Marrying the Musketeer (42 page)

“Pierre?”
 
The voice came again, clearer this time.
 
A soft hand fell on his shoulder, not the rough grasp of a guard yanking him to his feet but a soft touch like a caress.
 
He shut his eyes.
 
If this was a delusion, he would give in to it.
 
If by going mad, he could have Courtney in his presence all the time, then go mad he would, and gladly.

The hand on his shoulder shook him slightly.
 
“Pierre.
 
Look at me.”

With a great reluctance he opened his eyes.
 
It did not destroy his delusion, but strengthened it.
 
He could swear that Courtney was standing before him in the garb of a peasant, shaking him awake.

He held out one hand to her.
 
She felt as real to his touch as if she were standing before him in earnest.
 
He marveled at the hold his madness had over him already, that he could feel flesh and blood where there was only air.
 
“Courtney,” he whispered to the mirage in front of him.
 
“You look so like my Courtney you could almost fool me into believing you are real.
 
Come and kiss me.”

The mirage in front of him made an exasperated noise and knelt down by his side.
 
“Manacles first,” she said.
 
“Once you are out of prison I will kiss you as often as you like, if you are still in the mood to ask me.”

The mirage had come to rescue him?
 
How very practical of it, though he would rather dream of kissing Courtney than of escaping.

The mirage took a file out of her pocket and started to file through his shackles.
 
He watched in astonishment as first one shackle and then the other fell off his wrists.
 
They were really off, too.
 
He was not just dreaming it.
 
He stretched out his arms in front of him and they felt lighter than they had for weeks.
 
He stood up and tried to walk.
 
He was no longer chained to the wall.

Either his madness had taken a complete hold of him, or the mirage was real.
 
He looked at it again, unsure.
 
“You are not a dream?”

Courtney, if it really was her after all, took his hand in hers and pulled him along after her.
 
“I’ve come to rescue you, you dolt.
 
Now get moving, or we shall be caught before we even get out of your cell.”

Without another word he followed her through the door and into the corridor outside.
 
If she was real, he could do nothing else.
 
If she was an illusion of his disordered senses, he would still rather be with her in his madness than without her and still have all his reason intact.

His steps were clumsy and loud as he sought to keep up with her.
 
“Hush,” she whispered at him, pressing his hand to emphasize the need for silence.

He tried to hush, but his legs were impossible to control.
 
Brother Jacques, God damn his evil soul, had racked him so bad a few days ago, or was it weeks ago now? that it was hard for him to stand, let alone walk.

The light from outside made his eyes water.
 
He did not know how long it had been since he had last seen the sun.
 
He followed Courtney outside, the sweet taste of freedom starting to fill his mouth with hope.

Courtney pulled Pierre along as fast as he could manage.
 
They must have been at him already, for his legs seemed stiff and clumsy.
 
She wanted to kill the bastards who had racked him, but first she must get him away to safety.

He stopped short when she opened the door to the yard, blinking like an owl.
 
She gave him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light and then pulled him on again.
 

She fell to the ground and scrabbled at the grate with anxious fingers.
 
It was stiff and unyielding as if it had been bolted in place from underneath.
 
“Help me open it,” she whispered at Pierre.
 
Below it lay the sewers, and their safety.

He bent to help her, pulling at the iron bars with all the strength he could muster, but it was no use.
 
The grating would not move.

She sat back on her heels with a groan of despair.
 
Freedom was so near and yet so far away.

A cackle of laughter sounded and she looked up into the face of her guide, surrounded by guards, their weapons at the ready, coming towards them on silent feet.
 
She had no weapon save her dagger and Pierre was in no fit state to fight.
 
She looked around wildly, but there were guards on every side.
 
There was no way to fight and nowhere to run.
 
They were caught.

“I told yous no one returned from the Bastille,” her guide said with a snigger.
 
“At least not through the sewers.
 
They pays me well to make sure of it.”

She looked blankly into the faces of the guards as they dragged her and Pierre to their feet once more.
 
They were both lost.
 
She had been betrayed.

“Don’t take it personal, like,” her false guide called out after her as the guards hauled them out of the yard and back into the dark, dank corridors of the prison.
 
“It’s a hard way to make a living, but I has got to eat, and them sewer rats is too nimble for me old bones nowadays and thems bites is septic...”

The door clanged shut behind them and shut out the rest of his excuses.
 
She wondered as she was hauled along whether she would ever see the light of day again.
 
On the whole, she thought probably not.

The guards threw them roughly on the floor of a cell and left them there with a grim laugh.
 
“You know what the punishment is for helping a prisoner escape or trying to escape yourself?” one of them asked with glee.

Courtney looked blankly up at him from where she lay spreadeagled on her stomach on the floor.
 
