The Brat
Chapter Fourteen

"She what?" Balan roared, but his head was immediately pierced by a thousand sharp needles of pain. He'd woken in his collapsed bed just moments ago, not to find his caring wife there tending him with adoration, but Osgoode sitting on one side and his wife's maid, Cecily, on the other. Cecily had told him that Murie had saved his life after finding him unconscious in the river. Osgoode had told him how.
Holding his throbbing head and squeezing, in an effort to press back the pain as well as ensure his head didn't explode, Balan repeated a little more quietly, "She what?"
"She stripped naked and then stripped you naked and used the clothing and two branches she found nearby to make a sort of litter, then dragged you all the way back to the castle," Osgoode repeated, eyes shining.
"Dear God," Balan breathed.
"Aye." Osgoode nodded solemnly. " 'Twas the most incredible thing I have ever seen."
"You saw?" Balan asked with horror.
"Everyone saw," Osgoode replied. "Without your clothes, the men were not sure who was approaching and sent for Anselm, and then Anselm called me."
"Surely you recognized us?" Balan asked with disbelief, but Osgoode shook his head.
"Nay. Understand, you were crumpled and rolled up in a ball on a multicolored litter.. . and Murie's hair was damp from both sweat and river water, and plastered to her face, obscuring her features. We all just thought her a mad woman dragging something around at first." He pursed his lips and added,
"Everyone was on the wall staring, and she had nearly reached the drawbridge before Cecily gasped that it was her ladyship."
"Aye," Cecily agreed solemnly. "And then I ran into the castle and grabbed a fur from the bed and rushed out to cover her with it as the men hurried to take the litter."
Osgoode nodded and added enviously, "She must love you very much to go to such ends to see you safe."
Balan paused and stared at his cousin. Love? Had it been love that made her drag him naked from the river to the castle? Could she really love him? The idea almost made him smile, but then he recalled that, had she loved him, surely she would be here when he woke. Which she wasn't.
"Where is my wife?" he asked with a growl.
"She went below to see if she could come up with something to help with your pain when you woke. She said your head would be splitting when you finally did." Seeing Balan's irritation, Osgoode added, "But she was most worried for your well-being and would not leave until both Cecily and I agreed to stay with you."
"Hmmmph." Balan shifted in the collapsed bed. He supposed her leaving to see to his comfort was acceptable. And insisting upon two people to watch him was good. It showed more care and concern than asking only one to stay. Still, he wished she'd been here when he'd first opened his eyes. Actually, he wished she'd been there with something for his pain. The dratted woman was right - his head was splitting.
"Do you remember what happened?" Osgoode asked suddenly.
"How did you end up falling in the river and hitting your head?"
"I did not fall in the river and hit my head," he announced grimly. "Someone crept up behind me and hit me over the head. I fell in the river ... or perhaps they pushed me in after. Whichever the case, this was no accident."
Osgoode sat back on the mattress, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. They were all three on the straw-stuffed mattress on the floor. Balan lay on his back in the middle, and the maid and Osgoode were seated on either side. There were no chairs in the room.
"You do not think Murie - ," Osgoode began.
"Osgoode!" Balan snapped and regretted it at once. Clutching his head, he said through gritted teeth, "You have just finished telling me that my wife stripped naked and dragged me back up the path to the castle to save my life. Do not dare suggest the woman tried to kill me first and then tried to save me. Should you be foolish enough to do so - aching head or no aching head -  I shall rise up out of this bed and strike you down."
"Nay, of course not," Osgoode said quickly. "It was just a thought."
Balan started to shake his head with disgust, but paused with a grimace at the pain that engendered. Shifting impatiently in bed, he muttered, "Where is my wife?"
"Very well, I have arranged it so that Cecily and Osgoode stay by my husband's side. Now, what is it that was so important you had to drag me away when he most needs me?" Murie asked, her gaze sliding over the group gathered at the castle wall. Everyone was there: Gatty, her son and two daughters, Juliana, Clement, Thibault and every last one of the soldiers as far as she could tell. Murie supposed they'd chosen the wall to avoid leaving it unmanned, while also avoiding leaving anyone out. That fact made her curious, but - much to her exasperation - no one was answering her question; instead they were all avoiding looking at her and shifting uncomfortably.
