Traitor's Chase (12 page)

Greg caught up to Athos at the shoreline. The swordsman was staring at the white mark on the oak tree. It was part of a larger artwork that had been carved deep into the trunk: a white rose. Someone had put a great deal of work into it, carefully etching the stem and leaves, then painting the petals white.

“What on earth is this?” Athos asked.

“Do you know
anything
?” Aramis snapped. “The white rose is the insignia of the Prince of Condé.”

Catherine gasped in surprise. “What's it doing here?”

“Marking his territory,” Aramis replied. “Apparently, it's been put here as a message to anyone heading down the river that these lands are loyal to him.”

Greg felt himself fill with concern and noticed his fellow travelers reacting similarly—except Athos, who seemed offended by the mark of the rose. “Condé is not the ruler of this country,” the swordsman growled. “The king is.” Brandishing his weapon, he stormed into the woods.

The others had no choice but to go after him. Greg fell in beside Aramis as they moved through the forest. “How can these lands be loyal to someone who isn't the king?” he whispered.

“It's not unusual,” Aramis confided. “France, just like any country in Europe, isn't a nation so much as a loosely allied patchwork of lands—and the people don't always agree on who should be king. Much of this country didn't support Louis's father, Henry, when he took the throne; thousands of his supporters were massacred in protest.”

“By their fellow Frenchmen?” Greg asked, aghast.

“Yes,” Aramis said, sounding ashamed. “And Louis probably has even less support than his father did, because he was only a child when he took the throne.”

“So … all those people want Condé to be king?”

“Oh no. Not at all. Although, we've obviously entered an area that supports him. But other parts of the country support other men. Most people are far more beholden to their local royalty than to the king. They have never seen King Louis and probably never will. What he does in Paris ultimately has little effect on them.”

“And yet there are many people willing to fight wars over who is king,” Greg said.

“True,” Aramis admitted sadly. “All too true.”

They burst through a copse of trees and nearly stumbled over Athos. He was crouched on the ground, examining a set of footprints in the mud. “It was only three men,” he announced, then turned and pointed to the river, which wasn't far through the trees. “They were watching us from here, but they turned and headed inland, rather than coming to face us.”

“So, it wasn't the assassins?” Porthos asked hopefully.

“No,” Athos replied. “These men were wearing different shoes from the man D'Artagnan killed. I suspect we don't have anything to worry about from them. They were probably frightened off when they saw us.” He proudly flourished his sword.

“Or perhaps they went off to get reinforcements,” Aramis cautioned. “I'd suggest we get back on the boat. This area is obviously hostile to representatives of the king.”

“I agree.” Greg turned back to face the rest of the group and gasped. “Where's Milady?”

The others realized, with shock, that Milady was no longer with them.

“I thought she was right behind me,” Catherine said worriedly. “She must have fallen behind while we were running through the woods.”

“She can't be far,” Aramis said. “Catherine and I will retrace our steps to the boat. Everyone else, fan out, in case she got lost.” With that, he took Catherine's hand and plunged back into the woods the way they'd come.

“My eye, she's lost,” Athos muttered under his breath, but he followed Aramis's instructions anyhow. Greg and Porthos did the same, spreading out into the forest and calling Milady's name.

Greg hadn't gone far before he began to question their decision. In his concern over Milady, Aramis seemed to have forgotten about the men who'd been spying on them. What if he'd been right and they'd gone to get backup? Even if they hadn't, the Musketeers were now split up; Greg doubted he could handle himself against three men at once. What would happen if he ran into men loyal to Prince Condé …?

There was a flash of gold in the woods ahead. It was far away, but Greg could have recognized the color of Milady's hair anywhere. Something was strange, though. Despite the fact that everyone was yelling her name, Milady was moving
away
from them all. Greg shouted to her as well, but she didn't even look back. Instead, she seemed to step up her pace and disappeared into the trees.

Greg raced after her in the direction he thought she'd gone, but after a few minutes he stopped, fearing he'd made a mistake. He was getting too deep into the forest. Milady must have turned back, and he'd missed her somehow....

Then he saw her.

Beyond a stand of trees, a small waterfall spilled into a crystal pool. Milady stood beside it.

Greg started to call out her name again but caught himself. There was something strange about Milady's behavior. She was looking about furtively, as if trying to determine if anyone had followed her. Reflexively, Greg crouched behind a bush and watched.

Had Athos been right to be suspicious about her?
He thought back to the boat, just before Athos had steered for shore. Maybe she
had
in fact been awake, listening to them.

By the pool, Milady seemed convinced she was alone. She approached the waterfall and touched a rock beside it. Greg couldn't see what she was doing with it, however, as his view was blocked by a tree. He quickly slunk closer.

Milady bent down and hitched up her dress to her calf, as though removing something she'd tucked inside her boot.

Greg, focused on the girl, stumbled over a stone. He caught himself quickly, barely making a rustle, but it was enough to alert Milady.

She spun around and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Help!” she cried. “Help me!” She sounded so convincing, Greg almost believed she
was
in trouble.

There was no point in trying to hide anymore. He emerged from the trees. “What were you just doing?” he demanded.