“No.”
 
She did not want to know.
 
Her imagination was already showing her scenes of unspeakable torment.

The guard grinned, showing a row of broken yellow teeth.
 
“You’ll find out soon enough, I promise you.”

His hand on the door, he turned back to them with one last word.
 
“Don’t kid yourself you’ll be able to handle it – a strong young man like you are.
 
It’s worse even than you could possibly imagine, I’ll warrant you.
 
Specially now that Brother Jacques is here.
 
Do you want to know what he specializes in?”

The key turned in the lock behind him, the noise thankfully masking the answer she did not want to hear.
 
The laughter of the guards echoed hollowly down the corridor as they retreated.

At least the sight of the sun and the few minutes of fresh air had seemed to bring Pierre back to his senses again.
 
He sat up on his heels, gazing at her in wonderment.
 
“It really is you.
 
I thought I was dreaming.”

Courtney wanted to weep at the destruction of her hopes.
 
“Yes, it’s me, for all the good it may do you,” she said, rolling over on to her back and sitting up again, her back turned towards him.
 
She didn’t have the heart to face him any more.
 
Inside, her heart felt empty and cold.
 
She had failed.
 
Now she and Pierre would both die.

She took the dagger out of her shirt and turned it over in her hands, testing the sharp edge of the blade against her thumb.
 
She may as well cut her own throat right now, before they discovered her weapon and took even that choice away from her.
 
She shuddered to think what the morning, and Brother Jacques, held for her.

“Don’t do it.”

She looked up.
 
Pierre was standing in front of her, shaking a little.
 
“What business is it of yours what I do?”

“Don’t do it.”

“Why not?
 
I am going to die anyway, at their hands if not at my own.
 
This way at least I can die with dignity and in my own time.”

He sat down opposite her, his bended knees touching hers.
 
“While there is life there is hope.
 
You have taught me that.”

She stared at him without saying a word.
 
Hope was one commodity she was all out of herself.
 
How could she have given him any when she had none to give?

“When you left me here the first time, I would have happily killed myself if I could have.
 
I had nothing on earth to live for if even your forgiveness was denied me.
 
I did not die even in the torture chamber, though I longed for death more than anything.
 
Still I clung to life, my body persisting in life in the face of my mind’s desire to die, though it lived only to suffer more pain.”

She could not see that his life had gained him anything beyond more pain.
 
“Feel free to use my knife when I have done.
 
I shall not be needing it again.”

“You do not understand what I am trying to say to you.
 
I am glad now that I lived, so I could see you one more time.”

She gestured around her at the dank walls of their cell.
 
“I could have wished it was under different circumstances, but I, too, am glad to see you again.
 
My conscience would give me no peace that I had left you here to die.
 
I should not have left a dog here – and humans have souls that dogs do not.”

“I love you, Courtney.”
 
He gave a short laugh.
 
“I did not think I would ever have the chance to tell you that.
 
Indeed, I wish I never had seen you again and that you had not come to save me.
 
Better by far that you had stayed well away from this fell place and lived happily with our son, forgetting about the man who had hurt you so badly.
 
You risked your life to come for me, little as I deserved such love.
 
I am sorry that I have brought you to this.
 
More sorry than I can say.”

She shrugged.
 
He had no need to torment himself with guilt for her decisions.
 
“It was my own choice to return.
 
If I had not been betrayed, we would have been safe by now.”

“If you had not been betrayed...”
 
He rubbed the back of one hand over his eyes.
 
“That is the story of your life, is it not?
 
If you had not been betrayed so many times, how different life would have been for you.
 
If I had not started off the pattern of your life by being the first traitor.”

She stared at the cold stone walls that surrounded her on all sides.
 
“Do not speak of such things.
 
I have paid you back in far more evil coin by condemning you to die here.”

He took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him.
 
“I took the chance when I chose to become a rebel to my King.
 
I knew if I were caught, then I would die for it.”

She turned her head away.
 
She could not face him, knowing what she had done to him.
 
“No, you did not so choose of your own free will.
 
I played on your hatred of the King to make you take this choice.
 
I did not think the rebellion would amount to much, but it was worth the chance to me.
 
You were to be the handy scapegoat if things went badly. Like a coward, I rode off and left you to be cut to pieces by the guards sent after us to take us.
 
I thought you had died then.
 
I meant for you to die as vengeance for my father, sent to the Bastille.”

He stroked her shoulder with one hand, tentatively, as if not sure whether she would turn him away or not.
 
“They were sent to take us alive if they could, so they did not kill me then are there.
 
The only reason I’m still alive at all is their desire to root out traitors.
 
They want to know who my accomplices were.
 
They will not let me die until I have told them what I want to know, or until they have broken me down so far that there is no sense left in me.”