Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 49: Ally

There was no coach in which the ladies could travel in comfort, but that mattered little compared to the mission they both set out to do. Andrién was to be put to death and they rode with the greatest of urgency to Fontainebleau.

Ysabeau did not dress as a musketeer this time, but as per the request of her mère, dressed as a lady. Beneath her skirts, she hid a few daggers. In her corset, a few more. She felt naked without her sword, but in the château, there were many. She would fare just fine.

It took her aback how Marguerite decided to face her darkest fear and go to Fontainebleau itself where the King resided. And the Queen. Where the very life she dreaded. What plans did she have that would extricate Andrién? Ysabeau held her breath, did not speak. The femme had kept quiet as well, her face hard and well-guarded.

Ysabeau did not fear any man as it was, riding through the countryside. She was a warrior and would fight and she fought well. Beneath her cloak, she did carry a crossbow. In case. Thankfully, they did arrived without incident. But for Marguerite. She doubled over, her face coated with perspiration and trembling.

"Are you not feeling well?" Ysabeau led Dupré to the stable boy.

Marguerite leaned into the wall, and shook her head. "Long," she gasped, "long has it been since I have walked these very gardens, this land. It is as if no time has passed. I am terrified, Ysabeau." She lifted her eyes. "I am terrified for what I am about to do. For what the King and Queen might do."

"What? What is it?" She marched over and helped to upright her. "I am here, I will not let any harm befall—"

"No. I must face Henri on my own. Without you. It must be done." She lifted her face, closed her eyes, and breathed deep.

"Ma mère, you are frightening me."

She smiled, opened her eyes and clasped Ysabeau's hands to her bosom. "Dearest enfant, you have taken the brunt of my cowardice and stood for everything I should have. It is time I rise from your shadow and shine. I am doing this for you, too. For us." Marguerite embraced her, her fingers soft along her back. "I love you, Ysabeau. The last time I was here, you were in my arms fast asleep, like an angel." She placed her lips upon her forehead. "You are my angel."

"No." Ysabeau's gut turned to fiery liquid and pooled at her feet. "I will not lose everyone within a fortnight. Ma mère, please, please do not do this."

"I must, it is my right, fille." Marguerite grazed her knuckles along Ysabeau's cheek, tears brightening her gaze. "When I am killed, please take with you this very moment. My desire for forgiveness"—the pooling tears finally gave way to a little stream down each cheek—"for your compassion as well as love." She pulled Ysabeau into her trembling embrace. "I love you, please forgive me my neglect, harm, abuse."

"No, I will not if you should die, ma mère. I will if you live." She dared not push her away, the feeling of love from Marguerite everything she had always pined for. "Please, do not do this. I will find a way to free him as he did me. We will—."

"Come," she moved away, "let us seek out the King."

Ysabeau watched the femme wobble away, but before she could reach the exit, she toppled to the ground. The stable boys ran to her, but Ysabeau was faster. She lifted Marguerite to her lap, and removed the stray hair into her headdress.

"Ma mère, you are not fit to face him. Rest first."

Marguerite's face had become ashen, and she shook her head. "No, I must . . . I must." Her voice a soft caress to Ysabeau's ear.