Tedious amounts of plot, ho hum. (You wouldn't belieeeeeeve I slept with the queen how much I edited out already.
Previously... bedroom action and the something nasty in the woodshed stables.
Coming up.. well you can read it yourselves if you can be bothered.
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"Where is Lady Caitlyn?"
Athos was bemused - he hadn't seen her since she'd left him in her bed that morning. Lady Ana looked mildly irritated (which almost certainly meant she was furious) and some of the ladies were openly smirking - anticipating a very public rebuke when she finally appeared, several hours late. She curtsied to the Queen murmuring an apology, but met no-one's eye and took her place at the back, occasionally looking at her hands as though she'd never seen them before, before returning her gaze to look vacantly across the room.
He watched her covertly, flicking the occasional glance sideways. Something was clearly wrong, but she hadn't acknowledged anyone's presence other than the Queen, and appeared to barely notice her surroundings. He had no way to catch her eye - much less to speak to her. One of the ladies looked curiously at her, leaned in slightly and whispered something. She raised her hand to her neck, rubbing at a rust coloured smear behind her ear then looking blankly at her hand.
The movement caught his eye and a chill ran though him as she turned - dried blood on her neck. Alarmed, he exchanged worried looks with Treville who gave a small helpless shrug. Neither of them had any jurisdiction in this setting and could do nothing but watch. Lady Ana was watching her intently - she moved discreetly to Kate's side and spoke. There was no reaction, and she spoke again. Kate dipped a curtsey, still avoiding all eye contact, and left the room through a door at the rear of the room. She did not reappear and he spent the rest of the day on court duty, increasingly frustrated and worried about her.
..........
Finally dismissed from court, the musketeers left the room together. The door was barely shut behind them when Treville spoke. "Find her." He left to check her room while the others went to make enquiries.
She wasn't in her room, or at the stables which were deserted. Norah hadn't seen her (Porthos had already checked) and if she'd been to the garrison that day then no-one had noticed. He had no idea where else she might be and, irritated by the realisation that he still knew virtually nothing about her habits, he headed to join his friends at a tavern, hoping they'd had better luck.
The moment he stepped inside he realised it was busier than usual, and the mood was not cheerful. Half the room was filled with grooms and stable lads in varying states of inebriation and misery. The stable master stood with his back to him, leaning forward to speak to someone, hand on their shoulder. He stepped back to reveal Kate, wedged in corner. She was sitting with her elbows on the table, resting her forehead on her hands, flanked by Martin and Hélène. She looked up - pale and immensely tired - then shook her head and rubbed her face, dropping her head back onto her hands while worried glances were exchanged behind her back.
He hesitated - she hadn't seen him and the general mood of the group didn't invite company. He pulled up a seat and looked enquiringly at the others.
"Some sort of accident in the stables, one of the lads was killed. Don't know any more than that."
Another very drunk stable hand wove past their table to join the rest. He stopped, seeing Kate in the corner and said something that made people turn to him with expressions of incredulity and anger on their faces, but before anyone had a chance to react further, the Stable Master had pushed past them, furious "And where were you while Robbie was down on the floor? Did you stay with him while he died? Was it your clothes that were thrown out for burning because they were soaked beyond recovery with blood and brains and bone?" He glared at the smaller man, and glanced briefly back at Kate "You're not fit to be in the same room as her. Now get out!" The last comment punctuated with a shove.
They exchanged glances - it wasn't just that someone had died. It had been very messy from the sound of it, with Kate directly involved. No wonder she'd behaved so strangely in Court.
Kate ignored at the altercation, hadn't heard the comment and didn't care what it had been about. She closed her eyes and listened as someone started singing, trying to ignore the image burnt into her brain - Robbie sent flying by the kick, sprawled over her on the stable floor, blood pouring from his head - bone and brain exposed to the light. She'd instinctively grabbed one of his hands, holding him as he twitched convulsively - shaking and gasping to his last breath. She had no idea how long it had taken, only that his blood had soaked though to her skin and eventually someone has prised her hand from his. Then what? Being led somewhere, someone washing her face, giving her clean clothes. Had she gone to court? Really? She shook her head, unable to make sense of the day's events, then pushed her thoughts away and tried to lose herself in the song surrounding her.
The singing finished and another tune started up - more voices joining in this time. A brief silence followed before the next song started but this one died away as the voice leading it broke and failed.
He sat, pondering what to do for the best. He had no inclination to intrude on the gathering, but wanted desperately to get to Kate and check she was alright. Obviously she wasn't alright at all, of all the descriptions that could be used, alright was definitely not one of them. She didn't even seem to have noticed their presence - appeared oblivious to anything outside her immediate company. The singing had stalled - he picked up his glass, wondering if this would be a good time to go over, and then another voice re-started the song. He glanced over. Her head was back resting of her hands and a fiddle was being thrust under her nose. She recoiled and looked up, then back at the instrument. It was pushed towards her again, more insistently. She picked it up tentatively and looked at it with a slight frown. She drew the bow across the strings, adding a few experimental notes to the song and looked across at the whistle player. He didn't break as the song drew to a close but lead straight into another one, holding Kate's gaze and demanding her attention as she began accompanying him.
He watched her playing, concentrating intently on the whistle player, and then gradually starting to watch the singers too. He turned back to talk with his friends.
Kate watched them singing, drinking, grieving, and closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by affection for them. If there had been any doubts about her presence in the stables, those were gone, they had completely claimed her as one of their own. They hadn't even asked her if she was coming to the tavern when she'd reappeared at the stables, just taken her with them and then closed ranks against anyone who had questioned her presence. Martin wove over, two glasses in hand and put one down beside her.
"Get that down you..."
She looked dubiously at it. "Will it help?" He shrugged "You see, I suspect if I drink that, I'll wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache, and Robbie will still be dead."
He snorted "You are far too sober and sensible... " then wandered off, leaving the glass beside her.
She returned her attention to the tune, ignoring him as she followed cues from the whistle player. Several songs later and he was back, looking at the full glass beside her. "Right, drink it up, or away and let us get drunk in peace - it's going to get messy and I don't want to be worrying about you getting back safely. Your escort's over towards the door."
"Really?" She pulled a face "Have they been here all night? Oh well. I'll see you tomorrow... Did I have a jacket or anything?"
He cast around, finally grabbing his own jacket and passed it to her. "You can give it back tomorrow."
She smiled, shaking her head. "Thanks, but no. I just didn't want to leave anything behind." She placed the fiddle on the table, then turned and left, raising her hand in a parting wave.
He watched the exchange, surprised to realise how strongly he objected to the idea of her wearing another man's jacket, and how relieved he was that she'd turned it down.
She looked unutterably weary as she made her way to their table, pausing every few steps as another of the stable hands stopped her to talk to her, hands patting her back, occasional drunken hugs. He drained his glass and stood up as she approached, pressing his hat down on his head.