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fredbassettTitle : A Dangerous Contract, Part 4 of 8
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Gallagher, Aramis, Porthos and others
Disclaimer : Not mine (apart from some OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 25,500, split into approximately equal parts.
Summary : Athos learns an assassination contract has been taken out on Treville’s life.
A/N : Written for luthorchickv2 on AO3 who kindly commented on all my Dangerous Liaison stories.
A week passed more quickly than Treville would have believed possible.
The weather remained fair and they fell into a simple routine of working in the morning clearing the fire damage in the mansion house and then spending the afternoon riding, hunting for the pot and washing off in the river.
Treville enjoyed the hard manual labour, stripped to the waist, sweating as they dragged out charred timbers, piling them up to be burnt at a later date, but not now when a large bonfire would only advertise their presence at Pinon. Athos worked beside him, also bare chested, making it hard at times to exercise self-control as he watched the play of muscle on Athos’ tanned arms as he hauled out another blackened beam with relentless energy.
The physical work kept him from brooding over his enforced exile from Paris and the King’s side, nor could he dwell on the identity of the person who wanted him dead. No amount of thought had assisted in that regard and he had finally been forced to shelve the subject from his mind. By night, they ate in the kitchen and relaxed in front of the fire. To Athos’ delight, they had been able to salvage some books from the former library, and they were able to spend time reading by candlelight, a rare pleasure for Treville.
Despite knowing Athos for five years, Treville had learned more about his past this past week than in all their previous time together. When they’d first met, the moody young man had barely been able to contain his anger, but with a sword in hand, his fluid grace and blinding speed had immediately impressed Treville. With the massacre at Savoy having robbed the Regiment of twenty-one of its best soldiers, Treville needed to bring his troops back up to strength as quickly as possible. The well-educated young man was clearly of noble birth, well used to giving orders and expecting to be obeyed. Treville was unconcerned by the man’s refusal to reveal anything of his background. Men sold their swords for many reasons, both good and bad, but Treville regarded himself as a good judge of men’s hearts and he’d been prepared to take a chance on the young man who insisted on being known only by the obviously assumed name of Athos.
The King had commissioned him on Treville’s recommendation, and Athos had seen his first action during Louis’ offensive to retake the Isle de Ré in 1625. During the bloody conflict, Athos quickly gained the respect of his fellow musketeers and demonstrated natural leadership skills. His icy calm in the face of at times overwhelming odds had quickly led to Treville’s increasing reliance on the handsome, laconic young man. Aramis and Porthos, two of the most experienced soldiers in the Regiment had taken a liking to him and together the trio made a formidable fighting unit.
One bloody conflict followed another, with the musketeers establishing themselves as a force to be reckoned with in the protection of their king, as well as undertaking missions that Louis preferred not to entrust to others.
“A hand here, if you please,” Athos panted, breaking into Treville’s reverie.
Athos had wound a rope around a heavy roof beam, and together, they hauled it out of a pile of rubble that had once formed an internal wall.
They worked until the sun had passed its height then ate a light lunch and retired to the river to wash the grime from their skins. Once they were dressed, with weapons once again hanging from their belts, Athos set a course across a wide meadow, in a direction they had not previously ridden. The horses picked their way up a low hill commanding a wide view of the surrounding area, topped with a lone oak tree with wide, spreading branches. Athos slid from the saddle, letting the reins slip from his fingers. His eyes were hooded and Treville was struck by the pallor of his skin.
He dismounted and laid a light hand on his lover’s shoulder. “Athos?”
“I hung her from this tree.” The stark words were calm but held a wealth of pain.
“She killed your brother.”
Athos slipped over his head the chain of the locket he had carried all the time Treville had known him. He had always presumed it held some token of the young man’s mother, but now he realised his mistake.
