The Brat(12)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Seeming to note she was having difficulty in her dainty shoes, Balan suddenly swept her up in his arms and carried her to a stone where she could safely stand.

Murie managed a slightly embarrassed smile as he straightened from setting her down.

"Thank you, my lord," she murmured, peering at him curiously. She was now as tall as he, their faces on a level, and she’d not seen him this close before. His eyes were really quite lovely, a deep dark brown that was almost black. And he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen; startling on a man.

"My lady?" he said when she remained silent. ‘You had something you wished to tell me?"

"Oh, aye," she said, and began to worry her lip. How to tell him? This was all so terribly embarrassing. Why the king felt he had to intervene, she did not know. If he would just leave her to deal with the matter on her own as he’d promised . ..

"My lady?" Balan prompted. There was a slight smile on his lips, and his eyes locked on her mouth as she nibbled at her lip. Forcing herself to stop, she opened her mouth, closed it again, tilted her head thoughtfully and then opened her mouth again, only to exclaim in horror, "Oh, gawd!"

Balan blinked in surprise, then caught her hands in his. "Just take a deep, calming breath and tell me what is on your mind." Murie did as instructed and sucked in a lungful of air, let it slowly back out and blurted, "The king!"

"What about the king?" he asked.

"Oh, ’tis awful, my lord. I never meant for it to happen; I just wanted to ask if he knew the rules, but he decided it was a fait accompli and now he will surely start spouting orders and telling everyone, and ’twill be so embarrassing and I do not know what to do to make him – "

Her words ended on a startled gasp as he covered her mouth with his. The panic immediately slid out of her, and a little sigh escaped as his mouth brushed over hers, soft and caressing.

"There," he said softly as he drew back. "Are you feeling calmer?"

Murie blushed but nodded.

"Good. Now – calmly – what is this about the king?"

"Oh!" Murie’s eyes widened with renewed alarm. "I never meant for him to take it as he did, certainly not until I had spoken to you, but I – "

Her words died another abrupt death as his mouth covered hers again, this time moving more firmly, and then his tongue slid out to urge her lips apart and he was suddenly invading her as he had in her dreams. Moaning, Murie found her arms wrapped around his neck and their bodies pressed together. It was heaven. When he broke the kiss, she was panting softly and much slower to open her eyes. As she did, he smiled and said, "Are you feeling calmer?"

Murie nodded vaguely.

"Good, do you think you can explain things without becoming hysterical?"

"Was I hysterical?" she murmured.

"You seemed to me to be, and I thought a kiss much more pleasant than a slap."

"Oh, aye," she agreed on a sigh. "In fact, mayhap if you were to keep kissing me, I could explain better. It does seem to distract me from the worry of it all."

He chuckled and bent to press a kiss to her cheek, following an invisible trail to her ear, where he nibbled lightly before trailing down her throat. "Is this helping?"

"Oh, aye," Murie breathed, leaning into him.

"Speak," he ordered, his hands moving restlessly up and down her back and pressing her close against him.

"I told the king I dreamt about you and – ohm, that’s . .. mmmm," she groaned as his head dipped and he nibbled at her collar bone. "Would you mind if we were wedded?" He stilled – his mouth, his hands, his very heart she suspected, stopping – then slowly lifted his head. Murie bit her lip and avoided his eyes, then grimaced and admitted, "I do not know if you heard about the St. Agnes Eve – "

"Aye," he growled.

"Well, Lauda, Lady Aldous," she explained, "she talked me into eating rotten meat."

"I know."

"You do?" Murie said in surprise.

"My lady, I doubt if there is anyone at court who has not heard."

"Oh." She wrinkled her nose and said, "Well, I told everyone that I had not dreamed that eve, but I did. Of you." When he didn’t squawk in horror at the news, she continued.

"But the next day Lauda said that she was told that rotten meat made you dream of the man you should not marry; only fasting allows you to dream of the man you should marry."

"You do not suppose she was lying, do you?" he asked in a dry tone.