Milady actually seemed relieved to see him. “Oh, thank goodness it's you. I thought it was one of the assassins.”

Greg looked at her, confused. “No, you didn't. I was watching you....”

Milady gasped, offended. “You were spying on me?”

Before he could question this, Aramis came crashing through the woods with Catherine in tow. “Are you all right?” Aramis asked.

“No,” Milady replied. “I caught D'Artagnan spying on me.”

To Greg's surprise, Aramis and Catherine both wheeled on him accusingly. “That's not true!” he said.

“It certainly is,” Milady snapped. “I was just about to bathe in this pool when I saw him—”

Porthos and Athos burst onto the scene from opposite directions. “What's going on here?” Athos demanded.

“D'Artagnan was watching Milady bathe,” Aramis said coldly.

Porthos and Athos turned on Greg as well.

“I wasn't,” Greg protested. “I stumbled upon her here. She was up to something.” He turned on Milady. “Why would you be bathing in the middle of hostile territory?”

“Because I fell in the mud.” Milady pulled up her dress again, revealing that her leg was caked with it. “I slipped while I was following everyone through the woods, and when I got back up again, you all had gotten ahead of me. I tried to find you, but I must have got turned around.”

“You didn't hear us all yelling for you?” Greg asked.

“No. I suppose the waterfall was too loud.” Milady waved at the pool of water. “Anyhow, when I came across this, I figured I could at least clean myself off quickly. I
thought
I was alone.” She glared at Greg reproachfully.

Everyone else did the same.

Greg couldn't believe how quickly the tables had turned on him. He shook his head. “No, none of this is true. I think she was leaving a message for someone over here.” He ran to the rocky face near the waterfall and ran his hands over the stones. One shifted under his touch. “Here it is!” He slid the stone aside, revealing a small space the size of a mailbox.

It was empty. There was no message hidden inside.

Greg's heart sank. He spun around to find everyone else glaring at him.

“That's enough of this foolishness,” Aramis said disdainfully. “Let's allow Milady to wash the mud off herself and continue on our way. We are wasting time arguing.”

“Thank you, Aramis,” Milady said. “Your thoughtfulness is greatly appreciated.”

Everyone else started into the woods to give Milady privacy. Greg glanced back at her, expecting that she might flash him a knowing smile, or some other indication that she'd one-upped him, but only got a cold stare in return. Doubt crept into his mind. Had he really misjudged her so badly?

Greg sighed. Even if Milady
had
been up to something, there'd be no convincing anyone else of it. She'd turned them all against him. They all seemed disgusted by his behavior. In addition to heading into hostile territory to confront a madman with assassins on his tail, Greg had now found a way to make things even worse.

He'd put his friendships in jeopardy.

TWELVE

G
REG HOPED THAT THINGS MIGHT RETURN TO NORMAL
after the bathing incident, but they didn't.

Porthos had
tried
to act like nothing had happened, joking around as usual, but there was an awkwardness to it, as though he didn't quite feel comfortable around Greg. Still, that was better treatment than Aramis and Athos gave him. For the first day afterward, both of them were cold and removed around Greg, obviously upset at what they believed he'd done. But after that at least the Musketeers talked to him again. The girls didn't. It wasn't easy to avoid somebody on a small boat, but the girls did their best. Milady regarded him coldly and only spoke to him when she had to. Catherine barely acknowledged his presence.

So now the trip wasn't merely dangerous, it was also uncomfortable. Greg began to volunteer for the night shifts, limiting his time awake with everyone else to a minimum. The rest of the time he kept to himself, sitting on the edge of the boat, dangling his feet in the water, wishing he'd never followed Michel Dinicoeur back to 1615. He dreamed about finding the Devil's Stone and returning to his own time again.

And he kept an eye on Milady.

He still wasn't sure he hadn't truly stumbled upon her bathing, but he figured the best way to exonerate himself was to catch her doing something else. And yet she remained stubbornly well behaved. Over the next few days on the river, she did nothing suspicious in the slightest. Greg began to feel as though he must have made a mistake and misjudged her.

It was five days after the bathing incident before he finally had a normal conversation with someone.

It was late afternoon, and they had gone ashore. Athos and Porthos were hunting while the others foraged. Greg was busily picking blackberries when he rounded a patch of brambles and almost stumbled into Catherine.

The girl immediately flushed red in embarrassment. “Oh! Sorry to bother you!” she said, and backed away, ready to leave.

“Wait! Please don't go.” Greg said it so quickly he surprised himself.

It seemed to catch Catherine off guard as well. She hesitated a moment. “I really ought to—”

“I'm not as bad as you think I am,” Greg said, a pleading tone in his voice. “That whole thing with Milady was just a misunderstanding.”

Catherine wavered, then lowered her eyes. “I don't think you're bad at all,” she said quietly.

“Really?” Greg asked.

“Really.” Catherine kept her eyes rooted to the ground. “I just think you made a mistake. But I understand why, too. This trip … Heading into dangerous territory, worried assassins might attack … It makes sense to be on one's guard.” She took a step back, as though she might leave, but then turned to the closest bush and began picking berries.