The Brat
Chapter Thirteen

Murie opened her eyes and found herself staring at an empty expanse of bed. Sitting up, she peered around the room. Her husband had already risen and started his day... and without waking her.
Scowling, she pushed the linens and furs aside and climbed to her feet from the collapsed bed. She'd hoped to talk to Balan about perhaps getting some livestock and more servants for the castle, but he'd quite distracted her last night and now had slipped away while she slept. It wasn't a good start to the day. Muttering under her breath, she crossed to her chest of clothes and began pulling out gowns and surcoats until she settled on something she felt like wearing. Murie had a rather large selection, thanks to living at court, where fashion was nearly a religion and becoming more so all the time since the plague. It was almost as if everyone were insisting on vast variety and color to make up for the misery they'd gone through.
Settling on a deep red gown with a black surcoat that should manage for a busy day of cleaning, Murie began to tug the clothes on, pausing when the door opened and Cecily looked in.
"Oh, you are up." The woman smiled but raised her eyebrows at the fact that she was already dressed. "Are you not going to wash up first? You always wash in the morning."
Murie opened her mouth to say she couldn't be bothered this morning, that she was just going to get filthy cleaning and thought it better to just take a bath that night, but the woman stepped into the room with the customary basin of water.
"Oh, bother!" She promptly tugged off the gown she'd just put on and stomped over. "Where is my husband?"
"He rode out with Osgoode hours ago," Cecily informed her. "I have no idea where they were headed. He simply told me to let you sleep as long as you liked, as you are still recovering from the poisoning, then left."
"Hmm." Murie scowled at the linen cloth as she ran it quickly over her body. She supposed it would be fish to break her fast, as well as at lunch and sup. Not an appetizing prospect, she thought, then chided herself. She had naught to complain about. The people here had been eating fish at every meal for months, and she'd not yet eaten it once: They had never got around to eating the fish Balan had brought up with him last night.
"I suppose everyone else is up and about their duties,as well?" she asked.
"Aye, though little Juliana has been hanging about in the hopes that you would rise and hem her dress," Cecily said with amusement. "You have won a heart there."
"She is a sweet child," Murie murmured, her face softening into a smile.
"Aye, I sensed that the moment she kicked you," her maid commented.
Murie merely chuckled and finished her ablutions, then crossed the room to re-don the red dress. As she pulled on the black surcoat, she asked, "Lord Reynard's wagoneer has not yet left, has he?"
"Aye, he was gone almost on Lord Gaynor's heels." Murie tsked at this. "He left without Emilie's furs and pillows."
"He said she would not need them returned for a while, as they have plenty at Reynard, and they could stay here." Cecily picked up Murie's gown from the night before and clucked over the state of it. Murie flushed, but otherwise ignored the reprimand; Balan had been a bit impatient removing it and had left it a tangled heap.
"So? What completely unsuitable task are we going to perform today?" Cecily asked as she straightened and folded the dress.
"Shall we clear and scrub the great hall floor, or chop wood for the fire?"
"You have been spoiled by too much time at court," Murie said with gentle amusement. "Do you not remember life at Somerdale? Surely it was not all gentle ladylike pastimes there?"
"Aye, I remember," Cecily said quietly. She put the dress away.
"I wonder how Somerdale fared through the plague," Murie said, suddenly worried. She had been so distracted with the happenings at court and in London that she hadn't given her childhood home a thought since the plague struck. But then, it had been so long ago, and the people there were all just fuzzy images and echoes in her mind.
"They fared no better than anywhere else," Cecily informed her. "One third to one half of the villagers and servants were taken by the plague, including William the steward."
"William the steward," Murie murmured, a faded image of the man coming to mind along with a memory of Cecily giggling at something he said. She seemed to remember that all the maids had found him handsome and giggled in his presence. "I wonder if the king has replaced him, or if it is something Balan need tend to."
"I would not know, my lady. I only heard how Somerdale fared secondhand from one of the maids of the neighboring castle. Her lady was visiting court and passed the news to me."
