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Voir les arbres généalogiques d'Athos, Porthos et d'Artagnan |
Extrait de la Section Six
Anne shook her head and her hair fell in front of her face, concealing her grin. It did not conceal her glowing eyes. “Oh, you’re laughing at me now, are you, chère Anne? Well, I’ll have you know Porthos the pirate is no clown and is laughed at only at the laugher’s own danger.”
“I’m not laughing at you, good Porthos. I’m remarking at the change in you.” She winked saucily at him. “I must say that you clean up very nicely. I can’t help wondering if you would look as nice all the time if you made the effort, mon cher.”
The large man set his hands to his hips and strode toward the woman, looking down on her.
Funny, she didn’t seem that much shorter than him. And the woman cleaned up nicely too. He flicked a tendril of hair away from her eyes. “Am I to understand that you are flirting with me? ”
“Never.” Her voice was ladened with sarcasm. “Me, flirt with a musketeer. Come now, I couldn’t possibly wish to do so. After all, look at my husband and the company he usually keeps. What more could a woman ask for?” What more indeed? She could ask and wish for more: more good friends, more respect, a husband who liked her, for love. But she was strong and eminently practical. She could and did do without. Maybe in the afterlife.
“Anne?” Porthos was concerned when he noted the change in her expression.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just a silly romantic woman.” She smiled.
“You,” he leveled his finger at her, “are far from being a flighty romantic. You are one of the strongest, most sensible, smartest people I know. And you have a sense of humor to boot. What made you look so sad, Anne? Tell your humble servant. You have but to name your wish, and I am at your command. I am putty in your hands.”
Her shoulders shook in suppressed laughter. Porthos was not putty, and he would never be accused of being humble—well, not likely anyway. “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though… Have you ever been in love?”
“Not that I know of, though I have two very dear friends who have a rather substantial amount of experience in that area. ” Porthos was too surprised to make a witty reply.
“Have you ever wished for love, Porthos?” The question was more rhetorical than otherwise. “I have. It gets very lonely at court, and I will not try to tell you that it is not difficult for me. It is. I know I am not wanted in France. I was resented for not being French and then looked down upon for not bearing an heir sooner than, well, than currently. It would not be so bad, I think, if I had love.” She shook herself. “But that is just a silly romantic talking. I am blessed for the true friends l have found in Constance and Laurel and Athos and his young son and then you and even Aramis and D’Artagnan.”
“Anne,” he put his hand on her cheek and wiped away the single tear she was unaware she had shed, “if any of your detractors ever met you, they would be unable to say a bad word against you. You would quite charm them, and they would leave singing your praises. And never think that you aren’t a very loveable woman. Your husband does not know what he is missing. ”
“Promise me something?” Anne spoke again, and the musketeer told her to make her request. “Promise me you’ll come back alive. I have no fancy to see you dead, and I would rather like to see you again.”
“Anne.” Porthos looked down at the ground. Nom d'un chien! What was he getting himself into? He looked at her. No there was no mistake. The queen of France was interested in him and for more than just a friend. Not that he wasn’t flattered. Diantre, if she wasn’t the king’s wife he’d not likely hesitate to take up the offer. But she was the queen and she was, well, she was Anne. He respected her.
“I’m sorry,” Anne spoke when Porthos said nothing further. I should not have spoken as I did.”
“Non. Anne. It’s not that.” Porthos lifted her face so he could look her straight in the eye. How could it be true? Impossible! He really had lost it. Lost it as badly as D’Artagnan had, and he was not a romantic. “I cannot cuckold my king.”
“You can’t cuckold your king,” she said, disapproving. “Magnifique. Am I to love your morals? Forget it. Maybe I was wrong. I thought there was more to you than that.” Anne turned on her heel and was ready to storm out when Porthos moved closer and would not let her leave.
“There is more to it than that, Anne.” He looked up at the ceiling, oddly vulnerable. “Anne, it’s not right for me to covet another man’s wife. Would that you weren’t married. Anne, I do actually believe I love you, dites donc. You little witch. How ‘bout the unadulterated truth? You’ve made me fall in love with you, and I can’t ruin a woman I love and respect.”
Anne stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the large man, just hugging him for a long while. “Porthos, it would not ruin me nor be cuckolding my husband. It would be loving me. Remember that. At least we could have that much although we can’t marry. Remember that.”
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