“I clung to this as a memory of happier times. I thought I could let it go once, after warning her never to set foot in Paris again, but picked it up again later that night, to my shame. Now I wish to busy it forever.” Athos took his dagger and cut a deep hole in the ground, letting the locket fall into the earth. Without saying a word, he replaced the turf and stamped it down with his boot.
When he turned to Treville, the colour had returned to his face. They stood for a moment in silence and then Treville pulled him into a embrace, kissing the tears from Athos’ face.
“It is finally over,” Athos said, when they drew apart, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
Side by side, they walked down the hill, their horses following behind.
As they crossed the meadow in front of the ruined mansion, Athos came to an abrupt halt and shaded his eyes with one hand as he stared into the distance. “Horsemen.”
That one word tore apart the peace of the past week. Athos threw himself astride his horse as Treville equally quickly mounted and reached for the spy glass he habitually carried.
“Seven men and eight horses. Do we make a stand here or ride?” He handed the glass to Athos.
Athos hesitated, staring down the long brass tube. “Porthos is on the lead horse.” The relief in his voice was palpable.
“It does not take seven men to inform us that the threat is ended.”
“No, it does not,” Athos conceded. “I can also make out Aramis and Gallagher. They are all armed with muskets and the spare horse is carrying more weapons. That does not bode well.”
Once in sight of the house, the horsemen slowed their pace to a walk, but it was not long before Treville was able to make out the features of all the men. After a surprised gash, he traded astonished glances with Athos.
Beside Porthos and Aramis rode a young man they had last seen at the Château de la Lune several months ago. Philippe de Beaune had acquitted himself well in the battle for the castle and although Treville had harboured some hopes that the young man might consider a military career in the service of his king, his presence at Pinon was unexpected. Almost as unexpected as the presence of three red-cloaked soldiers who rode at his side. A sharp intake of breath signalled that Athos had been caught equally unawares. At the rear of the company rode the Irish mercenary, Charles Gallagher, his lips curved in a sardonic smile.
Captain Jussac of the Cardinal’s Red Guard saluted Treville. “Captain, I’m pleased to find you well. His Eminence sends his regards.” Jussac, a laconic man in his mid-thirties, had taken over command of Richelieu’s personal guard after the death of Captain Trudeaux at the hands of Martin Labarge. To his credit, Jussac had little tolerance for the antipathy between his guards and the musketeers and had thrown his energy and his men’s into endless drills designed to soak up excess energy and leave little time for brawling. With him rode Cahusac, a long-time antagonist of Athos’, and Bernajoux, notorious for his clashes with Porthos.
“How long have we got to arm ourselves?” Treville demanded, dispensing with a dozen questions clamouring for precedence on his tongue.
“We don’t know, Captain,” Aramis admitted. “We are not even wholly certain this refuge has been compromised.”
“Then we’ll draw water for the horses while we talk,” Treville said. “It is good to see you, Vicomte,” he added to Philippe.
“Welcome to Pinon,” Athos said dryly, casting a look at his fellow musketeers that said louder than any words that their explanation for the presence of the Red Guards had better be to his liking.
****
“Marie de Medici?” Treville barked, failing to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “I know she has no cause to love me, but why now?”
“She is on the verge of bankruptcy,” Jussac said, accepting the water Athos handed to him with a grateful nod. Her exile in Brussels has used up what is left of her resources. Unless she can reach an accommodation with the King, her prospects are dismal, to put it mildly.”
“And you are deemed to be the principal impediment in the way of her plans to ingratiate herself with His Majesty,” Aramis added.
“More so than the Cardinal?”
“He is believed by her to be more capable of taking a political view.” Treville was surprised by Jussac’s bluntness. “By which I mean she feels there are ways to regain his support, but she knows it will be a cold day in hell before you succumb to her blandishments. We are here to bear witness to the fact that His Eminence has no intention of becoming embroiled in her latest machinations.”
“And you know all this how?” Athos demanded.
