All for One (7 page)

Scooping Léandre into his embrace so they spooned together well clear of the wet spot on the sheets, Perrin nuzzled his lover’s neck through the longish hair. “Now if only Aristide were here, everything would be perfect,” he mumbled as he drifted off to sleep.

His mind hazy as he followed Perrin into slumber, Léandre wasn’t sure he could get much closer to perfection.

Chapter 5

R
EINING
his horse in yet again, Aristide glanced back to watch Benoît’s progress. The big chestnut he rode was as slow as the blacksmith had claimed, but his gait was steady so that his rider wasn’t jarred excessively. Still, Aristide thought the young man seemed paler than he had the last time he’d checked. Circling Orphée around, the bay dancing a bit at the restriction, he fell into a walk at Benoît’s side.

“We’ll stop at the next village,” he promised, though he’d hoped to make a bit more progress while daylight lasted. Still, it was the blacksmith’s first day in the saddle after a serious injury, and he’d been in a weakened condition even before he’d been shot. “We should have stopped for the day at Auxerre,” he apologized.

Benoît shrugged uncomfortably. He knew he wasn’t the rider the musketeer was, even when he wasn’t hurting still from a ball to the shoulder, but he didn’t think he was so bad that he needed constant supervision, yet it felt like Aristide had barely looked away from him since they left Époisses that morning. Orphée was clearly feeling the strain, twitching nervously from having been forced to keep pace with Sagace all day. “Let him run,” he told Aristide, hoping the musketeer would take his advice and save Benoît from more scrutiny. “Otherwise he’ll take apart the barn of whatever innkeeper is unfortunate enough to welcome us tonight. I’ll just keep plodding along until we reach the next town. I do think stopping is wise, though.”

Pursing his lips in consideration, Aristide frowned. In normal circumstances the blacksmith would be well able to fare for himself, and they had seen no one on the road, but that didn’t mean it was safe to leave the young man alone. Still, it was true that Orphée was fretting to stretch his legs. Reaching a decision, the musketeer pulled a pistol from his saddlebag, loaded it quickly, and handed it to his companion. “I’ll ride ahead to the next town and arrange for rooms. Continue along at the best speed you can, and if anyone threatens you, don’t hesitate to use this.”

Benoît eyed the pistol hesitantly before taking it with his good hand. “How will I know which inn you’re at?” he asked, relieved that he would finally have a few minutes to himself to gather his wits about him. He felt like the musketeer hadn’t left his side since he awoke.

“Trust me, I doubt there will be more than one.” Aristide smiled. “The villages hereabout are small and don’t especially court travelers.” He suspected he could complete his errand and turn back to meet the slower horse and rider before they reached the village, but he didn’t add that, deciding his companion looked glum enough as it was. “Look for Orphée in front of our lodgings—I won’t stable him until after you arrive.” Turning the bay with a word murmured in its ear, the musketeer glanced back once more at his companion and then gave his mount free rein to gallop down the narrow country road.

Slowing Sagace to a walk now that he was alone and not slowing Aristide down, Benoît let out the gasp of pain he had been holding back for the last hour. “I’m not in very good shape, old boy,” he murmured to the horse. “We’ll be lucky if our new friend doesn’t abandon us if I can’t do better than this soon.” He patted the arched neck gently and closed his eyes for a moment against the pain, trusting his mount not to lead him astray. Sagace whickered softly as if assuring Benoît that all would be well. “I hope you’re right.”

It had taken Aristide less than a quarter of an hour to reach the village of Saint-Hilaire-les-Andrésis and conduct a less-than-satisfactory discussion with the proprietor of the only public establishment in the village. It couldn’t in truth even be called an inn, rather a tavern with an upper room sometimes let out when one of the villagers was too drunk to make his way home. The musketeer had considered riding on, but when nearly another half hour passed before Benoît finally appeared, Aristide knew he’d judged rightly that the younger man would never have lasted any farther. His face was ashen and his jaw tightly clenched, and when he carefully dismounted from his horse, his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

“Come inside and have something to eat,” the musketeer instructed as he pointed Benoît toward the taproom. “I’ve already ordered dinner for us both. I’ll see the horses settled and join you in a few minutes.”

