The Brat(10)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Well, at least Malculinus does not seem afraid of me," she said with forced cheer. While she found the man’s constant attentions irritating, at least she had someone to dance with. It would have been wholly humiliating had even he turned away from her. In fact, she thought she should have looked kindly on him for that alone. However, there was something about the man that put her on her guard.

"Aye. But there is something about Malculinus that I do not trust. Every time he comes around, I find myself fighting the urge to snatch you away and hide you," Emilie confessed, She grimaced. "I suppose I am being silly. Lord Aldous has not set a foot wrong."

Murie didn’t comment, but she found it interesting that they’d both had the same reaction to his presence.

"I wonder where Balan and Osgoode are," Emilie said – not for the first time. "It seems obvious they planned to attend, else why practice dancing?"

"Hmmm," Murie murmured, wondering the very thing herself. In fact, she’d found herself searching for him among those in attendance and watching for his arrival when she realized he was not yet there. However, it was growing late, and he still had not yet appeared. She supposed she shouldn’t be so concerned with where he was. After all, if Lauda were right, her dream had meant that she shouldn’t marry him. Considering his opinion of women, she could understand that. On the other hand, she had to wonder why they would share such a passionate kiss in her dream if she wasn’t supposed to marry him.

Shrugging the matter aside, she glanced up to see Reginald approach. Reaching them, he pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead, then offered Murie a greeting before turning back to Emilie to say, "You look pale and tired, wife."

"I am fine," she assured him. "You worry too much, Reginald. Do not fuss so."

"You are carrying our child, Emilie," he reminded her. "Our first child. I will fuss if I choose."

"He is right, Emilie," Murie agreed. "You do look pale. Mayhap we should call it a night."

Emilie snorted. "You are just hoping for an excuse to leave the ball."

Murie shrugged. "There seems little reason to be here if Malculinus is going to be the only one to ask me to dance." Reginald frowned at her comment, then turned to his wife to ask, "Where is Balan?"

Murie sent an accusatory glance Emilie’s way. It seemed obvious her friend had shared her dream and the events that followed with her husband. Of course, she’d suspected she would. Emilie’s marriage was a true love match. Still, it deserved a glare.

"We were just wondering that ourselves," Emilie admitted, sending Murie an apologetic grimace.

"I know he intended to attend; I spoke to him earlier," Lord Reynard said. "He borrowed a doublet from me." Murie’s eyes widened in surprise, but Emilie leaned close and whispered, "See? He did plan to attend –  and even hoped to impress you, else he would not have borrowed a doublet from my husband."

"It would have impressed me more if he had attended," she said dryly. Then she narrowed her eyes on Reginald and suggested, "Mayhap he heard from someone that I plan to challenge him to a game of chess and was too afraid to come."

"Do not glare at me," Reginald said with amusement. " I did not tell him about the chess game. Although, I hardly think that would scare him off. The man is quite good at chess. He has even beaten me several times."

Murie wrinkled her nose at his arrogance. She’d known for ages that the man considered himself a genius at chess. Unfortunately, Murie could not deny it. While she hadn’t played him, she’d seen him play here at court, and she had to admit that he was quite good. It made her positive that she would be better off practicing before playing Balan. It would hardly prove her intellect if he beat her.

"Come." Reginald put his hand under Emilie’s elbow. "You are going to bed."

"But Murie – " Emilie began to protest, only to have him interrupt.

"Murie does not want to be here and would most likely appreciate the excuse to retire herself," he said firmly.

"Aye," Murie admitted with amusement. "I am ready to quit the ball. There is little of interest for me here, and I would rather be gone before the wine and ale takes effect and loosens everyone’s tongues." Those who attended court were unpleasant at the best of times, but she knew from experience that drink could make them worse. Murie really would rather not be around for it.

"Oh, very well," her friend muttered, and the very fact that she gave in so easily proved how weary she really was. It made Murie peer at her with concern. In truth, Emilie was far along in her pregnancy and probably should not have traveled to court. In fact, Murie had been surprised that Reginald had allowed it. However, Emilie confessed to Murie that she’d threatened to follow him on her own if he tried to leave her behind. Knowing she was just stubborn enough to do it, Reginald had given in. Not happily, however.

