Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 6: Honeyed Barb

Mathieu led the way on his destrier, and she, on foot. She had ignored his insistence for her to ride alongside him. Though he searched for topics to share, she kept to herself. The moon rose, a full wedge among the treetops. Ysabeau did not bother to greet Dupré when she arrived. She would lecture him on his loyalty. Or lack of.

“Where is said message?” She barged through the door after they arrived and welcomed the warmth from the well-tended fire in its grand hearth. Silence greeted her and she swung around. “Where?”

“You are a spitfire and a half. No wonder you choose a profession of a man—you would not make it as a woman.”

“You think you are smart.” She shook her head, so longing to slap his face until red. “Where is it?”

“Where else, Ysabeau?” He growled, pointing a finger up the stairs to her bedroom.

“Fine.”

“Do not say I did not warn you, mon sœur.”

Midway down the hallway, Ysabeau stiffened at his words. There was a time when his calling her sœur disturbed her, but she had accepted that long ago since she was, in fact, his sister. She turned and marched back, her voice high. “You read my letter?”

“You forget, women do not read.” He crossed his arms.

A burst of heat lit behind her fists, urging her to strike. She held her ground. “How unfortunate for you.” Ysabeau glared at him, challenging him with her words of insult.

Mathieu’s eyes sparkled as he leaned against the wall with a deliberate yawn. “How so when it keeps them where they belong,”—his eyebrows raised as did his upper lip—“in bed!”

Though shocking, Mathieu had the decency for a fair flush. The contrast made his eyes sharper in color. Ysabeau raised her hand, so longing to feel the satisfying sting of his flesh against her knuckles. Musketeers never lost their head, Andrién would say. A sudden thought veered her into a different vein which curled her lips into a tight grin.

“What?”

She lifted her chin, amusement dancing in her expression as she allowed her gaze to demean every part of him. “Yes, yes, I see.” Her fingernail scraped along the bow of her lip. “You are quite right.” Her steps brought her closer for careful inspection.

Mathieu pushed from the wall and tilted his head with a groove between his eyebrows. “What? What is it you see?” His lips pursed with obvious confusion, his eyes narrow.

“With all the nagging and spying and unbound locks, you are qualified as such.”

Taking her insinuation exactly as she planned, Mathieu inhaled a sharp breath. His chest swelled, hands locking into fists, his back erect. “Are you implying something?”

This game lost her interest and the letter upon her mattress whispered a promise of fear she longed to quench. She took a step back in preparation to bolt. “You know me, Mathieu.” She lifted a demure shoulder and fluttered her lashes as the ladies of the court so often did, according to Andrién. “I,” she took another step back, her fingertips grazing along the polished texture of the wall, “never,” another step back, “imply.” Ysabeau flung her gaze behind her, gauging the distance to the stairway that led to the corridor to her chamber. “I always say exactly what I mean and you are no exception!” With that, she dipped as quickly as she could in anticipation of her offence spurring him into action. Mathieu lunged at her but he gripped only air. In a single fluidic movement, she launched up the steps, down the stretch, and bolted the door with the big metal key.