The Brat(11)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Aye, I heard that myself," Murie admitted with a frown. She’d quite forgotten that on her walk with Balan. She also hadn’t had a chance to ask Becker about it yet.

"Well, I asked Mydrede for other ways to sort it out," the servant explained. "I know ’tis a difficult decision, and you are finding it upsetting."

"Aye," Murie agreed. The maid had finished with the lacings and had lifted her gown up over her head. The truth was, Murie rather liked the idea of marrying Balan, and had ever since her dream. Now people seemed to be suggesting she shouldn’t. Sighing as she was freed from the gown, Murie let her hands drop. "What did she tell you?"

"She gave me many methods," Cecily announced with enthusiasm. Setting the gown aside, she reached into a small bag at her waist and pulled out various leaves and little seeds.

"What is that?" Murie asked, leaning closer to eye the items.

"Ivy. Clover … An ash leaf?"

"Aye. If you put the ivy leaf in your pocket, the first man you meet shall be the man you marry and similarly with the clover . . . though, that you put in your right shoe. The ash leaf works the same, though you have to recite a poem. Let me see . . ." She paused and scrunched her face up with concentration for a moment, then nodded. "It goes ‘Even ash, even ash, I pluck thee off the tree. The first young man that I do meet, my lover he shall be.’ And then you put it in your left shoe, and the first man you meet shall be your husband."

"But the poem says ‘I pluck thee off the tree, ‘and I did not pluck it. You did," Murie pointed out with a frown.

"Oh, aye." Cecily appeared disappointed.

"What are those seeds?"

"Oh." She brightened again. "These are apple pips. You put them on your cheeks, naming each for a possible husband, and the one that stays on the longest is the name of the man who will be your husband." Cecily was licking and sticking the pips to Murie’s cheeks even as she spoke.

Not wishing to dislodge them, Murie tried to speak without moving her mouth and cheeks. "But I have no names to give them."

"Of course you do, my lady. There are several single men at court right now. Why, Lord Aldous is one. He is wealthy and handsome. And then there is…" She frowned.

‘You see?" Murie said, and raised her hands to wipe the pips from her cheeks. Turning, she moved toward her bed. "I am tired, Cecily. We can talk more about what you learned from Mydrede in the morning. I do appreciate it, though."

"Aye, my lady," Cecily said, sounding disappointed. Trying to cheer her, Murie suggested, "Mayhap you could show me where to find the ivy, clover and ash leaves, and we can try them all tomorrow."

"Aye." The servant managed a smile, then moved toward the door. "Good sleep, my lady."

"Good night," Murie replied as the woman left. Climbing under the linens and furs, she settled herself on her side and stared into the flames of the fire Cecily had built up. It was late summer, and while the days were still warm, the evenings were beginning to cool; a fire helped keep the chill out. Murie gazed into the flickering flames, and she ruminated that Balan had a lovely laugh. And kind eyes. And she wished he’d kissed her in the gardens so she would know if his kisses were as exciting in real life as they had been in her dreams.

Frowning, she rolled onto her back and pondered the matter of the rotten meat. Did it mean she shouldn’t marry him? She wished she knew. Murie would have thought that Mydrede would have known, but had she, Cecily would have mentioned the answer one way or another, so she supposed she didn’t. Becker would know, however, She reminded herself of that, and determined once again to speak to Becker and the king first thing in the morning.

Chapter Six

"Now …" King Edward turned to Murie with a raised eyebrow as his receiving room emptied out. "What was so urgent that you needed to speak to me alone?"

Murie flushed. She’d found it almost impossible to sleep last night, her mind flittering between thoughts of Balan and worries as to what her dream truly meant. Was he to be her husband? Or was he not? She’d debated and fretted over the issue back and forth until finally the dawn had begun to break. Murie had immediately tossed the linens and furs aside and leapt from bed. She’d been dressed and gone from her room ere Cecily even arrived … only to find she was up and about far too early, and the king had not yet even left his bed.