"I had best mention it to Balan then," Murie decided, and headed for the door.
"What do you wish me to do today, my lady?" Cecily asked, trailing along.
Murie paused at the door to consider. There was so much to do; it was difficult to decide where to start. She really needed to tour the castle again - more slowly this time so that she could sort out what needed doing most. But there was no need for Cecily to waste time trailing her around.
When Murie realized she was absently scuffing her toe against a hard bit of something long-ago spilled on the wooden floor, her gaze swept the bedchamber and she nodded. "Why do you not gather rushes for the floor to start with?" she suggested, opening the chamber door. "If you do not think you can manage the task on your own, take one of Gatty's daughters with you."
"Aye, my lady," Cecily said, and the two left the room. Leaving Cecily to go about her own task, Murie started a tour of the upper floor before going below to break her fast. Truly, the idea of fish was not tempting.
And a more thorough going-over of each room on the upper floor simply reaffirmed what she'd noted the night before: They all basically needed as much effort as her bedchamber. The last two chambers of the four could wait, but she would definitely like to see Juliana's room made more hospitable.
As if thoughts of the child brought her running, Balan's sister was the first person Murie saw as she descended the stairs to the great hall. The girl rushed to greet her, Frederick on her heels and questions on her lips.
"Are you going to cut my hair today, Murie? Are you going to hem my dress?" she asked excitedly. The girl's eagerness was enough to decide Murie on her first tasks.
"I shall certainly cut your hair right now if you like," she assured the child, and then added, "and I shall certainly pin your dress directly afterward. Howbeit, I will not hem it until this evening when we are relaxing around the fire after sup."
"Oh," Juliana's shoulders drooped with disappointment. "But then I shall not be able to wear it tonight."
Murie bit her lip and sighed. Some things were simply too important to be left, and an injured young girl's feelings were far more important than cleaning this or that. "You are right, and so I shall hem it when we break for the nooning meal instead. How is that?"
Juliana brightened at once. "That would be wonderful!"
"Go sit at the trestle table while I fetch the items I need to cut your hair," Murie instructed.
"Aye, Murie. Thank you, Murie. You are the best sister a girl ever had, Murie."
The child raced off toward the tables with Frederick on her heels, and Murie watched them go with a smile.
"Bribery will get you far with her, I think. No one has ever troubled themselves to use it."
"Clement." Murie sighed as she turned to the speaker. "Is there something I can help you with this morning, or have you just come to devil me with your surliness?"
He blinked in surprise at her tone. Presumably, no one normally dared confront the man on his moods for fear he might spit - or worse - in their food. Come to think of it, Murie thought suddenly, mayhap hers wasn't the smartest move.
"Actually, my lady," he said finally, in a much more amenable voice, "Cecily mentioned that you are touring the castle once more to see what needed doing, and I hoped you might see your way clear to touring the kitchens first so that you would be done and out of the way when it came time to make the nooning meal."
Judging the request to be perfectly reasonable, Murie gave a nod of assent and promised, "Directly after I deal with Juliana. Would that be sufficient?"
"Aye. Thank you." Clement gave a very formal bow and turned to walk away, then paused after several steps. "I shall bring you the implements needed to repair the child's hair," he said, looking back.
"Thank you," Murie said slowly, perplexed as she watched him leave. It seemed snapping at him had a beneficial effect.
"You have taken Clement in hand as well, I see," Gatty said, making her presence known.
"Aye, it would seem so, though I am not at all sure how I managed it," Murie admitted.
"You did not toady," Gatty said simply. "Even the old Lord Gaynor tended to tiptoe around the man and let him get away with more than he should have. Clement grew too big for his britches because of that."
"Are you saying he was as surly before the plague as he is now?" Murie asked with disbelief.
"You thought his having nothing but fish to work with had caused his moodiness?" Gatty guessed. When Murie nodded, she said, "I suspect Lord Balan thinks the same, but it is not the case. He was cantankerous from the day Lord Gaynor lured him away from our neighbor Lord Aldous."
