Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 33: Marguerite

Ysabeau tossed in bed, glaring at every bit of fluff that decorated her room. It was no wonder her mère loathed wealth. When embedded in a person's heart, there is no curing. They are cold, hard and selfish villains desiring more and more. The King had everything he could ever desire, why did he lay with her mère, even if it was the Queen's idea to hire her as her underling, the tortured servant.

She shifted to her other side.

There was yet the mystery as to why the Queen demanded an audience with her. Perhaps she wanted to place her as part of the squadron, to extract information from the King by sleeping with him?

A soft noise echoed down the corridor and she sprang from bed, heart thundering.

Donning her wrapper and sword stick, she footed from her room and listened when she opened her door. After three breaths, she heard it again. Darting as quietly as possible, Ysabeau eased down the stairs, following the sounds.

Philippe stood there, sheathing his sword dressed in full uniform, his hat in hand.

"Philippe?" she whispered, placing her stick down and running into his arms. "Why are you dressed so formal?"

"Mathieu is correct, though it is my first interest to protect you, I have allowed the better part of me to stray." He rocked her, his chin upon her head.

"No, Mathieu is rabid with jealousy. You see, when I first moved here, he captured my heart in hopes that we were not related, but Andrién insisted we both came from him though from two different mères. I was crushed, but always held onto the secret hope that he was not. It was not until recently that Mathieu came upon the missive—" She remembered his distorted anger, and broke.

"That there was hope he was not related, yes, I know and it is fine with me, Ysabeau. I will not pass judgment. Like I said, mon amour," he dipped his head until their eyes met, "I have loved you since I first saw you."

"I was only two then, how could you?"

"Have you forgotten?"

His voice so tender, so soft, so heart wrenching, Ysabeau readily cried that she could only shake her head. After the knot melted away, she forced through a husky voice, "It is my spirit and endurance through such trails that you have fallen over."

"Oui, and everything else. I will take my leave now. You have but to say my name and I will be here."

"No," she shook her head, raised to her toes, and clutched his shoulders so that the material bunched within her fists, "do not leave me, Philippe. My brother is drunken with nothing more than jealousy. He will get over it. Please."

"There is something I must see to as well, I apologize." He brushed his lips against hers, his eyes not closing. Neither hers. "And I know I love you."

"Please, please do not go, Philippe. I love you." More tears pushed their way through and she giggled with a sigh. She admitted it! "Yes, I do."