Irritated that everyone else appeared to have no problem sleeping, Murie had taken herself off to the gardens to sit in the bower and think on Balan some more. She’d replayed the kiss from her dream over and over in her mind, and spent more time there than she’d intended. By the time she made her way back into the king’s receiving room, it was already full of others awaiting their turn to see him. Murie had been vexed when she’d spoken to Robert, who was in charge of who entered next. Apparently, fearing the tears and fits that the disgruntled man read on her face, he had promised to get her in as quickly as was possible, to arrange for her to have a private audience.

"Murie?" Edward prompted when she did not speak. She grimaced at his impatience, understanding it when he had so many to see, but at a loss as to where to start this conversation. Her gaze slid to Becker. She’d been relieved to find the aide with the king. He usually was, but there were times he was off doing something for his sire and was not nearby. Fortunately, such was not the case today.

"Murie?" King Edward repeated, his voice gone hard, indicating that his patience was at an end.

She opened her mouth and blurted, "Sire, have you heard about the ritual to find a husband on St. Agnes Eve?"

"Ahhhh." He nodded with sudden understanding, then said, "I had heard that Lady Aldous talked you into testing the superstition."

"Aye." She shifted uncomfortably under his amusement. He arched an eyebrow. "Did you dream of anyone?"

"Aye," she admitted, blushing at the memory of the dream.

"Really?" He straightened up with surprise. "I was told you had not."

Murie grimaced. Word spread through court faster than a squirrel could dart through. That was something else she would not miss once she married and left.

"Only Lady Reynard and my maid know I did dream of someone," she confessed. "I did not wish the whole court to know I had, and who it was."

"Ah." He nodded. "That was perhaps wise." Murie nodded and glanced at her hands.

"Who was it? Someone you have known and thought handsome for a long time?" he asked indulgently.

Murie glanced at him, startled by the suggestion. "Nay. In truth, I had never seen the man before I dreamed him. I had no idea who he was."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Aye," she answered, then got to the point. "Do you know the proper tale, sire?"

He sat back, expression confused. "What tale?"

"About St. Agnes," she explained patiently. "On St. Agnes Eve, Malculinus said that if you either fasted all day or ate rotten meat, you would dream of the man meant to be your husband. But yesterday morn, Lauda said someone told her that if you fasted the man you dreamt of would be your husband, but if you ate rotten meat the man you dreamt of was someone you definitely should not marry, and I was hoping you could give me the truth of the matter."

"Ah, I see." He nodded, then said, "So, you are confused as to whether this dream man is the one you should marry, or one you should definitely not marry."

"Aye."

"Well…" Edward frowned, then glanced at Becker. "Which is it, Becker? You are more knowledgeable on such superstitions than I."

Murie blinked in surprise at the king owning up to his ignorance and asking his aide, but then she realized that was what an aide was for. And, perhaps true wisdom wasn’t in knowing everything, but in being willing to turn to those who do know what you don’t. After all, no one could know everything. Becker did not hesitate. "I believe Lord Malculinus had it right last night, sire. Fasting or eating the rotten meat would make you dream of the man meant to be your husband. As far as I know, there is no mention of anything making you dream of one you should not marry. In fact, such a bit would be rather silly. ‘Tis obvious if you should marry one, all the rest are ones you should not."

Edward nodded and smiled at Murie. "There you are, then. Whoever this man you dreamt of is, he is the one meant to be your husband." He smiled faintly. "You really dreamed of someone?"

"Aye." She blushed again.

"And it is someone you have never seen or met before?" he asked with interest.

"Aye," Murie murmured.

"Hmmm." Edward’s expression became concerned. "Murie, I appreciate that you do not wish to marry and leave us, but you cannot use a dream man as an excuse to delay in choosing a husband. Phillippa will not give ground on this."

"Oh, nay, sire," she assured him quickly. "I would never do that. Besides, when I went down yesterday morn to breakfast, I saw the man from my dream."

"You did?" The king looked stunned. "Well, who is it?" Murie hesitated. "Lord Gaynor."

"Lord Gaynor?" Edward repeated sharply. "No, he has not been to court in years. Not until the day before yesterday, and always left as quickly as he arrived, usually avoiding the feasts and balls."

