Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 40: Sleep

"He knows my appearance, my fighting skills, Dupré!" Ysabeau cried out as she raced through the night in futility. He was several paces ahead, and in the darkness, her dagger would never find its target nor would she catch up. If he traveled straight to the château, he would have others to conceal him. He would announce her to them and they would destroy her. Her only hope was to . . .

Another brilliant idea entered her head and she wondered if it would be folly to try as she hoped.

"Oh, Ysabeau, from one thing to the next, you never know what will be amiss!" She slowed Dupré and groaned from aching. "I cannot ride the entire night without stop, but must rest, boy."

A sharp sound stabbed the night and she came to abrupt attention. There, in the deep shadows, was a stable and beside that, the inn.

"Dupré, it appears we have found ourselves a place for the night."

She doubted the assassin would stay here. He would be risking much. She angled her destrier toward the stables and slapped his rump. He blared and with a little leap, trotted to the stable. Dupré tossed his head and pawed the dirt just as a stable boy walked out with a bucket in hand, a lantern in the other. He paused, looked left and right, and set his burden down.

"Whoa, where did you come from?" He ran his hands over Dupré's nose. "Where are your reins, your saddle? Are you lost?" Ysabeau darted around on silent feet and sidled to the stables. "You are sure belle." When the boy searched the forest again, she ducked into the stables and flew to the furthest stall in the back.

Blessed be her day, but it was empty! With a sound of an owl she mastered, she called her destrier. Dupré nickered, and trotted into the stall and situated himself in the very one Ysabeau hid within. The boy not too far.

"Good boy, Dupré!" she whispered and backed into the deepest corner and covered herself with the piles of hay.

"Most likely one of our customers forgot to turn you out, but will come for you in the morning. Very well, you belle, I shall keep you, but will have to set you free if no one claims you." The boy closed the stall and latched it. She could tell he had gone by the distance of his whistle. When all fell into cricket song, she knew she was alone.

"Now let us sleep! Animals always wake before people, so departure will be easy enough."

But sleep evaded her as events past and future haunted her every thought. The fact that her next disguise depended wholly on its preservation from the time she left up 'til now, agonized her. It was her only way. Surely this dispatcher belonged to the King and would recognize her with all her trappings? Sleep did come, but not easyily. Morning woke her with birdsong and chilled, the animals stirred and with them, Ysabeau. She slept light and expected an attack every moment, but managed to feel rested.

"Dupré?" She climbed to her boots and placed her hand upon him. He turned his head with a blink. "Let us ride."

The morning was fresh and clean as it slapped her face with sharp stings. The thoughts of others being on the lookout for a young musketeer at the gates festered within her. She would need to layer her disguise!

Ysabeau slowed to a cantor and heard a rushing stream. She dismounted and ran for the shore and dabbed the black mud in artful strokes along her upper lip. "Oh, Dupré! This smells horrible!" After gathering her breath and wiping tears, she applied more to her chin as was the fashion, and thickened her eyebrows. If she wore her hat low, no one would know the color of her hair. She shook off her clothes and picked they hay away. When there were no dust patches, she smiled.

"Time to go."

The Château was barely alive with colorful dames' gowns and their counterpart gentlemen. Guards strolled here and there and an occasional musketeer. If she held her head high and smiled and flirted with the ladies, she should not be set apart. As predicted and as before, she earned the admiration of the courtiers. The guards kept vigilance, eyeing her suspiciously, but once studying her face, turned away disinterested.