Murie blinked in surprise. "Why would she lie about such a thing? Especially when I claimed I had not dreamed of anyone." She shook her head and said, "Nay, I do not think she lied, but did wonder if this lady she spoke of might be mistaken. So, this morning I went to the king to ask which version of it was true, and Becker said – Becker is very smart, you understand; he knows everything. I always go to him when I am uncertain about knowledge. Unfortunately, I have to go through the king to get to him, because if the king thought I was going to Becker rather than him, I think his feelings would be hurt and – " This time, rather than kiss her to silence her nervous rambling, Balan simply covered her mouth.

"You went to the king to ask about the true version of the superstition. Nod or shake your head."

Murie nodded.

"And you told him you dreamt of me?"

She nodded.

"And now he has decided we should marry?"

Murie nodded again, and when his hand dropped away, she blurted, "I did remind him that he promised I might choose my own husband, but he seemed to think the dream was my choosing and told Becker to fetch you. But I did not wish you to walk in there unprepared, and if you do not wish to marry me, I surely understand and will not be offended and will do my best to talk him out of it. Though the king can be rather obstinate on some points, and I – "

Balan kissed her to silence her again, this time covering her mouth in an aggressive, demanding manner. It left her breathless. When he pulled away, Murie was swaying on her feet, her eyes unfocused.

"We shall marry," he announced, and turned to walk away. Murie blinked after him, the shock quickly clearing her mind. She then hopped off the tower stone and hurried after him, slipping and sliding in the mud but uncaring that it was ruining her gown. "Really?"

Pausing, Balan turned to glance at her, then frowned and scooped her into his arms. "Is it what you wish?"

"I… You …" Murie paused, blew a stray hair out of her face and peered up at him, her body relaxed in his arms. "Well, St. Agnes seems to think it would be a good idea."

His eyes narrowed, mouth twisting with displeasure. "For any reason other than that?"

She considered the matter, then admitted, "I think you are very handsome."

"You do?" he asked. When she nodded shyly, he stared at her.

"And I find you lovely."

Murie smiled and added, "And Emilie and Reginald and even the king seem to think a lot of you, so I already know you are a good man."

"And you are not the horrible brat everyone believes you are." Murie blinked at the back-handed compliment.

"Anything else?" he asked.

She blushed but admitted, "I like your kisses, my lord." A grin took his mouth, and he bent to lightly press another to her lips.

"We shall deal well together," he decided, and turned to continue on to the castle, carrying her in his arms.

Murie stared at his strong face and gave a little sigh, then slid her arms around his neck. It seemed that the decision was made; she would marry Balan. Her mind immediately began to make plans: She would have a new doublet sewn for him for their wedding, a fine new doublet made from the best materials and of colors that would suit him. And she would commission a dress for the child Juliana to be given when they reached Gaynor. And she would order all the things she thought Gaynor might need. The list was endless.

With nothing to delay it, and wishing Emilie and Reginald to be able to attend, Murie did not protest when the king decided the wedding should be a week hence. It meant she would spend the week running in circles trying to get everything done, but with the help of Emilie, Becker and several other servants, she handled everything she wished and even managed to present herself at the wedding both on time and dressed in a lovely new gown of pale blue, with a surcoat of burgundy to match the doublet and houpelande she’d had made for Balan.

Murie was most gratified when her husband arrived in the new garb. He looked very handsome and even regal.

The wedding passed in a blur for Murie; all she could later recall was a buzzing in her ears and being surrounded by people. She was most grateful when it was over and Balan was pressing the wedding kiss to her lips. It was a quick, perfunctory kiss, nothing like the kisses in her dream or the ones in the shelter of the tower wall, but she hardly expected such in front of so many people.

Taking her hand, Balan led her back through the well-wishers and in front of the procession back to the hall for the feast to follow. That too passed in a blur for Murie. She had a vague recollection of Balan feeding her sweetmeats and pressing a chalice of wine to her lips with concern on his face, and saying something about her being quite pale; and then the queen was beside her with her ladies-in-waiting and Emilie at her back, announcing it was time for the bedding.