Murie knew what the problem was, of course. They had seen her naked as the day she was born and were now embarrassed in her presence. She understood, though she did wonder that they should be reacting thus when she was the one who should be squirming. However, odd as it might seem, their very discomfort eased her own, and she was the only one not blushing.
"Anselm?" she asked finally. As the man Balan left in charge of Gaynor when he was away, the soldier seemed the most likely leader of this procession.
The man hesitated, his eyes skating to her and then away as if she were still naked rather than in a clean new gown of pale cream. She was about to prompt him again when he spoke.
"We have been thinking, my lady," he started. "And it occurred to us that the only people on the journey between court and Reynard were Lord and Lady Reynard, their men-at-arms, the Reynards' servants, your maid, Cecily, and Osgoode."
"Aye," Murie murmured, knowing where this was going. The fact had occurred to her as well.
"So ... it has to be one of them," Godart announced, as if it were obvious. Which, she supposed, it was. But Murie frowned. Cecily had been a good and loyal servant, following her to court and mopping up her tears when the other girls had been at their worst. As for Osgoode: she wasn't as sure about him, but she liked her husband's cousin and did not wish to think he was involved. She had another culprit she would prefer it to be.
"We must consider motive here," she said at last. "Who would have a motive to kill Balan? Surely, neither Osgoode nor Cecily would have reason?"
"I do not know about your maid, but Osgoode would," Anselm said slowly.
Murie blinked in surprise. "What motive would he have?" The soldier shrugged. "He inherits if Balan dies." Murie scowled. "I would think Juliana would inherit should Balan die. She is his sister."
"Gaynor has always passed down through the men. A son or nephew always inherits. Juliana would inherit her mother's demesne, but Osgoode would get Gaynor."
Murie's gaze slid to Juliana, but the child seemed neither surprised nor hurt by this announcement.
"There are other possibilities," she said at last.
"Such as?" Anselm asked.
Murie hesitated. "If there were a party traveling nearby that we had not realized was there, for instance," she suggested.
"Someone from that party may have put the thistle under Balan's saddle and poisoned that meat."
"Like Lord Malculinus and his sister, Lauda?" Habbie asked.
"You did mention that their party must have left court on your heels to arrive at Gaynor when they did. Are you thinking they could be behind these attacks?"
"Well, there were no more attacks once we reached Reynard," Murie pointed out. "And they have only now started up again. Gatty told me they are neighbors to us."
"Aye," Erol said, but sounded doubtful. Murie understood why when he added, "While no one might have necessarily noticed anyone specifically near the horses or by the cooking meat, a stranger would definitely have been noticed lurking about." He shook his head. "It really is more likely someone in the party." Murie frowned with displeasure. She preferred the Aldouses as suspects, and so suggested, "Mayhap they bribed one of Lord Reynard's men to perform the deeds and traveled close by to hear the results."
"That is possible," Godart murmured. Then he pointed out,
"This latest attack did take place outside the gates and could be from an outsider."
Anselm nodded slowly. "Aye, and Aldous could have bribed one of Reynard's men."
They were all silent for a moment. Murie at last said, "Well, we still do not know who it is. It could be Osgoode or Cecily," she agreed reluctantly. "But it could also be Lord Aldous behind it all. So, I suggest - "
"But what would his motive be?" Gatty interrupted. "He and Balan have been at odds for years, but Malculinus has never resorted to trying to kill him before this. Why now?" Murie wrinkled her nose. "Malculinus and Lauda apparently intended to try to trick me into marriage,but Balan stopped them, and I ended up marrying him instead. Malculinus may want revenge."
"Or to make you a widow so you will marry him after all," Anselm suggested.
Murie snorted. "I would not marry him if he were the last man in England."
"You were going to suggest something, my lady," Thibault reminded her. "Before Gatty interrupted. You said, 'So I suggest...' What were you going to say?"
"Oh, aye." Murie dragged her mind back on track and said, "As we are not sure who the culprit is and are short the manpower to watch all three suspects, mayhap the best bet is to set two men on Balan to watch him."
"Two?" Anselm asked with a grimace. "My lady, we are short-staffed. Can we not make it one?"
Murie bit her lip. She would feel better if it were two, but they were at a terrible disadvantage when it came to number. Sighing, she nodded. "Very well, make it one. One man should be with Balan at all times to watch for any future attempts until this is resolved."