"Are you coming?" Emilie asked as Reginald started to lead her away.

Murie hesitated, then said, "I will say good night to the king first. You two go ahead without me."

Emilie opened her mouth, no doubt to offer to wait, but Reginald began to pull her firmly away.

"The girl lives here, Emilie. She will make it to her own chamber safely enough."

Murie smiled faintly at Emilie’s expression as she gave in and allowed her husband to lead her from the ballroom.

Once the Reynards were out of sight, rather than make her way to the king, Murie turned and made her way out of the castle. She had no intention of wishing the king good evening. She had no desire to be asked if she’d chosen a husband yet. However, she really wasn’t tired either. She found herself oddly restless instead and hoped a walk around the gardens would wear her out. However, Murie hadn’t thought ahead. The garden was one of those places where amorous couples sought out privacy. After running into the second couple occupied in carnal endeavors Murie turned back with a sigh, thinking she could find something to occupy herself in her room, where she was safe from seeing things she really had no desire to see.

She’d made it perhaps halfway back through the gardens when Malculinus suddenly stepped into her path. Murie froze like a squirrel spotting a predator, but she forced a smile to her lips.

"Lord Aldous. I thought you were at the ball with everyone else."

"I saw you leave and thought you might desire some company," he replied with a smile.

There was nothing in the least threatening about him. He was neither standing too close, nor leering in any way that could be considered improper, and yet she was suddenly on the alert. So much so, when she spotted Balan approaching along the path, she hailed him with relief.

"My Lord Gaynor! Lord Reynard asked me to give you a message," she called out to ensure he did not turn off the path before reaching them. She then glanced at Malculinus and smiled apologetically. "Excuse me, my lord, I promised to tell Lord Gaynor something."

Slipping quickly past Lauda’s brother, she hurried to Gaynor’s side and took his arm to lead him toward the castle. When she glanced back several moments later, Malculinus stood where she’d left him, watching with narrowed eyes.

"What was this message you spoke of?" Gaynor asked once they were out of Aldous’s earshot.

Murie bit her lip and admitted, "I fear that was a lie, my lord. There is no message. I simply did not wish to be alone with Malculinus in the garden and made that up as a way to escape him without being rude."

"If you did not wish to be alone with him, why did you accompany him here?"

Hearing the shortness of his tone, Murie glanced at him with irritation. "I did not ‘accompany him’ anywhere. I came out here for a walk, and when I turned back he was there."

The harshness left Balan’s face and he said, "And you were not comfortable alone with him?"

Murie shrugged. "Let us just say that I was uncomfortable with the situation."

"You have good instincts," Balan assured her. "I would not trust him alone with you, either."

Murie glanced at him with surprise, but didn’t comment.

"Are you enjoying the ball?" he asked after a moment of silence.

Startled, Murie answered, "I would hardly be out here if I were enjoying it, would I?" She smiled faintly and asked, "Why were you not at the ball?"

Balan was silent so long, she felt sure he would not answer. Finally he admitted, "The doublet I planned to wear met with an untimely accident." He paused, then turned toward her. In the moonlight, she could see that he wore a pale doublet, but there was a large stain in the center.

She eyed it for a moment and asked, "Did you not have something else to wear?"

"Nothing fine enough for a court ball. In fact, I have nothing suitable for court at all. Gaynor was hit hard by the plague, and we are in temporary financial difficulties. I borrowed this doublet from Lord Reynard and shall now have to replace it." Murie was silent, unsure how to respond. Honesty did not appear to be a problem with this man. She suspected most men would not be so open about their difficulties, temporary or not, but he’d stated them as a simple fact.

Rather than address his poverty, she asked, "How did the doublet get stained?"

"That is a question I myself would like to hear the answer to," he replied, his expression grim. "I laid it in my chamber after borrowing it from Reginald, went below with Osgoode, and when we returned ink had been spilled on it."