Benoît wanted to refuse, to insist that he could take care of Sagace, but his pride wasn’t enough to overcome his weariness. With a smile of thanks, he hobbled inside, collapsing onto the first chair he encountered. Thankfully, no one was sitting at that particular table. The barkeep brought a mug of wine immediately which Benoît swallowed in one long gulp, not caring whether it was swill or the finest vintage in the region. He simply needed the strength it would give him. Laying his head on his hands, he hoped it would not take Aristide long. As much as he knew he needed to eat, he needed rest even more.

Seeing the horses settled in their stalls with a few words of praise for each of them, Aristide tossed the stable boy an extra coin to ensure both were well-tended. He would have liked to see to Orphée himself, but he suspected Benoît was in more urgent need of attention than his mount. Giving his stallion a final pat on the neck, the musketeer returned to the taproom. “You should have started eating,” he said when he found Benoît slumped forward before an empty mug of wine.

“Do you think our host would be terribly put out if I asked for a tray to be brought to my room?” Benoît asked, lifting his head by force of will alone. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay sitting up.”

“I’ll ask for dinner to be sent up,” Aristide agreed, moving to help Benoît to stand. “I want to take a look at your wound in any case, to be sure it hasn’t torn open.”

Benoît nodded and struggled to his feet, quietly grateful for the supporting arm that encircled his waist as he nearly lost his balance. Under other circumstances, Aristide’s nearness would have made him uncomfortable, but at the moment, it was all that kept him from injuring himself even worse by falling.

Afraid to risk letting go of the young man leaning against him, Aristide shouted to the landlord to bring their meal upstairs. They made their way awkwardly up the narrow staircase to the low-ceilinged bedchamber, where Benoît nearly collapsed onto the bed, his breath rasping. “Let me take a look at your shoulder before you fall asleep on me,” Aristide urged with a smile, kneeling beside the bed to help raise the shirt over the blacksmith’s head.

“You shouldn’t have brought me to your room,” Benoît commented at the sight of the musketeer’s saddle bags as Aristide helped him undress. “Now I’ll have to get up and dressed again so you have a place to sleep.”

Aristide dug into the saddlebag for the jar of salve the gypsy had left with him, examining Benoît’s shoulder and nodding before dipping up some of the herb-scented cream with his fingers. “I imagine you’re sore, but the scar hasn’t pulled any,” he observed, massaging the salve gently into the cicatrix. “There’s only one room; we’ll have to share,” he added casually, working the last of the salve into his palms before rising to his feet.

“What?” Benoît protested, struggling to sit up. “But….” He trailed off, knowing it would do no good to protest. If there was only one room, there was nothing they could do about it. “Help me put my shirt back on, then,” he requested, not comfortable with the idea of lying next to the other man partially unclothed.

Offering his arm to help the younger man lever himself back to a sitting position on the bed, Aristide eased the shirt over the blacksmith’s head and carefully helped him slide his arms into the sleeves. “Take off your boots and relax,” he suggested. “I’ll go fetch our dinner—I don’t think the owner has anyone to help him, and as busy as the taproom is, we might go hungry otherwise.”

Benoît nodded and bent carefully to lever his boots off, letting them drop to the floor one at a time. Even that little effort was enough to exhaust him so he took Aristide’s advice and leaned back against the pillows to rest, wondering uneasily how they would share the relatively small bed.

Pausing in the doorway with their meal, Aristide watched the exhausted young man with concern. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard to ride farther, he scolded himself. Getting to Paris a day earlier wasn’t worth risking Benoît’s recovery. “Chicken pie, some fresh bread, cheese, and wine,” he announced, setting the tray on the bed next to his companion. “If it tastes as good as it smells, we should have a fine dinner.”

It did smell good, Benoît had to admit, reaching for a fork so he could sample the chicken. The wine he’d drunk upon his arrival was rushing to his head given his weakened state and empty stomach. He was a maudlin drunk these days, something he’d prefer not to show Aristide if he could avoid it.