"Lord Balan is not going to like having a minder," Erol grumbled. "He'll order against it, and we will have to listen." Murie's mouth set with displeasure. It was true: Balan probably wouldn't like it and would find a way to be rid of anyone guarding him ... if he knew they were. "Very well, one man must watch him from a distance, doing his best to avoid being noticed by Balan in the process."
"That may work," Anselm admitted.
The men all mumbled their agreement, and Anselm turned to Erol and Godart. "You two can watch him in shifts, one during the day and one at night. You can decide which shift you want between the two of you.
But," he added, his gaze moving over everyone present, "I want everyone to try to keep an eye out for him. If you see Lord Balan about, take note that all is well and that no one is watching or following him or acting strangely." When everyone murmured or nodded, Anselm clapped his hands. "That is it then. We can all go back to our duties."
Feeling a little better now that she knew Balan would have someone watching over him at all times, Murie joined the others in leaving the castle wall. She was back in the keep and halfway across the great hall before she became aware that she was being followed. Glancing back, she raised an eyebrow at the sight of Juliana trailing after her. The girl was biting her lip and looking anxious.
With all the excitement and worry since coming upon her husband in the river, Murie hadn't given a thought to how this must have upset the child. Pausing, she held her hand out, smiling when the girl slipped fingers into hers.
"You saved him," Juliana whispered in a trembling voice, and before Murie could speak, added, "but what if he is killed the next time? He is all I have."
Murie's smile faltered at the child's words, knowing the incident had raised fears of what would happen if her brother died. It was a worry Murie had never had as a child... until she'd found herself orphaned. Kneeling, she took the girl by the shoulders and stared her straight in the face. "Nay. You have me now, too ... and I promise you, should anything happen to your brother, I shall take care of you."
Juliana bit her lip and managed a trembling smile. "And I would look after you, too."
Murie smiled at the child and gave her a quick hug. "That is what sisters are for," she whispered by her ear,and thought to herself that she was beginning to love the sister as much as the brother. The thought so startled her that Murie simply knelt there when Juliana stepped back. She barely heard the girl say she was going to go find Frederick and run down to the stables to see if Habbie's dog had had her litter yet; she was simply too stunned by her own thoughts.
Standing slowly, she continued on toward the stairs, but her mind was racing. Did she love her husband? Certainly she liked him, respected him, and she definitely enjoyed their marital bed ... but love? How could she love him already?
Murie's parents had had a wonderful marriage. They had been a loving and affectionate couple. But they had seemed to her to be the exception rather than the rule. The behavior she'd seen at court had been somewhat less than stellar: married noblemen dallying with maids in whatever dark corner they could find, while their wives took lovers of their own in more discreet but no less adulterous affairs. She'd seen men beat their wives in public after too much drink, insult them publicly after nothing to drink and just generally treat them poorly. But Balan had never treated her so, and she was quite positive he never would, though she could not have said why. There was just something too honorable about the man for her to believe he would ever sink to such behavior.
But love ... ?
"Aye," she admitted on a sigh. She loved him. And, if for no other reason than that, she could not lose him. She would do all in her power to ensure whoever was trying to kill him did not succeed.
Balan woke slowly and opened his eyes, relieved to note that this time his head was not aching. He supposed he could thank Murie's medicinals for that. They had worked wonders when she'd finally returned. The noxious brew had tasted bitter and nasty, but his headache had soon eased. The only problem was that the brew had made him sleepy as well, and he'd soon found himself falling off to sleep again.
Wondering what time it was, he peered around the room. The chamber was dark, lit only by the fire, which cast dancing shadows across the wall. At first he thought his wife had left him alone, but then he saw her kneeling on a fur before the fire, mending something by the light cast by the flames. He watched her for a moment as she concentrated on her stitches and had just realized that the pale yellow cloth she held must be Juliana's new dress when he became aware of the pungent smell in the air.
"What is that smell?" he asked after a moment. It smelled like onions to him, but there was no good reason that he could think for the room to reek of the scent.
Murie glanced up from sewing, wide eyes swiveling his way.
"You are awake." Setting Juliana's dress aside, she climbed to her feet and crossed to the bed.
