Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 4: Caught

Ysabeau scoffed at her brother. “Well lucky you will never have to worry about it, then, will you?” Though they were bound together by blood, his words cut deeply. She hated herself for that. Without further word, she clambered onto Dupré’s back and twisted him from the tight spot and burst through the doors.

“Wait!”

But she ignored him. His cries only fed her disgust for him. Though Andrién was the gentlest of pères, she still felt unwanted in his home. Her mère was not one whom she longed to be with since it was apparent that even she did not welcome Ysabeau as well.

She had many places to go on such occasions. There was a beautiful lake beside a waterfall, the land lush and always rain-scented. Though it belonged to the King, she felt brave enough to sneak onto it whenever she pleased. She doubted the King knew of the small grotto hidden behind the waterfall; he was too busy seducing every woman in court to notice!

The countryside gave way from feathery beech to thick sturdy oak. The skies fell a lighter shade of blue as the sun climbed higher, the top of her head burning beneath the black cloak. She did not want to take any chances of being caught as a lone girl in these parts where highwaymen lay coiled for passing nobility. Sure they might see her as none other than a messenger, but the only ones who would dare to intercept those would be usurpers and she knew well enough to defend.

Soon, water flavored the air and she knew.

Dupré finally slowed his frenzied gait once he recognized her place of dreaming. “Good boy.” She dropped the sack of fruit she had gathered from her trees earlier and he gladly munched away. Ysabeau followed the familiar pattern of gigantic stones leading toward the lazy lake. The whispering roar of the falls spurred her faster.

Nostalgia ached deep in her heart as the gush of singing water climbed into view. She could still hear Andrién’s swordplay instruction clear in her head. That was how she learned to be clever, and quick as well as surefooted.

She whipped out her makeshift sword and hopped from stone to stone, twirling and dodging and kicking invisible foes. The sounds of her grunts and fierce cries bounced from the cliff walls. After disarming an imagined foe, she shouted, “Do you surrender?”

He stared at the sword pointing straight at his heart, and sniveled.

Ysabeau kicked him in the gut. “That is what I thought,” she said. His eyes turned malevolent at her reply before fixing upon something behind her. Suddenly, someone pressed his sword between her shoulder blades. “I would not do that if I were you,” she declared with imperious disdain.

When he chose to ignore her warning, she spun around and slapped his arm upward with the flat of her blade, sending his sword high into the air. She caught it with ease and pointed both swords to each downed man. “As I said, do you surrender?”

They nodded, eyes fearful.

“Very well.” Ysabeau gave them a slick grin, stashing her stick into her sash, and admired her newly acquired weapon. “In the name of the King, pray that I will never see your horrid faces again.”