“The cardinal has long suspected the Duc de Montmorency of continuing to harbour sympathies for de Medici. Our enquiries uncovered financial assistance provided to her by an agent of his in the Spanish Lowlands. His Eminence does not believe her return to be in the best interests of the King or France.”
“There were rumours in the Court about the contract,” Porthos said, and Treville knew he meant the Court of Miracles, not the King’s court. “Flea said she’d heard there was serious money on offer, but she hadn’t been able to find out who had taken the coin.”
“There was tavern talk, too,” Aramis supplied. “But again, nothing we could run to earth.”
“The agent who approached me wasn’t one I knew,” Gallagher said, leaning back against a wall in the courtyard, his casual posture wholly deceptive. “I made further enquiries and was able to trace him again. He had been well paid for his discretion.” Gallagher let the silence stretch for a moment, then added, “Unfortunately for him, I can be persuasive when I set my mind to it. Our friends here had made it plain that subtlety wasn’t required, and with the hit now live, time was of the essence. He admitted to working for Montmorency and to him providing funding to further de Medici’s plans.”
“Is my would-be assassin known to you?” While Gallagher had been speaking, the thought had crossed Treville’s mind that Athos’s wife might have a hand somewhere in matters.
“Montmorency’s agent used the name Boucher, a Huguenot, so we believe. I’ve heard the name on the circuit for some years but was never sure if it was a name or a nickname. There are many men in my line of work who like to style themselves the Butcher, but this one is said to have some notable kills to his name. He’s also known for his willingness to take contracts against women and even children.” The Irish mercenary’s distaste was evident in his tone.
Treville looked from Gallagher to Philippe de Beaune, perched on the wall of the well. “And you believe this Boucher is connected to the plot against Queen Anne that endangered your stepmother.” It was a statement, not a question. He well-remembered the name of the treacherous housekeeper who had given up the castle’s secrets to the attacking Huguenots. Boucher, an embittered woman with no love for a Catholic queen.
Philippe nodded. “Our former housekeeper did not enjoy her sojourn in the castle’s dungeon. My father is not an unnecessarily cruel man, but an attack on the Queen that endangered my stepmother and my new-born stepbrother and sister could not be countenanced. He kept her on starvation rations, hoping to extract more information about the plot from her before hanging her for her treason but finally, he grew tired of the curses she was heaping on our immortal souls. Before she died, she claimed that her nephew would avenge her death.”
“The vicomte arrived at the garrison two days after you left, Captain,” Aramis said. “There’s something else…” He drew a sealed letter from inside his leather coat and handed it to Athos. “A messenger came to your lodgings recently and when your landlady said he hadn’t seen you for four days, she directed him to the garrison. He left this for you.”
Athos tore open the letter and scanned it contents. Treville caught a flicker of anger in the vivid blue eyes, but beyond that, Athos’ face remained as impassive as ever.
“We must assume that this Boucher knows our location.” Athos folded the letter and stowed it in a pouch on his belt. “As for how long we have, I would assume no more than one or two days.”
The group in the courtyard stared expectantly at Athos, but nothing more was forthcoming. He stood up and stalked away, his expression forbidding company. Aramis and Porthos traded glances but made no move to follow.
“D’Artagnan and the Regiment remain with the King and Queen,” Aramis said, answering the question on Treville’s lips.
“There is a possibility that the threat to you is a feint to draw the musketeers away from Paris,” Jussac said. “For that reason, it was deemed unwise to send more men, and a large force out of the city would only have attracted too much attention. We left independently and besides, an alliance between the Musketeers and the Red Guard would hardly be expected.”
The look on the faces of his two men told Treville that the cardinal’s guards had not exactly been their first choice. Treville was more phlegmatic. From what he had seen of Jussac, the man was a good soldier who was finally instilling some discipline into the musketeers’ traditional opponents. Cathusac was undoubtedly the Red Guard’s finest swordsman. He had a reputation as a hothead, but with a blade in hand he exhibited the same icy calm that characterised Athos’ fighting skills. The two men had gone head to head on more than one occasion and were known to have unfinished business between them. Bernajoux rivalled Porthos in stature and was a brawler by nature. He was also said to be an excellent marksman. Given a choice of the cardinal’s men, these were three Treville would have requested. He gave silent thanks to Richelieu for the aid.
