Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 3: Insult

The rogue Clément thrust Ysabeau forward, and started for the house. She crumpled with a cry. A third voice, smooth and familiar, threatened the man to halt, but he had clamored through an open window.

Strong arms slid under hers and lifted. She twisted within the grasp, her strength at last her champion. “Stop resisting and hurry, before more come!”

Horror coalesced into recognition—she knew this person! Her blood whipped angry and she pushed away. “I had this under control.” She lost her balance.

“Yes, I see you did.” Mathieu caught her and swept her into his arms, signaling Dupré forward. “You failed dearly, sister. I saw you were about to be killed.”

“It was he who was about to be, until you ruined all!” She cursed him for his interference, but did not resist as he situated himself behind her on Dupré. “Get off Dupré, he does not fancy two riders . . . especially you being the second!”

Mathieu clicked his tongue, and a second horse nickered in reply. It trotted forward and he bent forward and gathered both reigns in his palm. “Shall I leave then?”

Empty air greeted Ysabeau as he leaned way. Her body, unable to hold itself upright, fell back. She grunted, but Mathieu was there once again. “I will kill you when this is over, frère.”

His deep laughter grated her ears. “You’re welcome, dear sister. Now let us be gone!”

She could not remember the journey back home, but exhaustion soon saw her to bed as sleep claimed her with intermittent fevers. Once health slowly returned and over the course of an entire fortnight, Ysabeau found herself ladling broth like an infant. “This is ridiculous.” Mathieu lowered his bowl, his blue eyes giving her heart a start. She cursed under her breath. It would be time before she would accustom herself with him being her brother. Even now. He bore the sweetest of souls. Shame.

“Yes, it is ridiculous.” He continued to eat his soup. “Running through the night without an escort.” He blew the steam from his spoon. “Armed with nothing more than a silly little stick and challenging two grown men is certainly ridiculous.”

Her temper prickled up her back, but she held her temper. “And the life of a young girl you forget,” she spat out with a frown.

“What?”

“You think me to be a hothead, do you not? You think I bullied those men into a fight?” She shook her head, sucking the last of the steaming broth. “I do not have to put up with this.”

“Where are you going? Not to look for another fight?”

Ysabeau pushed from the table, charged into the drawing room, and snatched her cassock from the peg beside the main door. She flung it over her shoulders.

“Wait! Your wound, you are not ready!”

“It has been near a fortnight. I do not need your coddling.” She planted her feet at the threshold of the door, bracing herself for his crashing weight. Just when he did as predicted, she glared over her shoulder. “Thank you for tending my tiny wound. Thank you for the meals. Thank you for—.” Her sarcasm waned at once as she realized what she was about to thank him for. She would rather die than acknowledge his saving her. He would gloat to no end! She released the door frame and pulled the door open. Rather, Ysabeau stepped onto the hard earth under the sun.