All for One (14 page)

“He also employs spies of every nationality,” Aristide pointed out. “The letter we intercepted could have been one of his agents reporting back to him, though it was vague enough not to allege a specific crime.”

“A smart agent wouldn’t put every detail into words but rather hint that they had information,” Christian mused. “If that is the case, the agent will eventually report his findings to the Cardinal in person.”

“So we need to follow the Cardinal, then,” Perrin declared, vowing not to repeat the mistakes that ensued when they had followed the ambassador.

“And get yourselves killed in the process,”
M.
de Tréville interrupted. “Unless… it needn’t always be the same people keeping him in sight. At court, the ambassador and I can watch him, and there’s nothing to stop a few musketeers—different ones each day—from having a pint or two in an inn near his
hôtel
.”

“Perhaps we would be lucky enough to spot his messenger by such means,” Aristide agreed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “’Twould serve us to have Benoît join in such a watch, if by chance the man or one of his countrymen should visit the Cardinal again.”

“What reason would he have to mingle with other musketeers?” Perrin objected, though perhaps he should encourage anything that took the blacksmith out of Aristide’s company.

“Sparring lessons,” Léandre suggested with a grin. “He’s said himself he’s scarce held a sword before. Any in the company would be pleased to assist in training him.”

Though the thought of anyone but himself spending time at Benoît’s side ignited his jealousy—an emotion he knew was fully unwarranted—Aristide had to admit the idea was sound. “It would be well to learn to defend yourself,” he assented, his voice hinting at none of his internal unease. “Should whoever the plotters are recognize you, they might well decide to prevent you from speaking out against them.”

“As if I know enough to do them any harm,” Benoît scoffed, “but I will learn whatever you are willing to teach me. The exercise will do me good, though I did promise to help
M.
Maurisset in the forge as well. I would not want to be foresworn.”

“There should be opportunities to do both,”
M.
de Tréville agreed. “After all, you would eventually become recognizable as well if you spend too much time in the same place. The Cardinal is far more likely to be interested in these three after their escapade yesterday in the park, but you may well come to his notice, too, especially if the guards from yesterday see you near their headquarters.”

“And I will keep my eyes and ears open at court,” Christian offered, “and ask Teodoro and Esteban and Javier to do the same. It never ceases to amaze me what loose-lipped servants let fall when they think no one of importance is around.”

“Though we cannot afford to ignore the Cardinal, we should not overlook other possibilities,” Aristide conceded. “Your Excellency has only to send word if you have need of us.” Privately, he wondered at the absence of the Englishman’s bodyguard. With a man like Teodoro Ciéza de Vivar at his back, the ambassador would have little need of other protection.

Christian smiled. “I will certainly send word should I discover anything. I have found my companion well able to see to my other needs.”

Benoît flushed hotly for while the words were simple enough at face value, he knew there were levels of meaning there far beyond simple.

Aristide’s eyebrow rose at the comment, the veiled innuendo merely confirming his own suspicion. It certainly explained the ferocity with which the Spaniard had defended the younger man, though he also suspected the ambassador was more capable than many might credit who based their opinions on appearance alone. “I am sure that is true,” he murmured, inclining his head. “If there is nothing more,
mon capitaine
, we should resume our duties.”

“We ought to find Benoît a sword, if we are to begin training him to fight,” Léandre observed, the unspoken implications rolling off his back. It was nothing to him if the ambassador slept with his bodyguard; the Englishman, while attractive, carried too many complications with him to appeal to the musketeer. Nor would he care to face down a jealous Ciéza de Vivar at the point of a blade.

“Then it’s off to
M.
Maurisset,” Perrin declared. “He’ll have one for us, and you can tell him where you’ll be when you’re not helping him in the forge. Who will you send to keep an eye on the Cardinal first,
M.
de Tréville? We should introduce Benoît to them so they can begin his lessons as quickly as possible.”

“Aristide, I know I’ve worn you out with the new recruits, but do you think you could stand to train one more?”
M.
de Tréville suggested, having noticed the glances Aristide tried to hide.

Certain his incredulous stare would give his all-too-astute commander even more to speculate upon, Aristide quickly schooled his features to impassivity. “Of course,
mon capitaine
,” he murmured quietly, while inwardly cursing the added hours of enforced closeness such training would entail. Benoît’s skills were far below those of even his rawest recruit, most of whom had spent some time in lesser regiments before being granted the honor of joining the Royal Musketeers. It might take days, even weeks of extensive instruction and practice to bring him to a point where he could even drill with the other recruits. Aristide could only pray Benoît was a quick learner.