"Aldous is a neighbor?" Murie asked sharply.
"Aye, our closest, and Gaynor and Aldous have always been at odds. Balan's father and the old Aldous both loved Lady Gaynor, but Lord Gaynor got her. Aldous never forgave him, and the two have been feuding ever since, though not openly. It seemed to transfer naturally to the sons. Malculinus and Balan both trained at Strathcliffe and were constantly at odds from what has been said. Though, as with the fathers, not openly. I gather Malculinus used to get a bunch of bullies together to harrass Balan, never actually doing the dirty work himself. But then, he was always a small, frail lad and would not have been able to stand in a fair fight."
"And Lord Gaynor hired Clement away from Aldous Castle?"
"Aye. More than fifteen years ago. Those were better days, of course. Lady Gaynor was still alive, and Gaynor was healthy and prosperous. 'Tis only when Lady Gaynor died that things began to slip. Lord Gaynor seemed to lose interest in everything around him at that point. And then, the summer before the plague hit, he suddenly found a renewed interest in Gaynor and decided we needed a bigger, finer fish pond. He spent a great deal of money on the task, and it was fraught with difficulty. The moment the men started the project, the heavens seemed to open up and pound us with rain that simply did not stop."
"I remember that summer," Murie admitted. "Many lost their crops to the mud and damp."
"Aye, we did as well. So the pond ate a good portion of our income. Then the crops failed, and the plague hit. Had Lord Gaynor not built the pond, we would have been in a much better position to keep servants."
"Mayhap," Murie said thoughtfully. "But then you would have had more mouths to feed and no fish to feed them." The maid looked startled, and Murie shrugged. "Who is to say there would have been enough people here to tend the animals and keep them from wandering or being stolen? We are close to the border of Scotland up here, and they are famed for reaving. Mayhap it was more fortunate than you think that Lord Gaynor put in the new pond. Fish may get tiresome in a hurry, but they are good for keeping up one's strength." Her gaze slid across the great hall as the door to the kitchens opened and Clement reappeared. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must tend Juliana's hair and then tour the kitchens and gardens."
Murie was no expert on cutting hair. In fact, she'd never cut hair before in her life, but there was simply no way she could make more of a mess of the child's -  no doubt once beautiful -  chestnut locks than Juliana had made herself, so Murie approached the task with more enthusiasm than was probably warranted. The project turned out surprisingly well. She managed to turn the hacked mass of hair into an even bob of sorts. She was most pleased with the results, and Juliana seemed so as well. After showing absolutely everyone she could find -
which turned out to be only Clement, Thibault, Gatty and Frederick - the child rushed upstairs to change into her new dress. Aware of the day slipping away, Murie worked quickly at pinning up the gown, then sent the girl off to change again while she herself headed for the kitchens. Once she'd inspected, she moved on to the gardens outside. And while she'd only intended to look, the sight of parsley made her gasp in alarm and immediately drop to her knees. She was tearing the plants from the ground when an alarmed cry rose up behind her.
Glancing over her shoulder, she stared in amazement at the horrified expression on the cook's face.
"My lady!" Clement bellowed, finally finding his voice as he charged toward her. "What in God's name are you doing?"
"I am removing the parsley," Murie said soothingly. " 'Tis all right. I shall replant it outside the gates."
"But I do not want it outside the gates. I needs must have it close by to cook with," he protested.
" 'Twill be little enough effort to walk a ways to get it rather than risk a death in the castle."
"What?" he asked with bewilderment.
"Do you not know that growing parsley in the garden means there will be a death in the house before the end of the year?" she asked with exasperation. "Honestly, you are practically ensuring my husband's death with such nonsense. Well, I will not have it! I am moving the parsley outside the gate, and you can just walk that little distance to get it when you need it."
Clement simply stared with a sort of befuddled expression, seemingly at a loss for what to say. His gaze was mournful as he peered at the parsley she was gathering.
"Did you come out here for a reason, Clement?" she asked.
"Aye," he breathed after a moment, then seemed to give himself a shake. "His lordship and Osgoode returned with a boar from their hunt, and I came to find the herbs I should like to stuff it with."
