Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 8: Hint

Ysabeau blinked, her acute fear replaced with weak relief. “Mathieu? Are you following me? I was expecting, ah, someone else.” She slid back toward the bank, the moonlight frosting a silvery mist along her arms. Would he spurn her if she expressed gratitude for his arrival?

He halted, lifted screwed eyes, his jaw hard. “And who is it you are waiting for?”

Glad to have him present yet never willing to yield her strange fear to him, she fed him the same venom. “What would you say if I had a . . . lover?” Her heart thundered with the blatant lie.

His nostrils flared for a single beat of her heart and a strange glint danced beneath his lashes. “You have none, Ysabeau. Come back across the pool before you catch your death. What possessed you to come out here so late an hour?”

“What concern is it you have of me when you showed disregard when I needed you most?” Stupid, stupid fille! How dare you admit defeat to him!

He tilted his head, his bedraggled locks concealing half his face. “How was I to know?”

She stiffened at his soft intonation. No, do not show me sweet kindness. Not now. “Never mind, frère. You are right.” She dipped into the chilled waters and glided, quick as a fish, toward the shore beside him. Without waiting for him, she climbed out and darted past.

“Ysabeau!”

Oh, not again. She quickened her pace, her senses vigilant as determination strengthened the swiftness of her legs.

“Enough of this childishness!” His unexpected hold wrenched her from her next step and she stumbled to the foliage, her breaths fast and hard.

She glared up at him, his hands locking her arms still as he straddled her. “Is it childish to want to know why Andrién is secretive about my past? Why Marguerite screamed at her own reflection about stolen youth? What about my premonition as I expected an old, bearded man to come charging through the forest rather than you?” Her body remained constrained beneath his weight.

“Wait, you were expecting an old man to attack you? Do not look so startled, ma sœur. I saw panic paint your face rather than your recognition of me.”

“Get off me.” Ysabeau squirmed, but he was much too heavy for freedom.

“On one condition.”

“I would rather not.” She angled her eyes to the full moon over his left shoulder, the breeze playing in his long hair. Oh, why did Mathieu have to reawaken her desire for him? It cried—no, screamed in her veins!

“Fine. You know I could sit here like this all night if I so wish.” He tossed his moon-gilded locks and gazed at the brilliant stars.

Anything but this! “Fine, have it your way.” She turned to the stars as well, yearning for freedom from so much oppression.

The sound of his smile grated her nerves as he spoke, “If you stop treating me as your enemy. I grow tired of your incessant banter.”