Fiery Tales: Undone Part 36

Midway up, he got caught. With one a.s.sailant a few steps above him and another a few steps below, he could neither retreat nor advance. Simon struck a rhythm between the two attackers-thrust and parry back and forth, trying to fight them off.

The man above lunged at him with his blade. Simon jerked to the side. Grabbing his wrist, he yanked him down impaling him on the sword of Simon's other a.s.sailant. The man shrieked as the blade sliced through his chest. The downward momentum sent him crashing down onto his comrade, toppling both down the long staircase.

Simon took the rest of the stairs two at a time, shouting Angelica's name. The cries of those skewered still swirling around him.

He slammed open the door to Angelica's private chambers. His blood froze in his veins.

She sat tensely in a chair.

Eight men stood calmly in a row behind her.

Her green eyes were large, looking horrified to see him, almost as though she wanted him to run off rather than have him run in and aid her. As if that was a consideration for him. He'd lay down his life for her.

Nicolas Fouquet appeared quite relaxed, seated calmly to her right in a nearby chair, with a goblet of Robert's favorite burgundy in hand. He looked smug and not the least bit surprised to see him.

Simon squeezed the hilt of Robert's sword, his breathing hard and audible through his flared nostrils.

"Daughter, here he is now." Fouquet smiled. "And you said you knew nothing of his whereabouts...Tsk, tsk."

"Fouquet..." Simon's tone was low, full of barely restrained violence, his every muscle poised with murderous intent.

Fouquet lifted a brow. "That is my lord to you, beggar born." He lifted his goblet and took a drink. "Daughter, do tell, why do you allow this man in your home now that your husband is dead? Oh, don't think to deny it, my dear. Your mode of dress gives you away, not to mention that one of your servants was good enough to advise us of the marquis's death-before the lad met with an unfortunate accident." Fouquet smiled. Some of his men softly chuckled. He nodded toward Simon. "This man is no better than a barbarian and far beneath your station."

Simon snorted. "Some could say the same of you."

Fouquet lowered his cup from his thin lips, indignation narrowing his eyes. "I come from the most distinguished of parliamentary families," he said. "You, beggar born, are no more than the son of a fishmonger. Common sc.u.m."

"Enough!" Angelica rose to her feet. "You've no right to do what you've done here, forcing your way into my home! Having your men attack my guests. How dare you! Monsieur Boulenger and his men are welcome. You are not. Take these animals"-she gestured to the others in the room-"and get out!"

He could only imagine how difficult it was for her to have to face her stepfather after what he'd done to her. It churned his stomach with disgust each time Fouquet called her "daughter." Hearing it was far worse than enduring his insults.

Though Simon had always admired her courage, she was making things difficult for him. He wanted Fouquet's attention to remain solely on him, away from her. Yet there she stood, trying to protect him and his men.

Fouquet calmly placed his goblet down on the table that separated him from Angelica. Studying the state of the fingernails on his right hand, he lightly commanded, "Do sit down, Angelica." A man behind her reached out and yanked her down onto the chair by her hair. She cried out and clutched her head.

Simon stepped forward immediately but froze when he saw the gleam of a dagger resting horizontally against her throat-the man who had just forced her to sit, holding it there, perversely gleeful.

A fresh wave of terror slammed into his gut.

"Drop your weapon," Fouquet ordered Simon. His expression was as cold as the metal of Simon's blade.

"Don't do it," she whispered hoa.r.s.ely, knowing as well as he how untrustworthy Fouquet was.

Though his entire being rioted against his inaction, Simon stood stock-still. He battled back blinding rage, knowing it would cloud his mind. He would be focused when dealing with devil before him.

Fouquet stood and strolled over to Angelica. Her hands were clenched into tight fists on her lap, and her soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and fell rapidly with her quickened breaths. Simon could see her accelerated pulse on the side of her neck near the blade against her throat. Oh, how you'll pay for terrorizing her this way, Fouquet...

"My stepdaughter is not as intelligent as she is beautiful." Fouquet took the dagger from the man who held it against her delicate throat and squatted down beside her. Immediately, she looked away. Using the flat of the blade against her jaw, Fouquet turned her head to face him. "Drop your weapon, beggar born, or watch what I am capable of doing to her."

She flinched.

Simon pushed back his panic and schooled his features into a smug smile. "You won't do a thing to her. The king likes her too much. I've seen it with my own eyes. He'll not take kindly to you harming a beautiful woman."

Fouquet was unfazed. "I'll tell him you harmed her, beggar born. Who would believe your word over mine?"

