By 
. . . Showing the tension of the last long minutes, d’Artagnan asked: “Do you think he will live, Miss Laurel?”
“He was very lucky. The ball did very little damage overall, and I guess he has a pretty good chance,” he replied honestly. “He’s a strong man and he’s in good shape. I think we were able to stop the bleeding and get the ball out early. As long as we can keep him from getting infected, he should survive. We should know better tomorrow.”
The three musketeers surveyed the exhausted woman, and Aramis offered her his arm. “Mrs, you look absolutely worn out. Maybe I could walk you somewhere where you can clean up and get some sleep. She nodded and scrambled to her feet. She realized dimly that it was the first time that she really appreciated, she even liked, Aramis’s cultivated correctness. very stable and reliable, even if she was probably hiding how dangerous the man could be.
Just before the pair left the room, Laurel informed them, “Oh, and since it would be extremely awkward to explain the presence of a woman, I suggest you remember to refer to me as Christophe at all times.” With the farewell reminder, she and Aramis left the room.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“Cristobal”. A voice called from a great distance, pulling the young woman out of a deep, dreamless sleep. She turned over in bed, deciding that it was just her imagination of her and that she could go back to sleep. No, come to think of it, she wasn’t awake at all, but dreaming, and in an unpleasant way. Her noise, however, did not subside, and one of her hands grabbed her shoulder and gently shook her awake. “Cristobal”.
“I’m awake. I’m awake,” she protested, sitting up and opening her eyes to focus on d’Artagnan. “What do you want?” she asked irritably, yawning. The desire to lie back against the pillow was very tempting. She started to sink and then jerked.
Athos has been calling you.
She moaned in the back of her throat. “It’s good to know I’m so wanted,” she complained. However, he would prefer not to be loved right now. Some days he hated mornings more than others. This was one of those days. “I guess that means I’ll get up now.”
D’Artagnan rose, preparing to leave the room and allow her some privacy to dress. “Don’t bother,” Laurel stopped him. “I sleep fully clothed. It’s safer that way.” The woman checked to make sure the tightly rolled bow was still in place for her. “If you’ll just pass me my boots and hat,” she said, half rising from the bed, “I’ll walk you right now.”
He put on one boot and then the next and placed the hat on his head. “Well, how do I look?”
“I don’t know how you do it,” the younger musketeer addressed her. “You look like a child, especially when one can’t see your face very clearly or only sees you from a distance.”
-I hope so. My life depends on it, and I’ve had enough practice to pretty much perfect the outfit and mannerisms. Is something wrong with Athos?
The musketeer quickly shook his head and raised his hands in front of him. “No. Well, aside from a nasty headache and fatigue, he seems fine.” D’Artagnan anticipated his next question. “He insists on seeing you. I think he wants to go over what happened last night and find out exactly what he’s gotten himself into.”
“Wait a second,” Laurel protested as they closed the door behind them. “Those men last night had nothing to do with me. They knew exactly where they were going and headed straight for Athos’s room. I’m willing to bet those men were hired to kill Athos, which means there’s a new enemy in the making.” the picture. Or maybe even an old one.” Old grudges had a way of coming back to haunt the present.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Athos was an incredibly lucky man, luckier even than Laurel had initially thought. The fever only took hold of him for a day and then he began an extraordinarily rapid recovery under the close supervision of his friends.
As the days passed, the wound continued to heal and showed no signs of infection or serious scarring. It didn’t take long, less than two weeks, before the older musketeer began to fall back into his routine and became anxious to get on with it and finish the mission. His country and his king depended on it, and time was limited. He had already divided himself too much.
After days of tending to his friends, he sent them away, dressed the wound himself, and then dressed fully and alone. Shortly after that, he was strong enough to take his horse for a short ride. In fact, he had just gotten back from that walk when he almost ran into Laurel. He quickly apologized to her and then pulled her away from the onlookers. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet. I owe you my life and my arm. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the woman said modestly, as if trying to entertain the subject. “Although I think we are even now. As I recall, you probably saved my life in Marseilles.” She started to walk away and head towards the door that led to the stables when Athos spoke. “Christophe, how did you know exactly what to do to save me?”
Laurel turned and walked towards Athos. “When my father took me on a mission with him, many times we were surrounded by people who were shot or injured in the line of duty by him.” There was a war going on across Europe, after all, and she had been in the middle of it on numerous occasions. “There were also not many doctors available, and every healthy person was expected to lend a hand.”
“Didn’t your father try to keep you out of this?”
“It would have bothered him too much to forbid his own son from helping wounded men. Basically, from the age of twelve, I started healing wounded men. I saw firsthand what worked and what didn’t work in a given situation. To I was six years old then, my father and I had saved more lives than any field doctor, and do you want to know why?
“Why?” asked Athos, genuinely interested, surprising himself at the question. . . .