"Oh." She smiled brightly. "Stuffed boar for sup! That shall be lovely."
"Aye," he agreed.
"Is my husband in the great hall, then?" she asked, gathering the plants she'd uprooted. She could finally speak to the man - or so she thought. Clement soon disabused her of that possibility.
"He was," the cook said. "But I gather the boar put up a battle and both men were bloodied. They rode down to the river to bathe rather than trouble me to boil water and haul it above stairs for them."
"Oh." Murie shifted from one foot to the other and asked, "Is the river far?"
"Nay. Not far," Clement said, his gaze locked on the parsley. His look made her nervous. She very much suspected he would like to wrest the plants from her and put them back exactly where she'd taken them from, despite being warned of their horrible effects.
Easing a wary step away, she turned and headed out of the garden. "Well, I shall simply walk down to the river after replanting the parsley. I should like to have a word with my husband."
Murie could hear the cook's sigh as she walked away, but she ignored it. Honestly, how he could fret over having to walk a little distance when it might save a life, she didn't know. Still. .. she didn't end up planting the parsley outside the gate. The saying was only that growing it in the garden was bad, so she planted it nearby, on the edge of a short row of apple trees. Satisfied that it wasn't in the garden, but Clement might be a little less distressed that it was not so very far away, she straightened and brushed off her hands and headed out of the bailey to find Balan.
She was most grateful that he'd spent the morning hunting. Truly, stuffed boar sounded a nice treat. Murie had never cared much for fish, and the idea of being forced to eat it three times a day was a terrible trial. Actually, it was making her feel rather ill, which it had never done before, but there it was. That was the reason it had been no hardship for her to miss the meal last eve, and why she'd found herself "forgetting" to break her fast this morning in all the fuss of cutting Juliana's hair and touring the kitchens.
She'd been quite pleased with the kitchens, actually. Clement had done a wonderful job of keeping them up. While everywhere else seemed to need whitewashing and new rushes and even new furniture, the kitchens were in tip-top shape, simply needing supplies and some servants to bring it back to life. Murie had expressed her pleasure to Clement. The man had said stiffly that it was his job, but he'd also blushed, and she'd seen the spark of pleasure in his eyes. She suspected that everyone had been so busy tiptoeing around him all these years, they had neglected to compliment his efforts as well. A little credit where credit was due might make the man a bit more bearable. He would never be as dear and cheerful as Thibault, but she thought his personality might improve with some work.
"Murie."
Pausing, she glanced up with surprise as Osgoode appeared on the path ahead. He was walking toward her; wet hair slicked back from his face and damp clothes clinging to his body. Smiling, she said, "I see you saved the ladies some work and washed your clothes along with your bodies. Is my husband still bathing?"
"Aye." Osgoode grinned. "Balan likes water. The man will sit in a bath until the water is cold while bathing indoors, and he's even worse outdoors. Not me," he added. "I like to get in and out."
Murie smiled faintly, but refrained from pointing out his in-and-out method left much to be desired -  he still had blood on his neck below his ear. Then she realized it was a graze, and she frowned. "Clement said the boar gave you a battle. You were hurt."
"What? This?" He wiped at his neck and shrugged. " 'Tis naught. The boar was stubborn and did not wish to land on our table."
"Was Balan hurt as well?" Murie asked.
"Nay. He is swifter of foot than I. Besides, he was on top of the boar. I was foolish enough to dismount in front of the beast before he was quite down. Balan had to leap off his mount onto the animal's back and slit its throat. This is from me running away  - right into a branch while looking behind me to see how close the beast was," he admitted, laughing and rubbing the spot. Murie shook her head. Boar hunting was one of the most dangerous sports. Boars often did not go down right away, and the arrow or spear that pierced them usually just made them angry and stronger.
"Well, I am off. I want to be sure Clement has all he needs for dinner. A fine beast like that boar deserves to be cooked properly."
