The Spanish Lady Returns (A Three Musketeers Fanfiction)

Summer, 1626 Part 2

Porthos was the first of his friends that he met when he returned to headquarters. Any idea the large man had on continuing to ignore the young Gascon vanished when Porthos saw the expression on the younger man's face. It only took the words "Constance is ill" and Porthos forcefully steered the young man to the closest chair.

One bottle of wine later, and five minutes with Porthos out of sight, an apologetic musketeer approached D'Artagnan. Treville had altered his orders: the Gascon was to remain in Paris with Porthos and Aramis. Athos alone of the Inseparables was to leave the city.

D'Artagnan couldn't bring himself to thank his friend for having approached their leader for him. Especially given that neither Aramis or Porthos said a word of farewell to Athos when the king's escort left at dawn. Standing in the heat that was oppressive even at the early hour, D'Artagnan waited until he couldn't see any of the musketeers before he turned to go on his watch.

The first moment he could, D'Artagnan made his way to the Mandeville house. Monsieur Mandeville had left with court as he had planned. Very few of the servants remained, though whether they had been taken along or had fled for fear of catching the illness was anyone's guess. Still, there was a maid to open the door to his knock.

His request to enter was refused and he was about to force his way in when Doña Maria appeared behind the maid. A single word sent the young girl scampering away and the Spanish woman stepped outside the house, taking care to close the door firmly behind her. D'Artagnan pulled his hat off his head.

"Your Constance is fighting," Maria informed him, getting straight to the point. She waved her face with her fan, looking out at the unusually quiet street. "Though she did herself no favor by wandering around as ill as she was."

"She will be all right, won't she?"

Maria sighed, meeting his eyes. "If she does not recover, it will not be from any lack of effort on her or my part," she answered.

Not happy with the answer, D'Artagnan nonetheless nodded his understanding. He could remember how every effort had been made to save everyone who'd fallen ill when he was young, and still many lives had been lost. He shoved those thoughts away, knowing that dwelling on death would do no one any good.

"Who went with the king?" Maria asked.

"Treville assigned Athos as the leader, and he took most of the regiment," D'Artagnan responded, surprised by the question. "I was supposed to have gone along."

Something changed in the woman's eyes that he couldn't explain fully. "Then, they are still fighting?"

"They're not talking," D'Artagnan admitted, knowing exactly which 'they' she was referring to. "I almost expected Aramis to challenge Athos to a duel over the whole thing."

Shaking her head, Maria frowned. "Men and their stupid pride will be the death of me," she muttered, her tone an odd mixture of fondness and exasperation. D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "And yes, you have the same stupid pride. I will have much to say to those three the next time I see them!"

"I thought you didn't want to see them until they resolved this themselves."

"At that time, I was under the naïve assumption that their friendship would mean more to them than a disagreement over a mission long past," Maria responded. She reached out and put her hand on the his shoulder. "Try not to worry over Constance, D'Artagnan," she said, her tone soft with compassion. "Every care is being taken. I swear it."

D'Artagnan nodded, unable to trust his voice. Offering a slight smile, the woman stepped back and reentered the house. Putting his hat back on, the young Gascon set off to return to his fellow musketeers, feeling no more reassured than when he'd arrived.