Murie’s eyebrows rose at this explanation. It sounded as if someone had deliberately stained his tunic while he was out of the room; though, why anyone would do that was beyond her. Unless they hadn’t wished him to be able to attend the ball. But why would anyone want that? And who?

The garden was lit by torches, but the path was still shadowy. Distracted as she was by their conversation, Murie was not watching where she was going as closely as she should have. When she put her foot down on something in the path, her ankle suddenly twisted out from under her. Murie cried out and instinctively grabbed for Balan’s arm. He immediately paused and turned to steady her; then, seeing the pain on her face, scooped her into his arms. He carried her to a bench set off from the path and gently set her down, kneeling before her to examine her ankle.

Flushing with embarrassment – he dared to look under her skirt? – Murie tried to brush his hands away, but he was not one to be put off. Balan examined the ankle carefully, removing her shoe and pressing the skin around her heel and shin until she gasped.

"It is not broken," he said, "but ’tis swelling."

"It will be fine," Murie assured him, wishing he’d stop. He did stop, but still held on to the foot as he raised his head to peer at her. After a hesitation, he said, "You misunderstood me in the garden today. Or perhaps I misspoke," he added quickly as her eyes narrowed. "I was trying to explain that I find women much more complicated and confounding than men. We are simple creatures, with simple needs and simple conversations. Women tend to wish to discuss more … er … emotional matters. They – I have been told – enjoy protestations of undying love and compliments to their beauty, and these are not areas in which I excel. And so, rather than unintentionally offend a lady or drive her to distraction with my silences," he added, smiling wryly at her, "I tend to avoid them altogether. Thus, I am poor at the art of conversation."

Murie relaxed. "Lady Emilie did tell me that she was sure you meant no insult."

"Nay. I did not."

She smiled and added, "We spent a good deal of time thinking up ways to have a duel of the intellect."

"Did you?" he asked with amusement. "And what did you come up with?"

"A game of chess," she admitted. "I am quite good – or I used to be. I have not played for a while. The king would no longer play with me because I kept beating him."

Balan’s eyes widened, and he threw back his head with a deep laugh.

Murie smiled, even though she wasn’t sure what he found funny. His laughter was just so lovely that she could not help smiling.

When he finally sobered, he said, "I should very much like to play chess with you someday, my lady. I quite enjoy the game, especially when ’tis challenging."

"Then I shall do my best to challenge you," Murie replied. Balan smiled and stood. "Now," he said, offering her his arm,

"if your ankle is quite recovered, I shall see you to your room." Murie stood and slid her hand onto his forearm, marveling at how natural the action felt. They walked in silence back to the castle, but this time it was companionable. Murie felt no desperate need for conversation; she was content to just walk. At her door, they both murmured good night, and she slipped inside with a little sigh.

"My lady." Cecily smiled and rushed to her side as Murie moved farther into the room. "Did you enjoy the ball?"

"Not really," she admitted.

The maid’s eyebrows rose. "But you are smiling."

"Aye." Murie laughed softly, then shrugged. "I went for a walk afterward in the gardens and ran into Balan."

"Lord Gaynor?" the maid asked with concern.

"Aye."

"My lady," Cecily murmured, then frowned and bit her lip as she helped remove Murie’s surcoat.

"What is it, Cecily?" Murie asked.

"It is just… I should have mentioned this earlier, but there was really no opportunity."

"What?"

"Well, when I left last evening, I noticed Lord Gaynor lurking out in the hall with Lord Osgoode, and I did wonder …"

"What?" Murie repeated with a frown.

"Nothing." The maid shook her head and folded the surcoat, then came to help with her gown. "I was talking to Mydrede today."

"Were you?" Murie said, her mind still on what Cecily had just told her.

"Aye. I asked her about ways to divine who your mate should be."

Murie nodded and forced herself to pay attention to the conversation. Mydrede was the oldest servant at court; a woman always happy to pass on any bits of wisdom, such as how to counteract the evil eye. "Why would you do that?" Cecily shrugged. "I heard today that they are debating the trustworthiness of the St. Agnes Eve ritual. Some seem to think that by eating rotten meat you will dream of the man you should not marry."