Porthos leaned over towards the man closest to his height and commented, “Nasty little temper there.” Aramis nodded. Almost as an afterthought the big man added, “Is she really any good at fencing?”"She held her own in Marseille when D’Artagnan and I were fighting alongside her,” the would-be-priest admitted, a bit grudgingly.Laurel pivoted on her heel and turned to glare at Porthos and Aramis. “By all means, if you gentlemen have something to say, please allow us all to hear.” In frustration she expelled a breath of pent-up air and sank into the nearby chair. “Why do I even bother?” she mumbled, her words unclear to the musketeers. Why did she always seem to lose her cool at the worst times? Uneasy silence settled on the awkward situation.”Madame, you have a lousy temper,” Aramis said, but in his own singular way which conveyed no insult, and Laurel shrugged her shoulders, saying that men weren’t exclusively entitled to the right to lose their tempers.”Is it really so hard for you four big strong men to listen to a woman’s point of view on anything, or would that be some affront to your masculinity?” she asked, softly massaging her temples in an effort to ward off an impending headache. She’d been suffering from many of those recently.Ooh. Porthos flinched inwardly at the lady’s words. Barbs more like it. Independent, feisty thing, and stubborn. The lady knew how to fence verbally; that was definitely not debatable. Of course involvement in international intrigue had a way of making people perfect the skill. “I’m sorry, madame. We cannot take the risk or put you in further danger,” Athos responded, and he truly did seem to regret turning her away.Her jaw worked in consternation and she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to steady and calm herself. So Athos was the leader, and it was him she would have to convince. A losing proposition–or so it appeared. “If I were a man . . .”"If you were a man, we’d still be reluctant to take along someone who’s fighting ability and loyalty we were unsure of.” Athos anticipated the course of her question.”But you would not turn him away out of hand, would you?” Athos’ steady look confirmed the truth of her assessment. “Yet you’ll turn me away without even giving me a chance to prove myself. Are men really so afraid of a woman who could be their equal in intelligence, ability, ambition, and fighting skills?”"A musketeer fears nothing,” D’Artagnan insisted.”Really, is that so? I thought only fools feared nothing,” Laurel riposted, as she made her exit from the room.For a moment there was confused silence in the room and then D’Artagnan approached Athos. “We can’t just let her walk out there. This is a very dangerous place for a lone woman.”Athos forbore telling the young man that Laurel had already likely survived many such unsavory places in her pursuit of them. “What do you propose I do? Do you think I can stop her without making the very scene we would like to avoid at all costs? No. I’m afraid in this we can do nothing but leave her to follow her own path right now,” Athos concluded and then changed the subject. “Porthos, Aramis, are either of you acquainted with Thomas d’Anlass or do you know anyone who is acquainted with him?”"Ah, the great and noble Marquis de Langeac and our erstwhile lady’s father,” Porthos said loudly, leaning back in a chair and propping his feet on a nearby table. “Can’t say as we’ve ever met. Man’s a little beyond my age. Must be in his mid to late forties by now.” His friends directed him disgusted looks for wasting valuable time with a brief run down on the man’s age. “No sense of humor and always in a hurry,” he mumbled and then looked to his companions. “Well then, best I can do for you is that I’m a distant cousin to the man on my mother’s side and the family is very old and well established.” Aramis lifted his palms upward in a silent gesture that told Athos he had even less connection to the marquis. “I don’t suppose you know much about the marquis.” Porthos shot a look at D’Artagnan.”Sorry. Never even really heard of him until recently.” D’Artagnan stifled a humorless chuckle. “So it looks as if we’re going to have a very hard time finding a man who’s not been seen or heard from in almost two years. And Lady Laurel d’Anlass really is the only one who might know how to contact her father.”* * * * * * * * * * * *”No, behind the hovel,” Guillaume ordered in a harsh whisper, and Joseph quickly complied.Joseph began to speak, and Guillaume waved his hand, stopping him in mid word as he listened at the wall of the small dwelling. Low voices caught his attention, and he strained his ears to hear each word.Guillaume pulled away from the hovel, and Joseph signaled that all was clear as far as he could see. Cautiously the two men retreated from the building into the sheltering copse of trees. “What’d you learn?” Joseph asked impatiently.”A man answering to the name of Antoine Françoise passed through here about a day and a half ago. He was headed towards the Pyrénées.”"Did they mention anything about what Antoine looked like?” Joseph questioned, and Guillaume sketched the brief description that he had overheard. The brush rustled, and both men ceased conversation, straining to be sure that no one had stumbled upon them.When they had assured themselves that they were alone, Joseph continued, “Sounds like one of the identities the marquis appropriated on a mission to Corsica. I think splitting up and coming into the Luz area by two different directions might be the best plan.” Guillaume nodded his head, and the agents went over the last details of the plan before disappearing into descending dusk. . . .—-End of section one—-
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