Aristide seated himself at the foot of the bed, resting his plate of food on his knees as he ate. After a few bites to take the edge off his hunger, he reached for the bottle of wine, offering a mug to Benoît before filling his own. “You should drink it,” he urged when the younger man hesitated. “It will build up your blood.”

“As weak as I’ve been, I’m afraid it’ll go straight to my head,” Benoît admitted, taking a careful sip of the wine. It tasted heavenly, but he knew he had to be careful or he’d be crying all over the other man before he passed out, not the impression he particularly wanted to project. “And you don’t want to listen to me snivel about my past.”

“I’ll gladly listen if you wish to talk,” Aristide answered, “now or at any time. And if you prefer not, well, the wine will help you sleep.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Benoît agreed, taking another, larger sip, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you if I start talking and you can’t get me to stop.”

“Once you meet my companions, you won’t worry about talking too much,” Aristide answered wryly. “Perrin doesn’t shut up even when he’s fu—” He broke off abruptly when he realized what he’d almost let slip. “Perrin never shuts up, and Léandre’s not much better,” he finished quickly.

Benoît frowned, sure he must have misunderstood what Aristide almost said. Unless the two men occasionally shared the same lover between them? He clearly had much to learn if that was the norm for the musketeers. “You spend a lot of time together, then?” he asked, wanting to know more of the other men he would soon have to deal with.

“We share lodgings,” Aristide said. “’Tis not uncommon; the honor of serving in the musketeers is greater than the pay, and housing in Paris is not cheap. You’ll meet them both when we return.” He didn’t add that neither Perrin nor Léandre were disposed to trust Benoît. Aristide had come to believe completely in the blacksmith’s innocence in the matter of the plot against
M.
de Tréville; he’d simply have to convince the other two.

“Will they mind that you’re bringing me back with you?” Benoît asked, more concerned now that he realized he was dependent on the goodwill of all three men, not Aristide alone.

“They know I’m bringing you back,” Aristide answered, emptying his mug of wine. “And they’re as concerned as I am about finding out who is spreading these lies about
M.
de Tréville. ‘All for one, and one for all’—it is the motto of the musketeers.”

“If you’re sure,” Benoît replied, taking one last bite of food before setting the plate aside and finishing his wine. A yawn caught him unawares. “I think perhaps sleep is in order, now that you’ve fed me so well.”

“I’ll bring this downstairs—I have no wish to roll onto our dirty plates in the middle of the night,” Aristide observed, gathering their utensils and the empty wine bottle.

As soon as the door shut behind the musketeer, Benoît snuffed out the candle, not sure he wanted to watch Aristide getting ready to crawl in bed next to him. Everything about the other man was entirely too unsettling for that.

Returning to the darkened chamber, Aristide’s lips quirked at this latest evidence of his new companion’s modesty. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the young man’s cheeks reddened under their olive hue whenever Aristide needed to bare Benoît’s chest to tend to his wound. The fact that Aristide found such reticence as endearing as it was rare was something he kept to himself.

Toeing off his boots, the musketeer set them on the floor near where he thought he’d left his saddlebags. He glanced back toward the bed, but by the faint light that filtered in through the single small window under the eaves, he couldn’t tell whether Benoît had removed any of his clothing or not. Well, if the blacksmith chose to pass the night restricted by his shirt and breeches, Aristide did not. Quickly stripping to his smallclothes, he let his garments fall on top of his boots and felt his way until he could slip into the bed.

Benoît tensed when he felt the mattress give under the weight of the other man. Immediately, heat from Aristide’s body assailed him, making him squirm with uncomfortable awareness. The only person he had shared a bed with since he grew too big to sleep with his younger brother was his wife, and the awkward intimacy of the moment kept him from drifting into sleep despite his overwhelming fatigue. He only hoped Aristide wouldn’t notice.

The bed was really too narrow for more than a single man to lie comfortably, and the restless brushing of Benoît’s body against his began to have an inevitable effect on Aristide. For more than a week now he’d sublimated his attraction to the blacksmith, despite the temptation of smooth flesh beneath his hands each time he’d tended to the wound; but the intimate proximity, the warmth of the man beside him, the scent of Benoît’s sweat in the darkness all conspired to feed his desire.