two I don’t know.”

Courtney cursed under her breath as she thrust her arms into her jacket.
 
“Three of us against three of them would be a fair enough match, if one of them was not the Count and the best swordsman in Christendom.
 
We could hold them off well enough from in here, but we will never break free of our chamber.
 
The bastards can hole us up in here until we starve.”

Miriame poked her nose out of the casement in time to catch a glimpse of one of them.
 
She paled.
 
“I mislike the company your husband keeps,” she said to Sophie.

Sophie did not like Miriame’s tone.
 
“How so?”

“I know one of them of old.
 
A sneak thief and bully from way back, turned informer and assassin for whoever will hire his arm.
 
He likes the taste of blood better than the best Burgundian wine.
 
Whoever has sent him after us means for us not to return.”

“I shall take all three of them on in a fair fight,” Courtney offered.
 
“I’ll hold the door so the pair of you can escape and make your way to England.”

Sophie did not like the thought of leaving her friend in such danger, but the mission should not be jeopardized.
 
Whatever Miriame said about his companions, she could not believe that Lamotte wished her and her companions evil.
 
Courtney would be safe enough could she but hole herself up in the chamber until they tired of beating on the door.
 
“But how shall we get out without them seeing us?”

Miriame spoke up with unusual determination.
 
“That one I spoke of won’t fight fair, you can be sure of that.
 
He means to kill us all.
 
Besides,” she added, with an evil glint in her eye, “I have an old score to settle with him.
 
I shall take him on, gutter rat to gutter rat, and may the smartest one win.”

Courtney started to protest, but Miriame hushed her.
 
“This is my fight – I shall not let you say me nay.”
 
She gestured to the high-set window.
 
“Climb out there, the pair of you.
 
I’ll keep them busy for as long as I can.
 
Our horses are rested and theirs blown, so they will be hard put to it to catch you again, once you get away.”

Sophie looked down from the window, feeling sick to her stomach.
 
The casement was not impossibly high, but to jump might well mean a broken ankle, which would spell disaster for her mission.
 
A guttering ran around the edge of the roof, though.
 
If she were to hang on to that and swing herself over to the roof of the stables, she might just make it.
 
“Follow me,” she said to Courtney.
 
“If I am hurt or taken, grab the nearest horse and ride for your life to England.
 
Lamotte will see that I do not come to any harm.”
 
She wished she could be as sure of that in her heart as her words made her seem to be.

Courtney nodded in understanding.
 
“And you must do the same for me.”

With one leg over the windowsill, Sophie turned back to Miriame, whose face was aglow with mischief.
 
“Be careful of yourself.
 
Keep the door locked and do not open it to them on any pretext.
 
You shall be safe enough with the door locked – they cannot come at you then.”

She looked down from the window, and then turned back again.
 
“If it should come to a fight, do not hurt the Count,” she begged.
 
Whether Lamotte had betrayed her or no, she could not bear have him hurt.
 
He was her husband, after all, and her brother had loved him well.
 
“He has suffered enough on my account already.”

Miriame nodded.
 
“I will delay him if I can, but I will take care not hurt him unless I cannot help it.
 
My quarrel is with his companion.”

Sophie had to be content with that.
 
“Until we meet again in Paris.”

Courtney jammed her hat down over her ears.
 
“Au revoir, Madame thief.
 
Until Paris.”

Miriame grinned at the solemn farewell.
 
“Don’t worry about me.
 
I’ll come to no harm with the thought of all those golden pistoles waiting for me to claim my share of.”

The way below was clear.
 
Sophie swallowed hard as she looked down, summoning all her courage to make the leap.
 
A bang on the chamber door behind her gave her the impetus she needed.
 
She crossed herself hurriedly and swung out before she lost the moment, climbing hand over hand along the guttering.
 
The roof creaked and groaned under her weight, but it did not break.
 
Behind her she heard banging and cursing, but she didn’t dare look back for fear of losing her grip and falling to the ground.

The guttering seemed endless, but at last, with a soft thud, she let go and landed on the gently-pitched roof of the stables.
 
She grabbed for a handhold, but her hands clutched at the empty air.
 
Flailing wildly, she rolled off the roof, landing in a heap in the mud in the doorway.
 
At least the mud was soft enough.
 
She rose to her feet a trifle unsteadily and dusted herself down.
 
Nothing seemed to be broken.
 
So far, so good.

Courtney, following behind her, had better luck.
 
She leaped down lightly and had the stable door open before Sophie had picked herself up off the ground.

There was no time to re-saddle their mounts.
 
Sophie grabbed her bridle and threw it over Seafoam’s neck before leaping on to her bareback and tossing a couple of saddlebags in front of her.
 
Courtney, her face pinched and white, did the same.

With a clatter of hooves on the stones of the courtyard, the pair of them rode out of the courtyard and on to the road to Calais, and to England.

Lamotte pulled up his horse at the inn by the road.
 
It was the first one he had seen for miles.
 
He would lay a bet that Sophie had stopped there to rest.
 
She was no different from other women in that she liked a warm feather bed better than a cold piece of ground under a tree any day.

He signaled to the stable boy who was lazily shoveling mucky straw out into the roadside.
 
“Hey, boy.
 
Have you had any strangers pass through your tavern this morning?”

The boy scratched his head.
 
“We’ve got three fine horses in the stables.
 
One of the soldiers told me to feed ‘em good corn or he’d wrap my guts around the point of his sword, so I gave ‘em the best I had.”

“Three soldiers?”

“Aye.
 
Fine soldiers dressed just like you.”

The hired ruffians muttered together uneasily at this piece of news.
 
“No one told me there was three of them,” the rough-voiced one grumbled.
 
“I thought we was just to deal to the boy and be home again in time for supper.”

“Afraid, are you?” the cultured voice sneered.
 

“I aint afraid of no man,” the first man said belligerently, his hand closing threateningly on the hilt of his dagger.
 
“Fair’s fair is all - and I aint been paid to deal to three.”

His companion drew his dagger, shut one eye, and squinted critically at the edge of the blade with the other as he tested its sharpness with the ball of his thumb.
 
“Shut your mouth and deal with the boy as you’ve been paid to do, and leave the others to better men than you.”

Lamotte watched their squabbling with only half his attention.
 
His wife had evidently obtained reinforcements from her fellow Musketeers.
 
All the more reason for him to stop her from carrying out this mad mission.
 
Surely she could not hope to keep her sex hidden from the others in her party on such a long journey.
 
Were they ever to find out she was a woman, he hated to think what her fate would be.