. . . As the musketeers dismounted, a young boy ran forward from the stable to help them straighten their mounts, unsaddle them and brush them before the men took shelter from the inclement weather.

The drenched men entered the warmth of the main hall, and he shut them in, making their wet clothes cling closer to their bodies. Aramis, with his usual poise, found rooms where they exchanged their wet clothes for clean breeches, tunics, and doublets. They hid their musketeer cloaks deep in their backpacks. The decision had been unanimous: keep their true identities hidden as best they could. No more advertising that they were musketeers.

“Looks like they’ve located our good friend in common,” Porthos commented as he took a sip of his drink, and both Athos and d’Artagnan looked up to see the tall, well-groomed, dark-haired man enter the room. Aramis’ dark, gold-flecked eyes surveyed his surroundings as if he were searching. One of the maids approached Aramis as Porthos commented on Aramis’s arrival. She offered the man a wink and a smile as she walked up to him and appraised him appreciatively for a long time.

“Can I get you something?” she inquired with a cute pout. “Perhaps a glass of our best beer to start.”

“No. Thank you, mamis’elle. I was looking for someone,” she answered with a charming courtesy that was unique to him.

The wench leaned closer to him, allowing him a perfect view of creamy breasts exposed by a low-cut bodice. She momentarily lost his train of thought when the tantalizing sight of a shapely woman caught his attention. With one of her slender hands she touched the crucifix that hung around her neck. With another he practiced for her he asked, “Are you a priest?”

“Oh no,” he finally answered. “I have not yet returned to the seminary to complete my vows.” He grasped her small hand and gently removed the crucifix from her. Still, his hand remained locked in hers as he struggled to find an elegant way out of the situation. Wenching was rapidly losing his charm; there was no emotion in it anymore. No sense of accomplishment or purpose. He wasn’t in the mood for that now either. Hunger and fatigue weighed heavily on him tonight.

“Well, that’s Aramis for you. Always attracting beautiful women without even trying,” Porthos commented dryly before setting his drink aside and jumping to his feet to the sound of fast-paced music wafting through the room. air. Lustfully, he grabbed one of her waitresses by her waist and began to dance with her. Kissing her deeply, he spun her around the room, enjoying being the center of much attention.

“Looks like you and I are going to be left out of tonight’s festivities. Or perhaps you’d like to follow suit.” Athos made an encompassing gesture as he addressed d’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan cast a wary glance at his remaining companion. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Another babysitter for me, huh. I guess someone needs to take care of Aramis since he’s been detained.” Athos stopped the next words of his friend with a firm shake of his head. “It’s not to worry, My friendI have limited myself to a small bottle of wine tonight. I’m not in danger of mindless drinking or even getting drunk.”

“That’s good to know,” a strange voice intruded on the conversation, and both men turned their attention to the young man who was sitting in a nearby chair. “Because I think his friend might need his help,” the young man told them, pointing at Aramis. “I think he maybe he needs some help separating himself from that pretty wench who has become quite clingy.”

“We really wouldn’t want to interrupt our friend without his consent,” Athos commented in a voice carefully calculated to ward off the intruder. Almost rude, though no one would have dared say it to Athos’s face, except perhaps Porthos or Aramis, and d’Artagnan, given some time.

“Well, I think you’d benefit from gathering your friends before I make a nasty little scene that I’m sure we’d all rather avoid.” The young man was not at all intimidated by Athos’s insinuation.

“Caramba“Good offense, Christophe,” d’Artagnan said quietly, barely refraining from addressing the woman disguised as Laurel. What are you doing here?

“I don’t think that’s a conversation we want to have in this room. It would be a bit difficult to explain things to the satisfaction of all the viewers, wouldn’t it?”

Athos turned his attention to d’Artagnan and told him to go get Porthos out. After d’Artagnan had wriggled out of his chair and braved the crowd surrounding the burly musketeer, Athos allowed himself a moment to assess the woman who called herself Laurel.

He would be… she had actually tracked them down, and they didn’t even realize it. Which might well mean they hadn’t eluded the Cardinal’s Guard. On the other hand, the cardinal’s guards were quite inept. Laurel anticipated any further action on Athos’s part by jumping to her feet and proceeding to inform him that since he was so reluctant, she would have to go find Aramis herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back for you,” she decreed herself and danced off to “rescue” Aramis.

Before he could stop her, she had inserted her body into the small space between the pair and forced Aramis’s attention to her. “Your friends have sent me to find you. It’s important, and I’m afraid it’s a matter that needs to be discussed now and in private,” Laurel said, dodging the waitress with ease and, unbeknownst to her, saving Aramis the trouble. to figure out how to get rid of the girl.

“You’re supposed to be in Paris under the protection of Lord Treville,” Athos scolded Laurel almost as if she were a recalcitrant child, and her three companions watched, disapproval evident in their rigid postures.

“I told you before that I am the only one who has the ability to contact my father, and that is a vital part of this mission. And,” she said raising her voice so the men couldn’t shut her down, condescending sons. from . . . “I told you that I have a lot of experience in the field of espionage and that I won’t be left behind. I won’t be left behind again either.”

“Please, Lady Laurel,” d’Artagnan interrupted, “we do not want you to destroy your life and your reputation.” We don’t want you to get killed on a dangerous mission. Can’t you go to a safer place?

With those words, Laurel lost her composure and lashed out at the young man and his friends. “Perhaps all of you should let me be the judge of what is and is not safe and appropriate for me. Who are you three to tell me that I am safer in Paris, near the cardinal whom both my father and I do not know?” We only despise? but also mistrust? Knowing that, you still have the nerve to tell me what’s safe for me.” She paused to catch her breath, her eyes gleaming with defiance. “I can take good care of myself, as good as any of you. I am a very good horseman and an excellent fencer, not to mention that they could lose the cardinal’s guard, but they could not lose me”. . . .