Simon laughed mirthlessly. "You cannot be that arrogant. Why would anyone believe I would harm Robert's widow?"

Praying his confidence would unbalance Fouquet, he pushed him a little further. Simon lifted his arm, pointing Robert's bloodstained sword at Fouquet's chest.

The collective whisper of the eight swords being unsheathed filled the silence around him. He heard Angelica gasp. Unaffected, he remained poised and said, "Remove that dagger from her, or you'll meet with the end of this sword."

For an instant, Fouquet's eyes flashed shock. Then his arrogant expression returned. "You're outnumbered eight to one. You'll never succeed."

"The end of my blade is only a short distance from you. Willing to wager with your life?"

"You'll be dead too." Fouquet indicated his men.

"Yes, but I'll take you with me." His tone was firm, full of resolve. The smugness drained from Fouquet's face. f.u.c.king coward. The man wouldn't last an hour in battle.

The slight color in Fouquet's cheeks was proof he'd further infuriated him. The man didn't like being bested, especially in front of an audience. All the better. He had more public humiliation in store for him. Just wait... The key to success in any battle is knowing when the most opportune moment is to strike.

"I came here for you, beggar born. Not her. Drop your sword, and I'll remove the dagger."

Simon was relieved to hear it. "Not acceptable. Remove the dagger, and then I'll drop my blade."

Fouquet held his gaze. Simon held his breath.

Fouquet tossed the dagger to its owner. Angelica leaped to her feet and placed a safe distance between herself, Fouquet, and the man with the knife. Thankfully, she knew her stepfather well; she didn't run to Simon or do anything to give away the extent of their involvement.

He knew what would happen to him the moment he dropped his sword. His taunts and blatant disrespect wouldn't go unpunished. Wishing to spare her from witnessing it, he said, "This is between you and me, Fouquet. Send her away."

"No," she protested.

"Send her away." Simon could feel her gaze on him. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, unsure he had it in him to keep his feelings for her from entering his eyes. Fouquet would use it against them. He couldn't risk it.

His heart lurched when he realized Fouquet was studying her, suspicion growing in his dark eyes. Simon immediately dropped his sword. The clank it made as it hit the floor snapped Fouquet's attention back to him.

Two large men seized his arms and bent them behind his back.

"Stop that!" Angelica's voice rang out. "Release him!"

Simon shouted in Italian, "Any man here who understands me and is willing to join me will be paid three times what you've been promised."

"What is he saying?" Fouquet spun around, looking for comprehension on anyone's face.

Simon noted that not one man understood him. Without looking at Angelica, he continued. "Don't do anything to indicate you understand, my love. Whatever happens, find as many of my men who are able to ride as you can and send them to your place of birth. Tell them to find the hidden ledgers there and to take them to the king." Angelica remained silent.

"Enough!" Fouquet commanded and approached.

Standing before Simon, Fouquet folded his hands behind his back and lifted a brow. "Whatever tricks you think to try, rest a.s.sured, I am cleverer than you," he advised.

"Why are you here, Fouquet? What are you after? And who are these men?" He struggled, testing their hold on him.

"My friend, Neuchesne, you remember him, don't you, beggar born? He is the Commander-in-Chief of the King's Navy. You know, the same navy that deems you unfit to serve. Neuchesne was good enough to lend out these men to detain you and your motley crew until the king orders your arrest."

"Arrested for what?" Simon knew his questions were only delaying the inevitable beating coming to him.

"You've been stealing from France, keeping its profits for yourself. You've not paid your due to the Crown treasury for some time. Furthermore, you're a notorious rebel who has hidden behind the Marquis de Nevelon for too long, inciting other rebels and ama.s.sing an army which you plan to use against our country and our king."

"You're mad!" Simon roared. "And you can never prove any of your lies."

"Oh, I can and I shall. Young Paul has told me everything that I want to know, and thanks to him, I have proof that you hold the prize of your latest capture, refusing to pay it to the Crown."

Cold dread sliced through him. "You have Paul?" Simon had sent for most of his men, but Paul and some of the others had yet to arrive. "He's young... What have you done to him?"

Fouquet shrugged. "He's old enough to sign a confession. Apparently, he is slower than your other men at getting away. Capturing him wasn't difficult, I'm told. And his threshold for pain is quite low..." He chuckled along with the other men.

"Dear G.o.d..." He heard Angelica's horrified whisper.

"Where is he? Is he-" Simon stopped abruptly, unable to say "dead." He pulled at his arms, sickened that Fouquet would prey upon innocent Paul.

