Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 52: Gone

Marguerite sent a glance of distress at Ysabeau. And she recognized it as the same wild fear from the night Dupré had nickered deep in the night at her mère's cottage. "Ysabeau, please give my regards to Andrién. I shall return in but a moment."

Her heart crashed cold and her blood roared loud. Ysabeau heard the shriek of a thousand voices within, both of fear and fury.

"Monsieur," Ysabeau said before she realized what it was she was about to say, "you will do no such thing."

"Ah, worry not, mademoiselle. The many dames vie for my attentions, I will dance with you yet when I am through with this one." He winked at her, sending her a dashing grin. The man bowed his head, wrapped his hand around Marguerite's upper arm, and walked.

"Wait!" Ysabeau's instincts fired. Something was amiss and she would not stand idly by. But he increased his speed, taking her mère toward an entirely different set of doors. "That is not the way." Marguerite shot her a panicked glance before vanishing. "Ma mère!"

"What is it, Ysabeau?" Philippe's heels echoed as he dashed for her, his face creased with concern.

"Oh, Philippe!" She met him half the way and threw her arms about him. "He took her, Francis de Ventadour!"

"Who?" Philippe scanned the château, his face severe.

She threw her hands in the air with a hiss. "Francis de Ventadour, do you not know him?"

"Are you sure?" Philippe gripped her shoulders and shook.

"Of course, that is what he said." Irritated with his inability to comprehend, she placed her hand upon his chest and nudged. "Wait, why do you ask?"

He released her and took a short step away, retrieving his sword. "Because, Ysabeau, there is no Francis de Ventadour, lest Gilbert de Lévis de Ventadour has given his château to someone other than his son."

"What have I done?" She lifted her skirts, her emotion akin to disjointed horror.

"Tell me where they have gone?" He licked his lips and scanned the vicinity, his movements frantic.

"Follow me!"

"No, Ysabeau, wait!"

But she gathered speed and with every step, courage. Ysabeau berated herself for allowing the man to abduct her mère. She would find him, kill the creature, and rescue Marguerite. That was, if he had not . . . She sobbed, the loss of her mother much too horrid for her to entertain, and increased her speed.

Philippe caught her up and stopped her by blocking her pathway. "I know the way. I insist you remain here where it is safe."

"Safe, Philippe?" She arched her brow, incredulous. "Safe? Where the Mother-Queen has her many eyes watching? Where we were discovered? Where—"

"Very well." He straightened, his voice urgent. "The more time we spend here discussing—"

But Ysabeau launched through the doors. It was dark, quiet. Sounds echoed and she paused until Philippe entered from behind her. "Where could they be?"

He did not speak, but clasped her hand and lunged deeper into the château in silence. After a tedious network of turns, descends, and more turns, Ysabeau heard voices. "Do not speak, ma chérie, we are treading upon dangerous ground."

They paused, and Ysabeau recognized Marguerite's whimper. "Philippe!" she whispered, clutching his sword arm. "Please."

"Wait here." His whisper barely a whisper, he moved forward. Before he took another step, Philippe grunted and crumpled to the floor.