"Aye," Balan acknowledged, as she settled on the straw mattress next to him and placed a hand at his cheek. Her gaze slid over his face and eyes.
"Your coloring is much better, and your eyes are clear," she noted. "The rest has done you good. How is your head?"
"Fine," he muttered, then repeated, "What is that smell?"
"What smell?" she asked with confusion.
"It smells like onions," he said, glancing around again.
"Oh. Well that would be onions," Murie answered,bending to pick up a tankard of some liquid left beside the mattress. Straightening, she held it out. "Here. Drink this."
"Nay, it made me sleepy the last time," he protested, waving it away. "Why would our room reek of onions?"
"Because there are onions in our room," she answered simply, and held the tankard out again. " 'Tis not the same brew as last time. 'Tis a special concoction to strengthen you. It will not make you sleep. Drink it."
Balan scowled, but took the tankard and drank half of it in one gulp, only to pause and make a face. "This is worse than the last one. What is in it?"
"Rosemary, sage and St. John's wort - among other things," she answered evasively.
"Hmmph." Balan scowled but drank more of the liquid before asking, "Why are there onions in our room?"
"They will help prevent your getting an infection or fever," was Murie's answer.
"Humph," Balan muttered. He gulped the rest of the vile drink down, then handed back the tankard.
"Are you hungry?" Murie asked, taking it.
"Aye," he admitted. "I do not suppose there is any boar left?"
"Of course there is," Murie assured him, standing and moving to place the tankard on one of her chests that had been moved beside the bed to be used as a table. There was a trencher on it, which she picked up to carry back. "They saved you the choicest bits. Clement brought it up before the others sat down to eat. It has been waiting here for you to wake."
"Mmm." Balan sat up as she handed him the trencher. Murie settled on the bed as he began to eat, but shook her head when he offered her some.
He ate in silence for several minutes before she asked, "Balan?
Do you remember what happened?"
"Aye. We went down to the river, washed our clothes and laid them out to dry on the rocks, then bathed. Osgoode was done quicker than I and left to head back to the castle. I had just got out and re-donned my clothes when someone cracked me over the head. I must have fallen into the river."
She was silent as he ate some more. Then: "You did not hear or see anything ere they hit you over the head?"
"Nay. There are small rapids just up from where we swam. The sound of the water rushing over the rocks would have covered for any sound of an approach," he pointed out.
"Aye," Murie murmured. "I passed Osgoode on my way down to the river. His clothes were wet."
"Aye. They did not get a chance to dry ere our getting out. Mine were still wet too when I donned them," Balan said absently, his concentration on his food. Clement had outdone himself. The boar was juicy and well-seasoned, and the man had indeed saved him the choicest bits.
"So, he was not wet from dragging you into the water?" Murie asked.
Balan stiffened, the food forgotten. Raising startled eyes, he said, "What?"
"You do not think he ..." She paused and bit her lip, looking uncomfortable, and blinked in surprise when Balan burst out laughing.
"Nay, wife," he said when his laughter had slowed. "Osgoode did not cosh me over the head and throw me in the river to drown."
She gave a half-relieved smile, but asked, "You are sure? I have had it pointed out to me that he would inherit everything if you were to die."
Balan frowned as he realized that truth, but shook his head.
"Nay. Osgoode has watched my back since we were children. He saved my life countless times while in France. And I his, for that matter. I trust him with my life. Nay, 'twas not Osgoode," he assured her, but found it amusing that each seemed to think the other was trying to kill him. Turning his gaze back to his trencher, he reached for more meat, then paused in surprise when he realized he'd eaten it all.
"Would you like more?" Murie asked, noting his expression.
"Nay," Balan answered, and instead broke off a piece of bread from the trencher and popped it in his mouth. The hollowed out and stale bread had been softened and flavored by the meat juices, and was almost as good as the meat itself.
Catching his wife glancing toward the dress she'd been working on, he said, "Finish what you were doing. Do not let me stop you."
Murie smiled and shook her head. "I would rather visit with you."
Balan shifted restlessly in the bed. "We could play that game of chess you promised me."
His wife's eyes brightened at the suggestion, and she stood at once and started toward the door, saying, "I shall fetch it right away. Do you wish me to fetch you something to drink while I am below stairs?"
