Musketeer's Daughter:Unanswered Riddle

Chapter 2: Stolen Victory

Normally, the sound of Dupré’s heavy hooves against the soil gave her joy. Not this night. Mathieu had ruined the moment with his cruel words of truth. Truth that she had been denying . . .

She yanked hard the reigns, sending the destrier to a sudden halt. Ysabeau’s trained legs braced for the forward impact and eased her momentum by turning the horse aside. The dark hills swallowed her haughty home with only starlight as her guide. Heat pressed against her cheeks, an odd contrast with the cool air. She clutched her hair and forced it from the knot with a scream.

“A girl I shall be no longer!” Ysabeau raised the hidden dagger from her sash and sawed at the locks at her neck. She cried with every stroke; anger and frustration and vengeance racing hot in her veins. As the last of the lengthy strands floated to Dupré’s hooves, she raised her fists in triumph.

Another voice, strong and gruff, drowned the sound of her glee. Filled with recklessness than caution, Ysabeau scanned the embracing dark of the forest. “Who goes?” she shouted.

Silence greeted her ears. She held Dupré still, her breath scarce. After waiting a few more moments, another sound greeted her ears. Like the soft mewling of a kitten in the chilled breeze.

“Hello?” She called, never needing to direct Dupré. That was what she loved best about him; he somehow knew what she wanted and where she wanted to go. He trotted lightly along the soft loam until it changed to thick foliage. She soon spied slivers of blinding flames through the tangles of trees. A cook fire!

Without another thought, Dupré anticipated Ysabeau’s desire and sprinted forward as quiet as could be. Peering through a gap between low branches, what she thought to be a cook fire was the dancing light within a lantern.

“Hello?”

Again, the deep voice of a man sounded, and again, it was followed by a soft whimpering.

“I can hear—” she bit her tongue when she discovered a rotund man bent over a watering well, a lantern on its rim. The moon reflected the surface of his balding head which glistened with sweat. She saw that he was half in the dark with a girl not much older than she, struggling in his arms. Angry heat seared up her spine, and she screwed her eyes into a scowl. “Curse you, Mathieu!” she hissed, regretting to have lost her sword. She was about to find out if the stick would do well in its place.

With a mighty roar, Ysabeau charged into the small clearing. Dupré added to her visage with a wild toss of his mane and flared eyes. The man whirled around, drool glossing his lips, beard unkempt. Eyes wide with shock.

“Get yourself off her!” she commanded while brandishing her sword-like stick.

The girl wailed, scrambling away like a frightened mouse into a nearby lodging hidden by trees.

“How dare. You’ve cost me my night!” The man’s gaze screwed into two small slits beneath wiry brows. His sunken eyes ran along her body. “You are not the King’s guard. I should have you hanged for trespassing!” He whipped out a hidden dagger.

“Oh, but what little you know of the King’s guard,” Ysabeau said in a cool voice, dismounting her horse with one easy kick. She tossed her cassock from her shoulder, the flow catching a graceful billow behind her back. The man’s arrogant gaze widened with alarm as it traveled from her boots to her face. “Shall we dance?” She flicked her stick upward, the motion sending a puff of air into his face.