Cut and Thrust
by Stevie Woods
Copyright: Stevie Woods 2007 – All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition 2011
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Chapter One
Musketeer Academy, A few miles outside Paris, 1665
Dacian looked at the words he had penned so carefully.
You were correct. It seems you know me better than I know myself. I love you and I want to be with you. Take this pin. If you wear it during the ceremony, I’ll know you still feel the same.
He stared at the long narrow clasp of gold, decorated with a blood red ruby in the centre; tiny chips of diamonds either side. Taking a deep breath, he placed the folded note inside the box on top of the pin, snapping the lid shut. Swiftly, before his nerve failed him, he called for Etienne, trusting the boy to deliver the package for him.
***
Gerard looked down at himself ensuring he looked his best. His boots were polished, breeches brushed to perfection. The lace on the sleeves of his blouse fell perfectly over his wrists; the full collar lay neatly over his black jacket, the splits in his sleeves displaying the sparkling white of his blouse. He knew he looked good. He would look even better with the Musketeer’s blue tabard covering him, emblazoned with the white cross and fleur-de-lys of the King. He would be so proud.
Wistfully he hoped Dacian would be proud of him, too, he had worked hard to please the captain. Sighing, he wished he could please him in other ways, too. Dacian knew how he felt. Gerard had hoped the handsome Musketeer captain would return his admiration but it seemed it wasn’t to be.
“Sir?”
Etienne interrupted his thoughts, and looking down at the lad, Gerard saw he was holding a small box. “What’s this?” Gerard asked puzzled.
“From the captain,” Etienne said, leaving without further explanation.
Gerard held the box in the palm of his hand, looking at it as if it might burn him. From the captain. Ruefully, Gerard wondered if this would be the end of his dreams, or a new beginning. He had arrived here with high hopes of a new life only a few short months ago…
***
Exhausted, Gerard had ridden into the yard, relieved to have finally arrived. Pulling his mount to a halt, his spirits rose to see all the activity. He had dreamed of being a part of this for so long and finally being here, seeing other young men hard at work training to be Musketeers, was exhilarating.
“You staying there all day, boy?” a harsh voice demanded from behind. Gerard turned at the tone, but before he could respond the man went on, “If you intend to stay then get to the stables!”
Gerard bridled at the curt tone and he looked with disdain at the disheveled figure confronting him, his anger rising as the man had already turned away. Who was this ruffian to speak to him so? “I have business with the captain,” Gerard said haughtily.
“I have no time for you now,” the man replied. Surely this couldn’t be the captain, Gerard mused, puzzled as he stared at the tall man dressed only in dark breeches and boots and a grubby white blouse. “Etienne!” the man called loudly and a youth came running.
“Captain?”
Waving casually at Gerard, the captain ordered, “Take him to the stable and then show him to my office.” Glancing at Gerard, the captain added, “Looks like he needs some refreshment. I will attend you later.” The last was obviously dismissal.
Etienne took hold of the reins of Gerard’s mount and led the animal away. Gerard looked back over his shoulder at the captain, his mind in a whirl. There was something about the man that tickled at his memory but whatever it was, it proved elusive.
Gerard watched as Etienne looked after his horse, the youth shooing him away when he tried to help. He considered asking Etienne about the captain but decided that would not honorable. He would just have to trust the captain was not one of those men who based his opinion on first impressions.
***
Gerard sat on a hard-backed chair in the captain’s office. Etienne had provided him with a dish of bread and cheese and a mug of ale. He preferred wine but he accepted the drink gratefully. Hearing the ring of steel on steel outside and the occasional raised voice, he guessed it would be a while before the captain was ready to see him.
His fatigue hit him again and he leaned his head against the chair back. He wanted to close his eyes but knew he mustn’t. Instead his mind drifted back to the last acrimonious argument with his father. He wished things could be different but Gerard knew he had to be true to himself, even if that disappointed and hurt his family.
So he had waited until his parents were away visiting relatives. He wrote a letter for them, packed a valise and, taking his favorite horse, he’d left home, probably permanently. He did not expect his father would ever welcome him back.
It was no secret that he had long wished to become a Musketeer, something his father had scoffed at. The Comte didn’t consider it mattered that the Musketeers were all sons of the nobility whose sworn purpose was to serve the King. All his father saw were rash men avoiding responsibility. Gerard had not specified where he was going when he had left, but he was fairly certain his father might guess. However, he had enough of a head start to get to Paris and sign papers promising to serve his King and then it would be too late for his father to compel his return.
Footsteps sounded behind him and Gerard sprang to his feet, fatigue disappearing to be replaced by uncertainty. The captain moved purposely behind the desk, his disreputable shirt now covered by an open black jacket. Did the man never wear his uniform?
“Sit, sit,” the captain commanded, his eyes on Gerard’s papers.
It was Gerard’s first good look at the captain who was not as old as he’d first thought, maybe ten years older than his own twenty-three years. Studying the man’s looks he decided he liked what he saw, though as his long dark hair had come lose from its tie and fell either side of his face, Gerard couldn’t quite see the man’s eyes clearly enough. As if in answer, the captain looked up and Gerard found a pair of startlingly clear grey eyes staring at him. Gerard’s stomach fluttered.
“Gerard Durant de Leison?” the captain asked, an odd expression on his face.
Pulling himself together, Gerard nodded assent, puzzled. Was something wrong? God, surely his father couldn’t have already intervened?
“Gerard.” The captain shook his head. “You don’t recognize me. It’s Dacian.”
“Dacian?” Gerard frowned a moment, and suddenly his expression cleared. “Good God! Of course! Dacian de Creil!”
Dacian Martin de Creil, one-time best friend of his elder brother, Henri. Dacian was the young man from a neighboring estate who Gerard had idolized growing up, even though Dacian had done little more than smile and pat him on the head as Henri had chased him away so he wouldn’t interfere with his elders.
Gerard remembered fondly that Dacian always seemed willing to spend a little time with his young self, which even his own brother begrudged. Gerard could hardly believe it as he stared at his one time idol; the man whose memory it had been difficult for the thirteen-year-old boy to release when Dacian had quarreled with his father and disappeared.