“I wouldn’t want to take you away from your regular duties,” Benoît demurred immediately. “I know I’m not truly musketeer material. Surely someone less busy could spare me a few hours here and there.”

“Training new recruits is part of my duties,” Aristide replied, swallowing his discomfort at yet more evidence that Benoît wished nothing to do with him. “’Twill be no hardship to instruct you along with them.”

“We can help as well,” Léandre volunteered. “You can practice with any of us when we’re off duty.”

“It seems Aristide offered to spar with Teodoro the first time they met as well,” Christian broke in. “Our fight yesterday notwithstanding, we could benefit from the exposure to a different style. Would you be willing to meet with us to that end?”

“’Tis a good idea,”
M.
de Tréville agreed. “It will give you the opportunity to meet without drawing attention should the ambassador discover anything of interest as well.”

“You are welcome to join us here whenever your schedule allows you time to practice,” Aristide offered with a genuine smile. “’Twould be best not to risk the wrath of the Cardinal’s guard a second time by meeting in a more public place.” He still dreaded the hours he would spend fighting his attraction for Benoît, but it would be easier to disguise his longings if there were others with him.

“Then we need to procure our new recruit a sword,” Léandre declared. “Christian,
M.
de Tréville, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll see about beginning his training.”

M.
de Tréville nodded his permission, and the four men left the two nobles alone. “They are interesting men,” Christian commented.

“They are overgrown boys with more loyalty than common sense,”
M.
de Tréville retorted fondly. “Yet I would trust them with my life.”

“You may well be doing just that if we can’t find out who’s behind that letter,” Christian commented. “I’ll enjoy getting to know them better.”

Chapter 12

“
D
OES
this all seem more than a little pat to you?” Perrin asked Léandre and Aristide once they’d left
M.
de Tréville’s office. “All the evidence falling in place to clear the ambassador, his offer of help, even finding Benoît in the first place? It’s like we’re supposed to find out about the plot.”

“We have no reason to distrust
vicomte
Aldwych,” Aristide responded slowly, his gaze moving from his fellow musketeer to the man who had wrought such tumult in his life in a less than a fortnight. “And certainly none to mistrust Benoît,” he added repressively, knowing Perrin’s reason for disparaging the blacksmith had little to do with the putative plot.

“I’m not saying we do,” Perrin retorted. “I’m perfectly willing to accept that both Benoît and the ambassador are honest in their intentions. It just makes me wonder who’s pulling the strings, putting clues and roadblocks both in our path. Whoever it is, he’s incredibly well connected. It makes me nervous.”

“I still say we need look no further than Richelieu,” Léandre added, his hand falling to the sword hilt at his hip. “He has the cunning, the highest connections, and he certainly bears no love for the musketeers.”

“Then let us look! Rather than babysitting new recruits, let us do our job and protect the King and our captain,” Perrin ranted. “How are we supposed to discover anything if we’re here at
M.
de Tréville’s
hôtel
the whole time?”

“There’s no reason we all need to stay to work with the recruits. You and Léandre could go to court and see if you can learn anything,” Aristide suggested. He did not especially want to be alone with Benoît, but it would be better than leaving the smith open to the sharp end of Perrin’s tongue. Besides, he would have a dozen or more recruits to distract his attention.

“There’s sense in that,” Léandre was quick to agree. He would far prefer mingling with the lords and ladies of Louis’s entourage to the numbingly repetitive drills used to train the new musketeers. “Even if most of the court gossip is drivel, there may be a kernel or two of interest to be found.”

Perrin’s eyes narrowed, not entirely sure he trusted the apparent magnanimity of Aristide’s offer, but he could think of no reason to protest. “We’ll see what we can learn and meet you at
Le Bon Laboureur
at the end of our shift, then,” he agreed, “unless we hear of something that would need to be reported sooner than that.”

“Fine,” Aristide nodded, gesturing Benoît in the direction of the armory. “Let us see about acquiring a sword for you before we join the new troops.”

“Are you sure it’s worth going to this much trouble for me?” Benoît asked as he followed Aristide toward an outbuilding. “I’d be perfectly safe in the middle of musketeer territory working with
M.
Maurisset, and you could join your friends at court doing something surely more useful than trying to teach me to wield a sword.”

