Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 11: Insult

Ysabeau had managed into her home without waking her brother and he lay across the sofa in the foyer as if waiting for her arrival. Without a sound, she locked the main door and crept into her bedchamber and locked that as well. Once stretched out in her beloved bed, her thoughts began.

They jumbled like crazed bees inside their nest. Restless and busy and loud. Every single idea buzzed, stinging her tender mind with ridicule, mocking, cruelty. None of it made any sense. Everything from Andrién to Mathieu to Marguerite.

Again, her thoughts wandered to the King’s missive and how he had terrified her mère. It all connected with the King and she was determined more than ever to figure why. What little time she spent in slumber, was riddled with the memory of the bearded man hunting her in a dense forest. Again. How she loathed these nightmares that left little sense in her maddened mind.

“Ysabeau, time to awaken. It is past noon and Dupré is hungry.”

“What?” She bolted from her sleep, stars exploding into her vision as her head connected with something hard.

Mathieu groaned, and when she opened her eyes, found him sprawled on the floor with hands clasping his face.

“Was that you?”

“No, it was Marie. Of course it was me!” He rolled to all fours and staggered into her sofa. “Where did you go last night?”

“Wait, how did you enter my chamber if I locked it?” She gazed at her door and found a sword leaning against the wall. A sudden burst of inspiration pierced her and she refrained from showing her knowing grin. Mathieu still cradled his head, lucky he did not notice.

“Papa is on his way, mon amour.”

“I told you to stop calling me these names and why now so suddenly? Is it because it is possible we are not related and you—” Ysabeau’s face slapped into the hottest of temperatures at what she was about to ask. “Never mind. How do you know Andrién is on his way?”

Mathieu rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a letter tucked between his fingers. “It says here.”

She reached over and snatched it and read. “He should be here tonight.” Dread washed over her. “Do you think he knows?” The memory of her mère’s dread haunted her.

“Knows what? What did we do? Nothing. We are both innocent.”

“But I went to her house and confronted her about everything.” She knew from his declaration that he swore silence and it was safe to share what she learned. If anything.

He was alert now, on his feet, eyes wide, hands on her shoulders. “You went to Marguerite’s? How did she take your visit? Did she accept you? Thrust you away?  Did she weep? Did she . . .”

Ysabeau fell loose from his grip and landed into her pillow with a groan, her hands covering her eyes. “Mathieu, there is so much involved, I do not know where to begin. She was violent and horrified and skittish and revealed nothing.”