"Aye, a tankard of ale, if you would," he said, and then changed his mind. "Nay, fetch wine for us both." Murie grinned at the suggestion and teased, "Hoping that I will imbibe too much and give you a better chance of winning, my lord?"
Balan just chuckled and shook his head.
As she slipped out of the room, he lay back to await her return, then scowled as the scent of onions immediately became stronger. Shifting onto one elbow, he peered over the side of the mattress, his eyes widening at the sight of the onions lined up on the floor beside him. There must've been two or three dozen, cleaned, peeled and halved, just lying there lined up like a small fence. His gaze drifted past them to see there were more in each corner of the room and along the walls, but these were interspersed with various other items. He recognized clover and ash leaves as well as ash-keys, but had no idea about the branches and twigs strewn throughout.
No doubt they were something considered lucky. His wife did seem to have a penchant for superstitious nonsense. Balan had never seen the like. While he was watching over Murie's sick bed at Reynard as she recovered from the poisoning, Reginald had told him that Emilie had told him that Murie had been superstitious ever since her arrival at court. Emilie seemed to think it was Murie's way of dealing with the uncertainty of life and had to do with the death of her parents. One moment she'd been the happy, laughing child of Lord and Lady Somerdale, and the next she was their orphaned daughter, living at court and being made as miserable as a child could be. Emilie suspected that Murie's penchant for superstition was her way of trying to be prepared for whatever life threw her way.. . and to combat it. That being the case, Balan supposed he should be happy she was placing lucky charms about the room and not decorating their chamber with the white maney flower of the hawthorne, which he knew was unlucky. It was said that, when brought into a home, death followed. Except on May Day, of course.
Smiling faintly, he lay back in the bed and then glanced toward the door as it opened. Murie bustled back in, bearing the chessboard. She was followed by Cecily, who was bearing wine.
"Thank you, Cecily," Murie murmured as she set the board on the bed and began to open the leather bag that held the chess pieces. "You may go to bed if you wish. I will not need you again tonight."
"Aye, my lady," Cecily replied, and slipped out of the room after setting the wine and chalices down by the straw mattress.
"Who taught you to play chess?" Balan asked as he helped Murie set up the pieces. "The king?"
Murie hesitated, then admitted, "Nay. My father taught me. But the king also offered to teach me, and rather than hurt his feelings, I let him think I did not know how to play." Balan grinned. Catching his expression, Murie raised an eyebrow.
"What are you smiling about?"
"I was just thinking that you are so wonderfully tenderhearted," he said, his smile widening as she blushed. He then added, "And that I am going to slaughter you at this game." When she stiffened in surprise, he shrugged and added, "You simply cannot possibly have the killing instinct needed to beat me." Balan swallowed those words two hours later as his wife proceeded to take his king and win her third game. He hadn't seen it coming. Shaking his head with bewilderment, he lay back in bed and peered at her. "I am impressed, my lady wife. I can see why the king will no longer play with you."
"Oh?" She looked alarmed. "Does this mean you will not play with me, either? I could lose once in a while if it would please you," she offered. Then she added, "I am sure you only lost because of your head injury. No doubt it is paining you." Balan made a face. "My head is not paining me. You won fair and square. And of course I shall play with you again. I am not so proud I must win at everything. Mayhap you can teach me a thing or two."
Murie stared at him, wide-eyed. "Really?"
"Aye, really." He smiled, but it turned into a yawn at the end, and Murie quickly began to gather the chess pieces.
"You should sleep, my lord," she murmured.
"I slept all afternoon," Balan said irritably.
"Aye, but you sustained a terrible head wound," she pointed out. She paused to ask, "Are you sure it is not paining you? I could fetch you more - "
"Nay!" he interrupted quickly. The very idea of having to drink more of her special tea was enough to scare away any pain he might have felt. "I am fine. But I think I shall sleep now." He settled back on the mattress as she removed the chess game and pieces, then scowled when she moved back toward the fire.
"Are you not coming to bed?" he asked.
"I thought to work on the dress for a little bit before I retire," she replied.
"Come to bed," he ordered. Balan was too weary to make love, but for some reason he wanted the comfort of her near.
Murie hesitated, then turned back and quickly stripped down to her undertunic. She climbed onto the mattress next to him. The moment she was within reach, Balan turned on his side and snaked his arm around her waist, drawing her against him.