Murie would have liked to have swooned then and slept through what followed, but she had too hearty a constitution for that. She stayed awake all through the chatter and – not always kind – teasing of the women as they stripped her of her clothing and then put her in the bed. Only Emilie’s reassuring murmurs, glances and pats on the hand kept her from striking out at one of the court cows or bursting into sobs. And this time her sorrow would have been for real. Fortunately, Emilie was there, her presence a calming influence that kept Murie teetering on the edge of panic but not falling.

Once in the bed with the linens drawn up, the worst of it should have been done, but Murie found what followed just as distressing. The queen gave her an encouraging smile and moved to open the door. The men immediately burst in, the king leading the procession and Balan in the middle being half dragged, half carried as if he were a prisoner of war. Osgoode and Reginald were among the men who immediately began stripping him, and Murie watched wide-eyed as her new husband was denuded before her.

He really was an impressive sight, with his wide strong shoulders and muscular chest tapering to a flat stomach. Mary swallowed as her eyes dropped lower, then quickly turned her gaze away and tried to pretend she was anywhere but there. The men finished stripping her husband and then pulled the linens away, briefly revealing her own nudity as they slipped him into the bed at her side.

Murie was in such a state, she hardly heard the ribald jests and approving comments before the linens were replaced and the room began to empty out.

Balan watched the last of the people vacate the room before turning to peer at his wife. Murie looked like a deer spotting danger: eyes wide, body seemingly frozen stiff.

He sighed to himself. This was going to be a long night. He would have to handle her most delicately, ease her into this business of the marital bed. She would be a virgin after all, with a virgin’s sensibilities and no doubt all sorts of ridiculous beliefs put into her head by the church, beliefs about the relations between a husband and wife and all that they should and shouldn’t do. Shaking his head, he turned carefully in the bed so as not to startle or frighten her, intending only to assure her all would be well; but before he could speak, she threw herself at him, plastering her mouth to his. After the briefest startlement, Balan shrugged and slid his arms around his wife, using one hand to hold her head at an angle he liked, and began to teach her how to kiss properly.

Chapter Seven

Murie moaned in relief as her husband kissed her back. She’d sat there worried and anxious and . .. well… really, terrified of what was to come, but then she’d recalled her dream and knew that if he would just kiss her, all would be well. However, he’d not hurried to accomplish the task, and finally, panicked to the point that she was ready to hop out of bed and flee the room, when he’d turned to her, she’d simply taken the matter into her own hands and kissed him herself. Fortunately, he’d not been offended and after a brief pause, slid his arms around her. She felt his tongue slide insistently along her lips, and she opened for him as she recalled that dream kiss. As in the dream, his tongue immediately slid inside, and Murie moaned as it rasped over hers. Balan tasted of ale and the beef they’d had at the feast, and she quite liked the combination, but then she forgot all about it as his hand found her breast under the linens.

Gasping, Murie found herself arching into his touch as excitement tingled through her.

"Oh, husband," she breathed as he broke the kiss to run his mouth to her ear. Her eyes popped open with surprise at the heat this caress unfolded within her. She’d never thought of her ears as good for anything but hearing. Apparently, that wasn’t so. She tilted her head slightly to give him better access, and her gaze landed on the chest across the room. She blinked with surprise as she recalled the horseshoe and rabbit’s foot she’d collected for the wedding night.

Murie immediately tugged free of her husband’s embrace, probably only managing to do so because she took him by surprise.

"What – ?" Balan’s question ended on an oomph as she unintentionally kneed him in her scramble to get out of the bed. Realizing what she’d done, she removed her knee, ending up straddling his h*ps over the furs as she eyed him with concern.

"I am sorry, my lord. Did I hurt you?"

Balan released a small whimper but shook his head. Relieved, she smiled and continued her rush over to the chest. Dropping to her knees in the rushes, she threw it open and began to dig under the clothing for the items she sought. She’d hidden them under her gowns so Cecily wouldn’t see them.

"What are you doing?"

Murie glanced to the side with surprise when she realized he’d followed and now stood beside her, a frown on his face as he watched her digging frantically through the chest.