When Athos showed no immediate sign of returning, Treville followed him out of the stable yard into the overgrown walled garden that had once supplied the house with abundant vegetables, herbs and fruit.
“Who sent the letter?”
“My steward at Bragellone. One of the servants went missing. His body was found in the woods. He had been tortured. We have to assume that Boucher knew of my former identity and now knows of the existence of Pinon.”
“How did he discover your connection to Bragellone?”
“My father visited the estate often. Marie de Medici was exiled to Blois for two years. They met there on several occasions and he disliked her intensely.” Athos looked rueful. “I was always told that I closely resembled my father.”
“And de Medici saw you frequently during her attempt to re-ingratiate herself with Louis,” Treville finished. “You are right to assume Boucher knows of Pinon.”
“Bringing you here was a mistake. I should never have relied on my anonymity.”
Treville laid a land on the younger man’s shoulder. “De Medici’s involvement is not something we could have easily foreseen. And anyway, I am as happy to make a stand here as anywhere.”
Athos smiled a cold, dangerous smile. “We will make them will regret bringing this fight here.”
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Gallagher, Aramis, Porthos and others
Disclaimer : Not mine (apart from some OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 25,500, split into approximately equal parts.
Summary : Athos learns an assassination contract has been taken out on Treville’s life.
A/N : Written for luthorchickv2 on AO3 who kindly commented on all my Dangerous Liaison stories.
A week passed more quickly than Treville would have believed possible.
The weather remained fair and they fell into a simple routine of working in the morning clearing the fire damage in the mansion house and then spending the afternoon riding, hunting for the pot and washing off in the river.
Treville enjoyed the hard manual labour, stripped to the waist, sweating as they dragged out charred timbers, piling them up to be burnt at a later date, but not now when a large bonfire would only advertise their presence at Pinon. Athos worked beside him, also bare chested, making it hard at times to exercise self-control as he watched the play of muscle on Athos’ tanned arms as he hauled out another blackened beam with relentless energy.
The physical work kept him from brooding over his enforced exile from Paris and the King’s side, nor could he dwell on the identity of the person who wanted him dead. No amount of thought had assisted in that regard and he had finally been forced to shelve the subject from his mind. By night, they ate in the kitchen and relaxed in front of the fire. To Athos’ delight, they had been able to salvage some books from the former library, and they were able to spend time reading by candlelight, a rare pleasure for Treville.
Despite knowing Athos for five years, Treville had learned more about his past this past week than in all their previous time together. When they’d first met, the moody young man had barely been able to contain his anger, but with a sword in hand, his fluid grace and blinding speed had immediately impressed Treville. With the massacre at Savoy having robbed the Regiment of twenty-one of its best soldiers, Treville needed to bring his troops back up to strength as quickly as possible. The well-educated young man was clearly of noble birth, well used to giving orders and expecting to be obeyed. Treville was unconcerned by the man’s refusal to reveal anything of his background. Men sold their swords for many reasons, both good and bad, but Treville regarded himself as a good judge of men’s hearts and he’d been prepared to take a chance on the young man who insisted on being known only by the obviously assumed name of Athos.
The King had commissioned him on Treville’s recommendation, and Athos had seen his first action during Louis’ offensive to retake the Isle de Ré in 1625. During the bloody conflict, Athos quickly gained the respect of his fellow musketeers and demonstrated natural leadership skills. His icy calm in the face of at times overwhelming odds had quickly led to Treville’s increasing reliance on the handsome, laconic young man. Aramis and Porthos, two of the most experienced soldiers in the Regiment had taken a liking to him and together the trio made a formidable fighting unit.