"Good night, husband," she whispered as he closed his eyes. Balan's answer was a grunt as he drifted off to sleep.
He didn't wake when Murie slipped away and only knew she had because when he woke up several hours later, she was sleeping on the fur before the fire, the crumpled pale yellow dress a pillow beneath her cheek. Grumbling under his breath, Balan pushed the linens and furs aside and crawled off the mattress. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about the onions around the bed and planted his foot on one as he rose, lost his balance and fell back to the straw mattress hard enough to draw a groan from his lips.
Cursing now, he crawled to his hands and knees and then got up again, moving more carefully this time to avoid the onions. Muttering about his wife, her foolish superstitions and basically just women in general, Balan crossed the room to scoop Murie up off the floor and carry her back to bed.
The woman sighed in her sleep, but other than that she did not stir as he stripped off her clothes and settled her beneath the linens and furs. It wasn't until he crawled into bed beside her and pulled her against his chest that she showed any sign of waking. Murmuring his name, she started to lift her head, but he pressed it back down onto his chest and whispered, "Sleep." Balan was sure he would not fall back to sleep himself. He'd slept all afternoon and a good portion of the evening, after all; but he'd barely pressed her head back to his chest and closed his eyes when sleep claimed him once again.
When next he opened his eyes, Balan could see sunlight creeping around the furs covering the windows, and Murie was missing from the bed again. This time, however, she was not on the fur before the fire. In fact, she was nowhere in the room. Sighing in exasperation, Balan pushed the linens and furs aside to climb to his feet. Of course, he again forgot about the onions. This time, rather than fall backward, he stumbled forward, crashing to the hard wooden floor just as the bedchamber door opened and his wife entered.
"Husband! What are you doing out of bed?" Murie cried, rushing across the room to his side. "You should not be out of bed. You are obviously still too weak from your injury."
"It is not weakness that saw me on the floor, wife," he said through gritted teeth. "It is your blasted onions. I stepped on the damn things, and my foot went out from under me."
"Oh." Biting her lip, she glanced toward the crushed wild onions he'd stepped on and sighed. "Well you still should not be out of bed."
" 'Tis not a bed, Murie. 'Tis a bloody straw mattress on the bloody floor," he pointed out with irritation. "Speaking of which, we really have to either get the men to fix this bed frame or make a new one. A new mattress would not go amiss, either. And a chair. Two of them to set by the fire," Balan said, scowling, as he regained his feet.
"Husband." Murie caught his arms and tried to turn him back toward the bed. "You should not be up. You took a terrible head injury."
"I am fine," he assured her, and really he did feel fine, although all this movement was beginning to make his head ache again. Ignoring it, he added, "Besides, I wish to take some of the dower I received on our marriage and go out in search of livestock and more servants. Osgoode and I are riding to Carlisle in the hopes of finding what we need there."
"Carlisle?" she asked with amazement, following as he moved around the bed to collect his clothes from where they were folded and set on one of the chests. "But that is a day's ride away."
"Osgoode and I can cover the distance quickly on the way there, but will be slower coming back. I expect we shall be back the morning after next - or early afternoon at the latest," he assured her, tugging on his doublet. Pausing as he saw the grass stains and small holes in it from its use in rescuing him, he scowled, but then reached for his leggings.
"But, you cannot travel now. You sustained a terrible injury to your head," she repeated, trying to take the leggings from him.
"You should rest another day at least. Pray, husband, get back into bed. I - "
"I am fine, Murie," he insisted firmly. "And this needs to be done."
She fell silent, no longer protesting, but not looking pleased, either. Finally, she said, "Please, at least promise me you shall be careful."
"Aye," he muttered, shifting his leggings in his hands. They had fared worse than his doublet and now had several large holes. Shaking his head, he donned the items, thinking he would have to go fetch clothes from the garrison and change into his other pair of leggings and the blue doublet that had been his father's; these were now ruined.
Finished dressing, Balan began to look around for his boots. He noticed his wife hurrying for the door and frowned. "Where are you going?"
"If you insist on making this journey, there are a few things I need to gather together for you," she announced as she reached the door. Pausing, she turned to peer at. him worriedly. "You will not leave before I come back, will you? I will be as quick as I can."
"Come back from where?" Balan asked sharply, but she was already slipping through the door and pulling it closed.