“I would be training the recruits in any case. ’Tis no hardship to let you join them.” In truth, Benoît would need far more instruction than the others, but perhaps Aristide could partner him with one of the more able youths. That he would be handing Benoît off to someone far closer to his own age and interests struck a spark of jealousy which the musketeer ruthlessly extinguished. “And as you will not always be in the middle of musketeer territory, it will be best for you to be able to defend yourself should the need arise.”

Arriving at a squat building of aged stone, Aristide exchanged a word of greeting with the musketeer on guard at the door before escorting Benoît inside. Weapons of every type hung on the walls, arrayed in racks and specially made cabinets, from slender rapiers like the one that rode at his hip—though, like his horse, Aristide had brought his own weapon with him to Paris—to pistols, to the heavy muskets which, despite giving the troops their name, they seldom used except in times of war.

“Have you any experience with a blade at all?” Aristide asked, rubbing his chin as he considered the rows of swords.

“Only in their forging,” Benoît replied. “I suppose when I first started smithing, I swung a few around, pretending to be a soldier, but imaginary opponents hardly count, particularly against a foe like you or the others. You would have me disarmed before I could blink, I fear.”

“We will teach you a trick or two worth knowing,” Aristide promised. “You have strength, which will serve you well if you can outlast your opponent.” He selected a sword, sighting down its length and testing its balance with a few twists of his wrist before turning to offer the hilt to Benoît. “See if this one suits.”

Benoît took the sword and imitated Aristide’s gestures, slashing a few times to see how the grip fit his hand. “I think it will work, though I’m not sure how I would tell otherwise.”

Once Benoît stopped swinging the sword, Aristide gently caught his wrist, examining the way he held the hilt. “It doesn’t pinch or rub anywhere? It should feel as comfortable in your hand as your favorite hammer.”

“It feels fine,” Benoît replied softly, his voice deepening a fraction at the touch of Aristide’s hand on the sensitive skin of his wrist. He knew he should pull his arm away, but even this simple casual touch felt so good after being alone for so long, that he could not make himself do it.

Aristide could feel the pulse throbbing beneath his thumb, the knuckle curling to drag over surprisingly soft skin before he forced himself to release the blacksmith’s wrist. “
Bien
,” he murmured, turning aside to busy himself sorting through a pile of scabbards until he could trust himself to face Benoît again. He was no raw youth, to be shaken so by a mere touch—especially when he would need to touch Benoît many times more in the course of his instruction. Selecting a sheath with far less consideration than the length of time spent contemplating them would suggest, he held it out to Benoît. “Try this one.”

Benoît slid the sword into the scabbard, then pulled it free again with a long hiss as the leather released its hold on the metal. “It goes right in,” he said, “and pulls free with nary a catch. I think ’twill serve.”

“You will practice that move until you can do it in your sleep,” Aristide warned with a smile. “’Tis one of the first exercises for all recruits—you cannot fight if you struggle to free your blade.” His gaze slid down his companion’s torso beneath the still over-large tunic to his waist. “You’ll need a belt. How large are you?”

“My wife never complained,” Benoît retorted before he could censor his words. His face flamed as soon as he realized what he had said. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I don’t know what size belt I need. The tailor at home kept all those measurements for us, but he died in the plague.”

Aristide couldn’t hold back a spurt of laughter at Benoît’s surprising response. “You’ll hear far worse comments than that among the men,” he chuckled. “In fact, were Perrin here I have no doubt he’d find a way to turn our every comment ribald.” He sobered as he considered Benoît again. “Even did you know your size, your illness has likely changed it. By your leave….” He stepped forward, wrapping his hands around the younger man’s waist to estimate the length of belt he would need.

Benoît’s sigh of relief at hearing he had not alienated his one friend in Paris froze in his throat as hands closed around his waist. He told himself they were simply measuring his size, that there was no reason to react to them, but his body quickened despite his mental chastisement, so starved for human contact that even the most minimal of touches roused him. “I’m sure you’ll take great pleasure in helping him tease me this evening,” Benoît forced out past the lump in his throat.