One bloody conflict followed another, with the musketeers establishing themselves as a force to be reckoned with in the protection of their king, as well as undertaking missions that Louis preferred not to entrust to others.
“A hand here, if you please,” Athos panted, breaking into Treville’s reverie.
Athos had wound a rope around a heavy roof beam, and together, they hauled it out of a pile of rubble that had once formed an internal wall.
They worked until the sun had passed its height then ate a light lunch and retired to the river to wash the grime from their skins. Once they were dressed, with weapons once again hanging from their belts, Athos set a course across a wide meadow, in a direction they had not previously ridden. The horses picked their way up a low hill commanding a wide view of the surrounding area, topped with a lone oak tree with wide, spreading branches. Athos slid from the saddle, letting the reins slip from his fingers. His eyes were hooded and Treville was struck by the pallor of his skin.
He dismounted and laid a light hand on his lover’s shoulder. “Athos?”
“I hung her from this tree.” The stark words were calm but held a wealth of pain.
“She killed your brother.”
Athos slipped over his head the chain of the locket he had carried all the time Treville had known him. He had always presumed it held some token of the young man’s mother, but now he realised his mistake.
“I clung to this as a memory of happier times. I thought I could let it go once, after warning her never to set foot in Paris again, but picked it up again later that night, to my shame. Now I wish to busy it forever.” Athos took his dagger and cut a deep hole in the ground, letting the locket fall into the earth. Without saying a word, he replaced the turf and stamped it down with his boot.
When he turned to Treville, the colour had returned to his face. They stood for a moment in silence and then Treville pulled him into a embrace, kissing the tears from Athos’ face.
“It is finally over,” Athos said, when they drew apart, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
Side by side, they walked down the hill, their horses following behind.
As they crossed the meadow in front of the ruined mansion, Athos came to an abrupt halt and shaded his eyes with one hand as he stared into the distance. “Horsemen.”
That one word tore apart the peace of the past week. Athos threw himself astride his horse as Treville equally quickly mounted and reached for the spy glass he habitually carried.
“Seven men and eight horses. Do we make a stand here or ride?” He handed the glass to Athos.
Athos hesitated, staring down the long brass tube. “Porthos is on the lead horse.” The relief in his voice was palpable.
“It does not take seven men to inform us that the threat is ended.”
“No, it does not,” Athos conceded. “I can also make out Aramis and Gallagher. They are all armed with muskets and the spare horse is carrying more weapons. That does not bode well.”
Once in sight of the house, the horsemen slowed their pace to a walk, but it was not long before Treville was able to make out the features of all the men. After a surprised gash, he traded astonished glances with Athos.
Beside Porthos and Aramis rode a young man they had last seen at the Château de la Lune several months ago. Philippe de Beaune had acquitted himself well in the battle for the castle and although Treville had harboured some hopes that the young man might consider a military career in the service of his king, his presence at Pinon was unexpected. Almost as unexpected as the presence of three red-cloaked soldiers who rode at his side. A sharp intake of breath signalled that Athos had been caught equally unawares. At the rear of the company rode the Irish mercenary, Charles Gallagher, his lips curved in a sardonic smile.
Captain Jussac of the Cardinal’s Red Guard saluted Treville. “Captain, I’m pleased to find you well. His Eminence sends his regards.” Jussac, a laconic man in his mid-thirties, had taken over command of Richelieu’s personal guard after the death of Captain Trudeaux at the hands of Martin Labarge. To his credit, Jussac had little tolerance for the antipathy between his guards and the musketeers and had thrown his energy and his men’s into endless drills designed to soak up excess energy and leave little time for brawling. With him rode Cahusac, a long-time antagonist of Athos’, and Bernajoux, notorious for his clashes with Porthos.
“How long have we got to arm ourselves?” Treville demanded, dispensing with a dozen questions clamouring for precedence on his tongue.