"Easy." Fouquet smiled. "You'll see him soon enough. I am having a party in a few days, a celebration to end all celebrations at Chateau Vaux-le-Vicomte. The king will be there along with all the n.o.bles. Everyone of significance. I plan to entertain them in a manner so lavish that they will rave about it for generations. At the end, I will present Louis with a prize. You."

"Me?"

"Yes. We all know how sensitive Louis is about rebel uprisings, after the revolt eight years ago. He's in need of a new diversion. You will be a great help in giving him something to focus his attention on-by being arrested and tried. Just think of the recognition you'll finally receive after all these years. Albeit dubious."

"You are truly mad."

"No, just very clever. The king will be grateful that I was able to purge you from our midst, and he'll rethink his decision of abolishing the position of First Minister. I am, after all, the only viable candidate. Even the n.o.bles would agree."

"You'll not get away with this," Angelica said. "You are not removing him from this house."

"Daughter, he's just a commoner with far too much impudence for his own good. It is time someone taught him some manners." Fouquet snapped his fingers.

A large man walked up to Simon and slammed his meaty fist into his midsection. The air rushed out of his lungs. He collapsed forward, fighting to draw a breath.

"No!" From the corner of his eye, he saw Angelica take a step toward him. Fouquet caught her arm.

Simon's head was pulled back by the hair. A fist slammed into his jaw, causing white sparks to flash in his eyes.

"Stop it!" Angelica cried.

"Daughter, I think you protest too much over this man." Fouquet turned to Simon. "Why is that, peasant dog? Why is she so concerned for your welfare?"

Simon tasted blood in his mouth. "I know this is a novelty to you, Fouquet, but she just might possess human decency."

"I don't think that's it. Look at her."

Simon refused.

"Look at her!" Fouquet commanded him. Simon forced his gaze to meet hers. He saw love as well as pain in her eyes before she looked away.

"Have you touched my stepdaughter, beggar born?"

"No." He hated to deny it, but there was no choice here.

"Has he touched you, daughter? Have you spread your legs for this worthless commoner?"

She looked straight into Fouquet's eyes and said firmly, "No."

Fouquet yanked her to him. "I don't believe you. You are a liar and a wh.o.r.e."

Simon kicked Fouquet's legs out from under him and spit out the blood in his mouth, landing it precisely on Fouquet's cheek. "Never. Touch. Her. Again." Each word was growled in a low, venomous tone.

Fouquet wiped away the b.l.o.o.d.y spittle from his cheek with his lace handkerchief and rose. His nostrils flared. "Get him out of here!" he barked. They began to drag Simon out.

"No!" Angelica exclaimed. She turned to Fouquet. "You will pay for all you've done. I'll see to it! I have the king's ear."

Fouquet laughed in her face. "Foolish daughter, your peasant lover will be tried and executed, and the king will thank me for it. The beggar born is correct on one score. The king is interested in you and will be even more so once he learns of your husband's death. Go to him," he said, unconcerned, "and he will most a.s.suredly order you to lift your skirts for his royal pleasure."

Angelica ran and stood in front of Simon as he and the two men escorting him reached the door of her chambers. "Where are you taking him?"

"He's going to Vaux-le-Vicomte with his men, where he will be turned over to the king and his private guard. Now, stand aside."

"Stand aside, please," Simon implored her. "Everything will be fine." He saw the reservation in her eyes. Silently, he willed her to listen. Reluctantly, she stepped away.

Fouquet walked around Angelica, keeping his gaze the entire time on Simon. The look in his eyes chilled Simon's blood. His heart thudded. Unsure what he was about to do.

Stopping behind her, Fouquet leaned in. She stiffened.

"Indeed, Angelica. Everything will be just fine. For me," he said in her ear, loud enough for Simon to hear. "If you're willing to spread your legs for an old man and this peasant, then you will accommodate me as well. Your lover will be dead soon enough, and when he is, we shall become reacquainted once more." He licked her earlobe with his wet tongue. Simon lunged at Fouquet, despite the men holding him. It took four men to wrestle him to the ground. He hit the floor with a hard, painful thud, Fouquet's laughter burning in his ears.

"Bring him," Fouquet ordered.

"What about the woman?" asked one of the men.

Fouquet stopped at the door. "Leave her. She's harmless. Besides, she'll be busy cleaning. It seems we spilled some blood on the stairs."

The men laughed.

"Daughter, I'll send a carriage for you to bring you to my party. I promise it will be most entertaining."

Chapter Twenty-Nine.