Surprised at the warmth radiating through the sheer linen, Aristide glanced down, stunned to see an unmistakable thickness swelling Benoît’s breeches. His own cock leaping in reaction, he pulled his hands back and turned away, his mind and body both shaken. Last night, Benoît had drawn back in disgust from his kiss—only to react now to a touch and a few teasing words? That Aristide himself had reacted to them as well made Benoît’s response no easier to accept, or to trust. Aristide’s instincts urged him to thrust the blacksmith against the nearest wall and give him what it appeared they both wanted—but his rational mind told him he would only be pushed away again, did he not drive Benoît into leaving altogether. Swallowing hard, he moved blindly toward a rack of leather straps, forcing himself to focus on finding a proper length until he could bring himself under control.

“Aristide?” Benoît asked, confused by the sudden withdrawal, even as his body ached at the loss of the other man’s hands. “Are you well?”

“Well?” Aristide exclaimed, turning an incredulous glare at his tormenter. Sure now that Benoît was playing with him, for he could not believe even a sheltered country yokel could be ignorant of the effect he was having, Aristide tossed a belt at random toward the blacksmith and gestured to the door. “Here! Unless you want to find yourself pinned against the wall, take this and get out. Go speak with
M.
Maurisset and come back when you are ready to learn something!”

Benoît had taken two steps toward the door before Aristide’s words even registered, reacting to the tone and the gestures rather than the content. He paused at the threshold, looking back at the musketeer.

“Go!” Aristide roared, the small part of him hoping the blacksmith would disobey prompting him to take a step forward.

The roar might not have done it, but the step in his direction was enough to send Benoît flying out the door toward the smithy. Had Aristide held his tongue and his place, the younger man might have worked up the courage to approach him on his own, but he knew he was not ready for everything that would surely happen if he stayed. His mind jealously tossed up images of Aristide relieving the frustration Benoît had caused with the other two musketeers, but as much as a part of him wanted to be in their place, he couldn’t take the final step to making it a reality.

Cursing despite the fact he had expected exactly this outcome, Aristide slammed his palm against the heavy stone pillar. He wished vainly that he hadn’t sent Léandre and Perrin to court, though he could hardly indulge his lust while on duty in any case. Twitching his sword to the side, he stormed out of the armory, leaving the guard at the door wondering at his uncharacteristic demeanor. Aristide always had a smile and a ready clap on the shoulder, but something had sparked his rare anger. He wouldn’t want to be one of the new recruits this morning!

B
ENOÎT
hadn’t slowed down by the time he entered the forge, startling the old blacksmith. “What’s the rush?” he demanded. “Is something on fire?”

Benoît flushed even deeper. “No, I just….”

The sound of Aristide’s shouting reached them even over the noise of the bellows and flame. “Now that’s odd,”
M.
Maurisset commented. “He never loses his patience with the recruits, even when they deserve a good reaming. I wonder what’s set him off today.”

“Me,” Benoît replied in a small voice. “I can’t seem to do anything right where he’s concerned.”

M.
Maurisset frowned. “That wasn’t the impression I got the last time you were in here. He fussed over you like a mother hen.”

“That was before….” Benoît trailed off, not sure how much the older man knew and not wanting to open himself or Aristide up to speculation or scorn.

M.
Maurisset set the hammer down, arms crossed as he waited. “Before what?” he prompted when Benoît did not continue.

“Before I….” He wanted to lie, but his innate honesty would not let the words form. “Before I led him on without meaning to,” he muttered.

The blacksmith’s frown deepened. “I don’t hold with these city ways, but that man’s the best of the lot, as far as I can tell, always ready with a helping hand and the patience of Job, so I’ll turn a blind eye to his faults. That doesn’t give you the right to trifle with him. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life, but make up your mind, whatever that means, because that man deserves better than someone saying one thing and meaning another.”

Benoît nodded slowly. “I know he does. If you’ll excuse me, I think maybe I should go for a walk, try to settle my thoughts.”

M.
Maurisset shook his head as he watched the young man go, head bowed in deep thought. He hoped everything worked out for him.

Lost in thought, Benoît wandered the streets aimlessly, trusting to the relative drabness of his tunic and breeches to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. He had just passed
Le Bon Laboureur
when a familiar, accented voice called his name. Looking up in surprise, he saw Esteban and an older man he did not recognize. He paused and waited for them to join him.

“Well met, my friend!” Esteban greeted Benoît with a clasp on the shoulder. “How fare you this fine day?” He was a bit surprised to see his new friend wandering the streets unaccompanied, given the concern his companions had expressed the night before—especially the fair-haired musketeer who had crossed swords with Teodoro.