“We don’t know, Captain,” Aramis admitted. “We are not even wholly certain this refuge has been compromised.”
“Then we’ll draw water for the horses while we talk,” Treville said. “It is good to see you, Vicomte,” he added to Philippe.
“Welcome to Pinon,” Athos said dryly, casting a look at his fellow musketeers that said louder than any words that their explanation for the presence of the Red Guards had better be to his liking.
****
“Marie de Medici?” Treville barked, failing to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “I know she has no cause to love me, but why now?”
“She is on the verge of bankruptcy,” Jussac said, accepting the water Athos handed to him with a grateful nod. Her exile in Brussels has used up what is left of her resources. Unless she can reach an accommodation with the King, her prospects are dismal, to put it mildly.”
“And you are deemed to be the principal impediment in the way of her plans to ingratiate herself with His Majesty,” Aramis added.
“More so than the Cardinal?”
“He is believed by her to be more capable of taking a political view.” Treville was surprised by Jussac’s bluntness. “By which I mean she feels there are ways to regain his support, but she knows it will be a cold day in hell before you succumb to her blandishments. We are here to bear witness to the fact that His Eminence has no intention of becoming embroiled in her latest machinations.”
“And you know all this how?” Athos demanded.
“The cardinal has long suspected the Duc de Montmorency of continuing to harbour sympathies for de Medici. Our enquiries uncovered financial assistance provided to her by an agent of his in the Spanish Lowlands. His Eminence does not believe her return to be in the best interests of the King or France.”
“There were rumours in the Court about the contract,” Porthos said, and Treville knew he meant the Court of Miracles, not the King’s court. “Flea said she’d heard there was serious money on offer, but she hadn’t been able to find out who had taken the coin.”
“There was tavern talk, too,” Aramis supplied. “But again, nothing we could run to earth.”
“The agent who approached me wasn’t one I knew,” Gallagher said, leaning back against a wall in the courtyard, his casual posture wholly deceptive. “I made further enquiries and was able to trace him again. He had been well paid for his discretion.” Gallagher let the silence stretch for a moment, then added, “Unfortunately for him, I can be persuasive when I set my mind to it. Our friends here had made it plain that subtlety wasn’t required, and with the hit now live, time was of the essence. He admitted to working for Montmorency and to him providing funding to further de Medici’s plans.”
“Is my would-be assassin known to you?” While Gallagher had been speaking, the thought had crossed Treville’s mind that Athos’s wife might have a hand somewhere in matters.
“Montmorency’s agent used the name Boucher, a Huguenot, so we believe. I’ve heard the name on the circuit for some years but was never sure if it was a name or a nickname. There are many men in my line of work who like to style themselves the Butcher, but this one is said to have some notable kills to his name. He’s also known for his willingness to take contracts against women and even children.” The Irish mercenary’s distaste was evident in his tone.
Treville looked from Gallagher to Philippe de Beaune, perched on the wall of the well. “And you believe this Boucher is connected to the plot against Queen Anne that endangered your stepmother.” It was a statement, not a question. He well-remembered the name of the treacherous housekeeper who had given up the castle’s secrets to the attacking Huguenots. Boucher, an embittered woman with no love for a Catholic queen.
Philippe nodded. “Our former housekeeper did not enjoy her sojourn in the castle’s dungeon. My father is not an unnecessarily cruel man, but an attack on the Queen that endangered my stepmother and my new-born stepbrother and sister could not be countenanced. He kept her on starvation rations, hoping to extract more information about the plot from her before hanging her for her treason but finally, he grew tired of the curses she was heaping on our immortal souls. Before she died, she claimed that her nephew would avenge her death.”
“The vicomte arrived at the garrison two days after you left, Captain,” Aramis said. “There’s something else…” He drew a sealed letter from inside his leather coat and handed it to Athos. “A messenger came to your lodgings recently and when your landlady said he hadn’t seen you for four days, she directed him to the garrison. He left this for you.”