"He has been here before then?" Murie asked with surprise, for truly, she’d never seen him before that morning.

"Aye, but you could not have met him and gained a tendre for him," he pointed out. She realized that he’d originally thought her dream a result of her own subconscious desires.

"Oh, nay, I had no tendre when I dreamt of him," she assured the king. "I had never seen his face before. And truly, I almost feared he was a figment of my imagination until I saw him."

"But…" Edward looked confused, then asked with bewilderment, "You really ate some rotten meat and dreamed of a man you had never before seen?"

"Aye," she answered.

"I see," Edward said. "And it was Gaynor. You are sure?"

"Oh, aye. I pointed him out to Lady Reynard when I spotted him, and she knew him. She is the one who told me his name, and I am sure she is right."

"Aye. I am sure she is," he agreed. He glanced to Becker.

"Gaynor."

"Aye, sire."

"He is a good man."

"Aye, sire," Becker agreed. "Balan. A fine and faithful warrior. His father passed during the plague, and he has inherited the holding."

"Aye." The king nodded. "I was thinking to reward him for his loyalty in France, and this would be a fine reward."

"Aye, sire," Becker agreed.

Murie’s eyes widened in alarm. "Sire, I have not told him I dreamt of him, and I will not do so until I am sure we suit. And then, of course, he may not wish to marry me," she pointed out, hoping Edward would not interfere. "You said I could choose my own husband. What if it ends that we cannot love each other?"

"Love?" Edward looked at her with surprise. "You do not base marriages on love, child. I did not even know Phillippa when it was decided we should marry."

"Aye, but you did say I could choose my own husband," she reminded him.

"Aye, and you have," he pointed out. "You are the one who came to me with his name."

"But…" Murie bit her lip, trying to think of a way to tell him to mind his own bloody business without causing insult. It didn’t seem possible, however. Besides, he probably wouldn’t listen. The man was lost in his thoughts.

After a moment, Edward glanced about, seemingly startled when he spotted her still there.

"Oh. You are excused, Murie," he said at once, then turned to Becker and commanded, "Have someone fetch Gaynor." Murie groaned inwardly, but didn’t see how to sway him from whatever course he’d decided on. She stood with resignation to leave.

"Murie, I want you at the head table for sup tonight," the king announced as she reached the door. She turned back, eyes wide.

"But I was to sit with Lady and Lord Reynard."

"Reynard?" Edward glanced to Becker. "He is – "

"Aye, sire," Becker murmured, apparently not needing to hear the entire question.

Nodding, Edward said, "They may join you at the head table. Now go, child. I have business to attend."

Blowing her breath out on a sigh, Murie escaped while she could, but as she hurried toward her room, she wondered what she’d set in motion. Unfortunately, she suspected she knew. She quite liked Balan and found him attractive, and his kisses in her dream had been divine; however, she had no desire to have him forced into marrying her. What if he did not like her or find her kisses divine? Nay, she needed to –

Her thoughts came to a shuddering halt, as did her feet, at the sight of the man moving up the hall.

Balan.

She stared at him; then, without thinking about it, her feet carried her past the others in the hall and directly into his path, forcing him to halt.

"Lady Murie," he said with surprise.

"Aye." She nodded, bit her lip and blurted, "My lord, I must speak with you."

"Very well," he said.

Murie hesitated, her gaze shifting anxiously over the people passing by.

Balan arched an eyebrow in question. "What is it?"

"I…" Murie bit her lip, her gaze following those passing closest to them and knew a blush was coloring her cheeks. She really didn’t wish to speak to him on this subject at all, but even more so, did not wish to speak about it where others might hear. This was embarrassing enough without that added humiliation. Seeming to recognize the problem, Balan glanced around, then took her arm and led her down the hall, then below stairs and out of the castle. He walked her across the upper ward to where Edward’s tower was being built. Fortunately, it was a rainy day and the men were not working, but the walls were begun and offered them some shelter from the weather. Murie had to walk carefully to avoid sinking in the mud.