Murmuring farewell, Murie watched Balan's cousin off and then turned to continue on to the river. She had no idea how far it was, but suspected she must be close. At least, that was what she thought at first, but after five minutes, she realized it was farther than she'd expected. Not far, exactly, just not as close as she'd thought. Still, she enjoyed the walk, noting a birch tree here and an ash tree there, and even a clump of wild onions and a small carpet of clover. These were all very good luck when carried on a person. Determining that her husband needed all the luck he could get, she stopped to pluck a twig from the birch and then an ash-key from the ash tree before spending several moments hunting until she found an even ash leaf. She searched the clover for a four-leafed one, but after several minutes gave up for another time and continued along the path, eventually coming to the river.
Much to her dismay, the clearing was empty. Murie paused and frowned, wondering if she'd missed her husband and he'd walked right by her while she was on her knees in the clover. The sound of splashing from farther downriver answered that question; obviously the men had moved from the main clearing to ensure they didn't startle any of the castle women who might unsuspectingly approach.
Clucking her tongue, Murie moved to the edge of the river and peered in the direction from which the sound had come. Her heart stopped when she saw a bit of blue cloth floating on the surface of the water... the same color as the new doublet she'd had made for Balan's wedding and which he'd worn since. Staggering quickly along the water's edge, Murie hurried to the shore directly beside it... and found herself staring at her husband's back. He was half submerged under the water.
Screaming his name in fear and horror, she charged into the river, cursing as her gown immediately grew wet and heavy, clinging to her legs and slowing her down. It seemed like hours passed before she managed to gain his side. Grabbing him by the back of his doublet, she turned him quickly in the water and slipped a hand under his head to lift it up, then peered at her husband's pale face with dismay. He wasn't breathing; she was too late, she thought with alarm, but then ground her teeth and started to rise, intending to drag him toward shore.
She paused when she spotted blood on the hand she'd had beneath his head. Lifting his head further, she shifted the wet strands and gasped at the sight of the deep, wide gash. Someone had hit him on the back of his head with ... something. Her eyes examined the shoreline, and her mouth tightened. There were several likely rocks on shore that could have managed the job. Someone had tried to kill her husband again!
Standing abruptly in the water, she caught Balan by the shoulders and dragged him toward land.
Moving him was easy in the river, where the water helped buoy him up and all she had to do was pull and direct him, but once she reached shore, the task became almost impossible. Murie would never know where she found the strength to draw him out of the water, but she did, alternating between pulling and pushing at various parts of his body. She pulled his arms out first, then ran around to grab his ankles to drag those so that he ended bowed backward on his side, his stomach and chest still mostly in the water. Murie then moved to his torso and placed one hand on his belly and one on his upper chest and began shoving with all her strength, trying to push him completely out of the water. She wasn't sure how many times she'd pushed at him when he suddenly gagged and coughed up what appeared to be half the river. He followed that with several more coughs, then rolled onto his back with a groan and fell silent.
"Husband?" Murie whispered, hardly believing he lived. Dropping to her knees, she brushed the damp hair back from his face and looked him over. His coloring seemed a little better; less gray, and with a tinge of pink to it now. But he was still unconscious.
Biting her lip, she tapped his cheek a couple of times and then sucked in a deep breath and gave him a sound whack across the face. She'd hoped that would wake him, but it didn't have the desired effect.
Sighing, she sank back on her heels and peered around, trying to think of what to do. Instinct was yelling at her to run and get help, that she couldn't possibly get him back by herself, but her instincts were also telling her that whoever had done this might yet be lurking, awaiting an opportunity to finish the job. She would not leave Balan alone ... but she needed to get him back to the keep.
How? Her mind screamed the question, and then her gaze landed on the doublet she was unconsciously clutching. She stared at the cloth hard for a moment, then shifted her gaze to her own gown and finally to the uneven ground. There were two branches almost large enough. . . .
Murie shook her head. Nay. She could not; not even for her husband would she . . .
But the idea had taken hold, and she didn't have a better one. Finally, admitting with much regret that there was nothing else for it, Murie stood and began to strip.