Athos tore open the letter and scanned it contents. Treville caught a flicker of anger in the vivid blue eyes, but beyond that, Athos’ face remained as impassive as ever.
“We must assume that this Boucher knows our location.” Athos folded the letter and stowed it in a pouch on his belt. “As for how long we have, I would assume no more than one or two days.”
The group in the courtyard stared expectantly at Athos, but nothing more was forthcoming. He stood up and stalked away, his expression forbidding company. Aramis and Porthos traded glances but made no move to follow.
“D’Artagnan and the Regiment remain with the King and Queen,” Aramis said, answering the question on Treville’s lips.
“There is a possibility that the threat to you is a feint to draw the musketeers away from Paris,” Jussac said. “For that reason, it was deemed unwise to send more men, and a large force out of the city would only have attracted too much attention. We left independently and besides, an alliance between the Musketeers and the Red Guard would hardly be expected.”
The look on the faces of his two men told Treville that the cardinal’s guards had not exactly been their first choice. Treville was more phlegmatic. From what he had seen of Jussac, the man was a good soldier who was finally instilling some discipline into the musketeers’ traditional opponents. Cathusac was undoubtedly the Red Guard’s finest swordsman. He had a reputation as a hothead, but with a blade in hand he exhibited the same icy calm that characterised Athos’ fighting skills. The two men had gone head to head on more than one occasion and were known to have unfinished business between them. Bernajoux rivalled Porthos in stature and was a brawler by nature. He was also said to be an excellent marksman. Given a choice of the cardinal’s men, these were three Treville would have requested. He gave silent thanks to Richelieu for the aid.
When Athos showed no immediate sign of returning, Treville followed him out of the stable yard into the overgrown walled garden that had once supplied the house with abundant vegetables, herbs and fruit.
“Who sent the letter?”
“My steward at Bragellone. One of the servants went missing. His body was found in the woods. He had been tortured. We have to assume that Boucher knew of my former identity and now knows of the existence of Pinon.”
“How did he discover your connection to Bragellone?”
“My father visited the estate often. Marie de Medici was exiled to Blois for two years. They met there on several occasions and he disliked her intensely.” Athos looked rueful. “I was always told that I closely resembled my father.”
“And de Medici saw you frequently during her attempt to re-ingratiate herself with Louis,” Treville finished. “You are right to assume Boucher knows of Pinon.”
“Bringing you here was a mistake. I should never have relied on my anonymity.”
Treville laid a land on the younger man’s shoulder. “De Medici’s involvement is not something we could have easily foreseen. And anyway, I am as happy to make a stand here as anywhere.”
Athos smiled a cold, dangerous smile. “We will make them will regret bringing this fight here.”
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no subject
Date: 2020-06-02 11:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-03 07:17 pm (UTC)I couldn't resist bringing in the red guard here in this sort of role.
Having spun off from the end of s1 and keeping Richelieu, I wanted to explore different interactions. The red guard captain in s2 is the one I imagine as Jussac for looks. I liked him a lot and wanted a fix it for him. he deserved better. *g*
no subject
Date: 2020-06-03 07:39 am (UTC)The plot is developing nicely!
no subject
Date: 2020-06-03 07:11 pm (UTC)LOL, they'd had enough quiet shagging time. Plot definitely needed!
no subject
Date: 2020-06-03 08:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-03 08:58 pm (UTC)I did have to do a lot of thinking for the antagonist, but then when the idea came to me, it all fell into place.
Especially when I reminded myself where Bragelonne was and that Marie had spent a fair bit of time in Blois. That was just perfect for the plot!
I love this world so much.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-30 09:00 pm (UTC)Love their manual work at the start, nom! Also bless him, poor Athos.
Then the cavalry turn up and it's drama all the way!
no subject
Date: 2020-07-01 10:35 am (UTC)Thank you! Hope you enjoy the rest!
no subject
Date: 2020-07-02 06:23 am (UTC)