Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 18: Insult

Silence wrung her throat dry as she sat spiritless upon the fainting sofa in the antechamber room. Her head clouded with every incoherent thought ever conjured from early childhood to now. So much of it and none of it made sense.

Her dreams haunted her—the mysterious shape of a man with a full beard. Angry and menacing as he sought to take her life away. Then there were her mère's scars and odd behavior with every mention of the King. Mathieu topped it nicely with the forbidden missive.

Ysabeau trembled. Deep down she knew the missive held all. She would dare break into Andrién's study and discover the whereabouts the letter resided and read it to its entirety. Or she would die . . .

A sharp report earned a gasp from her throat and Marie scurried in, her soft hands comforting along her shoulders.

"It is going to be fine, Ysabeau. No harm shall come upon you so long as you play the lady's part. No one will know the better if you do not spout strategies of the sword. Now sit and let me get the door."

Ysabeau inhaled deep and placed her hands primly across her lap with a dainty toss of her head so to get the curls to cover her chest. A familiar voice sounded, requesting her by name. Moments later, Marie stepped in behind an imposingly tall figure. Philippe.

He wore his usual Musketeer garb that always coaxed a skip of Ysabeau's heart—not that she had taken to him, but how it meant something dear to her as well as its alluring promise of adventure and blood-pounding thrills.

The man bowed, his eyes never removing as he appreciated every whit of her body. "You will be the talk of the court, mademoiselle."

"I hear of a young musketeer who bested you?" Oh, how she could not help it! She glowed at his blush, but his warm smile never wavered.

He moved to her at once, his lips upon her gloved wrist. "Story travels fast."

"As every lady here wishes to dance with him, of course it would."

"Ah." His throat flashed and his head ticked a bit. "As do you, I would suppose?"

Marie covered her disapproval with a choked sound, but Ysabeau ignored her. She raised a shoulder and angled her chin over it and fed him a demure smile as she lowered her lashes.

"I see." The light tone in his voice gone.

Marie cleared her throat, and Ysabeau spoke, "I hear this, ah, fellow is a petit enfant? I am not interested in someone who is my junior. But you," she rose with his assistance, his gentle hands upon her elbow and wrist as she thought of Mathieu, "are all I need to complete me." A soft gasp escaped, and she covered her mouth as angry heat surely covered her skin from chest to forehead. Wherever did this come from? She was not versed in the art of courtly love! But a bumbling obtus she-goat!

Philippe hummed with approval, his hand going to the small of her back as he led her forward.