The Spanish Lady Returns (A Three Musketeers Fanfiction)

Spain, 1626 Part 3

The next morning, a shady-looking man delivered a small chest of fancy clothes to the inn. When evening fell, the trio of musketeers prepared for the ball. Of them all, only Athos seemed to have no problems with the elaborate dress and was the first one done.

Fidgeting in his stiff, uncomfortable outfit, D'Artagnan followed Athos and Giles out to the front of the inn. They ignored the incredulous looks sent in their direction by the passersby. "People wear these things on purpose?" the young man asked in disbelief. He held the gold mask up to his face. "This is ridiculous."

"We have an invitation to get in, but how are we going to get there?" Giles demanded, still out of favor with the whole idea.

"I imagine it's been taken care of," Athos answered vaguely. He nodded towards the street.

An ornate carriage was coming towards them, a very old man driving. It stopped in front of them and a masked woman leaned out. "Well, you three clean up well," Maria commented, sounding resigned. The black half mask hid the healing wound on her face. "I hope you know what you're doing, Athos, because I still think this is crazy."

"You and I are in agreement, madame," Giles answered immediately. He added grudgingly, "You judged our sizes very well."

"It's a talent," Maria answered dismissively. She gestured to the carriage. "Will this do, Athos? Or do your tastes go to something a bit more elaborate?"

Not answering, Athos studied the well-built vehicle. He didn't recognize the crest on the door. "This isn't your brother's," he said.

"It was my husband's," Maria explained, pulling her head back in. "Well? Are we going or not?"

"For someone who didn't want to go in the first place, you're being a bit demanding," D'Artagnan remarked, taking advantage of being friends with two men who he presumed were her close friends. He was the first of the musketeers to climb in. He sat opposite of Maria. Giles took the seat next to him, leaving Athos to be beside the woman. "Don't you want to help us?"

"Of course I do!" Maria answered, a note of protest in her voice. She hesitated as she smoothed her scarlet red gown. "Its complicated."

"Un-complicate it," Athos advised as the carriage jolted forward.

The only way they knew she was frowning was from the look in her eyes. "Its not important," she finally said. She turned her eyes to the passing scenery. "I should not have come back to Spain. That's all."

"I thought you came back because your life was in danger in Paris," D'Artagnan commented.

"Yes, and sometimes it seems I would have been better off letting my husband's brother kill me."

Silence filled the carriage following that dark statement. Athos frowned at this very different Maria. Angry, he'd experienced for himself. Merry, he'd witnessed in her dealings with Porthos. Sad, he'd also seen. Witty came out when she spoke with Aramis. He could think of many adjectives to describe the Maria he'd come to know in Paris, but depressed was not one.

"That would have been a mistake," D'Artagnan said, breaking the silence. "Letting yourself die in Paris, I mean." He flushed as everyone looked at him. "Well, think about it. Aramis and Porthos would have both vowed revenge. They would have gone off and put themselves in danger, probably without getting leave from M. de Treville. They would have come back to no job and been a thousand times worse than they were after you had to leave Paris."

Tilting her head, Maria studied him from behind her mask. "Worse? How were they when I left?" she asked in interest.

"Terrible! I'd never seen them so drunk, and that's saying something!" D'Artagnan answered emphatically. "I didn't think they'd ever snap out of it. And I don't think they have yet. They just go through the motions of life. Porthos has a new mistress and Aramis is talking about taking orders again."